by Skye Warren
CHAPTER SEVEN
The contemporary circus Cirque du Soleil started as a group of street performers who did acts like fire-breathing and juggling on the streets of Quebec.
Bethany, five years earlier
Low voices rumble beneath the floor.
Mamere makes most of her money from her regular weekly customers who want tarot card readings. We’re a few blocks away from the French Quarter. Occasionally the tourists wander far enough away to see the neon sign announcing Palm Readings in the front window. I’m used to doing my homework in the kitchen listening to her croon her predictions through the velvet curtains. It’s comforting, her voice. Everything comforts me except for the séances. They don’t happen very often. But they always, always, always end in disaster. There’s sobbing. Usually someone throws something. Once the curtains caught on fire. I’m trying to do my usual stretches before bed, pretending like there isn’t a grieving family clutching their hands beneath me. I’m already wearing my jammies—a pink tank top and purple shorts. I’m sitting with my right leg in front of me, my left behind in a side split. My science textbook is propped up by my foot, and I’m settled in to read this chapter before I switch sides.
Pop. I jump at the sound and scramble up from the floor. The textbook slams flat. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I don’t believe in the séance happening underneath me, but the idea still freaks me out. You didn’t hear anything, Bethany. It was the wind.
Pop. The sound comes again, and a squeak escapes me.
I creep up to the window, where I expect to see nothing in the backyard. Instead there’s someone standing right underneath my window, looking up. My heart skips a beat. It’s him.
Pebbles. It was Josh throwing pebbles at the window, not spirits blowing by on the wind. My cheeks heat, even though he can’t have known what I was thinking.
I shove the window harder than I need to, with a bold push. The last thing I want is for him to think I was scared of a few pebbles. The night air wafts in, heavy with the scent of gumbo and hibiscus from the garden plants near the fence. “What are you doing here?” My heart thumps in a one-two-one-two beat at the sight of his face tilted up toward mine. The memory of powdered sugar ghosts across my tongue. It’s almost impossible to associate his hard body with soft, warm beignets. He is not soft, I remind myself. He is the same man who stalked around me in the warehouse and made my pulse race. If he’s really working with Caleb, he’s far more dangerous than the average man lurking in the city’s cemeteries. Far more dangerous.
“Come down,” he tells me. The tone of his voice is light. Simple—just go down. I should shut the window and lock it. But a flimsy window lock would never keep Josh out. I’m not even sure I’d want it to. Voices rise beneath the floor. Mamere’s made contact, it sounds like. This is the perfect time to leave. I’d almost risk walking right out, but then I’d have to pass by her. If it interrupts the séance it’ll inspire another lecture. Mamere is afraid I’ll become like my mother. A stripper by the time she was my age. Pregnant with Caleb by nineteen. It wasn’t the path Mamere wanted for my mother, and it’s not the one I’m taking. That doesn’t stop Mamere from wringing her hands about it.
So I slip on my shoes and go out the window instead.
The old windowsills are wide and sturdy, and my dancer’s body has no problem finding footholds on the way down. The difference now is that Josh is watching. He doesn’t step forward to offer a hand. He lets me choose my own descent. My last stop is a strand of ivy that stretches across the house. I predict it’ll hold my weight for the breath I need to get a toehold on the frame on the window below. I’m right. Gravity and I shake hands and I land lightly on my feet, letting my knees absorb some of the shock from the grass.
Now Josh and I are restored to our natural order.
He grins down at me. “Love the outfit.”
My face flushes all the way down to my chest. I didn’t dress for company, clearly. “You asked me to come down. I’m assuming I don’t need formal wear for that.”
Not that I have a lot of formal wear. I have one thrifted gown I got for the homecoming dance last year. One size up, so I could wear it again this year with different accessories.
And not that Josh asked me to come down. He didn’t.
He told me to, and I obeyed him.
“So,” he says. “Psychic Readings for twenty bucks.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s my grandmother.”
“You don’t believe she’s psychic.”
“It’s just a bunch of smoke and mirrors.” Sometimes she does feel psychic. Even my brother has an uncanny sense about people. I’m lucky my brother’s not inside. He’d have sensed this by now. No part of me wants to find out what would happen if he saw me standing with Josh at an unscheduled time like this.
Maybe a small part.
No—that would be awful.
My shoulder lifts. “When people come in through the front parlor there’s incense and curtains. Even a few voodoo dolls to complete the effect. I’ve seen the place in the early morning, with a cup of coffee by the crystal ball and my math textbook under the tarot deck.”
“It’s like sausage.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve seen how the sausage gets made. Now you don’t want to eat it.”
That makes me snort. “Are you disappointed? Maybe you wanted me to tell you your fortune. Maybe that’s why you came.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe not. The future’s a scary place.”
My eyebrows raise. We have enough people coming to the house desperate for answers. It’s strange to meet someone who doesn’t seem to want them.
He tilts his head toward the back of the yard. “Let’s go.”
My pulse is a drumbeat that won’t settle. You’d think I’d just run through our entire recital routine from the way my heart pounds. “Where?”
“For a walk. Where else?”
Where else indeed. Now I wish I’d put something else on. Not because it’s cold, but because the tank top is flimsy. The bralette I’m wearing underneath isn’t meant to conceal anything from the world. It’s meant for someone who will spend the night tucked under the covers. We cross the yard, staying close to the deepest shadows. I can only relax once we’re past the ring of light from the house—and I can’t relax much.
Of all the shifting shadows by the creek bed, Josh is by far the biggest. And scariest. But I’m not about to show him that.
Wind whispers through the Spanish moss dangling from the branches of the live oak tree. It’s humid, the way it always is in New Orleans. The moisture in the air gives it a tactile quality. It reminds me of the way Josh kissed me in the warehouse before he knew who I was. Before I knew who he was.
“I saw your brother tonight.” His voice is low, a sultry match for the night breeze against the corner of my mouth. It’s like he sensed the spirit between us—my brother, my savior and my enemy. A brick wall between me and Josh.
A chill battles with the heat at the base of my spine. “Yeah? I’m sure a lot of people saw him tonight. He wasn’t home.”
“Do you know where he was?”
This feels like a test. Most of the tests in my life have simple answers, like igneous rock or it’s an arabesque, not a pirouette, do it again. The truth in tonight’s case is equally as simple. Only I’m not sure if it’s the right answer. “No. He doesn’t tell me his plans before he goes out. I don’t know anybody who has an older brother like that.”
“My older brother let me know where he was going,” Josh muses. “It didn’t make much of a difference once he left for the army, though.” His tone bristles with something underneath I don’t dare ask about. I can only feel it, like the thrum of voices beneath the floor in my house.
We meander down closer to the creek, where the dry bed narrows. Josh steps closer, and his arm brushes against mine. “How much do you know about the company your brother keeps?” He stops suddenly, facing me in the moonlight. Mistake, screams the voice i
n the back of my mind. You shouldn’t have come here. But damn it, I wanted to.
“He meets with dangerous men. He is dangerous. I’ve told you that before. You don’t need me to tell you again.” I’m outside, out of sight, with the most dangerous man of all. But it’s not pure terror that makes goosebumps prick my skin. It’s something more akin to excitement. Adrenaline. “What’s this about?”
Josh waits a beat, then turns and keeps walking. He doesn’t speak until I’ve caught up with him. “He called an interesting meeting tonight. A man named Noah joined us at the bar.”
I should turn around right now and run for the house. I should stay far, far away from Josh. I should, at the very least, rectify this grave error I’ve made. But I do none of those things. “Yeah? What was he like?”
“He was quiet.”
Of all the words Josh could have chosen, this one has to be the most…unexpected. “Quiet?”
“Silent.” Josh shakes his head. “It was fucking eerie, is what it was. It made me wonder if the rumors are true. I’ve heard one in particular that stands out.”
I can’t help myself. “What was it?”
He does a slow turn, and it’s with a mixture of relief and disappointment that I realize he’s walking me back to my house. “I heard he had a disagreement with one of his patrol partners, once upon a time. That man went on rounds one night and ended up with a bullet in his brain.” He says it so lightly, like he might be telling me about the high school yearbook or a football score. Fear wraps around my belly and pulls tight. We cross back over the boundary into the backyard. Josh leans in close. So close that his breath tickles the shell of my ear. His lips brush the delicate skin there. “The official record says the man was killed in action.”
I suck in a breath. “Are you afraid of him?”
“I probably should be. There are worse things in the night. Auribus teneo lupum. Have you heard that before?”
“Latin?”
“Yep. It means you’re fucked either way. That’s what I am in this situation, between your brother and Noah and the US Army—and you. You, most of all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Goodnight, Bethany.” He turns to go as abruptly as he appeared.
The swing creaks in the night breeze against a backdrop of crickets. A fresh wave of goosebumps and heat erupts over my skin. “You came here to tell me that?”
“No,” he says over his shoulder, his figure already disappearing into the night. “I came here to see your face.”
Bethany, present time
At the end of the day I walk down the concrete steps. A man in a black T-shirt and tactical pants leans against a black SUV, his face framed by sunlight. Even before I get close, I know it isn’t Josh. Disappointment weighs heavy in my stomach. I shouldn’t care about Joshua North. In fact I should be relieved that he’s sent someone else. Features form out of the shadows. Noah. Panic seizes my body for a heartbeat. Only when my foot touches the next step can I breathe again. I’m not a dumb teenager anymore. I’m not at the mercy of violent men anymore. That includes Josh.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say.
A curt nod. “Ma’am.”
That makes me snort. “What are you doing here?”
He opens the back door for me. “Escorting you home.”
“Where exactly is home?”
“A safe location.”
“I knew you didn’t mean my apartment. That would be too easy. Has it occurred to you that Josh is doing exactly what my brother did? Having me watched? Controlling where I go?”
“Do you need to stop somewhere on the way?” he asks, his tone bland.
I glare at the open door with its cool leather seats. Does it have to look so appealing? I want the safety the dark interior promises. That’s always been the problem with Josh. I want what he offers, but I know better than to trust it. “Does North Security keep safe houses in every city? That seems excessive.”
A pause. He doesn’t stop scanning the perimeter even as he answers, “This isn’t a North Security property.”
“Then who owns it?”
Those dark eyes meet mine, bringing with them a flash of painful memory. When I was young and foolish and halfway in love. “Joshua North.”
Josh owns property in New Orleans? Why the hell would he want to? He was only ever here for Caleb. Maybe that’s still why he’s here. To keep tabs on the man he once brought down. It couldn’t possibly be for the little sister who gave her heart away. There’s no way this ends well. No way this leaves me anything but heartbroken all over again.
The allure is too strong. Even safety I might have been able to withstand. It’s the curiosity that propels me inside the back of the SUV. That I’ll be able to see a place that Josh calls his own.
I settle into the leather seats, holding back a groan as the plush cushion meets my aching muscles. It’s not like I enjoy using public transportation, clutching a frayed leather strap for the stop-start ride. I don’t enjoy being bumped or groped. I don’t enjoy shielding my wallet deep in my purse so I’ll still have it, but I do enjoy the independence that comes with it. I can afford the bus, and that makes it the only choice for me. I never want to ask my brother for help.
The life of a dancer isn’t a lucrative one. The New York Times praised my dancing as “a revelation.” A two-inch write-up in Vogue called me “incandescent.” Unfortunately most landlords don’t accept critical praise as currency to pay rent. The position with the avant-garde dance company is enough for me. Unless I’m being stalked by some crazy fan. That’s been hard to accept. Sometimes people talk to me like I should have limos and private security—who’s going to pay for that?
Joshua North, apparently.
I seriously doubt Landon is paying North Security a single cent.
The idea makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like owing anyone anything. Because you never know when they’ll call in the favors. You never know what they’ll be. I learned that lesson young.
What will Joshua expect me to owe him? Nothing good.
The black SUV slows down in an alley lined with large bungalows. Heavy hydrangeas lean over a tall concrete wall. A pink building stands behind it, its black iron balcony quintessentially New Orleans. A row of black windows reflects the city without giving a glimpse of what’s inside. I study the different apartments, wondering which one would give the best tactical advantage. Wondering what it would be like to live life as Joshua North, always aware of the threats around him. “Which one is his?”
Dark eyes in the rearview mirror. “The whole building.”
The whole building. Jesus. Something like this probably costs millions of dollars. Since when did he get that rich? Not through selling illegal weapons from the US Army. I suppose there’s plenty of money being the good guy, too. Being the hero. He’d hate to be called that, but it’s the truth.
I step into the building with a nervous flutter in my stomach. There are a million reasons why Josh and I will never be together. I knew them already. Now there’s one more—the absolute grandeur of this old-fashioned mansion, one of the few that hasn’t been chopped into tiny apartments. We belong to different worlds. His is sharp enough to cut me. Mine is already in pieces.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The musical Oliver!, based on Dickens’s novel, has been performed in more than 20 languages, including Basque, Faroese, and Icelandic. Musicians who have played the part of the Artful Dodger include Phil Collins and Davy Jones of the Monkees.
Josh, present time
Bethany appears at my door as a shadow. That’s all it takes to make my cock wake the fuck up, that hint of her against the frosted security glass of my front door. The porch light makes her shadow look carved, all hard edges. But when I open the door, she’s transformed back into herself. There is a certain toughness about her that reminds me in a vague way of her brother.
She lifts her chin. A challenge. I thought I saw a flash of vulnerability there, as if maybe she’s w
orried about her welcome, but I must have imagined it.
And yet…she’s standing on my doorstep.
I scan behind the both of them for any sign someone else has breached the gate. There are none. Noah’s face stands out against the black SUV, the curt nod visible even from here.
Bethany takes a single step across the threshold. The scent of lotion reaches out and lodges deep in my lungs. It pulls hard enough to tear. I ignore it. Shut the door behind her. Flip the lock. The deadbolt, in comparison to the rest of my personal security system, is just for show. Like the way I’m giving her a stoic expression. The real walls, they’re deep where no one can see. Where she’ll never breach them.
What is the purpose of denial?
Survival. That’s the purpose.
Bethany watches me, dark eyes alive in the low, warm light of my entryway. “You sent Noah to pick me up instead of coming yourself?”
“I took a calculated risk.” I calculate another form of risk and take a step back to put some space between us. Nobody, least of all Bethany, needs to know how much I want to take two steps forward. Surround her. Consume her. No—not that.
That raw scrape burrows into my gut. Hunger.
She’s got a hand on her hip. She’s pissed, which I shouldn’t find so hot. “A pretty bold move, thinking I’d go along with this if it was Noah and not you.”
The smirk that flashes across my face is mostly a cover for the way her voice makes me feel. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re here.”
“For now.” It seems to take her some effort to tear her eyes away from mine. She examines the gleaming scarred wood and polished brass with a look of apprehension, as if I’d decorated the place with guns and bombs instead. Those beautiful brown eyes meet mine again. They’re darker this time. Bethany drops her shoulders a fraction of an inch. “Where do you expect me to sleep? If I stay here?”