Resting my head against the seat back, I watch the changing scenery in the silent car, not knowing what to say with all the things happening lately between us. I’m so shocked with the constant mood swings, not knowing which one to take at face value.
“Where are—”
“We are—”
We speak at the same time and my cheeks heat up, while I shift a little on the seat and clear my throat, tugging on my dress so I won’t have to meet his stare. Since he stays silent, I ask my question again. “Where are we going?”
“To a club.”
My brows furrow. “A club?” Is it like a gathering? Part of me hates how, because of Pastor, I’m not familiar with the modern world much, but it’s not my fault. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about things done to me. I only need to move forward.
Arson turns the car to the right, getting on the highway and speeding up, his hands gliding over the steering wheel. “A club is a place where people go to drink, dance, enjoy their time.” So it is like a gathering. “This one belongs to Lachlan, and it’s one of the best. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
An image of the blond man pops in my head. “Is he your boss?”
He chuckles, bringing my attention to a tattoo on his neck that represents fire and blood tied together in a weird shape. I hadn’t notice it before, but I wonder if there is some secret meaning hidden behind it. “No.” That’s all the answer he gives me, and I grit my teeth, wanting to know more, but before I can protest, he says to me, “Open the glove box.” I do it and see a rectangular box in it.
Picking it up, I see an electronic device in it and look at Arson, waiting for an explanation. “It’s a smartphone for you.” He waits a beat before elaborating. “The girls last night on the street were holding one. Taking pictures. I noticed your attention on them.”
Ripping the plastic open, I drop the phone on my palm, studying it.
It’s so big and shiny, and it even has a camera. The only phones I’ve seen are the flip ones.
“You can do whatever you want with it. Watch movies, browse the internet.” He pauses and stops at a red light, turning his head to me. “Internet is—”
“I know what it is.” I rub the display with my thumb. “I used to live in Chicago before ‘heaven.’ I was six when Mom joined it.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this with him now.
Something flashes on his face, but it’s gone in a second, and the familiar void is present in place of it. “A lot has happened in the world in fifteen years.” He speeds up again. We are in the city now, judging by the streetlights and a lot of cars on either side of us as we pass massive buildings.
“I bet. I’m eager to find out. Once you let me go,” I say sarcastically, reminding us both that I’m his prisoner and we are not some couple going out tonight.
The gift might be nice and all, but he probably did it for his own agenda. I shake the phone in my hand. “Is your woman supposed to have a phone? Do I need to flash it for everyone tonight?”
His jaws tics, and that’s the only indication of his emotions. “My woman can have whatever the fuck she wants.” And that’s all the explanation I get on it.
Not really knowing how to use the thing, I put it inside my bag and want to focus back on the city, but apparently Arson is not done talking. “You went to my office today.” Since it’s not a question, I stay silent, so he elaborates. “All the books you took… if you are an herbalist, does this mean you plan to be a doctor?”
My heart pangs painfully at his words, scratching at the wound inside me that will never heal. “It was my childhood dream. But dreams only stay dreams.”
“You can study at medical school at any age,” he replies gruffly, and I shrug, studying the busy sidewalk where a huge crowd gathers around some establishment with a yellow light sign The Dungeon of Burlesque.
“I imagine it costs a lot, and I don’t have money.” The logic in me screams in my head that all my dreams about freedom are hopeless; I have no means to survive and nowhere to go.
No education to get a job.
But logic and fear won’t stop me from pursuing something else in life other than being a constant prisoner and not captain of my own ship.
I’m so deep into my thoughts that I don’t notice the car is no longer moving and yelp in surprise when the door opens beside me, and a man wearing a suit greets me. “Welcome, miss.” He extends his hand toward me, and I shrink from it, not wanting him to touch me. After “heaven,” I have an aversion to all men who feel it’s their right to grab me in whatever manner they want.
A bark from behind him makes him jump, and he shifts to the side. “Don’t touch her.” Arson extends his hand to me, and I take it, exhaling in relief when his touch doesn’t have the same effect on me.
He is a monster, but in this unfamiliar world I haven’t been part of for fifteen years, he is the only one I know. Besides, I’m his woman for tonight, so I should act accordingly. Even if my mind tells me this excuse is as lame as justifications go for my weird behavior toward him.
Clasping my hand with his, he walks me toward the entrance where the crowd screams at the muscled man—wearing the same uniform as the previous guy—who shakes his head, giving them a “get the hell out of here” wave of his arm.
Even though my captor pushes through the crowd, everyone makes way for him. The man lifts his head from the list he is holding, his eye widening. “Arson.” Instantly, he opens the heavy red rope that blocks the entrance. “Long time no see.”
I expect Arson to be a dick toward him, judging by his earlier behavior, but he surprises me when he grins at the man. “How is your wife, Timothy?”
The man puffs his chest. “Good. We are expecting a baby.”
“Congrats. I brought my woman with me.” I think for a second the man stands there speechless, blinking several times before he nods at me and motions inside the club. “I hope you have fun, miss. Mia is performing tonight.” He says it to Arson, who is already dragging us inside while I repeat the name in my head.
Mia.
As in a woman?
“What does he mean by perform?” I decide to clarify.
“It’s a burlesque bar. It’s a dance. She is a dancer.” He waits a beat before adding, “She’ll be dancing and removing clothes. So don’t gasp in shock, all right, darling? Besides, Mia is the star.”
I’m sure I should be more concerned with what he said, but the only part of this conversation I care about is the fact that this woman will get naked on stage, and the security guy felt the need to point out her performance to Arson.
Why? Is she one of his women?
The burning sensation inside my stomach along with unexplainable anger rushes through me, demanding answers right now, while every nerve in my body is tensed. “Who is she to you? Are you lovers?” The minute the words slip past my lips, I’m horrified with them, but then it transforms into fury when he halts his movements, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth while he winks at me.
I barely contain myself from slapping the freaking grin right off him, not caring who might see it.
Oh my God, what is going on with me?
“Jealousy.”
“What?”
Arson leans closer to my ear, whispering over it and tickling the side of my neck with his breath. “The emotion that has you so confused right now is called jealousy.”
“It’s not that.” I lift my chin. “Why would I be jealous of my captor? If you sleep with someone, I don’t care.” I ignore how acid fills my throat at such a thought, which is so ridiculous and insane.
I’m sure a psychiatrist would place me in the ward if he were to find out about it.
“It’s okay, darling. I’m awfully possessive of you too,” he says as we pass through a narrow doorway only to see a desk with a grinning woman who holds something heavy in her hands.
“Welcome… Oh, Arson?” She blushes a little, and unconsciously, I dig my fingers into his palm, but he squeezes it more firmly. “D
o you want your regular table?”
“Yeah,” he replies and then pulls at my coat, ordering, “It’s too warm inside. Take it off.” I do as he says, and then while he hangs it across the hall, the waitress motions for me to follow her.
The minute we step into the main area, I gasp in awe, not knowing where to look to fully drink in the beauty in front of me.
The word club is not appropriate enough for this place.
It should be called a small kingdom in a parallel universe.
The space is wide and huge with old music blasting through the speakers, giving a vintage type of vibe. I remember a granny in “heaven” who had a gramophone and would listen to old vinyl records over and over again. The dance must be really old.
Black marble floors shine brightly under gold chandeliers filled with expensive crystals that display the place in a magical light that the gold walls emphasize. Portraits of what I assume are burlesque legends are scattered on the walls with little quotes about the dance written on the tablecloths. Small, round tables fill most of the place, with candles and a bottle of wine on each, ready for the taking.
Almost all the seats are taken as people engage in conversations while giving occasional glances to the stage. Some even clap at the current performer swirling on the stage and raising her leg high.
A spacious bar is located at one end, where most of the waiters are, and a central stage is on the other. Near it is a smaller stage where musicians are getting ready, checking their instruments and cleaning them with cloths.
Oh, so the music is just a warm-up to the main show with live music and Mia, since she is the star?
The men who stroll around with packed trays wear black vests with a bow tie along with black jeans, while the girls have knee-length stockings, shorts, tight T-shirts with the club logo on it, and look so graceful in high pumps.
The energy of this place along with the music creates anticipation in my veins for the show and curiosity about all this.
Is this what people do for fun?
The current performer swirls once again, removing her bra, and several claps follow, while my mouth hangs open when she shakes her breasts a little longer and then bows with a wide smile.
The red curtains slowly close around her while someone even shouts, “Bravo!” and throws a bouquet of flowers at her that she easily catches.
She blows one last kiss to everyone before the curtain fully covers her.
I think it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in my boring life!
“Here,” the waitress says, pointing at a spacious red booth that is one level above the other chairs, having a central view of the stage while giving everyone a clear view of the seat.
Like a king’s throne—which I notice there are several booths like that around me.
The table already has a bottle of whiskey, one of wine, and some nuts. She places two menus in front of me. “Arson usually doesn’t eat here. So just press this button”—she points at the table—“once you’re ready to order.” She is about to go when I stop her, drumming on the menu.
“Do you have ice cream?”
She blinks in confusion. “Yes. A lot of different flavors and—”
The last thing I remember doing in Chicago, without sore memories attached to it, was eating delicious ice cream with Mom in the park a day before she decided to run away. I’ve never eaten anything that good, and Pastor didn’t have it at home of course.
Gluttony is a sin, but sometimes I think, for Pastor, life itself was a sin.
“I want all of them. Could you bring them please?”
The waitress blinks again, clears her throat, her gaze momentarily on the menu she flips open. “All of them?”
“Yeah.”
By her shocked expression, I figure no one probably orders it here, but I don’t care.
How many are there anyway? Mom said only three flavors exist, and Arson can pay for them all. Who knows when I’ll have the chance to try them again?
“Okay. They will be here shortly.” With one last smile, she walks off as I place my elbows on the table and rest my chin on the back of my hands, watching the stage.
That’s when a lady wearing a long, silky red dress comes on stage and taps on the microphone, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Dungeon of Burlesque!” she shouts, raising her arms wide apart.
Cheers and applause erupt. People seem so excited, and some of them even stop talking, watching her tentatively like she is about to unwrap their favorite present.
“Very soon, Blazing Red will come on stage.” This time, catcalls and whistles erupt, and she nods. “Yes, our star. But before that happens… let’s dance, everybody!” Around ten people hop on stage, male and female dancers in similar uniforms as the waiters.
Fast music starts rocking off the walls as the dancers get down and grab random people from the tables, twirling them to loud cheers, and I’m horrified by this.
Are they going to go over all tables? Because I have no freaking clue how to dance, and I’d stumble over my feet, planting face-down on the floor. And the way one of them hugs one of the women, almost wrapping around her like an octopus, makes me nauseous.
Dread fills me when one of the guys appears next to me, tipping his hat and extending his hand to me, winking. “Can I have this dance, beautiful?” He is probably considered handsome, but all I want to do is get away from this guy.
I open my mouth to refuse and hope he will listen, when Arson comes back, ordering, “Dance somewhere else, Hal.” He puts his hand on my neck, rubbing lightly over my pulse but keeping his gaze on the man. “This woman belongs to me.”
Hal’s eyes widen, and he is so pale I think he’s going to pass out, but instead he nods and practically runs away.
Arson sits next to me, throwing his arm over the back of my seat before putting a cigarette in his mouth. Then he flips the lighter between his fingers and drops it on the table where it rattles loudly. “Light it up for me, my captive.”
“I have a name, and you can do it yourself.” I bristle, but freeze when he nuzzles his face into my neck, breathing in my scent before his teeth graze my collarbone, breaking goose bumps on my skin, which are impossible for him not to see.
Then he brings his mouth to my ear, whispering, yet steel laces every word along with the order, “You don’t want people to think you’re not mine, do you?”
Our gazes clash for a fraction of a second, and then I pick up the lighter, flicking it on, and light up the stupid thing. “It’s dangerous for your health, you know.”
“Everything is dangerous for my health these days. A man can’t simply keep up.” I’m not sure what to make of that confusing comment.
Fed up with all this charade he doesn’t want to explain, I ask, “Why are you behaving like this with me?”
“Like what?” He exhales, wrapping the smoke around us like fog while he leans forward, tapping the tip against the ashtray.
“Getting me out. Bringing me to your home. Acting like you are some noble knight who doesn’t touch a woman without her permission.” His silver pools drive their stare into me, so I continue, needing honesty at least once in my life. “A captor doesn’t behave like that with his captive.”
“Do you have experience with that, so you can make such assumptions?”
I guess I can’t demand answers from Arson without giving a few of my own. “You destroyed ‘heaven,’ didn’t you?” He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to. “We became Pastor’s prisoners the minute we entered his land. And I became his captive a long time ago.” I wait a beat before adding, “He behaved awfully with me. But you are different, yet you kill people. I don’t understand you.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Why my emotions are hectic, why I’m acting so irrationally with him, throwing myself from side to side trying to find some even ground, but he always manages to pull it from under me.
If he hadn’t killed a man in front o
f me, I would have thought there is redemption for him, but how can you explain his deeds?
“You dwell too much on the past and think what you should be, not what you really want.” His voice rocks between us, and I lift my eyes to his while he finishes his cigarette. “You are so blinded by right and wrong in this world that you don’t see gray. Because it doesn’t exist for you.”
“There is good and there is bad. There are people and there are monsters.”
Arson chuckles, although it lacks any humor. “What if I told you there are monsters, but there are even greater monsters who create the others? Whose cruelty and greed strip anything human from a person and leave him no choice in what path to choose.” Even though his voice stays even, I detect traces of self-loathing for the first time. “Would it make it easier, then?”
My brows furrow at the last question, and I wait for him to elaborate but then squeal loudly when he swiftly picks me up and places me on top of him, so I end up straddling him, my knees dipping into the booth’s cushions.
He grips my hips, adjusting me better, and I gasp when I feel him pressed against me. “Would it make it easier, accepting your desire for me?” he whispers, one of his hands traveling up my back, up, up, up until he fists my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my neck to his lips.
Nipping on my skin, he whispers against my throat, “Would you then allow me to do this?” He sucks on my neck, drawing a moan from me, as goose bumps break on my skin. I put my hands on his shoulders, steadying myself, while weird sensations cascade over me, along with a little bit of pain when he bites my skin, grazing his teeth over it before soothing the sting with a sweep of his tongue. “Or maybe this?” Tugging on my hair, he makes me arch my back more, and my eyes close when I feel his hot breath on the mounds of my breasts. The tip of his tongue lazily licks one before biting harshly on it, and I groan, but in protest or something else, I’m not sure.
I don’t understand any of these unfamiliar sensations that demand for me to rock on top of him, clamping my hips around him tighter to get friction between my legs that burns me from the inside out. I fist my hands, terrified of the desire to thread my fingers in his hair and push his head against my breast so he can soothe the fire that fuels my blood with dark cravings and banish the thoughts of his darkness from my mind.
Arson’s Captive Page 18