Dragon Flame

by R. L. Wilson

  She lights a cigarette. “You are the head of security. It’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “I guess it is. But I don’t want to talk about the club. We shouldn’t waste our time talking.” I lean in for a kiss. I feel guilty sometimes, but her husband isn’t squeaky clean either. I heard he entertains a female in Crestwood, a far southern suburb. I’m sure he thinks no one knows. But the supernatural community is small and close knit.

  “Hold on,” she says, pushing me away. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  “Sure. What’s that?” I ask while taking off my shirt.

  “Where is this going?”

  “What?” I grimace.

  “Me and you.”

  That hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I gasp. “What?”

  “We’ve been hooking up for years.” She takes a drag of her cigarette. “You know I like you a lot.”

  She’s a married woman. I know she’s not catching feelings. I continue taking off my shirt. Even though I know this is a bad idea, my penis doesn’t get the memo. “I think you’re cool.”

  “What do you think about us being a couple?” She flicks her cigarette in the ashtray. Waiting for an answer, she stares at me.

  “What’s wrong with what we’re doing?” I giggle. “You’re married, remember?” My voice sounds more dragon than man. It’s a low growl with heat.

  “What about divorce?” she says as she leans in and nibbles on my ear.

  Divorce? Hell no. She has three kids. But the flick of her tongue causes me to lean back on the sofa with my eyes rolling.

  She helps unbutton my pants. I can’t lead her on. I’m not prepared for a ready-made family. I don’t need the headache.

  “Wait, Kenya.” She continues clawing at my pants. “I like you, but I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  She stalls and shoots me a scowl with her hazel brown eyes. “So, what are we doing?”

  “Having fun. Let’s keep it there.”

  She inches away from me. “I’m falling in love with you.” She folds her arms and pouts like a child. “I assumed this was more than sex.”

  Damn, I feel horrible. I don’t want her to feel used. I assumed we were on the same page, but it seems we are in different books. I never suggested she leave her husband. I never said I love you.

  “Kenya, I can’t take you seriously. You have a family.” Tears fill her eyes. “Let’s enjoy each other’s company. Live in the moment,” I explain.

  She lays her head on my chest. “You’re right.” She sniffles. “I love my husband, but he’s old and boring.”

  “Shhh,” I respond and put my finger on her lips. I’m nearly bursting with passion. She is warm against my body.

  Licking my stomach is a craft she has mastered. She’s worked her way down to my penis when a car door slamming splits the air.

  She pauses and takes a few heady breathes. “Don’t worry, that’s the neighbor. Jake won’t be back for two days.”

  She gets back to work, massaging my chest with her well-manicured nails. A key rattles at the front door.

  “Shit,” she yells and jumps from the couch.

  What the fuck?

  “Jake must be home early,” she whispers. In a panic, she races around me and grabs her housecoat from the couch.

  I slip my pants on and grab my shoes from the floor as the lock clicks. She pulls me by my arm, racing down the hall. Shoving me into a room, she kisses me on the lips then quickly closes the door. Silently, I say to the gods, “If I get out of this one, I’m leaving married women alone.”

  Darting my gaze around the room, I search for an escape. I’m surrounded by pink walls and dozens of dolls and other unnecessary toys. She hid me in her daughter’s room.

  I’m not afraid of Jake. But I don’t want Kenya to ruin her marriage. I will not marry her. I slip on my shoes as commotion rumbles about. He knows I’m here. I glance around, making sure I left nothing. It must be the two wine glasses that gave us away.

  Shit, I have to get out of here. At least I was smart enough to park down the street. Sweat licking my arm pits, I race to the window and squeak it up. The door bursts open as I get one leg out. An ear-piercing scream from Jake forces me to jump as gunshots ring out.

  I race down the street with no shirt on and one shoe. Damn. I’m sure he got a look at my face. One day, I know I will pay for sleeping with a fellow dragon’s wife.

  Chapter Three

  Willow

  The sharp tone of reggae funk mixed with hip hop slices through the Chicago wind. The bass of the music rattles the handle of my suitcase. The music reminds me of my childhood. Mother would play music and reminisce about her time here on earth.

  Mother had done the unspeakable. She left her husband and got pregnant by my father, but Lucifer came to collect her. Her punishment is life in hell. Mother’s feet will never touch the earth again.

  I continue to follow the sound until I land in front of a large building. A large gathering of people stand in a single line. What kind of club is this? They don’t have these types of clubs back home. Nothing this lively and robust. The party scene is usually a small bar where everybody knows each other. Not that it was enjoyable for me. Thomas would sit in the corner and stalk my every move whenever we went out. I didn’t have any friends, except one. Thomas made sure I was lonely.

  This club is enormous, like a warehouse. I’m sure I appear out of place carrying a suitcase in my hand. But I have to enter. The music is speaking to me. It’s creating a happy rhythm within my body. I just want to dance. A freedom dance.

  As I approach the front of the line, I see a large sign that says “Dance competition, $500 first place.” Oh, I’m entering. Five hundred dollars is what I need. I need to add to my pile of money. I have to survive until I find a job.

  The giant body guard standing at the door is intimidating. If you become unruly, I’m sure he kicks ass. I reach the front of the line. His gaze peers down toward my suitcase and he scrunches his face. “ID,” he says.

  Damn. That’s a problem. I don’t have any identification. I left my fake one at the house of horror by accident. “I don’t have one.” He points to a sign that reads “No shoes, no shirt, no ID, no entrance.”

  I’m going to use some of my charm. Batting my eyes, I say, “Come on, can’t you let me in?” I realize he is supernatural, as is everyone else here. The magic is what’s calling me. It’s thick, nearly smothering in the air.

  He shakes his head slightly as if he wants to but can’t. A tall man walks past, and the guard stops him. “Colton, this nice young lady wants to enter, but she has no ID.”

  He gives me a sharp stare as his orange eyes flirt with mine. A sudden hard thump of my heart pulsates. His stare trails my body and stops at my suitcase. Sympathy graces his face. “Let her in,” he says. I let out a sigh of relief. The bodyguard steps aside and winks his left eye.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to Colton, the handsome stranger. He must be the boss.

  I enter the club, rolling my suitcase behind me. Opulent is an understatement. I’m barely in the hall, which is bigger than the average-sized house. I glance at the ceiling. It has to be ten floors up. The entire ceiling is glass.

  The pounding of footsteps behind me causes me to jump. Then I remind myself that it’s not Thomas. I pivot around. I need to ask for help. I must find out more information about the dance contest. My face lands right into Colton’s chest. I feel like a giant nerd. I take a few clumsy steps back, then narrow my gaze onto his face. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” he responds, giving me a half smile.

  “How can I enter the dance contest?”

  He giggles.” Are you aware of the type of dancing the contest is?”

  “No. Hip hop, I assume.”

  “No, it’s exotic dancing.” He giggles, looking at my attire. “The winner gets the prize, which includes a job here at Omen as an exotic dancer.”

 
; “Exotic” travels through my brain. I’ve heard the word before, but it doesn’t register. I give him a puzzled look.

  “A striper,” he says after staring at my expression.

  “I know what exotic means,” I growl, suppressing an eye roll. No, I don’t, but hell, I can strip. I have a nice, tight body with a firm ass you can pop a quarter off. He has the nerve to laugh. I might be dressed in a pile of oversized rags, but underneath these clothes is a model-like body. With a few bruises, of course. But I own a bag full of makeup, and I’m an expert at hiding bruises.

  “They will announce the contest in a few hours. Jump on the stage and you’ll get your chance to dance.”

  “Great.”

  “I don’t think you can take your suitcase up there with you,” he says.

  I shrug. “I don’t have anywhere to store it,” I reply. Everything I own is in this suitcase. A couple hundred dollars, a few items of clothing, and cheese crackers. I have to be cautious.

  “I can keep it in my office if you like?” Squinting, I try to gage his intention. All I gather is that he’s a supernatural. He’s well dressed in a nice grey suit. I’m sure he doesn’t want my clothes. “Ok,” I respond. “But you better not snoop through my things,” I warn.

  “I won’t,” he says with a laugh.

  He’s almost too nice. I’ve got my trained eye on him. He grabs my suitcase and takes a few steps forward. He leans in so I can hear him better. “My office is on level four, suite seven. If you need to come and get your bag,” he says as I catch the scent of his cologne. Damn, he smells good. I’m sure it’s an expensive brand.

  I nod, looking into his eyes. Trying not to stare, I blink and turn my head.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Toni,” I respond. I don’t know him well enough to tell him my actual name.

  He walks off toward an elevator as I enter the club. It is everything I expected and more. It looks like a magazine. I zip my jacket, feeling way underdressed. The ambience in here is next level. Something I’ve never been exposed to. Half-dressed women walk around carelessly, carrying drinks and food.

  Huge flat-screen televisions adorn the walls. There’s a gigantic bar the size of a small village. The thought of me dancing in front of this crowd brings a rapid thump to my stomach. My heartbeat becomes irregular, like a gallop.

  I continue toward the bar, not sure where to sit or what to order. I know the cash prize is mine. I shift my gaze to the ceiling. Several floors of the club are packed with more people dancing, partying, living a carefree life. The life I’ve longed for. I spent too many years shackled to Thomas’s drunk ass. So far, I love Chicago.

  “Can I take your order?” a feminine voice questions, snatching my attention from the glass ceiling. I turn around on the bar stool, viewing a petite brunette with skimpy clothes. No one here is fully dressed except me. Is it against the law for females to wear clothes?

  “I’ll take a rum and coke.” It’s the one drink I know. It’s one of Thomas’s favorites. Well, any alcohol is his favorite.

  “Coming right up,” she responds.

  I continue scouring the club to see if there are any humans. But everyone appears to have an aura of magic. Is this a supernatural only club? If so, I’ve hit the jackpot.

  Chapter Four

  Colton

  A sassy girl, I think, but in some danger. I just hope that danger doesn’t chase her into Omen. We have enough problems with ruthless supernaturals roaming through here. As head of security, it’s my job to ensure the safety of our clientele.

  Omen is a sophisticated club. The way the Helios clan elders built it. It must stay that way or my mother and Aunt Michelle will have our asses. By “our” I mean my cousins Kyle and Daniel. Kyle is the general manager, so he’s more responsible for the riff raff than me. We’ve had a few dragon hunters attempt to enter lately, but my security team is phenomenal. They can catch the astringent scent of human blood from a mile away.

  My eyes are trained on the red wine that fills my glass. A give it a swirl before taking a gulp. It’s a burning reality that I won’t be sipping any wine at Kenya’s anymore. The single thought makes my hand tremble. “It’s for the best,” I mumble under my breath.

  A slight tap on the door brings me back to reality. The door swings open. It could only be one of my brothers, since the person enters before being invited. Myles enters the office baring nothing but his open hand. He’s barely twenty-three, but prefers to hang in a crowd of twenty-five or older. The younger crowd is nothing but trouble, he says.

  He plops down in the chair and straightens his tie.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, being sarcastic.

  “The club is jumping tonight. A lot of fine dragons.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need some money.”

  I knew that was coming. “How much?”

  He uses his finger to show a small stack.

  “Huh.” I slide the drawer on my desk and grab a stack of hundreds. “Don’t spend it all on one striper.”

  “I’m preparing for the dance contest on the lower level.” He giggles. “New ass shaking is my style.”

  Kyle thought it was a good idea to have a dance contest. Some dancers are getting older, so it’s time for a fresh young group. “Myles, it’s time you grow up. Brayden is the baby and you act younger than he does.”

  “I know you’re not talking to me,” he barks with a sinister grin creeping upon his lips.

  “What?” I grimace.

  “Bang bang,” he says, pointing his finger at me like it’s a gun. “I heard about Jake chasing your ass out his house.”

  “What?” I whisper and dart toward the door, locking it, my eyes bulging with shock. “What have you heard?”

  “What I just said. You were dodging bullets last night.” He snickers.

  “Who told you that?”

  “It’s the word on the street.”

  Shit, if he knows, it means my mother knows. She is the queen of gossip. My aunt and uncle, the Daleys, know too. I’m in deep shit now. “Damn,” I respond, slamming my fist into the desk.

  “Calm down, brother. You’re not scared of Jake.” He runs his hand through his inky black hair.

  “Hell no, but Mother and Aunt Michelle are a different story,” I growl.

  “Maybe they don’t know,” he says before shooting me a sharp glare. “They will soon,” he adds after thinking about the motor-mouth twins. He stands from his seat. “Well, I’m going to watch the strippers get naked.”

  “Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Myles has middle child syndrome. Mother let him get away with anything. She felt guilty since she was pregnant when our father Daniel was murdered. Later, Mother remarried my stepfather and had Brayden.

  Myles always throws a guilt trip on mother. He says my stepfather treats him differently. He favors Brayden. And Mother favors me because I’m her first child. A bunch of bullshit, he says to get attention. Well, I’ve got to hand it to him: it works. Myles doesn’t work at the club. She buys him anything he wants. My aunt babies him too.

  I stalk toward the window and nearly trip on the suitcase. I forgot it was there. I wonder what’s in there. But I can’t, it’s not my business. She’s less fortunate. I can tell by her rags and the suitcase. It’s not designer luggage. She has a ton of makeup, maybe hiding bruises. Likely a battered woman.

  I reach in my drawer and grab a stack of hundreds for myself. Don’t want to miss out on the new booty either. I hurry to the elevator after locking my office. Exiting on the first floor brings a primal scent. The magic is more humid, musky. The scent flares once you are here for several minutes. But the initial whiff is revolting.

  Walking to the bar, I search for Toni. I don’t see her anywhere. Likely she’s on the dance floor intermingling with the crowd. I order a drink of Bloody Mary and drain it in thirty seconds flat. I needed a drink to stop my mind from racing. I can’t stop thinking about the fiasco last
night.

  “Cynthia, sweetheart,” I call to the bartender. “Can you get me another drink?” She darts a gaze at me and smiles. She never asks what I want, just pours one of my two favorites. The leather catsuit she wears is hugging her in all the right places. Whenever I get drunk enough, I flirt with her.

  But I’ll never touch her. She’s a fairy. They have the reputation of being crazy. And I don’t need another crazy female. Plus, she was dating a shifter, an employee at Omen. She saw him flirting with some witch and she cracked him upside the head with a bottle. No, thank you. But she is short and fine.

  A tap on my shoulder grabs my attention while I was staring at Cynthia’s breasts. I pivot around and see Brayden’s young ass. I blink to make sure this drink hasn’t got me fooled. “What the hell are you doing here?” I question. Brayden is only twenty, not even old enough to drink.

  “I came to see the booty contest, like the rest of the hounds here.” He takes a seat on the stool next to me.

  “Brayden, Mother is going to kill me if she finds out you’re here.”

  “She is not going to find out.” He flicks the collar on his leather jacket.

  “Did you ride your motorcycle down here?”

  He frowns. “Yeah, why?”

  “It’s freezing out there.”

  “The cold doesn’t bother me when I ride. My inner dragon is always hot.”

  “What does your little ass know about the booty contest, anyway?”

  “A lot. I could teach you a thing or two, big brother.” He snickers and glances at Cynthia.

  “Stop looking at her ass and no drinks.”

  “Can I at least get some money to throw at the strippers?”

  I reach into my pocket and give him cash. “Don’t throw it all on the first stripper.”

  Madam Madonna walks onto the stage and grabs the mic. “Now, for all of you feisty supernaturals, there are a few ladies here looking to show off their skills.” Her blonde curls bounce and her white teeth are gleaming. “The first lady coming to the stage is Toni the Stallion. Give her a warm welcome!”