by Aiden Bates
“Said he quit.” Noah tapped his fingertip on his stack of papers with an exhausted sigh. “Cleared out his locker and everything. I’ve just been wracking my brain ever since on how we’re going to fix the lineup for tonight.”
“Anything else?” I asked, my heart sinking into my stomach like dead weight. “Anything about…well, about me?”
“He didn’t, Blake. I’m sorry. But if you ask me…he looked pretty torn up inside. I figured the two of you had a fight. Figured it must’ve ended pretty badly—and now I’m out our best dancer.”
“I mean, we kind of fought, I guess. But…I thought we made up.” Even as I said the words, I felt dumb as hell over the way they sounded. “Obviously, I thought wrong.”
“This is why workplaces have no-dating policies, I guess.”
“Yeah…guess so. I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t mean to…fuck. Didn’t mean to fuck things up.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Noah said in a tone that might’ve been reassuring—if he didn’t sound so annoyed at me, at any rate. “He left out the back before I could ask him anything else. You mind heading back there and making sure the door is locked? If he’s gone, I don’t want that stalker of his coming in, trying to scrounge up some gym socks to sniff.”
“I’m on it,” I intoned, trudging through the main room towards backstage. Even as I did it, though, my body felt like it was made of lead. Every step I took now was another step into my life without Anders. Without his stupid jokes, his clever quips, the way his eyebrow arched when he was about to say something particularly smug.
A life without the only Omega who’d made me feel like a man again instead of some kind of malfunctioning killing machine. I’d never considered myself particularly melodramatic, but the pain I felt in my chest with every step told me that it wasn’t really any kind of life I wanted to live.
I’d had a taste of how good things could be with a partner. With someone who got me—who wasn’t afraid of me in the way I knew he should have been. And now, in Anders’ absence, I just felt…empty. Like nothing at all.
Worst of all, I still didn’t even know what I’d done to kill off the best thing I’d ever had.
When I reached the door out to the parking lot, I found it closed and locked. It was the one bright side to all of this—by leaving me, the club and his life in New York, Anders would be leaving his stalker behind too. That little glimmer of hope did as much to cheer me up as anything could in that moment.
At least now, it was over. All those years of fear, finally left behind. He’d be safe—and in that safety, he might have even found happiness.
I tried to cling to that notion, of Anders being safe and happy and whole, as I headed back out to let Noah know the place was still locked up tight. But then, I felt a tiny crunch! beneath the sole of my combat boot as something shattered under my step.
When I bent down to see what else I’d destroyed for the day, I found a little container. Empty when I picked it up. From the label, already peeling away from the broken shards of plastic, I determined that it had held body glitter gel, the kind the dancers used to add a little sparkle to their acts, once upon a time.
I stared down at the corpse of the container for a moment, unable to deny the feeling that something here wasn’t quite right. The janitors at the Ballroom usually left everything spick and span when they were done cleaning for the night, and Anders wasn’t the kind to throw something on the floor when there was a trash can just a few feet away. Maybe he’d dropped it on his way out, I reasoned. Or maybe…
I glanced to the side, a glimmer of red catching my eyes. On the mirror to my left, something bright and sparkling had been smeared. As soon as my brain processed what my eyes were seeing, I felt my heart leap up—not in joy, but in fear. Then disgust. Then pure fucking rage.
BLAKE, Anders had smeared onto the mirror with the glitter, like a finger paint project gone wrong. HELP.
16
Anders
As soon as I stepped out into the Heaven’s Ballroom parking lot, he bound my wrists together with zip ties.
“Taken care of all of our loose ends, sweetheart?” he asked, smirking a silver-toothed grin as he grabbed me by the neck of my t-shirt and marched me to the passenger seat of a black BMW. It was one of the many, many eerie things about him, those teeth. I didn’t doubt that whoever had knocked out his real ones had done it with good reason. “Remember—I can always go back to your place and send my regards to your bouncer friend if you didn’t.”
I glanced over at him with contempt—not just for what he was doing to me, but for the threats he’d made toward Blake’s life if I didn’t do as he said as well. His face was a dead ringer for the police sketch that Blake’s buddy at the NYPD had helped us whip up, right down to his dark, heavy brows and cold, beady eyes.
Fat load of good it did me now.
“All tied up,” I said through my teeth. “Just like me.”
The man yanked open the door and paused before he pushed me into it, raising his hand to my face to caress my cheek. Even his touch was cold. Clammy. Like being felt up by a dead mackerel from the Chinatown markets.
“That’s what I always liked best about you, Anders,” he said, patting my cheek with more violence than fondness. “That mouth of yours.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” I snapped back at him, pulling my head back as far as I could. If it hadn’t been for that tightness in my abdomen that I was becoming increasingly certain was Blake’s child in my womb, I might have forced my head forward then, ramming my forehead into his teeth. But I knew there was a good chance something like that would only land me a knee in the gut—and if what I suspected was true, it was more than just my life on the line now. “My mother always said my mouth would get me into trouble someday. Guess she was right.”
“Mothers,” the man quipped. “They always do know best.”
He forced my head down then, tucking me away in his passenger seat like a police officer arresting a criminal.
“It’s a good thing I’ve got you now, you know,” he added, leaning in. “As clever as you are, I think I can put that troublesome mouth of yours to better use.”
His lips hovered an inch away from mine, leaving every muscle in my body tensed as I tried to pull away. I was certain that he was going to kiss me then—and if his lips were anywhere near as cold as the rest of him, I knew it’d feel like kissing a corpse.
But instead, he only reached around me, buckling my seatbelt across my lap.
“Safety first,” he said, his eyes glinting like he’d just told a particularly funny joke.
It would have been bad enough if he only planned to assault me—but it was then that I realized that whatever this man had in store for me, it was more than just fulfilling his twisted obsession. He hadn’t stalked me for all these years, keeping me on edge everywhere I went, sending me his awful little love notes and cruel little gifts, just to tie me up and lock lips. The bastard was intent on playing with me. Teasing me, toying with me. Drumming up as much fear as he could until he finally took what he really wanted—whatever that was.
Considering the knife he’d left in my locker, I guessed that I had some idea. He wanted me afraid, sure. And after that…
After that, I didn’t know. But when he was done, I was pretty sure he wanted me dead.
“You know, I’ve been imagining this for a long time,” the man said as he climbed behind the steering wheel and put the car into gear. “Ever since I first saw you, Anders. That first night…that first lap dance…”
“I gave you a lap dance?” I blurted out, half-stunned. After all those years of wondering who my stalker might have been, how he’d chosen me to torment with his special brand of terror, it was almost fascinating to finally learn the truth.
Or it would have been, if I wasn’t zip-tied in his car, his pistol still visible from where he’d tucked it beneath his waistband.
“You don’t remember me,” he scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot and in
to the street. “That’s such a shame, Anders. I couldn’t possibly have forgotten about you. Impolite, really, to forget a man like me like that.”
“Oh, I’m just a despicably impolite person,” I assured him. “Perfectly rude.”
“I’m glad you’re aware of your shortcomings, Anders,” the man said with a nod, obviously missing the sarcasm in my voice. “We’ll rectify them soon enough, I’m sure.”
“Oh? And how do we plan on doing that?” I spat at him, my annoyance quickly overcoming my fear. If he was going to kill me, then that was it. My only hope was to keep him talking—keep him talking and hope that someone would find the message I’d left on the mirror in the locker room. I knew it was a long shot—and it went against everything that Blake and I had talked about last night to boot. But I’d already broken my side of the promise I’d made to Blake, to disastrous effect. If Blake knew that I was in danger, he’d could break his side, too. Track my phone. Track me down. Save me from this bastard—and, if my gut was right, save our child along with me.
And if he didn’t…
The man and I had already agreed that I was a rude little shit. If Blake didn’t save me, then there was no point in being polite now.
“We’ll get to know each other a little better, for starters,” the man said conversationally. “I think you’ll be much more congenial when you really get to know me, Anders. After all—you certainly were quite the little charmer last time we met.”
“I’m sure most strippers you’ve bought lap dances from have been. Funny, how nice we can be when you’re paying us for it.”
“You know,” the man said, “I hate that. I really do. All those other dancers at that shitty club of yours—they were such dirty fucking whores, Anders. But you—you’ve always been better than that. I was so glad when I learned that the Ballroom wasn’t making you pimp yourself out like that anymore. Your dancing…Mm. It was wasted on lap dances, really.”
“You don’t say.”
“Luckily, all of that is behind you now.” He gave me a slimy smile as pulled up to a stoplight. “The only man you’ll be dancing for at all anymore is, well. Me. Lucky you.”
“Lucky me,” I echoed, glancing down at the handle on the door.
I wasn’t sure if I could be fast enough—get my seatbelt off and the door open before the man pulled his gun. But like he was reading my mind, the man reached over to his own console, pushing a button—and just like that, the door lock clicked into place.
“Running is beneath you, Anders,” he informed me. “If you really wanted to run, you would have done it as soon as you knew I had you in my sights.”
“Right,” I grunted. “Of course. And here I am instead, getting to know you. Completely voluntarily. No coercion at all.”
“Exactly.” The car lurched forward, speeding through the intersection as the light turned green. “So. Tell me this. Do you remember my name?” He chuckled softly. “I followed you on Instagram, you know. Liked every picture you ever posted. It was such a shame when you stopped.”
I fought back a groan. I had nearly fifty-thousand followers on Instagram. Back before my stalker situation had left me abandoning social media completely, I’d gotten tens of thousands of likes on every photo. It would’ve been impossible to pick him out from all of them—but it made my stomach turn, knowing that he’d even been lurking there in my carefully cultivated social media presence as well.
“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don’t remember you,” I told him honestly. No point in lying now—and even if I wanted to, what the hell was I supposed to do? Guess?
“John,” he told me, like he was giving me some kind of incredible gift. “John Simmons. Simple enough to remember—it’s embarrassing that you didn’t, really.”
“I gave a lot of lap dances before the Ballroom turned into a burlesque club, John,” I pointed out. “Asking a lot of me to remember the name of every Alpha who paid me to grind my ass on his crotch, don’t you think?”
“Ah, but I’m not just any Alpha, am I?” he said, his chest puffing up with arrogance.
“Guess not,” I agreed. “You’re definitely the only one who’s ever kidnapped me.”
“Please, Anders. You were begging to be kidnapped. Begging to be taken away from that shithole—the Ballroom really was beneath you.” He chuckled softly. “Should have stuck to ballet.”
“How do you know I did ballet?” I asked, once again stunned. It had been so long since I’d performed on that circuit, I couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to delve into my past like that.
“Oh, I know all about you, Anders,” John bragged. “The Nutcracker, Swan Lake…your little eating disorder.” He looked over at me, eyes glimmering like a dark mirror as he flipped on his blinker to change lanes. “I have to admit, those pictures of you before you bulked up were truly stunning. Your mother agreed.”
“You spoke with my mother?” My head was reeling—every revelation this conversation was leading to was making me sicker and sicker by the minute.
“Of course I did. She was ecstatic to hear from her son’s fiancé, as you can imagine.” He was smirking again as the BMW slipped into the right-hand lane. “Poor thing was so eager for contact with you, she was happy to tell me everything I ever could have wanted to know. Shame she didn’t know any better—but that’s what happens when you cut your own mother out of your life like that.”
“You’re fucking sick,” I spat at him—and meant it.
“Sick? Please, Anders. I’m just a family man. Although, you must have some idea of what that’s like. That pregnancy test you were buying—what do you think it would’ve said?”
“Does it matter?” I asked, my chest tight with disgust. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”
“Kill you? Don’t be ridiculous, Anders. Especially not now—especially not if that idiot Alpha of yours went and put a baby in you.” John’s smile shifted into something almost loving—if it wasn’t for that ever-present coldness still lurking behind it and every other expression he made. “Never could manage to have a baby of my own, you know. Low sperm count, my doctor said. Really did my head in at the time. But now…Now you’ve served yourself up to me like caviar on a platter. Even better, really. Your eggs seem to have arrived prefertilized.”
“So you’re not going to kill me,” I said tonelessly, even as my stomach thrashed against my abs at how fucking twisted this man was—right down to his fucking metaphors.
“Not at all,” he assured me. “I think you and I and the baby will all be incredibly happy together, in fact. At least…”
John shifted his hand to my knee, squeezing it hard enough that I could feel a bruise forming beneath my jeans at his touch.
“At least, as long as you do exactly as I say.”
17
Blake
It was rare that I came across a man who was as big and tall as I was—but then, Noah’s husband Ace walked through Heaven’s Ballroom’s front door.
“Came as soon as I could,” Ace said, pulling his husband toward him and running a hand soothingly over Noah’s baby bump. He was a massive bear of a man and just as intimidating as one, from his heavy brow to the way blood still stained his butcher’s apron. He must have headed over straight from his fathers’ shop when Noah sent out his texts asking for help. His gentle side seemed to only extend as far as Noah was concerned—because from the look in his eyes, he was ready for a fight. Exactly the kind of man I wanted on my side right now, all things considered. “You two called the police yet?”
“As soon as we realized,” Noah confirmed. “They’re sending a couple officers over now, but—”
“But there’s no time to lose.” Ace nodded, stroking his dark beard and pursing his lips as he sized me up. “Nice to see you again, Blake. Sorry it’s under these circumstances. How’re you holding up?”
“Going mental,” I admitted. “We don’t know where he’s taken Anders—if they’re on the subway, in a car…”
�
�The Ballroom has security cams, right?” Ace asked, turning to Noah.
Noah nodded in reply. “Anders went out the back—we can check the parking lot footage, see if we can spot anything.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said genuinely. For a so-called man of action, I was feeling pretty fucking useless right now. But between Noah, who’d been a military man himself, and Ace, a former PI, I knew that we could at least give the police a little more to go on before they arrived.
“Thank us when we’ve found him,” Ace said, waving my gratitude away. “Can’t imagine where my head would be if I was in your shoes right now.”
As Ace and Noah headed up toward Foster’s office to see what they could spot on the cams, another couple came in through the front door. Eliot and Alton Palmer—a former dancer here at the club and the Wall Street CFO who had whisked him away to wedded bliss.
“Blake—God, I wish we would’ve realized sooner,” Eliot said, shifting his three-month-old onto his hip so he could wrap an arm around me for a hug. “Noah sent that police sketch you’ve got over on the group chat and—”
“That’s definitely the man who’s been stalking Anders?” Alton asked, his brow set with concern.
“Definitely,” I confirmed, glancing down at their newborn. The baby was fast asleep against Eliot’s chest—which was oddly comforting, in a way. At least someone was getting to sleep through this mess. “Caught a glimpse of him after he tried to break into Anders’ apartment a few weeks ago. The sketch is a perfect match for his face.”
“John Simmons,” Alton said, a flash of worry crossing his face before he composed himself, whisking it away. “Used to work in accounting for Hayward Financial. For all I know, he still does.”
“You know him?” I blinked in surprise. Hayward was infamous here at the Ballroom—I’d thrown him out a time or two myself. Didn’t surprise me the least that he would employ that kind of scumbag, but… “Do you think he’s capable of a kidnapping?”
