Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  “You know, it’s rude to stare.” Maya flicks the ash off her joint.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking back to a now silent Rose. “I know.”

  Maya is different. I see that. I can’t exactly imagine her in skimpy clothes and doing the splits on stage.

  “You’re not drinking your drink, Dove,” Val interrupts. She tilts her head to the side, and I watch as the flames from the fire flicker, creating shadows over her jaw. “Why is that?”

  I shrug. “I—”

  “Just don’t drink.” Kingston snatches the glass from me. My heart pounds in my chest, but rage burns in my belly. All of the feelings of seeing King eventually end like an angry rapid gushing at the bottom of my stomach.

  I ignore him and the other three who make themselves comfortable around the fire. King sits on the grass opposite me, bringing the glass to his mouth while keeping his eyes on mine. I watch as he slowly tilts my margarita up and swallows it in one gulp. I expected something. Maybe some disgust. Since when could guys stomach a margarita?

  Killian pulls over a chair and takes a seat beside Val, propping a boombox on the ground. He flicks through his phone and hits play on an R&B song I recognize. “Antisocial” by Ed Sheeran and a rapper. The beat kicks in, and Killian winks at Maya. “Your song, aye, boo?”

  Maya flips him off, blazing up another joint. “Be nice, or you can get your own ganja.”

  I’m a big people-watcher. I’ve never been a talker, and a lot of people have said that they assumed I was a snob. I’m not. I’m just quiet. Too many people are quick to spew words and don’t take enough time to think before doing it. I’d rather watch people. How they speak, hold themselves, and what they say and the manner in which they say it. I guess some think that’s creepy. Maya and Killian, though, I could cut their sexual connection with a blunt knife. They’re saying a lot, by not saying anything at all.

  My fingers flex on my lap, and now I wish I had something to at least take the edge off. I’m not a big drinker. I drink when I feel like it, and it just so happens that I don’t feel like it often. I’m also not a very nice drunk. I get sloppy, weird, and say things I don’t mean--the exact reason why I people watch, so I try to avoid it or keep it to minimal sips at best.

  “And why don’t you drink, Dove?” Val further asks, studying me. Why does she keep looking at me like I’ve kicked her puppy?

  I shrug. “It’s not that I don’t.” My eyes flick to King briefly, who is still watching me. Did he realize that I didn’t touch my drink during our game of sixers? No. Surely not. That would mean that he was paying close enough attention to me. “It’s just that I don’t often.”

  Val seems to think over her next words, but when our little party turns into a rager, with more people piling in, she yanks her eyes away from me and zones in on Kingston. She pushes up from her chair, and even though there’s a swarm of people walking around and grabbing drinks now, I can’t help but force myself to watch her climb onto King’s lap as if she belongs there. My throat goes dry, so I look away quickly, not wanting to get caught stalking. I never would have thought they were something. King seems so unattainable. He’s like top shelf alcohol, nice to look at and dream about, but you just know that one taste will knock you on your ass. I find Rose watching me. She offers a soft smile, and then passes me her cup, moving her chair directly beside mine, on the other side of Maya.

  “If I’m right,” Rose says, pointing to the glass, “you need that.”

  I raise the glass and take a small sip. The beer rests on my lips before I swallow it.

  “Actually, I might go take a walk. I’ll see you a bit later?” I say to Rose, who is now taking the joint off Maya.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” She wraps her lips around the end and inhales.

  I shake my head. “No. I just need some air.”

  I look to Maya, who’s ignoring me. “Bye, Maya.”

  Her eyes come lazily to mine. She has the worst resting bitch face I think I’ve ever seen. “Bye,” she answers flatly, before looking out into the distance. As I turn on my steps and make my way to God knows where, I try to figure out whether Maya is weird, disturbed, or just a recluse. I had a plan to walk around until I ended up back at our RV, but the tent is already set up, and it instantly catches my eye.

  Neon lilacs, obscure blacks, and dusty greys illuminate the dark night, like a warning on what’s to come. Midnight Mayhem is an evident reminder that the myths were true. Monsters really do come out at night.

  “Little Bird, are you lost?” Delila interrupts my stalking.

  I spin around to face her and watch as she puts the end of a cigarette into her mouth. She inhales and then exhales softly.

  “No. I was heading back to my—the RV.”

  Delila comes forward, taking my hand in hers. “Follow me, lost one.”

  I don’t have a chance to refuse because she’s dragging me toward the opening of the tent. It’s much larger than the one that was set up at her house and bigger than the average circus style one. Instead of red and white stripes, it’s lilac and black, and there are little fairy lights embedded into the material. A big sign hangs over the entrance, and in messy black writing outlined in lilac reads Midnight Mayhem.

  Delila pauses at the threshold, waving her hand inside. “Come on. It’s not all set up yet, but the floor is open.”

  I am about to say that I’m impressed with the fact that this monstrous tent is already set up so quickly when I realize what she had just said.

  “What do you mean ‘the floor is open’” I ask, falling into step behind her. As soon as I enter, I almost trip on my own feet. There are no chairs right now, but the floor is set up. There’s a makeshift stage that sits behind one large circus patch, which lies empty.

  “I mean,” Delila stomps on her smoke, putting it out, “I want to see you lose yourself.” Her eyes drop to my feet. “Let me guess, ballet?”

  My eyes snap to hers after hungrily eating up the space. “Yes. How’d you know?”

  “The way you walk.” She snaps her fingers, and a boy around my age comes rushing forward, swiping sweat off his forehead. I don’t pay him much attention because Delila is still talking. “Fetch me a chair and some scotch. Is the sound ready?”

  The young guy nods submissively. “Enough to run some music through, but not all the way set up.”

  Delila nods, and he disappears, running off to grab her royal highness her items.

  She watches me carefully, as if intrigued. “You’re not drinking with the rest of them. Why?” She lights up another smoke, and I seriously wonder what this woman’s act is and how she keeps so fit while smoking so many cigarettes.

  “Drinking isn’t really my scene.”

  “Hmmm,” she answers, sitting down on the chair the young man brought back. He also places a small table beside her that holds a bottle of scotch and a clear tumbler glass. “Interesting for a girl of your age.”

  I want to remind her that I’m not a teenager. I don’t need to party like one either, but instead, I say, “When life has taken control of you in the form of tragic incidents, it’s hard to allow something so hollow to fill the empty parts of your life.”

  She flicks the smoke between her thumb and her index finger. “Huh. You’re smart. Lucky me.” She exhales, flicking her wrist to the stage. “Sorry to say I don’t have a leotard, but there are some slippers there and shorts and a hoodie. I want free, Dove. I don’t want a dance that you have to work for. I want Dove Noctem Hendry flying across my stage.”

  “Okay.” I turn, making my way to the makeshift stage. I have no idea what I’m doing in regards to whatever it is that she expects, but I’ll do what she advised I do—dance.

  As soon as I’ve ducked onto the stage, I hide behind a red curtain and strip off my skinny jeans and shoes, squeezing on the white shorts she left me—that are more like booty shorts—and then throw on the grey hoodie. I prefer to dance in tight clothes when it’s constricted movements that I want
to accentuate.

  Pink silk slippers catch my eye, and my heart slows in my chest. I haven’t worn them in so long. Since before my parents died. I tug at my hair, pulling it down from the high ponytail. I run my fingers through it as I weigh my options. I want to see if I still have it, but another part of me thinks I’m not ready. The part that thinks I’m not ready is usually the same part that keeps me awake every night from overthinking.

  “Sorry,” the guy from earlier interrupts my pacing. “Do you have a song request?”

  “‘Breathe from Mako, please.”

  The young guy disappears back the way he came, and I go back to stressing about the slippers. Slowly, I reach down to touch the soft silk. “Your arabesque is so much better, Dove. Keep at it.” Sharon, my tutor, looked down at her phone and answered it. “Hello? Yes, no, Dove is here. She’s doing great, Mrs. Hendry. Much better. Okay, thank you.” She hung up the phone and smiled sweetly at me. “Your mother is proud of you. You are very lucky.”

  I yank my hand away as if I’ve touched a raw memory.

  Which I had.

  Deciding to leave the slippers for another night, I make my way out to the center of the stage.

  “Ready when you are, Dovey!” Delila yells out from somewhere in front of me. I can’t see anything because she dimmed the lights. “I want your all.”

  I can’t give her my all because I lost crucial parts of myself years ago, but I close my eyes and breathe softly. The guitar to the song starts, and I curl my body around in a circle, slowly sinking to the splits with both feet facing outward. I drag myself out, letting the music float through my limbs, and possess my movements. I haven’t danced this style since I lost them. Since that night. It’s not traditional ballet, but it’s somewhere in the middle of gymnastics, hip-hop, and ballet. With every beat, I swing my leg up to standing splits and roll my body over in fluid movements. God, I love this song. It’s not until the music stops that my breathing and tears catch me off guard. I quickly swipe them away as I come to my feet.

  Clapping sounds in the audience, and the lights flash on. Not only is Delila sitting there watching, but so are The Brothers.

  “King?” Delila calls out, but her eyes remain on mine. “Try not to break her, because she’s going to have her own act as well as be in yours.”

  I subtly clear my throat, so I don’t give away that I let the music take over my emotions. “And what is it exactly that they do?”

  Delila seems to ponder over her thoughts and I silently plead with her to give me something. Anything that can prepare for what is in store for me tomorrow.

  “A lot.” She flicks off the loose ash at the end of her cigarette. “The cage? That’s part of their act. The Triple Wheel of Death? Also theirs. If you see knives, they’re theirs, too, but my favorite?” Delila grins, standing. “Is what they do to your mind. Nothing can help you prepare for that.” She flicks her hand up and down my body. “Have an ice bath to cure whatever muscles might be spasming and get good rest tonight.” She flashes a grin. “You’re going to need it.” She spins around and leaves me here, alone with all four of them.

  “Little Bird,” Killian interrupts my panicking.

  “Hmm?” I give him my full attention, mainly because I don’t want to risk looking at Kingston.

  Killian’s eyes lock onto mine. Dark blue swirls in a pool of dark water, entrancing me to swim into the deep end. He quirks an eyebrow. “Come here.”

  I start walking toward him. I don’t know why, and I can’t stop it, but I do. I’m directly in front of him, standing between his legs, when I feel his palms touch the back of my thighs, his knees spreading wider.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. My mouth is moving and words are coming out, but I don’t know where they’re coming from.

  Killian smirks as his hands continue up the backs of my thighs. I clench them together to get him to stop touching me, and he chuckles. “Does Little Bird wanna play?”

  No. No, I don’t want to play. “Yes.”

  Killian looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes, a grin on his mouth. “Touch King.”

  What. Why would I touch King? No. No. I sidestep out of Killian’s legs and find myself right between King’s. My heart thunders in my chest as sweat trickles down the side of my temples. King is laid back farther into the seat, his ripped designer jeans hanging leisurely off his hips and his military boots tied loosely at his feet. He’s leaning to the side on his elbow, and his T-shirt is slightly up, showing off his V and the Tommy Hilfiger briefs.

  Oh God.

  He sucks a smoke into his mouth and blazes the tip, his eyes closing in as he concentrates before bringing them back to mine.

  He blows out a cloud of smoke. “Perserva.”

  “Put your hands on his knees.” Killian’s eyes darken, flying between King and me.

  I do as I’m told, bringing my hands to his knees. I squeeze roughly as the scent of burning nicotine drifts up my nose.

  “Remove his shirt.”

  Oh my God. No. What the fuck. My hands come to the end of King’s shirt, and I try my best to ignore the electricity that passes through his hot skin and into my knuckles.

  Gripping onto the edge of his shirt, I slowly lift it further up. My lips curl beneath my teeth as I fight the urge to obey my body. It’s as though Killian’s words are the strings, and I’m the puppet. King leans forward just enough for his neck to skim over my mouth. Hot skin brushes over my swollen lips.

  I suck in a breath, and just as I yank his shirt over his head, he pauses at my inhale. I flick his shirt to the side, stepping backward.

  Killian leans into his seat, his cigarette burning between his fingers. His other finger is running over the top of his upper lip, his eyes never leaving mine. The atmosphere kicks up to ardently high levels. “Climb onto his lap, Little Bird.” Killian continues. My eyes shoot to him as panic seizes me. I don’t want to. I know what happens when he’s close to me or touching me. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything that makes me feel things I don’t want to feel, and right now, Killian is making me do things I don’t want to do. Feel things I don’t want to feel.

  I look back at King, but he hasn’t moved. His eyes are bleak, his expression bored. I bore him.

  Slowly, I step forward and sink my knees into the hard chair that he’s sitting on. Biting down on my lip, I slowly lower myself onto his crotch. My cheeks heat, and my thighs clench.

  King is still in the same position, unfazed. Only now, he’s staring up at me, and I’m closer. I don’t like him this close to me. Kingston this close is not a good thing.

  Everyone else slowly ceases to exist, disappearing into white noise. I can hear “Love is Madness” by The Weeknd playing in the background. King’s eyes are still on mine, the cigarette burning between his lips. Before he can inhale again, I remove it from his lips and bring it to my own. Inhaling softly, I roll my body in his lap to the music. His hands come to my hips as I blow the smoke out from between my lips. His fingers trace up my side until they’re buried in my hair, before he’s yanking out my hair tie. I swing my hair around as I flick the smoke behind me and bring both hands to the back of his neck. When the chorus drops, I brush my chest against his. My face is so close that I can feel his lips against mine and the words stop. Everything slows and the music fades into the background, my breathing thickening. Just as I’m about to pull away, he locks his arms around my back and pulls me in harder. I can feel him between my legs. He raises his hips up and grinds against me. His lips are hovering dangerously close to mine, and just as he opens them, he ducks to the side and bites down on my earlobe. “If you want me to fuck you like a groupie, keep doing that, but I don’t pay for my pussy.”

  I don’t blink, unfazed with his cruelty. Leaning backward, I bring my hands to his cheeks. He thinks I’m a whore. As in, he thinks I wasn’t a stripper—I was a whore. “You probably couldn’t afford me anyway.” I swing my legs off his lap, shoving him away. Everything comes back into real time
as the cackles of laughter erupt from around us. I forgot all about the rest of The Brothers who were here, and Killian, the little shit.

  Before anyone can say anything, or worse, Killian gets inside my head again, I run out the door until the hot congestion of the tent is replaced with the cold night air. How did I get here? I had a family who loved me. My future was bright. That’s changed now.

  I run to our RV and swing the door open, angry with myself for getting into this situation—even though it’s not exactly like I planned it. Tearing all of my clothes off, I slip in and out of the shower and shimmy into a long shirt before any of them get back. Opening the back curtains, I sink into my pillow and gaze out at the stars. It’s always been therapeutic for me to watch space. You don’t know what’s up there just as much as you don’t know what’s in the ocean. We think that what we see is all we know, but that’s not true at all. My eyes close slowly as I drift into sleep.

  Dove

  I wake before the sun comes up and throw some sweats on. I need to exercise before The Brothers wake up. If that’s what Killian is capable of, then I don’t want to know what the rest of the boys can do—particularly King. Pushing my wireless earbuds into my ears, I push play on “So Far Away” from Martin Garrix and manage to sneak out of the RV undetected. I don’t know where I’m going per se, but I know a little about New York and the surrounding suburbs. My legs carry me toward a track that has a dirt path, which leads God knows where. I sweat it out and run until I can’t feel my limbs and my legs burn. By the time I come back to camp, I’m drenched in sweat, and Delila is marching straight toward me.

  I tear out my earbuds.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dove?”

  “What?” I squeeze the pods into the palms of my hands. “I went for a run.”

  Delila glares at me. “Well, we will see how much that was a good idea later tonight when it comes to your act. You only train excessively when you have a rest day the day after, which is why most of the crew work out before we come and before we leave. The rest you gain from the show.” She clicks her fingers together, and that same young man comes rushing to her side. “Get the stands ready, please. Aeron and Beat are joining us tonight, and I want to make sure they’re taken care of.” She looks back at me. “Your lack of caring is beginning to get a little unnerving, Dove. Are you a liability?”