by Skye Warren
A hard smile. He squeezes my breast until tears prick my eyes.
“You’re going to dance for me. The best performance of your life, aren’t you? You make me enjoy it, or I’ll make you regret it.” His erection looks large in his sweatpants, and I feel like I might throw up. Mamere always said that being a dancer was no different than stripping. I always said she was wrong, but here in this moment it’s like the nightmare’s come true.
Josh
The laws of man evaporate. Red lights mean nothing. Drivers blare their horns. I don’t care. I don’t care. Bethany is the only thing that matters on the face of the earth. This is what she does to me. This is why I had to walk away from her five years ago. She turns me into this frantic, hungry, gaping hole of a human. I don’t care if the whole world explodes, as long as she’s safe. She’s kryptonite to me, and I’m dying.
I’ve had a twenty-four hour-watch on Caleb and Mamere. That’s how I know he didn’t take her to the apartment on Marigny or to her old house. We get Landon on the line, but no one there has heard from her at the theater. Where is she right now? Where, where, where.
My dark heart beats the question a million times a minute.
Think, I tell myself. If you were a sick fuck, where would you take her?
It’s not that hard to imagine. The line that separates me from a sociopath snakes like a babbling brook through my consciousness. At the moment there’s a drought. If I were stalking Bethany, if I really wanted to have her, really own her, where would I bring her? No, I’m asking the wrong question.
Caleb and Noah and I, we’ve grown up. For better or for worse.
Connor got put away. That was part of the deal that Caleb struck. He turned over his accomplices in exchange for freedom. Connor’s been in jail, rotting away, mostly the same as he was five years ago.
If the old me were stalking Bethany, where would I go?
The answer comes to me in a blur of sunlight and the loamy soil of a cemetery. Her brother practically paid us to stalk her under the guise of protection. We watched her run down the concrete steps. She dashed across the street in her leotard and sweatpants. To want Bethany is to want her dancing. They’re one in the same.
What better place to watch her dance than at her old dance school?
The space sits above a cigar shop that’s closed for the day, wrought-iron shutters thrown over the windows. I’ll burn this fucking place to the ground with him in it if anything happens. My chest seizes at the thought. Fuck. I can’t even think about it. There’s no time to think. There’s only time to throw myself out of the car. The damn thing’s barely in park. I leave the door open and run, my pulse a rolling thunder.
Access to the warehouse is around the back through a shitty plywood door. He’s locked it. Connor has locked the fucking thing. A thousand doors made of steel and concrete couldn’t keep me from her now. I put my shoulder into it. The building shudders. A dull pain on the second try. It barely penetrates my fury.
The door splinters, cracking in the center.
A sliver juts out and cuts through the fabric of my coat on the third hit. Blood. Pain. They don’t matter. I knock it off its hinges and step over the broken remains.
A narrow staircase. A thick layer of dust.
And the sound of Bethany crying.
Red clouds my vision. It’s bloodlust, as pure as I’ve ever felt it. I storm the stairs, gun in my hand. Safety off. Whatever he’s done, he’s going to pay for it. I was the devil’s son. Now I’m a goddamn avenging angel. The steps bow under my weight. This place is a relic of the past. It’s barely holding on. Hold on, Bethany. I’m almost there.
The final step brings the scene into sight.
Bethany, tied to the barre with a thick belt. A length of leather around each wrist. It’s a perversion of something that could be so sexy. But he’s not giving her pleasure. No. He’s meting out pain, twisting her body like she’s some kind of doll.
Connor has a foot on her upper back, arching her spine forward in an unnatural curve. She can’t get her arms loose. What the fuck is his plan? To kill her like this? To snap her neck with the heel of his shoe?
His eyes are bright with insanity. She’s like some kind of doll in a mad music box, and he thinks he can twist and twist the little knob to make her dance. How dare he touch her? I’m just as crazy as Caleb, because I think I have a right to her body, the right to protect her.
I take aim. Time slows. Squeeze.
I put a bullet in his forehead. Red sprays in a small, futile refusal. The shot echoes. Bethany screams. Connor falls in a rain of blood.
He falls away from her. Thank fucking God.
She’s sobbing when I fall to my knees next to her. The belts come apart in my hands, freeing one hand, then the other. Bethany falls forward into me, gasping for air.
I feel her for injuries, my heart pounding. Any moment I’m going to find it—the fatal gash, the handle of the knife, the slick opening of a gunshot. But there’s nothing, other than two bruised circles around her wrists and a raw circle between her shoulder blades from that fucker’s shoe.
I’m afraid to move her. Afraid that if I stand up, everything will shift into something dire and unrecoverable. The blood soaking into my pant leg from Connor’s body is what finally spurs me to my feet, Bethany in my arms.
She squeezes her eyes tight.
“You’re okay,” I tell her. I offer it as a prayer all the way down the stairs and out to the car. To the other cars. Somehow, Liam is here too, all our people surrounding us. Someone drives us back to my place. My pulse doesn’t begin to slow until the two of us are behind my locked door.
Hot showers. Fresh clothes. Bethany is silent and heavy-lidded. “You’re okay,” I tell her again, and lower her gently into my bed.
I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to climb in next to her. But I pull the covers up tight, sealing myself out. I go back to my place on the sofa. All I can do now is stand guard. Connor’s dead, but that doesn’t mean there are no other threats lurking outside. For today, at least, and tonight, I’m keeping watch.
Maybe forever.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I’m where I need to be.” The words escape without thought. “Someone has to be out here to protect you. I have to be out here.”
“You need to be in the bedroom.” Despite what she’s been through, every step is light, graceful. Weightless. “Next to me.” Bethany comes to stand in front of me. She nudges her hip against my knees. She forces her way in close. “In the bed. This is the sofa. You need to be in the bed,” she says in a soft chant. “The bed. With me.” Every word is a puncture in the distance I’m trying to keep between us.
She takes my hands in hers. “I can’t do that.” I’m so fucking tired. My life has been exhausting, and it’s spilled over in this moment. I thought loving her would crush me before. Now it’s grinding my bones to nothing.
Loving her made me weak. Now it’s made me dust.
“Yes, you can. Look at me.” I do. God, she’s beautiful. And bruised. Because I couldn’t protect her. “There’s nothing between here and the bed but an open door.”
“I know.”
“And you still think you can’t go in there with me?”
My instinct is to hold her hands tight enough to crush them. The reality of her forces me to be gentle. At least in this moment it does. “Do you know what it did to me when I found out he had you?” The feeling rushes back. Sickening. The air goes out of my lungs. “I was so fucking afraid. It ruined me.”
“You came anyway,” she says. “Connor’s dead. I’m safe.”
“You’re safe for now.” The pain is so great, the fear so strong. The threat to me so real, more than bombs or guns. I can’t have her. I can’t even be near her. “For now. And I would do anything to keep you safe.”
Only because I can’t survive the alternative.
Even in love I’m a selfish bastard.
Bethany rubs her thumb in
to the sensitive inside curve of my hand. “Is this the same fight as before?” A wry smile softens her face. “You’re afraid you’d do anything for me?” She looks down at our joined hands. “That it would be too much of a risk for a man like you?”
“No. What’s left to risk? I’m already lost.” I bury my fingers in her hair, bringing her eyes back to mine. “How the fuck will I ever live without you?”
One heartbeat and she climbs into my lap, straddling me. Her muscles are sure and strong. Her hands might be small, but they’re steady on the sides of my face. Bethany kisses the corner of my mouth. She grazes my bottom lip. Her gaze is surprisingly steady. I almost can’t meet her gaze, but I force myself to do it. “You don’t have to live without me.” With one knuckle, she taps against my breastbone. “Choose to live with me. Right now. Choose it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Under her kiss the fear flies away, replaced with a low, burning desire. I kiss her hard. Harder. “That’s my line, sweetheart.”
I let her mouth soothe me, even as my desire rages higher. Nothing is solved, though, because no one’s ever really safe. She’ll always have a crazy brother. She’ll always have unhinged fans. How the fuck will I ever live without her?
I wasn’t lying before. She ruined me. I’m gone.
Bethany
The first thing I’m aware of in the morning is the emptiness. I’ve slept here enough nights to know when I’ve got the whole bed to myself, and I do.
Josh should be here. I can still feel the mark of him all over me.
He covered what Connor tried to do with gentle kisses. Then he fucked it out of me. He took my pleasure into his own hands, and now all I can feel is him. The horror of those hours in the dance studio are already fading. It won’t be long before I can let myself believe it was only a nightmare.
Wispy, like the suggestion of ghosts at a séance.
Not even there.
I was mistaken before, when I thought the sheets smelled like him. Now they do. I breathe him in. This is what home smells like. What safety smells like.
A shadow falls over the bed. I open my eyes.
Josh stands at the side, fully dressed. A pressed suit. Not one errant wrinkle. He’s ready for…work? He looks down at me, his expression impassive.
The sun falls around him like a halo. This man is no angel. “Morning, sweetheart.” He reaches down and rubs a thumb roughly over my cheek. “You want a ride? I’d do it myself, but I have a meeting. Noah can escort you home.”
Dread tightens my stomach. “What?”
“You didn’t think we were going to play house, did you? Christ, I can see the answer on your face. That’s embarrassing. Look, we caught the guy. You’re safe now.”
My cheeks are the same temperature as the sun. Tears prick the back of my eyes. What is he doing? “I don’t understand.”
“Let me spell it out for you. You were a nice fuck. Now it’s over.”
“Bastard,” I say, barely able to squeeze out the word.
“You won’t hear me deny it.”
“Why are you saying this stuff to me?”
“Because it’s true.”
The words ring… false. They hurt me, a fresh cut oozing blood from an old, deep wound. Even knowing he’s full of shit, he can hurt me. I push myself upright on the bed. “You don’t mean that. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I know you care about me.”
“Of course I care about you. I don’t want you dead. I don’t want you to be some crazy fucker’s little ballerina doll. I care about all women that way. That doesn’t mean we’re going to ride off into the sunset together.”
A flinch. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” His voice is taunting.
“It’s natural to be scared. Everyone feels like that sometimes.” I feel like a PBS special, but it’s the truth. And I get the impression Josh could have used better childhood programming. We both could have. I reach for his hand.
He pulls away. “You know, I thought that might be the case. But when I woke up this morning, I realized that everything is still the same. You’re just not worth that kind of investment. No pussy is.”
Goddamn. Like I’m a piece of property in a business deal. He’s doing this on purpose, and I won’t stand for it. I won’t let him hurt me like this again.
Not when I know the truth.
I grit my teeth. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? I meant it back then, and I mean it now. Same as ever.” I see it, deep behind the green of his eyes. A flicker. A flash. Like distant heat lightning. I want to yank the storm out of him. I want to stand in it with him and let him see how it can’t really touch us. But he turns away, striding for the door. “Noah will drop you off at your place. Let him know if you need transportation in the future. He probably wouldn’t turn down a fuck for a few favors.”
Every word out of his mouth feels like a knife in my body. There’s a dull throb from the attack yesterday. Everything hurts, but nothing as badly as his cold look. I force myself to kneel on the bed, pulling the sheet around me like it’s a robe, like I’m a queen instead of a broken ballerina. “Josh. I know you’re afraid. I’m afraid, too, but I love you. You want to push me away? Fine. Consider me pushed, but I know the truth. I love you, and I think you love me, and you’re breaking my heart.”
His head cocks to the side like I’ve said something curious. Maybe something in a foreign language that he doesn’t understand. “I don’t love you,” he says.
I flinch. I’m not going to crumple in front of him. Not this time. “Maybe. But maybe you do love me. Maybe you just have to let yourself love me. Would you?” God, he could end this pain. He could end it right now. I’ve been here before. I don’t want to be here again. But I’d rather be here with him than anywhere else in the world. “Would you let yourself be this vulnerable?”
He blinks at me. And for one horrible moment I allow myself to hope.
Joshua North shakes his head.
No.
It’s more than an answer to my question. It’s a refusal of everything. Of me. Of us. Of love. It’s the last thing he does before he leaves the room, this man who’s saved me a thousand times, this man who won’t let me save him back. It’s not the violence that scares him. It never has been. It’s the certainty that he’ll lose me, that he’ll lose everyone. He’d rather walk away before it happens. He’s the bravest man I know, but in this, in love, he’s still a goddamn coward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
Josh
Buying a ticket to Bethany’s last show at the box office feels more illicit than an arms deal. It feels dirtier than double-crossing a man I thought was supposed to be a brother-in-arms. It feels like I’m the world’s biggest scumbag, and a stalker on top of that. Which is accurate.
I am being a fucking stalker. There’s a certain level of guilt that comes with that, but not nearly enough to make me stop. In fact what I’m really struggling with is the urge to find Bethany in her dressing room, throw her over my shoulder, and hide her away forever. What I’m doing is bad, but what I want to do is worse.
I behave myself because I can pretend to be a gentleman under the right circumstances. I won’t fuck up her last show, no matter how badly I want to. Liam and Samantha have front row seats to the final show. They’re somewhere in the sea of people. Above us, in one of the boxes, is her brother and his entourage. He’s still a crazy fucker, but he does actually care about his sister.
Me? I’m in the back row. From here I can see everything. I can feel everything.
And it’s not what I expected.
Honestly I thought I was coming here to assuage my own guilt over being a piece of shit. I’m not dumb enough to think I didn’t break her heart. I know I did. It was written all over her face. Let’s not forget that I have prior experience in the matter. I know exactly what I did. Tonight was
supposed to be proof that she still had something to love in her life, even if I wasn’t worthy of her heart.
The performance gives me a sinking feeling.
Bethany moves under the lights like she always has. Effortlessly. In defiance of gravity. She spins and lifts and bends her body in ways that I always thought were an expression of deep joy. But I was too fucking blinded by lust to look at her face. I’m looking now. The smile locked into place is fake. It’s for show. For the patrons. It’s the same one she was wearing when I caught her delivering the glass of champagne to that douchebag in the lobby.
Nobody around me has any idea.
They ooh and aah and clap and gasp. A woman to my left catches me staring, grim and horrified. They have no idea. They think this is all real. That she loves putting herself on display for their entertainment. That she wants nothing more than to be seen as a body in motion. It’s not much better than Connor tying her to the barre with his belt. It’s fucking sick.
The standing ovation takes me by surprise.
I’m not prepared for the song to end. I’ve been too disheartened by this new version of Bethany. I can see right through her facade. Jesus, she’s good. I believed it. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. What the hell does that say about me? Nothing good.
Nothing has ever been good about me, and this is no exception.
When she takes her final bow, I wipe my hands against my jacket. My skin feels dirty just watching this. I’m garbage, just like the rest of these people. Worse. Because I bought the ticket to make myself feel better, when she’s the one who’s empty. No joy on her face. No joy in her heart. She’s just doing Landon’s bidding. It has nothing to do with her. Even when the crowd gets on their feet for a standing ovation, Bethany wears the same blank smile.
Fucking heartbreaking.
