by Shandi Boyes
Following their adoring gazes, I spot Marcus standing at the bar speaking with the man Cartier gestured to mere seconds ago. Seemingly sensing my gaze, Marcus's head slings to the side, and his eyes lock with mine simultaneously. I smile shyly as I fight to ignore the little voice inside me shouting with euphoria. This is the first sneaky glance we've had since Cartier filled in the vacant plus one on my invitation.
Marcus’s eyes bounce between Cartier and me for several heart-clutching seconds before he dips his chin in greeting. He then returns to his conversation.
“See,” Cartier explains, her brow lifting higher than her black sequin mask. “It's as if they don’t even exist.”
Although my insides are dancing with silly giddiness, my mouth still gapes. Cartier’s assessment of the situation proves she knows who Marcus is, which in turn, also proves she knows his secret. The only thing my baffled brain can’t work out is why Cartier would go out of her way to associate with me. Is she welcoming me into a community she is a part of? Or is she merely being friendly as she spotted my discomfort?
Before any probing questions can be fired off my tongue, the man Cartier gestured to earlier arrives at our booth. My throat becomes scratchy when it dawns on me why he seems so familiar. He is a very well-known and respected member of Congress.
After smiling a greeting, the man holds out his hand in offering to assist Cartier from the booth.
"I am sorry, darling, I must run. Duty calls." Cartier leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. "This one is so handsome, I might let him play for free," she whispers into my ear.
My eyes bulge as my jaw slackens more.
Loving my bug-eyed expression, Cartier cheekily winks before muttering, “Play nice, darling, I don’t think Master Chains even knows what he is dealing with yet.”
25
“Everything okay?”
Lifting my eyes from my intertwined fingers, I am met with the smiling face of Emily. Careful not to expose the tiny curve in her belly, she slides into the booth I’ve been sitting in solo the past hour.
“Yeah, everything is great.”
Emily scrunches her pointed-up nose. “Really? Because Jenni, Kylie and I are bored as hell.”
Her reply shocks me. I thought my boredom was because I wasn’t used to attending these glitzy types of events. I had no clue it is because it's an actual snooze fest.
Spotting my shocked expression, Emily explains, "At the start, this event was about raising awareness for ALL while hoping the attendees would contribute to much-needed research into the horrible disease. Now, it’s more about smooching and hobnobbing and discovering whose bank balance is the largest. Don't get me wrong, every penny donated tonight goes to a wonderful cause; it just doesn't embody what the Serena Scott Foundation is about."
“Then why did you attend?” Curiosity rings in my tone.
“To show support for one of our own. We have attended and will continue attending every single gala.” She locks her nearly translucent brown eyes with mine. “Now we’ve just secured another poor pauper to drag along with us.”
My heart warms, pleased as punch she sees my inclusion into their unique dynamic as long-term.
“Can I ask you something, Emily?”
She nods without hesitation.
“Why do you think I’m the first person Marcus has introduced to the band?”
I'm not asking her this question in the hope she will stroke my ego. I'm asking as I'm curious as to why Marcus doesn't believe his bond with his bandmates is strong enough to withstand his secret. From what I've seen, I don't know why he keeps his involvement in the BDSM lifestyle a secret from them. It's part of who he is, so why can't he be open and honest about it with the people who care about him the most?
Emily considers my question for a moment before shrugging. “In all honesty, I asked Noah the exact same thing after we met you last month. He was just as baffled as me.” She licks her lips as her eyes dilate with hesitation. “Over the years, we’ve tried to include Marcus’s family in anything the band is associated with. Our invitations have always gone unanswered. Other than meeting Serenity after a handful of concerts last year, the rest of his family remains a mystery to us.”
My eyes burn from a sudden rush of moisture in them. My tears aren’t just due to what Emily said; it's the way she said it. She sounds as devastated as I feel for Marcus.
“Since we are sharing, can I ask you something?” Emily questions, her words as hesitant as her facial expression.
After swallowing down my unease, I nod. I opened these cans of worms, so now I must deal with the consequences.
“When Marcus opens up to you, can you tell him his brothers will always be there for him? To outsiders, Rise Up is just a group of good-looking guys who sing music. To people who know them, they are a bunch of misfit brothers. They will support him no matter what it is.”
“I appreciate your confidence in believing he will open up to me, but I don’t know if he will. I’m just as perplexed by his personality as you guys are,” I reply, loathing that my voice comes out with a hint of anger. I’m not angry at my lack of knowledge about Marcus’s private life, more disappointed he feels he has to keep secrets to start with.
"Don't take Marcus's private nature personally, Cleo. For as long as I've known him he has always been. . . restrained." She grimaces on her last word, not realizing she just hit the nail right on the head.
I jump out of my skin when a sudden, “Did you ask her?” shrieks through my eardrums.
It takes all my will not to slap Jenni, who is leaning on the leather booth, grinning sheepishly at my frightened response. My interests pique when her eyes scan the room as if she is playing the part of a detective in a poorly casted movie. Actually, come to think of it, the impish gleam the gala dampened from her eyes the past two hours has returned stronger than ever. She looks outright mischievous.
“Not yet, I was building a rapport between us.” Emily squeezes my hand in silent acknowledgment our private talk will remain private.
My curiosity hits an all-time high when Kylie slowly saunters over to join our impromptu meeting, her eyes floating around the vast space as eagerly as Jenni’s.
“So, is she coming?” Kylie whispers, her voice barely audible over the string quartet playing on a makeshift stage to our right.
“I haven’t had the chance to ask her yet,” Emily confirms again.
After playfully snarling at her two friends, Emily locks her eyes with me. “We’re sneaking out,” she says matter-of-factly. “We want you to come with us.”
My brow arches. “You’re sneaking out?” I repeat, like I’m hard of hearing.
When Emily nods, I ask, “All of you?” I know I sound like an imbecile, but I want to ensure I’m getting the full picture.
Emily continues nodding.
“And the band?”
Emily stops nodding. “No. Just us girls. Nick’s brother owns a nightclub half a block up. We want to go dancing, so we’re going dancing.”
“And the guys don’t know?” I nearly roll my eyes at the sheer dimness displayed in my voice. I’m acting like the school nark ratting out the cool kids sneaking out for a smoke at school camp.
Emily shakes her head.
“We asked; their head of security shut down our request, citing it was ‘too much hassle’ just for us to go dancing,” Jenni informs me, her pitch snarky.
“So we came up with our own solution.”
If I didn’t know any better from the countless news articles I’ve read on Noah’s protectiveness of Emily, I’d swear she was excited at the prospect of being punished by Noah. She has a wicked gleam in her eyes I’ve never seen before—one that encourages reckless thoughts.
“So what do you say, Cleo, are you willing to take a walk on the wild side?” Kylie questions with waggling brows.
My throat works hard to swallow as I contemplate a reply. I love that they included me in their plans—it truly makes me feel like I am one of
the team, but my punishment for disobedience would be much greater than what they will endure when we get caught. And I don't have any doubt we will get caught. Emily has only been sitting with me for the past ten minutes, and I've spotted Noah peering over at least three times since then. They have a matter of minutes to leave this ballroom before their ruse is unraveled.
"Maybe next time?" I reply with a grimace, praying this isn't a one-time offer. I hardly know Emily, Jenni, and Kylie, but I have a great fondness for them already.
Like a queue of kindergarten students discovering the ice cream truck just ran out of sprinkles, the girl’s lips drop into a pout one by one.
“Are you sure?” Jenni’s pleading eyes bore into mine.
“I’ll even have Slater take the blame if Marcus gets too worked up,” Kylie adds, strengthening their silent pleas. “They are best buds, so what’s the worst that could happen?”
I could have my ass spanked red-raw. Or even worse, be withheld from climaxing indefinitely.
Certain I don’t want either of those consequences to reach fruition, I drift my confident gaze between three sets of begging eyes while saying, “I’m sure. Besides, if you truly want a chance to dance before Rise Up’s security ruins the party, you’ll need someone to act as a decoy.” I press my fingertip to my chest. “I’m the girl for the job.”
Emily purses her lips as she considers my suggestion.
“It could work,” Jenni replies to Emily’s silent question. “Remember what happened last time? We only got five, ten minutes max before Hawke came storming into the club, scaring the living daylights out of the guys dancing with us.”
“I don’t care how many times that guy swore on his grandfather’s grave, that puddle in his pants was not sweat,” Kylie mutters, giggling.
When they break into rapturous laughter, I join them, finally clued in enough to get the punch line.
Once her girly laughter settles, Emily connects her glistening eyes to mine. "Are you sure?" she checks.
I nod. “One hundred percent.”
“Okay, then what's this brilliant plan you have to get us out of here undetected?”
After giving the girls a brief rundown on my plan, I slide out of my booth. My steps toward the congregation of elegantly dressed ladies Cartier gestured to earlier are confident even though my insides are shaking uncontrollably. Their conversation dulls to a snicker when they notice my approach. I force a smile on my face, praying I haven't read their eagerness wrong.
“Can we help you?” the blonde in the middle of the pack snarls as her eyes rake my body. “Good god, who are you wearing?” she mutters under her breath.
"Only an original J Holt creation," I reply. My spine snaps straight, proud I replied to her rude comment with a hint of maturity. It was a hard-fought effort.
Her pupils widen as her eyes once again drink in my dress. “J Holt? As in Jenni Holt?” she queries, her voice having an edge of pompousness to it, like she doesn’t believe a word I’m speaking.
When I nod, her mouth gapes. Her next stare is more lingering than her first two.
“Oh my goodness. It’s fabulous,” she gushes, acknowledging the personal touches Jenni adds to every dress she designs.
“Please join us,” invites a brunette in a bright purple dress.
“Oh, no, I was just leaving. Thank you anyway.”
They peer at me suspiciously, wondering why I’ve forced myself onto them only to decline their invitation.
The suspicion leaves their faces when I say, "I just noticed you peering across the dance floor most of the night." I point in the direction Marcus is standing. Although I don't turn my head in his direction, I know he is watching me. I can feel the heat of his gaze scorching my skin.
“I was just wondering if you knew who the man is that you’ve been gawking at most of the night.” I cringe. It wasn’t supposed to come out sounding as creepy as that.
The blonde balks, acting unaware of whom I am referring to. Her anger is quickly subdued when I say, "I was talking to my friends, and no matter how hard we try to work out why his green eyes seem so familiar, we just can't quite pinpoint who he is."
The blonde touches my arm, the anger on her face no longer existent. “How could you not recognize those eyes?” she questions, her voice relaying she thinks I’m an idiot. “That's Marcus Everett, bassist of Rise Up.”
“Oh….” I state dramatically, acting as stupid as she thinks I am. “Now it makes sense why I saw Noah, Nick, and Slater earlier. They must come to these functions together?”
Sweat bubbles on my skin when six sets of lust-crammed eyes rocket to mine. “Rise Up is here? Nick, Noah, Slater? All of them?” The questions come from multiple sources all at once.
Nodding, I extend my index finger to the bar where the band has been hiding out for the past two hours. "They're over there—all alone."
“Alone?” the blonde perks up.
She checks her face as if there is a mirror in front of her before turning her massively dilated eyes to her friends. "Let's go, girls," she demands with a nudge of her head. “This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”
They mentally prep in a similar fashion to the blonde before they make a beeline for the bar I gestured to. Their hips swing so much, the ground wobbles under my feet. Once they are halfway across the room, I give Emily, Jenni, and Kylie the signal to go. With the eagerness of the blonde at a level I've never seen, I doubt the band has any clue what's about to hit them.
Emily blows me a quick kiss before she shadows Jenni and Kylie out the emergency exit I entered over two hours ago. A roguish grin curls my lips high when ear-piercing squeals of excitement bellow across the room. I don't need to swing my eyes in the direction of the noise to know what's causing the ruckus. The shrieking cries of fans gushing over their idols is all the indication I need to know my ruse just hatched.
My smile is laid to rest as quickly as it was awoken when a female voice at my side says, “It's lucky they’re more confident in their relationships than you are.”
My pulse quickens as I pivot around to face the lady I’d rather remain a stranger. Although she is wearing a plain black mask with an eccentric feather on the side, I’d never forget the fierce gaze I’m awarded with once I pivot around. Hell has been left to defend itself tonight. The devil is back in all her glory.
The more Delilah’s beady black eyes take in my high shoulders and lifted chin, the more my confident composure cracks. She doesn’t need to quote her famous saying for me to know what she is thinking. It's beaming out of her in invisible waves, as ghastly as the pretentious gleam in her eyes.
Apparently wanting to ensure I didn't miss the disdain her eyes are conveying, she mockingly whispers, "No amount of polishing can fix a cracked shell. Once it's cracked, it can never be repaired."
“What are you doing here, Delilah?” Even weeks haven’t dampened my anger about our last run-in, much less her current bombardment.
The large split in Delilah’s midnight black dress creeps up high on her waif-thin thigh when she steps closer to me. “Me? More like what are you doing here? I was unaware they required the help to dress up to keep up appearances.”
I snarl with bared teeth but since I was raised with morals, I don’t reply to her bitchy comment. Besides, I’ve become so accustomed to handling her wrath the past three years, her vindictive snipes barely nick my skin before they roll straight off my back.
Proving I am the better woman, I smile sweetly. “It was lovely seeing you again, Delilah. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”
My desire to get away from her is so potent, I nearly trip over the train of my dress as I make a beeline for the washroom. With her gaze so fierce it scorched my skin, a splash of cold water on my face sounds like a godsend.
My quick steps halt midstride when Delilah informs me, "I did as you suggested. I researched the BDSM lifestyle with a keener eye."
Blood rushes to the surface of my cheeks when her loud comment
gains me the constant stare of the patrons around us. The hiss of the woman next to me is so convincing, I wouldn't be surprised to discover she had her incisor teeth replaced with fangs.
Realizing she has me at a disadvantage, Delilah says, "It was interesting what I uncovered, quite the eye-opening experience. If you have a few seconds, I wouldn't mind sharing some pointers with you, you know, to stop you making a foolhardy move as you venture into the lifestyle."
I spin around so quickly, a rush of dizziness clusters into my head. “The only one being silly here, Delilah, is you,” I whisper, struggling to shake the attention our exchange has garnered.
Delilah shrugs off my comment with a roll of her eyes. The hairs on my arms bristle with agitation when she steps closer to me. Although I know I should shut down this conversation with a sense of maturity, the alcohol lacing my veins makes me braver than usual. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of starting a fight; I'm just not going to cowardly run and hide in the restroom—even if it's the smart thing to do.
When Delilah stops in front of me, I lift my eyes to hers. With her height advantage, I have to crank my neck back to meet her eye to eye. She stares at my diamond choker for several uncomfortable seconds before connecting her eyes with mine.
“A collar, how fitting.” Her tone is confident, ensuring I can’t mistake her statement as a question. “I’m surprised, Cleo. Truly I am. I can’t believe you fell into the trap. I’ve always said you were dimwitted, but to allow a man to collar you. . .” She stops talking, allowing her ghastly facial expression to relay the rest of her sentence.
“Clearly your research was ill-informed—”
“Not from where I’m standing,” she interrupts, not giving me the chance to negate her claims that I’ve been lured into the world of BDSM. “You’re at an event surrounded by people in the BDSM industry. . .”
My lips twitch to correct her inaccurate wording, but I keep my mouth shut—barely.
“. . .wearing a diamond collar that costs more than you’ll earn in a lifetime. Either your low self-esteem has lured you into a world where begging is essential, or your budding friendship with Cartier isn’t a friendship at all. It's a business opportunity.”
