Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals Book 1)

by Heather Long

  He stared at me, frowning. “What?”

  “The show?” I repeated, a little stung at having to. Most people would jump at the idea of a free ticket. “Tell you what, don’t tell me. Surprise me. But I’ll leave your name at the office. You’ll have a good table, near the front. The food isn’t half bad, and I owe you for the burger.”

  Then I pivoted on my bad heel and nearly ruined the whole thing by stumbling. Only discipline kept me on my feet and marching up the stairs toward the doors. Marta clucked at me, but I fucking ignored her. Particularly because there was a tech with stormy gray eyes standing not two feet from the doors out front, smoking. Only he wasn’t looking at me but glaring down at Kestrel.

  I spared one look over my shoulder. Kestrel wore an unreadable expression, but he didn’t move from his spot until I was inside the doors, just like he promised. I swore he glanced at me and gave me a little salute, but maybe it was wishful thinking.

  “Stupid girl, what did you do to your face?” Marta demanded, and I rolled my eyes and stalked away from her. I’d need to ice my ankle, which meant I was going to have to diva my way out of the warmups with Eric.

  From the walk on air to the dance of the statue, Eric and I executed our steps with flawless precision. The audience seemed mesmerized by the passion of our performance. Loathing and violence were very passionate emotions, I supposed. We rotated the numbers we performed with each tour stop. There were more than a dozen that Eric and I could do together. But that was only the first half of the show.

  So whether I was the statue in the park come to life as a gift from the gods, as I’d been tonight, or the girl dancing aloft carried on the wings of her lover’s admiration—excuse me while I gag—we delivered what the people who paid so much longed to see. I’d resisted throughout the first act and after each costume change from looking to see if Kestrel had accepted my invitation.

  But at the midpoint, with the chorus on the stage delivering a rousing performance designed to titillate and give the audience time to finish their dinners and order their desserts before the second act started, I had time. The second act that was wholly mine. I’d fought for that when the tour began. I didn’t want Eric in the silks with me.

  If I had to perform with him on the stage, fine. I’d let him throw me around, dig his fingers in, crack my bones. I would trust him to catch me if I had to, flinging my body without a care, because whether I hit the floor or landed in his arms, the hurt would be the same.

  But the air? That was mine.

  Eric had been furious. But the show’s backers had agreed to my request, because it also extended the show for me to do the full act by myself and I made them a lot of money. Power, as my mother often reminded me, should be wielded like a scalpel. Cut where it did the most good.

  If I fell on the stage, I’d survive it.

  If Eric knocked me from the air, I might not.

  I’d take the power where I could.

  The luck of tonight’s dance card had me performing alone for the last five minutes, a solo en pointe as I leapt from ‘flower’ to ‘flower,’ a fairy whose wings had been clipped. I could let go when it was only me and the music. The world, its people, and my problems melted away, and there was only a state of being. Ecstasy maybe. Or some kind of trancelike state.

  I didn’t have a name for it, but this was where my soul lived. The one time my body, my mind, and my soul could exist in absolute harmony. When I folded down into the last flower and the petals closed over me, a stunned kind of silence filled the whole room, even as the music faded away.

  I counted the seconds of silence.

  At five, the audience erupted into spontaneous applause, whistles, and calls.

  Five seconds of awe.

  Five seconds where they were so utterly linked to me, the emotion overwhelmed them. The tears in my eyes burned a little as the stage swallowed the flowers and the petals opened so I could extricate myself.

  The stagehand was right there, a hand out to me, though I’d only taken it a couple of times. I did tonight because my ankle throbbed in absolute fury, but for those few minutes on stage, I had even managed to forget the pain.

  I already missed those seconds of perfection.

  Hopefully, I would be back there once I was in the silks. For now, I stood in the rafters, alone. No one came with me. I would climb into the silks and descend in them without anyone hovering above. Another diva move, but I hated the idea of someone messing with my silks. If I were going to be vulnerable, I would do it on my terms.

  So little else in my life conformed to such measures.

  While the chorus girls danced, twirled, and performed their lifts, I searched the crowd. The theatre was not fully dark like it was when I was onstage, rather low lighting helped the servers who moved in and out, delivering desserts and coffees.

  When I’d given Kestrel’s name to the box office, they’d not even blinked. I never asked for tickets. Not once during this show. They probably couldn’t know I didn’t offer them to anyone else. Why was it important for me to see him out here? To see if he took me up on my offer?

  I balanced my damaged ankle against the railing, keeping my legs warmed while I kept the ankle elevated. I’d gone to the medic for a cortisone shot. I didn’t even have to make up a story about what happened. I just said I needed it and he did it. I shouldn’t be performing on it, he told me in a tone so bored, I knew it was just a warning he had to say to cover his own ass.

  There.

  Dark hair illuminated under the lights as he waved off the waitress flirting with him, her hip jutting and her chest pushed out. Kestrel barely looked at her. Instead, he focused on his… Oh, he had his phone out. I glanced at what the chorus girls were doing. I didn’t have enough time to shift my position, but he’d come to see the show, and warmth blossomed inside of me.

  Absolutely ridiculous, like some schoolgirl crush I was far too old and jaded to indulge. Crushes would always result in hideous disappointment if allowed to get too close.

  But he couldn’t get close, could he?

  In fourteen hours, this town would be in the rearview mirror and I’d forget about it. I didn’t even remember the name now.

  I could only hope I forgot Kestrel as easily.

  A new town.

  A new hotel.

  New stagehands.

  New drivers.

  Same Eric.

  Same pain.

  For another few months.

  Then I was free of it all. I could write my own ticket. No parents to appease. No agent to bow to. No producers to…

  A single light flashed from the other side of the rafters. My cue. The silks hung suspended from their moorings, and I loosened the first length to wrap around me as I stepped up onto the railing. The music shifted below, and the audience applauded as the last of the chorus finished.

  I’d chosen new pieces to open and close with tonight. Marta would have an apoplexy. So would a few others. I didn’t care. I had to test them out somewhere, and here was where I would do it. Art, I tried to remind them, not that they cared, wasn’t about commerce.

  It was about emotion.

  As I stepped off the railing and let the silks take my weight, I closed my eyes. My art let me break free from the shackles biting in my skin and the chains weighing down my soul. They let me fly, and a savage sort of satisfaction burst in me as the music began and I rolled downward, the silks unraveling until I hung, suspended.

  A body.

  A corpse.

  A shell.

  As I went slack, the silks twirled and I floated in midair. The lights didn’t highlight me so much as leave me in shadow as the blues came up. Gasps of sound. But the audience faded as the first eerie chords of music began to play.

  Haunting.

  I stretched one arm upward as though awaking from that dark dream where I lived and arched my back. I lifted my eyes to the dark rafters above, but I didn’t see scaffolding and catwalks, but rather a mystic wood and beyond them, th
e stars.

  As I stretched my arm, I wrapped it around the silk and then straightened my whole body. The silk moved around me, shifting with my weight as I increased or decreased the tension. Back arching, I hooked the silk around my calf and dangled so I mimicked a shadow of night falling from the sky. Then a twist, and I turned, gliding as if I’d caught wind, and everything faded except for the melody, the silk, and the cool air brushing my skin.

  The black bodysuit I wore would leave me not much more than a shadow, though my feet and legs were bare. Dark glitter painted my face and sprinkled my hair, the ethereal effect turning to magic under the shifting blue lights striking not only the stage but lighting the air around me in gradients.

  A spin and roll, and I hung only by my hips as I swirled, then I allowed my eyes to open, and for a moment, I locked gazes with Kestrel. I don’t know how I timed it, but even amidst the shadows, I homed right in on him, and his lips parted as he stared at me.

  Triumph seemed to unfurl, and I continued what would seem an effortless glide as I rolled through the motions, muscles tensing and then releasing as I navigated the steps. Like ballet, I had to float, even as it required every muscle in my body to control not only trajectory but my pose.

  As the haunting melody drifted off, I relaxed back into corpse pose, but I stole a peek down at Kestrel, whose frown disappointed me before he vanished as the room plunged into darkness. Then the lights came up and the music changed along with the tempo, and I writhed to the rock song. This time, I would dance on the air as another set of silks descended, and when I let go of one to roll into another, the music drowned out the screams and applause.

  Only discipline let me control my breaths whenever I had to rest my chest against the silks for suspension. The pressure on my bruised and battered ribs made gulping air a challenge, but then I’d curl my body up and I could forget.

  Here, there wasn’t pain or loss or loneliness.

  There was the music and the feeling.

  Sweat slicked my whole body by the time we neared the show’s crescendo. I had them all now. They flew with me, we were a part of this performance together, and I’d never felt so powerful as the music shuddered and gave way to Rag’n’Bone’s “Only Human.”

  Marta and the others hated this song. The raw rhythm and beat, they insisted, wasn’t meant for this work, and I hung from the silks wrapped around my forearms as I moved like I was running against the air and heaven was dragging me back.

  Or maybe it was hell and the audience was the surface I was desperate to reach. The cut of motion vibrated in my bones as I poured my anger and helplessness and frustration into the movement. The frenetic jerking snapped as I would tumble and then force myself up again. Twice, I snapped my limbs out like I was spread eagled and the screams hit me as I curved into a cross formation and then began to fall, the silks caught with the force I exerted, and I allowed myself a glimpse.

  They were on their feet, and then I began my sensuous climb back up. But the tension in one of the silks gave abruptly, and my fall this time wasn’t a part of the plan.

  Chapter 3

  Jasper

  We closed the deal tonight. Three days of negotiation all taking place while the show went on and occupied all the expensive suits in the audience. They really came out for this show. The hottest ticket in town and she didn’t even have to strip, but fuck me, watching her move with that bastard on the stage and wrapping around him and then letting go while he threw her around?

  It left me with a bruised dick desperate to burst out of my pants and the violent desire for real bloodshed. I couldn’t even be sure which made me hotter. But that fucker on stage was done touching her. Rodrigo leaned back against the wall next to me. The street rat had been filling in as backup all week.

  The little prick adjusted himself twice, and on the second time, I pinned him with a look. “Go keep watch outside.”

  I hadn’t missed the dick assigned to be her driver making his way inside. Currently, he sat not far from the stage, his back rigid and his gaze pinned on the woman moving with so much grace, it was hard to breathe.

  The punk nodded and slipped out. Like me, he was dressed in all black because as techs, we weren’t supposed to stand out, which suited me fine. Technically, I didn’t have a job out here, but no one bothered me. It was also the first night I’d really gotten to watch her perform that wasn’t a rehearsal. If the show hadn’t needed to go on, I’d have broken that fucker up there with her already.

  His knuckles whitened every time he gripped her. Her expression, as flawless as her execution of her movements, never once faltered. It was like she couldn’t feel what that asshole did to her. Maybe she couldn’t anymore.

  That just pissed me off.

  At him.

  At her.

  At the fucking people who should be protecting her.

  What the actual fuck was she still performing with that dick for? None of the pampered elite in this audience gave a flying fuck about that tool. They were here for her.

  The room plunged into darkness, and when the single light hit the stage again, she was alone. I hadn’t seen her practicing any solos this week, though I’d checked a few times and she’d totally skipped warmups today.

  I couldn’t look away. Everything in the room faded as she moved like a fallen fucking angel on that stage. The lighting and her body suit hid the bruises I knew were there. Bruises I’d memorized, but it was like I could feel the tautness beneath my skin with every step she took, and yet she moved with such effortlessness, it sucked the air out of me.

  When she vanished into that flower and the stage went dark again, I stared dumbly forward. Only the sudden applause breaking through the room shook me out of the stupor. I scrubbed a hand over my face and then pulled out my phone as the lights around us began to come up and the chorus girls hit the stage.

  Chattering and plates clinking filled in the empty spaces at the ‘intermission.’

  Rodrigo: They’re here.

  I pinned a look on her driver again. He hadn’t moved, though he had his phone out. With a shake of my head, I slipped out the side entrance and headed down the catering corridor. A stream of bus personnel was moving at a clip, slipping in to empty the oversized trays of their dirtied dishes while servers navigated out with huge platters of desserts.

  Ducking past them into another door, I headed to the backstage entrance. During the performance, this area was off limits. All the equipment for the first and second acts was secured here, but with the chorus on stage, it was a hive of activity packing away the first act and getting ready for the second.

  I blended right in.

  Fifteen minutes, and then she would be back on. I had zero intentions of missing the next half.

  Emile Robert waited for me five feet from the loading dock, smoking a thin cigarillo and looking far too well dressed to be hanging out here. “Horan,” he said as I descended the steps. We met with a quick clasp of hands, and I fell back a step. Like me, he was armed.

  “Robert,” I replied, favoring the French pronunciation of his last name, row-bear, which amused me. Because it sounded like something you’d call a stuffed animal. Emile Robert was not any kind of cuddly pet. His suit disguised his rough nature and brutal efficiency when it came to dealing with problems. “The terms are acceptable?”

  We didn’t need to dance anymore. The deal was done. Tonight was literally a formality, one that Robert and his people wanted because they were old-school. They wanted permission to move product on our streets, and we wanted assurances they dealt in nothing dirty or tainted and that they also didn’t deal to kids.

  We took a cut off the top as part of their tithe, and they pocketed a tidy profit. Our streets. Our rules.

  “They are. If this deal works out for us both, I want you to consider expanding it to other products. You have port access covered.”

  We did, but I just stared at him evenly. “It’s a little late to be adding new items to the deal.”

&n
bsp; “Not a new item, not yet. Think of it as a promise of a future dividend.” The man was too smooth. In a lot of ways, this was a good deal for us—we kept the Royals and the 19 Diamonds in their place and we got a new revenue stream, while keeping a firm grip on our corners and our neighborhood.

  Didn’t make me this guy’s friend though.

  “We’ll see,” was all I grunted. As for friendly reminders, he needed to also remember something. “First payment is due next week. Nothing moves until the deposit is in.”

  “You’ll have it by tomorrow,” Robert told me with a smirk, then he glanced back at the theatre. “I’m glad we met here. I’ll get back to my table before the next performance. After seeing what she can do with her legs, I’d like a chance of bending her around me.”

  His fancy accent didn’t make his words piss me off any less, but I couldn’t respond. I gave him a shrug and lifted my chin, staring at him until he was the one to walk away. Rodrigo ghosted out from the shadows as Robert headed back around to re-enter the theatre.

  Smart little street rat didn’t say a word while I stared after the French gangster, the stinking trail of his cigarillo still lingering in the alley. My fingers itched to pull out a cigarette, but I would already be cutting it close. “Keep an eye on him. Make sure they leave after the show.”

  “Alone?” With that single word, the street rat earned a few points.

  “Definitely alone.”

  The kid nodded, then pivoted on his heel and followed in Robert’s wake. I wanted to follow too, but I only had a few minutes to get back into place before the second half of her show started. My phone buzzed.

  V: I have him in my sights.

  I nodded, then keyed in a response.

  Me: Don’t lose him.

  V: I won’t.

  Rome was still maintaining his distance, remaining quiet and unavailable, while Kellan was being a little bitch. At least Vaughn and the kid were doing their jobs. Fuckers, every single one of them.

  Inside, I threaded my way back to the caterer’s hall and then drifted into the theatre proper just as the lights went dark. Settling in against the wall, I folded my arms. The first haunting bars of music filtered through the darkness, nearly silencing the faint conversations threading the room. The light shifted, blues pushing in around the ceiling. The catwalks and the scaffolding weren’t at all visible from the dining tables, but I’d been up there a couple of times, just to walk the theatre.