“I need you to go to Tanya’s room and be sure she gets dressed and on that stage. If you see her even look at a drug, you’d better carry her out of there.” He leans closer, furious eyes cutting into mine. “And don’t come back.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod and change directions, heading to Tanya’s dressing room.
I don’t want to watch Tanya dress. Her body makes me ill. I can count her ribs through the skin stretched taut across her back. Her chest is flat as a boy’s, and her hair is tissue thin and frizzled. Everything about her is like a toy doll left in the rain and snow, abandoned and forgotten.
“Out of the way, boy!” Rosa pushes past me. She’s thick and bossy, and she has costumes over her arm.
I step back and hold the door, looking at my fingernails as the two of them wrap and fasten and tie and apply wigs and headdresses and fans. By the time the stocky woman is finished, Tanya is Jezebel. Up close she’s clearly a malnourished drug addict, but from afar, she’s pink cheeks and soft breasts pushed up into little peaks. She’s a queen.
They pass me in a cloud of starchy powder and antique perfume, and I walk slowly after them, following the narrow hallway toward Lara’s room. I’m sure she’s gone as well, out to the wings to wait for her moment to descend to the stage as the dark angel. I need to head up as well.
These halls are deserted when they’re performing. The skeleton crew is moving scenery and operating lights and equipment, and everyone else is standing in the darkness watching for anything that might go wrong. I’m surprised to see Gavin at her door. He’s speaking softly, urgently, and she’s blinking rapidly. I step to the side and creep closer hoping to overhear their conversation.
“I won’t let that happen.” Her voice is panicky. “I’ll take her place.”
The fear in Lara’s voice shoots fire through my veins. Why is she afraid?
Gavin’s voice is low. “I’ll pass that along.”
My fists clench, and I’m prepared to charge forward and slam one into his choleric nose. It’s several days before I discover the bargain she made, before I chase after her down those dark halls…
That night I find her on her knees in one of the hidden rooms below the theater. The walls are papered in red velvet, and a row of doors lines the passage. It’s like something out of a David Lynch film, surreal and unsettling.
I stop at the corner, carefully picking my way closer, looking for anyone who might be lurking in the shadows.
A knot of possessive anger is in my throat. I know what goes on down here. I’m ashamed that I’ve played a part in covering it up and allowing it to happen. That time I made a vow, I’ll never Lara be hurt here.
I wait a bit longer to see if someone is planning to join us right away. After minutes that feel like hours, I head around the corner and down the second red velvet hallway.
A diamond-studded crown embellishes the door, and a small black plaque reads Private. I reach forward and turn the handle, allowing it to fall open, allowing the narrow shaft of bright light from the hallway to illuminate the interior.
My voice catches, and my semi is back when I see her.
Lara kneels on the floor, her legs bent under her. Her palms are flat on her thighs, and her chin is down. A black satin mask is over her eyes, and she’s breathing so fast, her full breasts rise and fall above the top of her corset.
“Lara?” I say softly, taking a step toward her.
She jumps and stretches her back toward me, but her movements are wrong. She seems fuzzy, drugged out somehow, and her neck is red like someone tried to strangle her.
I go to her and lift the mask off her eyes. “What are you doing? Why are you kneeling here?”
Her eyes widen and she reaches for me. “You’re here!”
“What are you doing?” My hands are on her upper arms, and I attempt to lift her to her feet.
She struggles against me, raising her hands to slap mine away. “I have to do what he says… You have to go before he comes back.”
“Who?” I look all around.
We’re in an elaborate bedroom with mirrors on all the walls. A narrow fireplace is across from a single bed, and a red divan sits in the corner waiting. It’s a boudoir.
“Are you…” I can’t even say the words. “Why are you doing this? What’s happening?”
“Give me the mask.” She holds out her hand, but I swing the piece of silk behind my back.
Her chin trembles and she looks down at her lap. I wait, doing my best to swallow the pain in my throat, doing my best to keep breathing.
I’m on my feet, this time, pulling her up by the waist with me. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“It’s too late,” she cries.
The words pull me up short. “What?”
She goes limp in my arms. “I thought I could keep her safe. I thought I could get her out of here, but it’s too late now.”
I’ve never cared about money, but for the first time in my life I’m confronted by what a necessary evil it is.
She reaches up and touches my face. “Sweet Mark. You want to help me?”
“More than anything,” I say with all the conviction roiling my stomach.
A bitter smile crosses her face, and her eyes are full of so much sadness, it breaks my heart. “Then go.”
“No,” I say desperately. “I’m getting you out of here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Thick lashes lower over dark eyes, and she shakes her head. “No one can save us now.”
Pain flashes in my stomach. I’m ready to argue I can save her, and I will, when she rises onto her toes and places her parted lips against mine. Her cool hand cups my cheek, and her tongue touches mine.
It’s a match to the desperate heat inside me. I grasp her body, pulling her closer. A noise comes from her throat as I consume her mouth, pulling her lips with mine, sliding my tongue to hers, stoking the flames higher with each pass.
My arms are around her, and I’m momentarily distracted by how she melts into me, gripping my shoulder with her free hand. Mine moves up her back into her hair. My fingers curl in her silky locks, and my cock stiffens in my jeans.
“Mark,” she gasps, breaking her lips away, but I can’t stop. I chase her mouth, covering it again with mine, drinking from her like a fountain in the desert. I want to take her away from here and keep her safe… I want to make love to her.
“You’re coming with me,” I whisper against her ear, overwhelmed by the passion coursing through my body. “You’ll stay with me. You’ll be mine, and I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
My hand travels down the curve of her ass, and her fingers tighten on my shirt. “I want to go with you,” she says in a voice that nearly slays me.
Stepping back, I’m ready to drag her to the nearest exit, leave this place, and never look back. I imagine days in the sun, a little white house with a picket fence and children playing in the yard. I imagine every corny thing a man ever imagines about the girl of his dreams when an iron hand slams down on my shoulder. I’m gripped in a vise-like metal claw, and our moment is shattered to little tiny pieces.