by SF Benson
He had to have known appearing in the Quarter would draw Edwina’s attention. The witch slash vamp desperately wanted her revenge. If I said we’d spotted him, the female would kill him for the BlackGuard. Case closed.
The Elders, however, wanted us to leave the matter alone. They figured if we didn’t bother St. John, he wouldn’t do anything stupid—like siring new vampires. But if we ignored his presence, what good was the BlackGuard? After all, we existed to keep rogues in line. We’d owed it to our lifelong mission to at least let St. John know we were watching him.
But I’d never been one to follow the rules. As soon as I learned about St. John, I met with Edwina to discuss the matter.
“We have intel your sire is back in the States. What can you tell me about him?” I asked as I sipped a glass of Crimson Ridge.
The hybrid topped off her portion of blood. “I met Alexander after I ran away. Being mulatto, I could pass, but finding employment was still difficult. The authorities could have arrested me and sent me back to my granddaddy’s plantation. Marie Laveau came to my rescue.”
“The voodoo priestess?”
“The same.” She knocked back more of her drink before adding, “Marie set me up in a tiny-ass cottage. I signed a contract and unknowingly became Alexander’s concubine.”
She was a placée. Part of an extralegal system allowing white men to form unions with free women of color.
“Did you know he was a vampire?” After all, she was a witch. Something should have tipped her off about Alexander.
“I had my suspicions, but ya have to realize I was a young witch still learning ‘bout my powers. Alexander warned me if I broke the contract, he’d go to the authorities. Claim I was a runaway who broke into his house.” Edwina reached into her jacket pocket and removed a faded drawing of the man. “A daguerreotype wasn’t possible, but I made this sketch. Carried it around Europe and showed it to everyone I ran across.”
Other than providing the image, Edwina couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell me much more. Was her experience with St. John that bad? Maybe it was shame that held her silence.
Ace tapped my arm. “Check out who’s walking toward the stage.”
Looking up, an imposing man with midnight-black wavy hair sped across the room. Too fast for a human.
He paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder, giving me a good glimpse of a strong jawline, deep-set blue-gray eyes, and a five-o’clock shadow. Edwina said Alexander was handsome beyond belief. She hadn’t lied.
The vampire resembled a businessman—not a killer—in an expertly cut black suit, crisp white button-down shirt, and dusty-blue silk tie. His gaze scanned the room for a moment before he slipped into one of the red leather chairs by the stage. His behavior, other than blurring into the room, was almost innocuous.
Then he grinned. Vampires knew better than to reveal their fangs in public. What was he up to?
He watched the young dancer, a pretty brown-skinned girl with lecherous eyes and curves to rival any rap queen. His steely blues followed her every move, caressing her with invisible fingers. I sensed his quickening pulse. If that was Alexander, he’d either found his next victim or experienced genuine lust.
Could a vampire feel passion?
Dumb question.
My father exhibited his ardor for Mother regularly.
The dark-haired beauty twirled around and performed the splits. The male licked his full lips and tossed money onto the stage. She smiled before climbing the pole, turning upside down, and grasping the shiny stick with one leg. He leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his hands together. The vampire’s adrenaline rush was intoxicating.
I swallowed hard and crossed my legs. A lusty feeling of warmth stole over me. Watching the attractive vampire ogle the dancer was lascivious.
Ace’s hand landed in my lap. He rubbed his palm over my crotch and then whispered, “Dawlin’, I could put one in our bedroom. See what poses ya would do for me.”
I wanted to close my eyes and picture the scene, but we were on duty. Besides, Colby was close by. I smiled and said, “Focus, baby.”
He chuckled. “I am.”
Sometimes my husband could be so inappropriate. Yeah, I said husband. We tied the knot in secret following the Mercier nightmare, but we hadn’t shared the news with anyone other than Colby.
I swatted his hand away. “The male fits Alexander’s description. We should move in—”
“We can’t. There’s no crime in watching a beautiful woman dance.” Ace lifted his beer bottle. “If that’s Alexander, we can’t apprehend him without cause, so we wait. See what he does.”
Hoots and hollers echoed around the room. The dancer had finished her routine and had left the stage.
Alexander was gone.
I jumped to my feet. “We have to go.”
“On it,” said Ace.
We pushed our way through the crowd, headed for the exit. It was Saturday night, and too many bodies—drunks and those on their way to inebriation—packed the streets.
I looked right and left. Ace mimicked my gesture.
“I don’t see him, Morgan. He couldn’t have disappeared.”
“Yes, he could. It’s the nature of the species.” Vampires were excellent at dematerializing. “While we’re standing around, he could materialize at his destination.”
“We need to find the girl,” Ace said.
“Agreed. But where do we start?”
The beefy Creole bouncer at the door called out, “Ya folks looking for someone?”
I walked over to the man and removed the sketch I had of Alexander. “Did he come through the door?”
“Earlier, but I didn’t see ‘im leave. Sorry.”
Why did he even bother?
I was ready to give the man a piece of my mind when Ace grasped my elbow and pulled me away from the building. “If he left, he might have compelled the bouncer.”
Honestly, I hadn’t considered that. “Then we’re back where we started.”
“Not really. We can stake out the doors for the dancer. She might still be inside.”
I nodded and took a position near the streetlamp pole. Ace went toward the rear of the building.
Minutes passed and morphed into hours. I checked my phone. We’d been outside for at least two hours. My feet hurt, and I was starving.
After what felt like forever, Ace stepped out of the shadows and approached me. “She never came out the back.”
“Or the front.”
Ace scratched his head. “Do you think Alexander got to her first? He could have blurred by with her.”
“It’s possible. Can we grab some food and go home?”
“What about Colby?”
I tucked my phone into my pocket. “He left twenty minutes ago with Clint. They said something about swinging by a nightclub before calling it a night.”
Ace raised an eyebrow. “You good with that?”
“Don’t I have to be? I said I would let him stay twenty-one. Doesn’t that mean I can’t judge his actions?”
My husband smiled. “It does. I’m just wondering how long you’re going to go along with it.”
I wondered the same thing.
2
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fine
Tabitha
* * *
Earlier that evening…
* * *
It was another typical Saturday night at Club Sensualle, a gentleman’s club in Crescent City’s Vieux Carré. The sounds of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s WAP blared from the sound system, the bass vibrating off the crimson walls and ebony tables. From my vantage point behind the curtain, I watched the half-naked servers doling out drinks to the parasites in pervert row. Thankfully, my employer turned up the heat and kept us girls comfortable. Too bad, it pissed off the customers, but as long as the alcohol flowed, they’d be pleased.
Working a strip club wasn’t an ideal job, but dancing paid my bills. At least my parents would never see me perform. Daddy died in Ira
q, and Mama succumbed to cancer a year prior. After I buried her, I started dancing. Sure, I could have taken a job at the Walmart or some other retailer, but I needed to put a roof over my head, and I didn’t want a roommate. Options were few and far between for a twenty-two-year-old without a degree and little experience. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else cared how I earned an income.
The music changed, and it was time for me to take the stage. With my back to the audience, I removed the sparkly jacket covering my skimpy costume and then bent over. Men cheered. Nothing like a little bare ass to get them to their feet. The beat picked up as I mounted the pole.
Someone once asked me how I could get naked for money. As long as I didn’t get hung up on the immorality of the act, it was easy. I lost myself in the music and focused on one man. Then I gave him a private dance. Every move enticed just him.
I was in the middle of my routine when I spotted the customer I’d dance for exclusively. An impressive man crossed the room quickly and slipped into one of the red leather chairs in pervert row. He was nothing like the other men leering at me as I slid down the pole. I was instantly drawn to him. The man was unique with hair the color of a raven’s wing, a powerful stature, steely eyes, and a scruffy but sexy face. He didn’t strike me as just some Joe off the streets. His tailored black suit, white button-down shirt, and powder-blue silk tie shouted money. Possibly a businessman? Not somebody pretending he had a company trying to dazzle a girl.
The customer appealed to my carnal side. I imagined our bodies intertwined on a bed. Envisioning how he’d worship at my altar—curvy hips, big ass, and ample tits—made my moves more seductive and flirtier.
His gaze followed me as I performed a bum slide to the splits. He flashed a set of perfect white teeth and tossed a crisp Benjamin in front of me. I smiled. It always paid to show a little appreciation. Then I climbed the pole and continued my act. One of my favorite moves included turning upside down and grasping the pole with one leg. I struck the pose and then slid to the floor.
Hoots and hollers echoed around the room as the men littered the stage with Benjamins. Gathering my tips, I winked at the handsome stranger. His eyes followed me as I strutted down the stairs.
Charming but creepy.
I hated when men couldn’t tell the difference between a fucking floor show and reality. I’d do anything to give the hottest, sexiest dance on stage. It was all about making bank. Once the performance was over, however, the act was done. No touching the merchandise.
Gripping my tips tightly, I rushed to the backstage area. Ronnie, my bestie, sat in front of a mirror prepping for her number. The girl had waist-length fiery-red hair, cat-green eyes, and a saucy attitude. Ronnie was my senior by about five years, so she was also my voice of reason. She’d been through a lot of shit and was always giving me advice about men and life.
Waving my money in her face, I sat beside her. “I got paid tonight.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened. “I’ll say. Have you counted it?”
“Not yet.”
She wasted no time and tallied up the wad while I slipped out of my costume.
“Damn girl, what did you do tonight to get a grand?” Ronnie adjusted her skimpy emerald-green break-away top.
“No more than usual,” I grinned. “I guess I really impressed someone.”
“If all of that came from one man, he must know you.” She arched a meticulously groomed brow.
“But I swear I don’t know him.” I pulled a red sweater over my black lace bra. “I got lucky.”
“Or…unlucky.” She freed her hair from its band and shook it out. “Guys don’t give tips that big unless they want something from you.”
I cuffed my skinny jeans and tied my black high-heeled booties by Qupid. “Please. Girl, you should have seen him. The man is smoking hot. I’d say yes to whatever he’s offering.”
Ronnie pursed her ruby-red lips. “You won’t think that with a gun in your face.”
“Depends on how big it is.” I said with a smirk.
* * *
As I pushed my way through the overcrowded club, I looked around for Mr. Big Tipper but didn’t see him anywhere. I was a little disappointed, but Ronnie’s warning replayed in my mind. Not seeing the man was probably a good thing.
Jerome, the beefy Creole bouncer, opened the door as I approached. “Headed home, dawlin’?”
“‘Fraid so, Jerome. Gotta step. See you Monday?”
“Be careful out dere. Saw de man eyeballin’ ya tonight.”
“Nothing to worry ‘bout. I’ll be fine.”
Justin Timberlake’s True Blood, an old tune but a great one, seeped through the door before it slammed. Although I lived six minutes from the club in the CBD, Jerome’s cautionary words sent a chill down my spine. I’d never encountered a problem on the short walk, and that night shouldn’t have been any different. Pushing my shoulders back, I got to stepping.
The cold air snapped me to attention. It was a little too quiet. Usually at two in the morning there were people trolling the streets. The hairs rose on my neck, and I had the weird sensation someone was watching me. A moving shadow caught my eye, and I jumped.
Every possibility—animal, random piece of trash, or someone wishing to do me harm—filtered through my mind. Then I thought about the handsome stranger. Maybe he’d followed me out of the club.
Getting my hopes up, I whirled around and immediately felt like a fool. It was just a paper bag blowing in the wind. Exhaling, I seriously considered going back to the club. Jerome wouldn’t mind driving me home since he didn’t like any of us girls walking alone at night.
Shaking my head, I chastised myself. Stop being a baby! How many times have I made this journey? Nothing has ever happened to me.
I tucked my purse closer to my body and headed down Bourbon Street to Canal. After I crossed the trolley tracks and stepped up on the curb, a black sporty Jaguar rolled up.
Shit! Had I jinxed myself?
My heart pounded, and I walked faster.
What the fuck was going on? Was it a full moon or some other superstitious bullshit? I’d made that trek five nights a week and never had a problem.
The car kept up with me. Just before I reached the alley, the vehicle stopped. Something told me not to look, but I did anyway.
As the window lowered, I glimpsed the big spender. He was hotter up close. Common sense, however, said turn around and head back to safety. Even my mother’s words came to mind—Don’t be speaking to strange men. You might find yourself in a heap of trouble.
Then I remembered the guy dropped a grand on me just for dancing. Didn’t I owe it to him to be cordial? As long as I kept my ass out of his car, I’d be fine.
“A beautiful lady like yourself shouldn’t be out alone.”
His accented baritone hinted he wasn’t local. The distinguished sound reminded me of old money. Maybe he was from overseas. And just like that my interest piqued.
“I’m good. Hey, thanks for the tip tonight. I’ll be able to pay my rent for another month.”
“Not a problem, my dear. Might I offer you a ride?”
“Not necessary. It’s a short hike. Thanks, anyway.” I moved a little closer to the building and continued walking. The car rolled along beside me.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fine kept talking. “A gentleman doesn’t let a lady walk alone at night. Let me at least escort you home.”
He was the persistent type. There was no harm in being nice. Right? After all, the man was most likely an upstanding businessman. So I plastered on my biggest smile and said, “C’mon, handsome.”
The stranger parked his vehicle, locked it, and joined my side. He offered me his elbow, like a proper Southern gentleman. I allowed him to tuck my hand under his arm. “I’m Alexander.”
“Nice to meet you, Alexander. My name’s Tabitha.”
The intoxicating scent of patchouli and bergamot filled the air. When I shivered, Alexander mistook the action. He stopped walking and removed his su
it coat, placing it around my shoulders. I expected a little residual heat. Instead, the sensation was cool. The jarring lack of comfort gave me goosebumps and sent off an alert. But then I glanced up at him. Alexander’s muscularity was apparent through his shirt. Despite the aura of danger wafting off him, his good looks mesmerized me.
“You’re quite a talented dancer, Tabitha.” My name floated off his tongue like a whisper.
Damn. He captivated me.
My cheeks heated. “T’was nothing. I’ve always been flexible.”
“You’re also incredibly beautiful. You remind me of someone I once knew.”
Was that the reason he tossed so much money my way?
He continued, “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you choose your line of work?”
Alexander was forward. Usually, I hated when anyone asked me why I stripped, but there was something about the man… The longer I looked at him, I relaxed. “Call it a lack of opportunity. Dancing is easy and pays well.”
He chuckled. “It all comes down to money.”
Not even a question. “Y-yes.”
Suddenly, I froze.
“Is there a problem?”
Alexander tugged on my arm, but fear returned and gripped my feet. I couldn’t move.
Walking home late at night never truly bothered me, but crossing the eerie byway off Carondelet Street did. Usually, I ran past the opening or crossed the road. I grinned nervously. “It’s just this alley. I’ve never liked it.”
“Ah, but it is just a dark path. No harm can come from it,” said Alexander.
“All the same, I’d rather not—”
The man yanked me off my feet and ran with me into the shadows. Without warning, my back hit a brick wall. My eyes bounced around the narrow space. Random shapes, possibly crates and a dumpster, were all I could see. No doors. No people. All of a sudden, Alexander’s chilly breath was on my neck—why was it chilly—and his calloused hands pushed beneath my sweater. His fingers slipped beneath my bra, and he tweaked my nipples.
