by Heather Long
Savage Vandal
82nd Street Vandals
Heather Long
Copyright © 2021 by Heather Long
Cover by Crimson Phoenix Designs
Proofing by Bookish Dreams Editing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For me, though mum doesn’t know I typed that.
-Mini
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Vicious Rebel
Afterword
About Heather Long
Also by Heather Long
Foreword
Dear Reader,
Thanks for picking up Savage Vandal. When I first started thinking about this book, I was as intrigued by an aerialist heroine as I was a group of male leads who are not heroes. Enemies-to-lovers come in all shapes and sizes, and I fell for these guys faster than I expected.
This is going to be a wild journey, and I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. Trust me when I say that this book only skimmed the surface. I can’t wait to see where we go next.
And now, as always, the housekeeping notes:
For those of you who have never read a reverse harem before, first let me thank you for picking this up and giving it a shot. Second, a reverse harem means the heroine will not make a choice in this book or any other between the guys in her life. It may take her a while to reach that conclusion, but it’s the journey that drives it. There are many ways to frame this kind of relationship, currently reverse harem fits it very well.
Also, this is the first book in a series. While there may be no specific happy endings at the end of each of these books, there will be one to the whole series, that I promise you. Some of these books will have cliffhangers, largely due to the size of the story, but the happy ending has to be earned as part of the journey.
Thank you again for reading Emersyn’s story and I truly hope you enjoy it!
xoxo
Heather
Chapter 1
“Emersyn.” The waspish voice raked across my nerves. “You’re late.”
“I know,” I informed Marta as I stripped off my soaking wet coat. “I know I am. There was an accident on the freeway. The car couldn’t move for fifty minutes.” I could have gotten out and walked, I supposed. It was only storming outside. Localized flooding, according to the radio report the driver had been playing. Why didn’t I do that again?
Oh right, I didn’t even know the name of the town we were in, much less how to get to the theatre. As if to remind us both, thunder exploded outside like bombs being dropped. I dragged the scarf off my hair, not that it had done me much good. The short walk from the hired car to the theatre had saturated the rest of me, despite the driver’s best attempts to get me close. He’d wanted me to wait while he took us around front, but I needed to be backstage and I wouldn’t melt. I swore he would have kept arguing, but I just wrenched the door open and thanked him before I darted inside. It might have been my imagination, but his swearing followed me to the door. The last time I glanced back, he was standing with the door open staring at me with such blazing intensity, it left me shivering as I ducked inside.
Marta glared. The woman had been with me in some form or another for over a decade. I used to be terrified of her. The other dancers used to tease me about my ‘nanny,’ but warden was more like it. Right now, this impatience only irritated me, and I found her need to scold me over every damn thing not remotely interesting.
“They wanted you out there for warmups.”
“Well, I can continue to stand here while you verbally spank me, or I can go get ready and take my place. Which will it be?” The sugar in my voice might as well be saccharine. What vague sense of life that might have existed in Marta’s eyes petrified as she turned that stony gaze on me.
“You are not entertaining, Emersyn.”
“Ha!” I chuckled, amused for the first time really, even if I was wet and cold. “I’m hilarious.” With that, I pivoted on a heel and headed down the long tunnel like hallway to the dressing rooms. This was an old theatre. We’d been in—fuck, I still didn’t know the name of the town. We’d been here for a week. First, there had been electrical issues with the venue. Then some contractual mess. Finally, the equipment had been late. The decision to cut a stop and extend this one until we could perform had been a calculated one.
Despite what they thought I paid attention to, I understood a stop hadn’t been cut so much as moved to the end of the tour. Now, instead of ending in eighteen weeks, it would end in twenty.
If I was lucky.
A sigh escaped me. I must be the most ungrateful wretch on the planet, but I’d been on tour every year for the last seven years.
I was tired.
Despite our ‘break,’ I’d spent every single day we could rehearse in a dance studio, working. At least they’d found a school close enough to the hotel that I’d been able to walk back and forth to it. The last two days, though, I’d been here, running the routines over and over.
I could do the damn things in my sleep.
As I plunged deeper into the theatre, the scents, noises, and feel of the place began to seep into my bones. The scents of oil-based makeup, the all too familiar sawdust that inhabited every venue I’d ever performed in, and the ever-present must of sweat. Performers plus hot lights and hurried costume changes left a heavy perfume of sweat ingrained even into the stone walls.
It was familiar.
It was comforting.
I freed the cross strap of my bag as I nodded to some of the others already warming up. We wouldn’t do our costumes for at least another two hours. Warmups and a quick run-through of specific acts were up next. The chorus had probably already been warming up.
One of the theatre techs had the door to my dressing room open, and he was doing something to the doorknob. Steps slowing, I studied him. He had his back to me, but there was no missing the tattoos on his hands as he twisted the screwdriver and tightened the knob.
“Is there something wrong with my door?” I did my best to ignore the pitted feeling in my stomach. The locks were all that offered me privacy when I was here. If they removed the lock…
The man glanced over his shoulder, and the startling slate gray eyes seemed to peer right into me. I forgot how to breathe for a moment as he straightened. I had to tilt my head to maintain eye contact. “No,” he said slowly, the faintest hint of a drawl in his rough voice. It settled into my bones like a bruise that didn’t hurt so much as ache.
I shook my head to free it from the awkward thoughts. “Then why are you messing with it?” It was probably his job, and the last thing I needed was to be harsh so I kept my tone even. At the same time, that dressing room was the one place I could legitimately call my own when I was with the company. My escape.
“Fixing the lock,” he told me, and I shifted my workout bag. “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.” He moved to the side to let me in. “But I wanted to make sure this was secure for you.”
The volume of gratitude swelling through me was ridiculous. Smiling, I touched his arm as I moved past him. “Thank you.”
The firm muscle of his biceps flexed under the brief touch, but I withdrew my hand and shut up my internal observations. Bodies, their build, their musculature, and how they moved always fascinated me. But most people didn’t like it when I stared, so I learned to save it for when I was people watching or waiting in the wings while others went through their routines.
Safer that way.
“The other one was flimsy.” His words came out as more of an accusation than anything else, but I only nodded as I hung up my dripping coat and dropped the bag on the little sofa. It was just another dressing room in a long line of them. A room not bigger than sixty-eight square feet, but it was mine. I took a savage kind of satisfaction in that.
“I know,” I said absently. Two notes waited on my table. One had Marta’s distinctive handwriting. The bitch had keys to my room. “Um…” I paused to glance over to where he still stood, staring at me. “Who else gets the keys to that?”
Keeping my gaze pinned to his unfathomable eyes rather than his beautiful muscles—where had that come from?—I unzipped the hoodie I’d worn under the jacket. Layers. Always layers. When I performed, I’d be damn near bare, but that was when I was on stage and moving with the music and the silk drapes. When I flew.
Otherwise, I needed my layers of clothing like armor. Except right now, when that armor was still wet enough to leave me chilled.
“Just you,” he said as if he had to measure out the words, but I’d turned away to keep from staring and stripped the hoodie off. I wore just a tank top under it with a simple cotton bra. I’d be changing everything. The jeans had to go too. Speaking of which, I stepped out of my shoes.
The silence behind me grew intense, and I flicked a look up at the mirror. My guest glared at me, the heat in his eyes promising the kind of violence I was all too familiar with. Chills raced across my skin, and I swore. I shouldn’t have started stripping with him right there, even if my clothes were damp.
Folding my arms, I pivoted to face him, but he’d already looked away. His movements were harsh and stilted as he finished his work. “I added a deadbolt,” he said, motioning to the device. “It only locks from the inside.” From this angle, the hint of a tattoo peeked out from below his collar, just the tip of a wing. I had to wonder what the rest of it looked like.
“Thank you,” I said when I found my voice. Despite the dangerous expression he’d worn, I was grateful. Now, if he could just go…
“Emersyn!”
Only discipline kept me from flinching at Eric’s voice. It was the only warning I received before he loomed in the doorway. Or would have, except for the fact that my gray-eyed visitor easily had two inches in height on him. He also shifted his position so that he all but blocked the open door.
Oh, I was going to pay for that later. “Sorry, Eric,” I told him in my most soothing tone. “The weather did crazy things to the roads, and it was a bear to get here. I’ll be changed in ten.”
At six foot, Eric towered over me. A fact he always used to his advantage, when he wanted something. Weirdly, the guy running interference was even taller and broader, but the icy-hot chill rippling over my scalp and down my spine had been utterly absent, even when he’d been glaring at me.
Maybe after all these years, something inside me had finally broken.
“Who the fuck is this?” Eric demanded as he motioned to the theatre tech. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Yes, totally paying for it later.
“My job.” The crunch of those two words echoed into the silence like he’d thrown them as punches. “Back up.” Gone was any glimmer of the kindness he’d shown me. Kindness? His voice had been all kinds of rough and husky, and I was calling it kindness? The guy didn’t take his gaze off Eric as he bodily invaded his space and forced Eric to either back up or have this guy touching him.
To my absolute shock, Eric retreated.
“Check the deadbolt,” the guy told me over his shoulder without looking at me. “I want to know it works.”
Instead of bristling at the order, I headed straight to the door as he forced Eric backwards and pulled the door closed behind him. I twisted the deadbolt, and the solid click of it driving in sent relief singing in my veins. Forehead against the wood, I let out a long breath, then tested the lock below.
“It works,” I said against the door.
A second later, a piece of paper slipped underneath and a key sat in the center. “All yours.”
“Thank you,” I said, scooping up the key lest someone snag the paper and drag the key back. Someone being Eric. The metal bit into my palm as I closed my fist. A scant second later, a heavy hand hammered on the door, and I jerked away from it.
“Five minutes, Emersyn. Don’t keep me waiting again.”
Yeah, I was going to pay for the tech’s attitude, but right now, I didn’t care. With the show on tonight, Eric would have to be careful where he left bruises. We had performances all week. Turning away, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and sighed.
The mottled bruising under my ribs showed where the tank dipped low. My arms, neck, and face were clear. So were my legs. After I stripped off the rest of the damp clothes, I eyed myself critically. The black, blue, purple, and green bruises littered my chest and torso. The ones on my side were made from hands, but they were bruises layered over bruises.
The venue had wanted me in the minimalist outfit. The first set of numbers called for my stomach to be bare.
That couldn’t happen. But I had the black one piece that was all mesh save for the circles to cover my nipples and a patch over my crotch. Even my ass would be visible through it, but the black would hide the bruises and titillate.
I rolled my eyes and then shook myself out of this negative headspace. I needed to focus. In a few hours, I would fly, riding the music, and the rest of the world would fall away.
At least for a little while.
If only the crash back to Earth didn’t hurt so damn much.
I put on the solid leotard for the practice run and tied my hair up in a messy knot before tucking the keychain onto a necklace and hiding it under my collar. Fortunately, I could lock it by hand before I left. My tech—wait, he wasn’t my anything. The tech was gone, as was Eric. The noise level had increased. More performers were coming down to grab food, drinks, and in some cases, smokes before they got ready.
That meant the stage would be available for my warmup.
Eric waited for me right in the center. His face was all hard angles and fierce in its beauty. The first time I met him, I’d half-fallen for his angelic looks. He could have stepped right out of a painting by Raphael or Michelangelo.
He was that perfect.
The cold eyes fixed on me as I strode toward him. Without me even having to say anything, the music started. Our bodies knew each other well, and when his fingers dug in brutally to my sides as he hoisted me up, my expression never changed.
What was one more set of bruises?
Jasper
Someone would die today.
Rephrase, I was going to kill someone today. The phone buzzing in my pocket warned me I’d lingered too long. But fuck that. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen what I just had. The plan for the day had just changed.
And that bastard’s name was now on my list.
I shook one of the cigarettes out of the half-crushed pack. That was like pissing money, but I needed some measure of control.
“Take that shit outside,” the foreman for the crew ordered, and I lifted my chin to acknowledge the words, even if I mentally flipped the fucker off. He knew better than to take that tone with me, and the flash of fear in his
eyes told me he probably shit himself saying it. As long as he did, I’d let him play his role. I slammed the door open to the alleyway and stepped out into the damp cold.
It had been raining on and off for days. It was cold, damp, and stunk of trash back here, but it was also out of sight from the main stretch and gave me a chance to look over all the access points. I knew this theatre inside and out.
I’d been planning this for a while. But today had been all about getting in, getting a good look, and getting out. My phone buzzed again like a nag, and I pulled it out to stare at the message on the screen.
Fuck.
Rome: F got pinched. He’s not gonna be there.
Me: Get your ass down here then.
Rome: No can do. Sending the new guy.
Was he fucking kidding me right now? Two days ago, Rome fucking lost his shit when I told him he couldn’t come down here. Now he wanted to pull this crap?
Fucking Freddie.
Kellan and Vaughn were already in place. I couldn’t pull Kellan, and I didn’t want to pull Vaughn.
Might not have a choice.
I took a long drag on the smoke, letting it fill my lungs as I played out the scenarios in my head. This was what I did. I could see the possibilities. Tonight was a meeting, pure and simple. We would do business. We didn’t even need to have a conversation. We were uptown because it was neutral.
Well, as neutral as anything got in Braxton Harbor. Still, the guy coming in didn’t know our city. A handshake deal meant face-to-face. I could do it without backup. Freddie had a bit of a temper on him, but he was also the steadiest hand with a knife.
