by Morgan Black
I kiss her on the forehead, and feel a wonderful tingle on my lips. I kiss her hand, tuck it in by her side, and go to the door.
“Good night, Jackie,” I say on the way out.
“Good night, Mr. Cage.”
“See you tomorrow.”
* * *
They light their candles.
They sway.
They sing the words.
But they don’t know.
They can’t.
Only I know.
Sweat pouring off me, guitar in hand, I hit the chorus of Eon Sphinx’s first number one Billboard song, now in its sixth week at the top spot.
The crowd goes wild. Groups of girls lock arms and sing with me. But we’re in different worlds.
They dream of me, trying to catch my eye, but I can’t see any of them.
Because when I sing “Tattered Angel” I’m not even there.
I’m on a veranda in Antigua, beautiful brown-yellow eyes lit from behind staring into my soul ... asking me to fund a movie.
It’s always all I can do to make it through the song.
But I do.
I sing it for her, hoping that maybe ...
... just maybe ...
... she hears me.
TATTERED ANGEL
(Music and lyrics by D. Cage)
Coming home tonight
Shattered and broken
Crashing down tonight
The words unspoken
Where else can I go?
Once all my bridges have been burned?
Come back to me
My tattered angel.
I love you
This cannot be the end
And I beg you
I’ll help you up once again
I know you
I love you
I know you’re on your way
Come back to me
My tattered angel.
Epilogue
Eon Sphinx released a new album, Unbroken, the following year. Which is a misnomer, because it broke all sales records. Our second single from the album, "Tattered Angel", went to number one. We started to close concerts with it followed by a cover of “Far Away” by Nickelback. However, that only lasted about two shows. I couldn’t do it.
So we dropped “Far Away”, moved “Tattered Angel” to the first half of the show, and closed with “Darkest Day” like we always have.
Then I did what I always do. I rallied. I got my act together.
We hit the road, doing forty cities. Destroyed all of our old records.
I fucked about four trillion new girls with a renewed sexual energy. Cut back on my drinking, too. No more Jack.
I fired Anna Price. Then hired Jasmine to replace her. Best decision of my life.
The Friday night parties grew legendary. Jasmine rocked them with her new powerful dominatrix slash girly slash fucking awesome presence. She’s my best friend. Love her to fucking death. Wisest person I know. Yanked me out of my depression. Eventually, my life returned somewhat to normal.
Except for one thing. I’m no longer Damien Cage Rock Star. He died the day Marcellina went into a coma. I’m now Damien Cage Inspiration. I have to do more than just sing. I want to leave a legacy. I want to help kids not do drugs without telling them not to do drugs. Because if you tell them not to do drugs, they’ll just do drugs to spite you.
And now that I’m headed toward thirty, the kids aren’t even going to listen to an old fart like me anyway. I have to come up with something else. Not like a set of Tony Robbins tapes, but something in that direction.
Maybe I’ll start with a book. Kind of a self-help slash autobiography. I’ll call Harry Decker and see if he can send me down some ghostwriters to interview because I don’t have the patience to sit at a laptop and write an entire book. That would drive me mad.
As for Marcellina, I still visit her at least once a week. She never moves. Not sure if she’s there … probably not, but I always kiss her and sing to her.
Still always ask her to squeeze my hand three times.
But she never does.
It’s no longer about Damien Cage. It can’t be. Damien Cage cannot ever truly be happy.
Not without his Marcellina.
But life goes on.
Never did I think I would find a girl so attractive and yet so intelligent again.
Until I met Annika...
* * *
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Also by Skylar Cross:
The Cage Sessions
Controlled by His Voice
Mastered by His Touch
Volatile
(Volatile Confessions #1)
A Serial Novella
By
Roxie Elms
Hannah’s life as a pole dancer at the local strip club is as routine as it gets. When two brothers from her dark past find her again, her world is jolted out of place.
Grant and Thomas Sully know more about Hannah than she cares to admit or remember. Will they be the end of life as she knows it or the start of a brand new one? This is one road that might take her down a darker, more sinister path of hidden motives and forgotten lies she’s worked so hard to bury.
Hannah’s inner demons are addictions she doesn’t ever want to let go of, even if it costs her everything.
Chapter One
The bar feels slick under my palms but my grip is true. I press forward, letting my hips roll to the smooth beat of the music. I don’t really see the audience, but I feel their hungry eyes beyond the blaring lights of the stage. Even their heavy breaths and sweaty palms go unnoticed as the evening wears on, deep into the night, where desire reigns.
Wrapping a leg around the pole, I push off, letting the world spin around me. I’ve done this dance a thousand times, over and over, and it never gets old. My fingers wrap around the chrome pole, hoisting my body even higher before I squeeze my thighs to keep my body from sliding down when I let go and spin, stretching out and stiffening to spin like a propeller.
The kind of strength it takes to do this doesn’t seem much to me. My muscles are firm, slim and smooth. I’d done this thousands of times, almost every evening at my job at Volatile. That was the name of the strip joint I worked at. Just “Volatile.” It’s apparent Volatile is the best damn strip joint in the entire city since the crowds were thick and the parking spaces are worth their square footage in gold. It’s a thriving place.
I slide the rest of the way down the pole and my stiletto heels–made of clear plexi-glass and hardened plastic in the clear and black monochromatic design–click on the hard dance floor as the music fades away. I’m leaning forward, my tits hanging bare with nothing but fake jewel pasties covering my nipples and the tendrils of my long brunette wig lying in beautiful waves down to my waist. I love the rush of the crowd cheering. Their whistles and yells keep me sane in this crazy world. I straighten and bow as the music ends, letting them get an eyeful of my firm chest as I smile and wave. I have tons of regulars who reach up and hand me handfuls of dollars, tens and always good–hundred dollar bills, as I sashay past them, shaking my ass for their benefit. The patrons are generous tonight, especially since I’m showing a lot more skin than the other girls dancing on the side platforms, and it always pays off.
Clicking my heels down the runway toward the backstage door, I swing my hips enough to bring on more cheers as I turn and blow a kiss into the darkened crowd where the flutter of clapping movements and dark figures holler for more.
Hannah! Hannah! Hannah!
It’s my last show of the night and I’m feeling it after an evening like last night. I’d gotten less than three hours sleep and every fiber of my being is now protesting. The longer I postpon
e my rest, the less I’ll recover and put myself into a sickness. It never fails when I overwork myself. Sick days mean no pay. I can’t afford days like that.
I yank off the wig covering my hair and start plucking out the hair pins holding back my long, wavy blonde hair. Eventually, I get them all out and drop them onto my dressing table, rubbing my scalp where it’s sore and fluffing out my hair. In a room full of naked women, no one pays me any attention. Some are prepping to mingle in the crowd for some illegal lap dancing…and more…in the back rooms and some are readying for their performances out on the stages.
I run my finger through my damp hair, slicked with sweat and drying in soft curls surrounding my face. I look younger with my hair this way. When I have no makeup, I can pass for a sixteen year old if I want to.
But I’m not that brand new anymore, and I don’t ever want to be again. Still, I’m twenty-three and going nowhere fast.
Chapter Two
The next day…
I roll over in bed, feeling the heat of the sun streaming through my curtains and burning my back. Groaning as the beam of light smacks me in my eyes, I squeeze my lids shut and slam the pillow over my face to stifle the brightness. But the pillow flies off my face and the light gets even more like the sun has exploded in the middle of my room.
“Get up, slacker!” My roommate Brit whisper-giggles and I groan as I reach for my second pillow to slam it into her side only to find a guy, I didn’t recall bedding, lying naked next to me. The only thing covering his sweet spots is the corner of my sheets.
Great.
“Whoa! Who’s the hottie?” She loses her balance and all I see is her legs fly up as she goes over the side of the bed and ends up on the floor. She’s so lucky the room is carpeted or she would’ve broken an arm.
“I’m going to kill you!” I hiss, but I manage to sit up in bed, still tangled in the blankets. I slowly tug the sheets off and shove the mass of curls flipping into my eyes to the side. “What time is it?”
Brit climbs over the end of my bed and flops onto her back super close to the legs of the stranger in my bed. “How the hell should I know? Noon? What do you care what time it is until it’s dark? How come you get all the good ones?” She sighs loudly as she stares at the guy.
I roll my eyes and pluck my cell phone off the bed side table and peer at the screen. “It’s just two in the afternoon? What the fuck are you waking me up for?”
She sighs. “You have a visitor.” She shakes her head and jumps off the bed. “I mean besides the hunk in the bed.” She snickers. “Want me to tell him to give you a minute? He’s a looker.” Pointing at the bed, Brit continues, “But this one isn’t much under that guy in the looks department, if you catch my drift.” She winks. “You’ll thank me later, slacker.” With that, she shimmies her tiny hips out my door, letting it click behind her.
“What the hell?” Who would be visiting me at this hour? Most people, who really know me, know to not bother me during the morning or afternoon. I was a vampire, living for the night only.
“Hey!” I shake the body next to me and the guy groans but doesn’t awaken. What the fuck was his name? Jeff? Brett? A flash of one hell of a night tickles my memory and I sigh as I shake my head. Whatever his name is was one hot, insatiable machine. He had some skills in the tongue department and the strip tease he’d given me had been the highlight.
I lift the sheet and get a glance at one hellacious booty, firm and tight. He’s lying on his stomach and the image of him on top of me, fucking my brains out last night make my insides shiver. He’s definitely a call back, but I don’t have time for this now, no matter how much I wanted to flip him over again, sit on his fit, hardened body and slip that stiff cock into me again to ride hard as I please. Mmmm.
“Hey, you. You need to get the hell out.” I jab him again. He responds by turning his head into the pillow. Great. Suffocate yourself. What do I care? I’m already missing a huge chunk of memory from the gallons of alcohol I ingested after work. I feel my stomach flip and groan as a slight headache hits me harder the more I move.
I let out long drawn out breath as I stretch. My body aches and I wonder if I’m coming down with something. I hope not. I can’t afford to miss work. There’s so many trampy girls waiting in line to take my spot on stage, it isn’t worth it. I’ve even shunned vacations because of it. I want to stuff up my bankroll with all the lettuce I can capture to get the hell out of Phoenix. The moment I hit my money goal, I’m getting gone.
Slipping on a pair of shorts, a bra and a tank top, I head over to my en suite bathroom. I wash my face, do the deed and make sure I don’t stink. Shoving the brush through the small tangles of hair leftover from the forgotten romp in bed, I give up and run some water through it, plaster some styling putty into it and leave it au natural. I’m all set and I give myself a wicked smile before I exit out my door.
I hear murmurs of Brit chatting with another person. A guy. When I get a peek around the corner of the hall into the living room, I catch a glimpse of the man. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him as I lean forward to get a better look. He has a short, evenly trimmed beard covering half his face with a meticulously groomed mustache. Dark brown, piercing eyes shine brightly at Brit, but he’s not interested in her the way she’d like him to be, from the way she’s jutting out her chest and twirling her hair in her skinny fingers. That flirty bitch hits on anything with a tool. No, he looks beyond her, toward the hall where I’m standing to find me spying on them.
Damn!
Brit twists around, following his eyes to find me. “Hannah you bitch! Get your ass out here! You got company and you’re lurking around the corner like a cat about to pounce! Shame on you!” With that, she reaches out to snatch my arm and drag me into the living room where I promptly shake her off, give her the death look of the century and finally get to lay my eyes on the beautiful, mysterious stranger who’s waiting for none other than me.
How lucky my stars can be.
“Hannah,” he holds out his hand and I’m stunned to see he knows my name. I catch a hint of an Irish or British accent rolling off his tongue, making me feel a pump of scarlet flushing my cheeks. I’m so enamored of men with accents. “I remember you as a girl... you really have grown into a beautiful woman.”
I’m full on red now as I take the hand he’s holding out and forget to smile while I examine his face, hoping to trip up a long lost memory I’ve obviously forgotten.
“Um…hello. I’m sorry, and you are?”
“Grant. Grant Sully.” His eyes were definitely twinkling, a bit of something odd shining in them. “I can still see that girl though, a touch around your eyes...there’s a hint of that mischievous smile I remember.”
He remembers? Why don’t I remember? He does look vaguely familiar.
“Grant…” I drop my hand away, but I can still feel the warmth of his hand clinging to mine. I can’t seem to figure out who he is, so I rub the sensation away and I peer back up at him. “Where did we meet?”
“On the playground in middle school. You were playing tether ball by yourself and I walked by with my brother, Thomas. I got wacked on the back of the head by it. You had one fierce swing there.” He cranes his neck and grins. Shiny, even teeth flash back at me. Too darn perfect. “You were upset about some group of girls making fun of your curly, short hair. Took me out in the process of letting off steam.”
I lick my lips and head toward the overstuffed arm chair next to the sofa. So that’s who he is. Grant. One of my first real friends. I’d forgotten all about him. I was but twelve when we met, and he was couple years older, but he never had any friends either, except for his brother? Why do I not remember a brother? We’d been two peas of the same pod. Inseparable until I moved and disappeared one summer, never to return.
“Well, I got to jet.” Brit interrupts my thoughts, looking all primped up and sexified. “Meeting Nicky-boy down at the diner early so we can get a bite before the races tonight. You coming or working?�
� Brit shakes her hair out and pulls it back into a hair tie as seductively as she can in front of the company.
“Yeah, working tonight.”
“See ya!” With that she swings her purse onto her shoulder, dons her sunglasses and blows a kiss to Grant. He waves politely and I sit back in the chair, completely taken aback with what is going on.
“Your roommate, I take it?” Grant asks. I nod at his question as he adjusts his tie and motions toward the couch. “May I?”
“Feel right at home.” I wave him to it and sigh. “So how’d you find me after all these years? I’m not living in Cali anymore.” I lift an eyebrow and hope he’s getting somewhat as uncomfortable as I’m feeling. I have a horrid memory, but those eyes. Who can forget them?
“It wasn’t easy. Speaking about work, I have a proposal for you.”
“Oh?” I sit up, lifting a suspicious eyebrow begin to wonder what is going to come out of his mouth next. “You’re not from the IRS are you?”
He laughs. “No. Definitely not.”
I relax. “Okay then, spit it out.”
He tilts his head, looking pensive while something swirls behind his dark irises. I hate the silence. It hints of malice and trouble to come. I fidget in my seat.
“Do you remember my brother, Thomas?”
I wrinkle my nose at the name and scan various years through my head as I try as I might to remember a Thomas.
“Can’t say I do.” The name trips an alarm in my head, but I can’t figure out what it means.
