Dead Girl Dancing

by Linda Joy Singleton

  “I don’t hear any voices. You sure this is the right way?” I asked, frowning.

  “Party central here we are,” he said as we reached a squat building called Pedal Power. It was crowded with bicycles built for one and for two, and canvas-covered surreys for larger groups. The sign on the door read closed.

  “A bike rental shop?” I questioned.

  “There’s more room inside than it looks from the outside,” he assured me as he moved toward the door.

  “I don’t hear any music.” I hung back, reluctant to go in.

  “You will once we get inside.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some keys. Stepping toward the door, he fit a key into a lock and jiggled. The door opened with a creak. “Follow me.”

  Instinct said to turn around and run the other direction. But what kind of adventurous attitude was that? Definitely not how wild Sharayah would behave. And I was here to have fun, right? Not act sensible and boring. Besides, I was in a strange city with only Mauve and Sadie for support, and getting separated from them could be disastrous. Given my infamously bad sense of direction, if I tried to find my way back to the crappo condo solo, I’d probably end up in another state.

  So even though the sensible Amber-voice in my head screamed in protest, I followed Warren. We entered a dark, cave-like room with a rough cement floor and dank musty odor.

  “Where is everyone?” I bit my lower lip.

  “In the back.”

  “This building didn’t look that big.” I was getting a bad feeling. “Weird place for a party.”

  “Depends on the kind of party.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked as he closed the door, shutting out sound and light. “Why is it so dark?”

  He didn’t answer. I heard the shuffle of his feet, then the click of a light switch. The room burst with yellowy light from a hanging bulb. Score a point for my intuition, but subtract a hundred points for my stupidity. There was no party, no one else—only a dank warehouse with bikes stacked against the walls.

  “Warren, you’re an ass!” I wheeled on him, spitting fury. “I am so out of here.”

  I moved toward the door but he moved quicker, sidestepping to block my way like a muscular wall.

  “Don’t rush off,” he said in this lazy, amused tone like he thought we were more than friends. “We can have our own private party here without any interruptions.”

  “I do not want to party with you. I cannot believe you pulled this! Are you insane?”

  “Come on, babe, play nice.” Grabbing my arm, he yanked me toward his chest. “I’ve been talking to some buddies and heard a lot about you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me—and you’re a liar! Mauve and Alonzo never planned to come here.”

  “So what? We’re here and that’s all that matters. I knew you just needed to get away from everyone so we could get to know each other better. I know what you really want.”

  “What I want is to get the hell away from you!” I choked out as I tried to shake off his grip. But his arms were steel and his grip like handcuffs.

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “I’ll be whatever way it takes to get the hell away from you!” I was so angry I couldn’t think straight. With a fierce yank, I broke free of his grip, kicking hard and striking his knee.

  “Ouch!” He grabbed his knee, jumping in pain. “Why’d you go and do that?”

  “I meant to kick higher.”

  “You little bi—” he swore as he lunged for me. I scrambled toward the door, but before I could grab the knob he grabbed me, his grip much rougher. “You’re not going anywhere until we have some fun.”

  “Back off,” I cried, wincing as his gloved fingers squeezed my arm. More than ever I was sure he was a Dark Lifer, and I had to get out of here before he took off his gloves.

  “You know you like this.”

  “No way! Even if I was interested in you—which I’m totally not—I already have a boyfriend.”

  “He’s not here.” He pulled me closer and I kicked and squirmed. “I am.”

  “Get away from me!” I screamed.

  “You’re starting to piss me off.” He grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking hard so my face was close to his. “I’m not asking for anything you haven’t done before,” he added in a softer, cajoling voice. “You wouldn’t want me to think you’re being a tease, would you?”

  “I don’t care what you think. If you don’t open that door immediately, I’m going to press charges.”

  “Then I better make this worth the trouble. Come on, baby.” He chuckled, his breath smelling like hot beer. “I knew you were into me when we first met. I could tell from the way you kept staring at me. But you didn’t want to upset your girlfriend, which I can respect. Sadie is okay, but she talks too much. I prefer the quiet, spunky type—like you.”

  “Well, I don’t prefer you. Back off!” I aimed a kick that would have scored right where he’d hurt the most, but he blocked me.

  “So you like to play rough? Me too.”

  “You think this is playing? Can’t you see I am totally not into you? I don’t care what you’ve heard, I’m not like that and I have no intention of doing anything with you.”

  “Don’t be such a tease.” He pressed his face close to mine and I struggled, but couldn’t get out of his grip.

  Grammy, I thought frantically. Where are you when I need you? I can’t handle this on my own. Please send help!

  But there was no whisper from the other side, only the disgusting breath of Warren pressing his face close to mine. I turned my head, squirming, kicking and screaming. I flashed back to my dream of Gabe attacking Sharayah by the ocean. I wasn’t far from the ocean now, and although not on the edge of a cliff, I was trapped with someone dangerous. Instead of a memory, had that dream been a warning? I should have known better than to go anywhere with Warren.

  His gloves dug into my flesh, burning, the red dragon design blurring through my tears. What would happen when he took off his gloves? I didn’t have a chance against Warren’s brute strength. He’d suck my energy and soul until there was nothing left.

  “No!” I sobbed as his lips crushed down on my own. Squirming, I grabbed the keys in my pocket and lashed out at him.

  “Bitch!” He twisted my arm painfully as he reached up to touch his now-bleeding cheek. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Try that again and I really will hurt you.”

  He came at me once more and I screamed as shrill and loud as I could. But he didn’t back off, pressing his face against mine, his lips crushing, stealing my breath so I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating, alive. My head floated, pain and fear making me dizzy. Still, I kept kicking, struggling—

  Then the door crashed open and someone shouted, “Let her go!”

  “This is a private party—get the hell out!” Warren’s cruel grip dug into my wrists.

  “I said to let her go.” The voice was deep, masculine with a hint of an English lilt.

  Torn between fear and relief, I continued to cling to the keys clutched in my hand.

  “I’m so scared.” Warren snorted like it was a big joke.

  “You should be” was the reply.

  “You want to take me on?” Warren laughed darkly. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “No.” The English lilt dropped to a growl. “I guarantee you—you would not like it.”

  Then my rescuer stepped forward into the artificial yellow light of the cavernous room: a tanned young man with full lips, thick black brows, and a blue cap with an anchor emblem over a mid-length, dark-blond ponytail. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had an indefinable charisma. He moved slowly, a sea of calmness despite the turbulence ahead.

  Warren shifted, his grip on me loosening, and I took my chance and flung myself away from him with so much force that I stumbled against the wheel of a surrey. Something sharp poked my leg and I cried out with pain. Tears filled my eyes as I collapsed on the hard concrete.

  “Who the
hell are you?” Warren demanded.

  “Someone who’s going to smash your face if you don’t stop abusing your girlfriend.”

  “I’m not his anything!” I yelled out.

  “I rather guessed that.” The stranger’s pale eyes narrowed with a focused intensity.

  “Screw you,” Warren snapped. “Butt out—this doesn’t concern you.”

  “It does now.” The words were spoken lightly, but the stranger’s gaze was serious.

  Warren snorted. “You’re an idiot if you think you can take me. I got at least fifty pounds on you and more muscles than you’ll ever have.”

  “That you do. But muscles aren’t everything.”

  “Yeah, right. Like I’m scared. What can a skinny dude like you do to me?”

  “This,” the stranger said in a low, menacing tone.

  Then he whipped out a knife, snapping open a blade that flashed blood-red in the dim light, and lunged to stab Warren.

  I screamed, scrambling away, suddenly more afraid of the stranger than Warren.

  “You’re crazy, man!” Warren moved quickly, dodging the sharp knife. “You could have killed me.”

  “I still might.”

  “What’s your problem? I didn’t do nothing to you.”

  The stranger rubbed the dark-gold stubble on his chin with the blunt end of his knife, seeming to consider the question before answering. “I can’t stand idiots who speak in double negatives—and hurt girls.”

  “Double what?” Warren backed into a stack of bikes. “And I didn’t hurt her.”

  “Not from my prospective,” he said as he thrust his knife out again, advancing on Warren.

  “Hey, cut it out! I don’t mean cut—I mean, lay off!” Warren sputtered, his bravado swept away in the whoosh of a blade. “Can’t we talk this over? I wasn’t hurting anyone. Rayah and I were just having fun.”

  “You have a warped definition of fun. I have my own definition—would you like to see how fun this feels?” The knife flashed, whipping past Warren’s arm.

  “Okay, okay!” Warren scrambled out of the way. “Put that down and I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “You will?”

  “Yeah, yeah, just cool it. I won’t mess with Rayah again.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the stranger said, his knife hand still sweeping toward Warren. “Convince me.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I give my word I’m telling the truth! I don’t want trouble.” Warren lifted his hands in surrender, brushing against the wheel of an upside-down bike and setting it spinning. “Put away the knife! You’re sick, dude!”

  Before the stranger could come after him again, Warren swore and bolted for the door, fiercely yanking it open and then running away with surprising speed, a shadowy blur disappearing into the twilight.

  And I was alone with the knife-wielding stranger.

  Um … should I thank my rescuer or run out of the room, too?

  Huddling in my jacket, heart racing, I stared up at him, scared yet intrigued. He folded the blade of the knife and tucked it into a pocket. The wind from the half-open door whipped his unbuttoned denim jacket around his lean body. His skin glowed with the deep, bronzed tan of someone who spends long hours outside. A surfer, I guessed, as I admired how his sun-drenched skin complemented his hazel eyes and the chestnut waves in his sandy-blond hair. His hands were calloused and strong, like he spent a lot of time doing physical labor.

  Glancing down at the floor, I noticed his navy blue cap. I picked it up and held it out to him. “Is this yours?”

  “Right. I didn’t realize it had fallen off,” he said as he reached out, not actually touching me but brushing so close that the hairs on my skin seemed electric. “This cap has traveled a long way with me—it was a gift from the captain of the first ship I ever sailed. I would hate to lose it. Thanks for noticing.”

  “I’m the one who’s grateful,” I said. “What you just did … um … I hardly know how to thank you enough.”

  “You don’t need to. Like Cicero says—” He paused with a distant look, and then quoted: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”

  Literary quotes? From a guy who looked like a surfer but used his knife like an action hero? Now I really didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anything about him. Not even his name.

  As if reading my mind, he smiled. “By the way, I’m Dyce.”

  “I’m Amb … Sharayah. My friends call me Rayah and you can call me that, if you want, or whatever you like.”

  “I prefer Sharayah … sounds like the sigh of a soft sea wind. As winds come lightly whispering from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep’s serene.”

  “That’s beautiful. Poetry?” I guessed.

  “Right. Lord Byron.”

  “Cool. The only poems I know are silly ones my grandmother taught me when I was little. How can you remember so much? You must have an amazing memory.”

  “Not so amazing.” He fit the cap on his head at a crooked angle, so the anchor design tilted over his right ear. “I just read a lot of old books.”

  “I do, too. Well, except not old ones, usually self-help books. Unfortunately there wasn’t one about how not to be tricked into going into a deserted warehouse with a lying jerk.” I glanced around at the shadowy bicycles and shuddered. “This place is creepy. Let’s get out of here.”

  I started for the door but Dyce moved faster. “After you,” he said politely as he held open the door—in a gesture right out of one of those old books he liked to read.

  When the door shut behind us, it was a relief to inhale the cool, salty evening air. I was feeling other emotions, too, but I was afraid to analyze them.

  “Sorry about roughing up your friend,” Dyce told me, the gold strands in his hair shining under an overhead light as he leaned against the side of the building. “I can’t stand guys who push girls around. But just so you know, I had no intention of cutting him—only scaring him.”

  “You succeeded. Warren looked scared enough to pee his pants.”

  Dyce laughed—a low, sexy laugh that made my heart jump. Sexy, smart and chivalrous. Wow, what a combo. Most guys wouldn’t even know what chivalrous meant—but Dyce could probably spell it and use it in a poem. And let’s not forget the fact that he was Class A super-fine. I couldn’t resist some inner tingling at his charm, intelligence and the whole rescuing-me thing.

  “Just so you know, Warren is no friend of mine,” I added, not wanting him to think I was chronically stupid.

  “I guessed that,” he said.

  “I only just met him today, when my roommate hooked up with his friend. I wouldn’t have come here with him if he hadn’t lied to me about meeting my roommate at a party. But no party and no roommate. I was stupid to believe him.”

  “You never really know anyone.”

  “That’s for sure,” I murmured with a glance down at myself.

  “Be careful who you trust and you’ll do fine.”

  “But I didn’t trust Warren—he made me suspicious right off. He had this rude way of staring at me. But I tried to ignore it because we were stuck together for a long drive and my friends liked him—especially Sadie.”

  “Your roommate?” he guessed.

  “No, that would be Mauve. Sadie—she’s the talkative one—was really into Warren and I thought he was into her, too, until this.” I gestured toward the bike rental building. “But why would he go to all the trouble to get me here when Sadie wanted him?”

  “I can think of several reasons,” Dyce said, a soft cadence to his voice that would have sounded cheesy coming from anyone else, but sounded classy coming from him.

  Dangerous conversation territory ahead, I told myself. So instead of asking the most obvious question, I shook my head firmly. “If you met Sadie you’d know what I mean. She’s really sweet. Warren was an idiot not to hook up with her and to go after me—especially when I made it clear I couldn’t stand him.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe he’s looking for a challenge,” Dyce suggested.

  “I think it was more than that … something personal. But you showed up before he could … well, anything.”

  A cool ocean breeze snaked inside my jacket and I wrapped my arms around myself. I peered around uneasily, as if Warren could be lurking behind shadowy bushes, waiting to jump out and grab me. Everything about his behavior had been suspicious, and I was more positive than ever that his dragon gloves had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with hiding a telltale glow.

  I imagined Warren taking off his gloves and pressing glowing fingers into my skin. Realizing what almost happened made me nauseous. Or maybe it was the combination of lack of sleep, missed meals and too many sips from red cups. I didn’t realize I was swaying until Dyce moved to my side, slipping his arm around my waist to steady me.

  “Sharayah, take some deep breaths,” he said gently.

  I did as told. His callused touch sent warm waves through me and I started to feel better—for all the wrong reasons.

  “I’m okay,” I assured as I stepped away to show him I wasn’t a pathetic wimp. “I don’t usually get dizzy.”

  “Shock will do that—sneak up like a sleeper wave then knock you over before you know what happened.”

  “Well … I’m fine now. Today has just been totally insane.”

  “I understand,” he said, nodding. But of course he didn’t—and I couldn’t explain.

  “Getting away for spring break was supposed to be fun,” I added, “but nothing has turned out like I expected.”

  “Not all bad, I hope?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

  “Not all,” I admitted in a silky tone that would have made the real Sharayah proud but left me embarrassed. Would he think I meant he was the only good thing about today? That I was hitting on him?

  “What I meant,” I quickly amended, “was that I had a good time on the drive down here with my friends.”

  Saying this aloud made me realize it was true. The drive had been fun. Not the part where I was cooped up in the car for umpteen-zillion miles. What I’d enjoyed was being accepted as an equal by older girls and experiencing the wild side of college, with complete freedom to do or say whatever I wanted. Also, there had been a sense of girl-connectivity with Mauve and Sadie, sharing stories, sick jokes and gossip. And I could even admit (exclusively to myself) that strutting on a stage wearing only a wet T-shirt and thong hadn’t been that horrible. Embarrassing? Yes. Terrifying? Definitely. But the flip side of terror is excitement, and being in a borrowed body had given me the freedom to lose my inhibitions, to let loose with wild spontaneity. I could still hear the roar of cheers and applause from the crowd.