by Eros, Marata
Our attraction is so lethal, so completely overwhelming, it doesn't feel real. I can always talk myself out of the animal magnetism when he's not around. Unless he's there, then it's all too real. I give a hard swallow, moving further up into the line. I recognize the other bouncer that Cas helped a couple of weeks ago. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
He gives me a once over look, flicking his eyes to Shelby. “You two, go.” He jerks his chin at the entrance door and moves aside.
The music hits us with an almost physical blow, a wall of noise like a tidal wave of water, inundating us with its low primal beat, the strobe and multicolored lights casting puzzle pieces like fallen jewels on our faces, bare arms and our breasts offered like ripe fruit within the confines of our skimpy tops.
Who says ballet dancers cannot dance? We did, we do. Shelby and I pick up a rhythm that is all our own, effortlessly transitioning from ballet to the fast gyration necessary to keep up with the thumping beat the club is pumping out. Like girls do, we dance with each other.
My eyes are closed, my arms and legs moving to the beat, my hips swiveling in perfect tandem with my limbs. When strong arms come around me it seems like the missing heat that I need. That I've always needed.
He moves like he is meant to be against my body, pressed up against me. Riding me.
I knew.
I turn in his arms and Cas presses me against him, hip to shoulder, marrying our bodies just as surely as if he were inside me. The clothes keeps us apart only because they cover our bodies. If they didn't, I can't say he wouldn't act on that earth shattering chemistry that engulfs us when we are together, as it does now.
“No,” I say against him, his steady heartbeat thudding against my cheek. It's too loud to hear but he says, “Yes.”
I tear away from him and I can feel him follow me. As I push through the bodies my eyes scan the crowd for Shelby.
She catches sight of me and her eyes go round when she sees the freight train that is Cas up my ass.
How did I ever think we wouldn't come together like magnets if we were in the same proximity? It had been ten different types of stupid. That was sort of normal for me when it came to Cas.
“Hey!” Shelby yells, interposing her body between Cas’s and mine.
He ignores her, grabbing my arm smoothly from around her body and swings me to him.
He grabs both my arms and without preamble slams his lips on mine.
I twine my arms around his strong neck and I can feel the rumble of a groan vibrate through our smashed bodies.
“Way to play it cool, Jess!” Shelby yells.
It brings me down to earth one shattering syllable at a time. Quiet descends for three seconds before the next song begins. Cas's face rises above me like a dark moon, the lights from the strobe flashing jagged colors across his cheekbones, strange colors artificially lighting his eyes, then falling away to blackness again.
I turn and feel our fingers taper off then fall away, Shelby takes my hand that had just been on Cas's flesh.
I look over my shoulder and Cas is coming, his hands in fists, his body a taut line of intensity, all of it focused on me.
We stumble outside, a bunch of people in various stages of dress. Smoking, drinking... and some making out... and more.
I whirl and Cas is there. “Don't talk, Jess,” he says.
“No,” I say in a low voice. “We don't do enough of that. Has something changed? Are you ready to tell me your secret?” I ask.
Silence.
The only noise are the people milling around us on a night too cold to be outside without a jacket, my skin pebbles in response to the cool air that licks it.
Or maybe it's being that close to Castile.
“Forget it, Jess.” Shelby says, her gaze landing on Cas with disdain. “He's not worth it. Kinda outta control if you ask me.”
His dark eyes shift to her and whatever she sees there causes her to take a step back. “I didn't- Ask. You.”
“Come on, Jess. Let's go get drunk or something...” Shelby says.
Bad ballerina, bad.
“Okay,” I say, not meaning it. But in the gloom of the outside, a busted pair of streetlights all the light there is, Cas can't tell the lie from the truth.
“No... Jess. Don't go off half-cocked. I know it's my fault....”
I turn on him. “You got that right.”
Then I walk off, the tap of my heels as I catch up with Shelby sound like gunfire in the parking lot, amplified by my anger.
I slide into the car, slamming my hand on the door lock and look toward Cas.
Where he'd been.
Where he wasn’t any longer.
I turn away seething as Shelby pulls out.
We'd been at Skoochie's for an hour and it felt like a hundred years. I can still feel his skin against mine, my lips are plump from his kisses, my panties hot and moist from the arousal brought on by his nearness. From a kiss and half a dance. I let my hand drop from my bruised mouth and stifle a moan of defeat.
“That didn't go well,” Shelby says, the streetlights hitting her face every few seconds.
“No,” I whisper.
“I didn't know, Jess, I'm sorry... he...”
“I can't be without him.” I swipe at my leaking eyes again and want to take them out with a spoon.
“You can't be with him,” she says, stepping on the gas.
“Exactly,” I agree, slumping in my seat, the borrowed outfit clinging to me like a costume.
I was so tired of hiding underneath stuff: clothing, contacts, hair color. My personality.
Cas had seen through that, like an arrow through my heart, he had seen me.
Jewell MacLeod.
18
“He is hot, Jess,” Shelby mumbles as we walk to my dorm room. I tap in the keyed entry and the door buzzes. We scoot inside and the door rattles closed.
“Where the hell is everyone in your dorm?” she asks.
I look around at the empty hall and shrug. “I have a wing where there's no shares.”
“No shit?” she says, looking around like it's the best thing ever.
It kinda is. I barely keep up on the payments. It's actually an experiment for the university to see if closets can be dorm rooms. Apparently, yes, they can. Who knew?
We begin hoofing it up the stairs. “At least you don't have to worry about security anymore with that douche, Brock, put away.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and she puts her hand on my back. It let me know that she wouldn't talk about it until I was ready.
I didn’t know when that would be, but not for the reasons she's probably thinking.
“'Cuz this building is not secure, just sayin'...”
We get to the top of my hall and I look around. I guess I hadn't noticed, it was always: hide, separate, survive.
Now it was: screw Cas, evade Cas, pine for Cas.
Not necessarily in that order.
We stop in front of my door, my hand on my keys. Dammit, I left my stinky gear back at the locker, I look over my shoulder and Shelby catches it.
“Forget it, you have extra right?” she asks, instantly remembering my ditched gear.
I did but God, it'd reek.
“It was sorta worth it?” she asks and I save her feelings. “It proved that I am screwed is what it did.” I give a sad little chuckle and she squeezes my arm.
“It's okay, it'll work out and it was good to have coffee and get gussied up.”
I smile then I see her frown. “He likes you, Jess.”
“He likes this,” I say, pointing to my golden kitty. Shelby smirks. “Yeah, I totally got that he liked that... but, you didn't see his eyes.”
I wait.
“He really likes you, Jess,” Shelby says.
I turn away, key ready to open the door and reply, “When he figures out being honest with me, then maybe....”
The doorknob is gone.
It's like someone put me in quicksand, but I'm treading ins
tead of sinking, held stationary. I watch Shelby's mouth open and ask what's wrong. I understand that's what she's saying but I don't hear her because the door has swung inward.
Thaddeus MacLeod is standing in the middle of the room.
“Hello, sister,” he says, moving like striking lighting.
I turn and the first useful thing I've done escapes my mouth. “Run!” I scream at Shelby. Her arms pinwheel, her mind undecided: should she run as told or stay and help. Her thought process is so transparent it would have been funny if my serial killer brother weren’t standing in the room.
I could have told her there was no protection from Thad. If he was here, we were as good as dead. It isn't a complicated concept.
His hands landed on me and that familiar rolling nausea begins in my stomach with a chaser of hot dread.
I swing my face around and see Mitch; relief floods my system.
“Get that bitch before she makes noise,” I hear Thad tell Mitch and something dies inside me when he spares me a brief glance.
His smile never reaches his eyes. Those unnerving eyes sweep over my imprisoned body and then he is after Shelby.
I hear them down the hall.
She never stood a chance and the blood roars in my ears like a river of fear, capsizing me inside the gray waters of my mind, the black eating the edges like the caps on top of the water as they drive higher.
Mitch enters the room as quietly as he left, his large shoulders carrying an unconscious and bleeding Shelby over his shoulder.
The emotional roar inside me has no bounds, my betrayal and misery are so acute I can hardly breathe.
“Make it fast, I want to get my darling sibling out of here and somewhere quiet.”
Mitch dumps Shelby on the floor like a box of rocks and her head cracks against the wood. I flinch as it gives a soft echo, almost as if the wood is distressed by the impact. He turns at the waist, scooping up a round implement, covered by a blanket.
My favorite quilt.
I watch the jagged pattern of squares rise and fall on Shelby.
I can't make out the design for the blood, as it is raised over and over again above Mitch's head like an evil baton, the white becoming red.
I sag against Thad, my vision trembling as the black hovers like great wings, ready to take me.
“Do it,” I hear Thad say to Mitch.
Those pale eyes light on me like a cool fire.
Then he swings the instrument of death at me.
Pain explodes inside my knee and Thad covers my mouth as I shriek my agony into the hand he painfully clamps over my mouth. Vomit rises and I begin to choke on my puke, the pain of my knee is beyond screaming. I retch against his hand while the gore of Shelby lays at my feet.
I let the blackness take me.
But before the waters of my mind put me under, Thad whispers in my ear, “No more dancing for you....”
And I know no more.
*
Castile
Cas watched the woman who had rocked his world pull out of the dance club that was part of his carefully constructed deception. Lowering his chin to the sensitive mic he relayed the information: “Subject departing, destination unknown, south on...” even as he spoke his mind rolled on.
Cas had been assigned to the case two years ago. He watched an eighteen year old scared girl become a twenty year old confident woman in the two years he'd done surveillance.
When their intel said it was time to move he'd been equal parts thrilled and terrified at the next part of his job: contact.
And what a contact it had been.
He was supposed to engage the subject, to see if she truly was the missing girl. Cas knew before he started that he was in deep shit. Jewell was wrapped just like he liked them: a shell of fragility layering a core of steel. She was more than beautiful, Jewell was the kind of woman that begged to be taken care of, protected. Cas was supposed to be the one to do that.
Instead, he'd broken every protocol ever constructed, gone against years of training, the rules of engagement and every precept the Bureau possessed. Because of her.
Jewell MacLeod. She'd never been Jess Mackey to him. He'd seen her for the treasure she was. Her real name suited her. He'd nearly fucked up the entire thing at the beginning when he almost called her by her real name.
He'd still fucked up anyway. Cas wouldn't take it back for anything. He closed his eyes and remembered her soft body wrapped against his hard one, fitting against his like a glove, her heat engulfing more than his cock, she'd sucked his heart through a straw and drunk him up.
Cas was hers now, she just didn't know it. She couldn't know it just yet. And it hurt. That prick Maverick was a player and something was not quite right with him. Cas had already ordered a background check on him. He looked and moved like a skunk.
Cas was thinking he smelled like shit too.
He was biding his time as Devin Castile. What began as necessary dishonesty would soon be revealed. Then maybe they could have something.
If Jewell still wanted him.
He listened to his instructions, nodding slightly, though his superiors couldn't see him agree. “Roger that,” he said.
Then he changed frequencies, alerting the post at the dorm, “Clearwater, look lively, subject might return.” Cas did a quick calculation, it was almost automatic after two years of running numbers and crunching distances. “ETA five minutes.”
Cas adjusted his ear bud.
White noise greeted him as a response.
“Clearwater?”
Silence, the low buzz of an open mic was the only noise.
Fuck!
Cas sprinted for his bike, speaking urgently into the mic, on a frequency that had not been compromised.
The other agents moved but it was too late. The one nearest the dorm made the gruesome discovery of a ballerina who would dance no more.
When Cas heard about the girl he dropped to his knees, puke rising.
His partner, Agent Luke Adams found him and he confirmed it was the other dancer, Shelby Richards, not the subject, Jewell MacLeod.
His Jewell was not dead... nor was she safe.
Their ploy to turn the false spotlight on Brock as the killer had drawn Thaddeus MacLeod out like they'd hoped. Now it was time to spring the net. Jewell had always been in danger, that was why the rules of engagement had changed. Cas had gone from distant surveillance to up close and personal. So personal.
Cas shook off the fear for Jewell that threatened to smother him, manning up as he methodically scoured the locker room. When he found the ballet slippers in the dead girl's locker, it was their first break.
They had been handled by someone other than Jewell or Shelby.
Cas was hoping it was who he thought. They sent the worn slippers to the lab.
Cas could barely let them go, the satin laces running through his gloved fingers as the forensic tech met his eyes then looked away, bagging them.
He was emotionally compromised and he fucking knew it. Acting like he wasn't would be the biggest challenge of his career. Hell, his fucking life. Adams would watch him closely. Cas straightened his shoulders and started barking orders, commanding all those under him on the investigation.
The background came back on Maverick.
He wasn't Maverick at all as it turned out. He was a summer camp acquaintance of Thaddeus MacLeod.
They went way the hell back, over a decade.
Cas's hand became fists, his body shaking in rage. It was his fault. He should have guessed the fuck was somehow connected. But if all they surmised was even half true... could it be that they had worked together, killing as many as twelve women, over the space of ten years?
Adams put a hand on his shoulder. “We've got everyone on it, Cas.” He looked at Cas with sympathy. “I'm sorry about the girl...”
Cas looked at Luke and said, “They killed Clearwater, they've been on to us for awhile. That fucker, MacLeod, he's a wily sucker.”
“And loaded
. He's getting funded by daddy.”
“Yeah,” Cas agreed, “isn't this a can of worms.”
“The Presidential hopeful's psychotic spawn. Fuck. Yeah,” Luke said, scrubbing his face.
“And that sick fuck's got Jewell.”
They looked at each other, Cas noticing the healing bruises and cuts on Luke's face that he'd put there, all for show. As the minutes ticked by, they both knew what it meant.
That statistically, it became more likely to find a dead Jewell rather than a live Jewell.
Then Cas got the text from the lab and held his cell up in the air in a celebratory gesture.
“People!” he said to the group of agents.
They collectively turned, many faces with hope. A team of twenty had spent two years of their lives to save one girl, and all the ones who came after her.
Cas hoped he wasn't too late.
The thought of anything happening to Jewell stole the oxygen from his atmosphere.
He forged ahead, telling them where they needed to look.
“We have to hurry; it's an hour if we drive now.”
The agents scurried into their respective vehicles.
Cas took his bike, he would arrive before everyone else, even if he had to break every traffic law.
Anything to save Jewell.
*
Two hours prior
Patrick Boel was ready to speak with Miss Mackey. He had received tentative approval for his prize pupil to audition for the principal role in the next dance event for the Seattle Pacific Ballet.
She was more than she seemed, Boel mused, part enigma. He had put her through his typical rigorous paces and where other dancers had failed, Miss Mackey had thrived. He could not put his finger on it yet, but she seemed to bloom under the adversity.
That was most excellent as The Ballet was nothing but a series of challenges at the elite dance level. Better that she become accustomed to that life now. He would try to convince her to give up college for her true calling.
Jess Mackey had been born to dance, any instructor of The Dance could see it on her when she began to move. Jess did not simply dance, she became The Dance.
