Lara

I have lost my mind.

Jogging to my dressing room my body vibrates with the heat of being in Mark’s arms. My brain is drunk on his delicious kisses, and my heart is flying in my chest. It’s amazing. I don’t have to hide my true self from him, and I don’t have to act.

He held my hand and told me to breathe. He kissed me and made me laugh. I’ve never felt so light and free and happy…

Stopping at the back door, I close my eyes and relinquish the fight. I think of his lips at my ear and the crack in his voice when he said he wanted me. My insides clench, and I remember how we touched.

Riding him, sliding my body against the steel rod in his jeans, I was on fire. Now I ache to finish what we started. I’ve never felt this way before… not even about Roland. I was a little girl then, dreaming of him writing songs for me and being my boyfriend.

Now I’m a woman, and I’m dreaming of Mark as my lover. I imagine his hands on my breasts, his mouth everywhere.

A loud crash makes me jump. Speak of the devil, Roland bangs through the metal side door and stops when he sees me. He walks to where I’m standing, facing the door to the backstage rooms.

“Hey… I didn’t expect to see you here.” Dark eyes search my face. “Feel like going over some of the new songs?”

“Not really.” My voice cracks, and his gaze fixes on my mouth.

My lips are warm and throbbing from Mark’s kisses, and I know he sees it.

“Ahh…” He steps back, turning to face the empty house. “I passed Mark out on the street just now. He seemed different somehow. Happy.”

“Really? I wonder why.” I’m trying to keep my voice light and failing.

“He’s a good-looking guy. Brave… Heroic even.” He starts across the stage, headed to the opposite door. “It’s too bad he doesn’t have any money. Or connections.”

Roland continues up the aisle and out the door, leaving me alone. I read his message loud and clear. I need to get my head straight.

Even if all I can think about are Mark’s full lips, his broad shoulders, the promise in his jeans… Roland is right. I shouldn’t be thinking about men in this place, or if I do, my thoughts should be on Freddie.

Before Molly even opens her eyes the next morning, I’m up and pulling on my jeans and a black sweater. I spent yesterday running around the city with Mark, but I can’t afford to be so careless today.

I’m out the side door and jogging up the alley in the direction of the library before the clock even hits ten. Stopping at a coffee truck, I use a few of our dollars to get a café au lait and a scone, then I hurry to catch the streetcar heading uptown to Loyola University, using another dollar for the short trip.

When I reach Tulane Avenue, I hop off and toss my trash in a green metal bin before jogging up the steps of the public library. The building smells like pine cleaner and old books. The crowd is light for a Saturday—teens wearing braces and glasses, a young guy carrying a backpack—and I consider how there’s a whole different world outside the twelve-block radius beside the Mississippi River that defines my life.

People here go to school. They have jobs and families. They worry about gas bills and tuition payments and who’s running for President. The math of tickets sold or nights in review or the density of glitter on a thong… the details of my strange existence are light-years from this place. I’m a foreigner trying to belong here.

I find an open computer and sit down, holding my library card under the red scanner until it beeps, giving me access. Minutes pass as the cursor blinks in the white rectangle waiting for me to search for something. Anything…

I consider Mark’s question. What do you want to do?

If all I want is to be a singer, I can stay on Royal Street for that. Or head one block north and moonlight at a club on Bourbon. I have to think in this world, the world of Loyola and Tulane. I tap the mouse and type in the words jobs for young women and hit enter.

A list appears, and I start to read. Most of them start with the word “volunteer.” I don’t know much, but I know that means working for free, so I keep scrolling. Places seeking interns—again a job where you don’t get paid. How do these people eat if they never get paid?

More scrolling.

A foundation seeks a grant writer. I don’t even know what that means. I’m attracted to an ad for a videographer and film editor for an independent production company making short films focused on historic sites in the city. Wow. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

A notepad and one of those tiny, half-pencils I’ve only seen in church sit beside the keyboard. I pick it up and make a few notes. College degree required is a common phrase in all the listings.

Several hours pass, and my mind drifts to Mark. He wants to be a policeman, and I can see him keeping the peace. He’d look amazing in that uniform with his broad shoulders and narrow waist. I can see him in those aviator sunglasses, square jaw, and light hair. My stomach flutters and my lip goes between my teeth. I imagine the feel of nylon under my fingertips. His skin tasted salty, and his body was warm… Looking down, my notepad is covered in stars, hearts, and figure eights.

Clearing my throat, I straighten and search a different combination of words, no college degree required. These jobs pay by the hour and take place at times I can’t work around my schedule at the theater. I have to find something that will build until I can leave the Pussycat with Molly. I can’t support us on any of these starting salaries, and at least we can live in the theater.

Discouragement is heavy in my chest when two-thirty hits. The library closes in a half hour, and I’ve spent a whole day with nothing to show for it. Standing, I rip the sheet of paper out of the yellow legal pad and fold it several times. I shove the small square in the back of my jeans and head for the door.

The wind is stronger now, and it’s starting to rain. I dash across the street and jog up the few blocks to the Walgreens. The metal door swishes open, and I head for the clothes section. Sliding plastic hangers across the metal bar, I choose two shirts for Molly. One is dark green with vertical white pinstripes. The other is autumn orange. They’ll look pretty with her complexion, and they won’t pull so much across her breasts. The more I can downplay her emerging assets, the better.

Ten dollars spent, and I’m outside again, hopping on the streetcar headed to the river. When I arrive at the theater, it’s bustling with the dancers, musicians, set guys, and everyone preparing for tonight’s performance.

Gavin is backstage, which makes everyone stress out. Roland snaps at Tanya as she warms up, and Vanessa complains to Rosa about her pasties not staying on her tits. I hunch my shoulders and do my best to disappear in the velvet wings before anyone sees me.

“Lara!” I freeze at Gavin’s loud voice. Heavy footsteps cross the stage to where I stand clutching my Walgreen’s bag. “You’ve been shopping?”

“Molly needed shirts,” I say quietly, doing my best to hunch to the side, pretending my waist is still in pain. It’s not, and he knows it.

“Good. You’ll rejoin the production tomorrow night.”

My shoulders drop, but I know. Nobody stays here for free. “Yes, sir.”

He only studies me a moment before turning on his heel and heading back in the direction he came.

Mark’s mention of new business drifts through my mind, and I wonder if that’s why Gavin is here.

Vanessa’s voice goes loud. “I should be the lead tomorrow. The crowd loves what I’m doing. I bring character to the role.”

“Lara can sing,” Roland deadpans.

Vanessa glares at him. “I handle it as more of a speaking part.”

“It’s a singing part.” He’s not backing down, and as much as I appreciate him fighting for me, I can’t deny my anxiety at taking the role.

Being in the spotlight here is like having a bull’s eye painted on your forehead—or your crotch. I don’t engage. I keep my eyes fixed on the scuffed black floor and pick up the pace, headed to my room. Still, I don’t miss Vanessa’s final jab.

“Too bad for Mark,” she sighs. “Our moments in the dark are so intimate. He knows how to touch a girl just so… Gets the fires burning.”

Jealousy tightens my throat, and rage burns my cheeks. My eyes snap up, and daggers shoot from my glare.

“Did I say something wrong?” Her green eyes are round, but the gleam in them says her innocence is an act.

She’s baiting me, but I only clutch the bag tighter and push through the curtains. I’m heading to my room, moving fast through the darkness when Mark appears. It’s like the force of my possessiveness drew him. I want him to be mine and only mine.

“Lara.” His voice is smooth, like a caress to my angry heart. “Where were you today? I was looking for you…”

He’s in jeans and a dark gray tee, and he looks like everything good in my bleak little world.

“I was at the library.” All the words I don’t say drift through my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I missed you so much. You’ll be such a sexy cop. Don’t leave me here alone…

“Oh, right.” He looks down and somehow manages to be even sexier in his regret. “I kept you from that yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I smile, taking a step closer. “I mean, I wanted to go with you. I wouldn’t have missed that poboy for anything.”

He steps closer, and his warmth makes my heart beat faster. “The poboy was good, but I thought something else was better.”

My back is to the wall, and he leans beside me. The pull is back, the force inside me that craves his touch, his kind words, my dream of escape and safety in his arms.

“What was it?” My words are a hot whisper, and he leans into me.

I don’t pull away like I should. I pull closer, reaching for his shoulder, sighing from deep in my soul when his arms tighten around me. I turn my face to gasp for air as he kisses my temple, the side of my hair, my neck. His lips are a match to gasoline. I’m on fire, and logic and reason can kiss my ass—I want him.

We kiss. Our lips unite, move apart, and our tongues collide and curl together. Heat blazes between my thighs with every pass, and I search his waist, slipping my fingers beneath his cotton shirt to his skin. A groan rolls from his throat as I trace the lines on his stomach. I want to go lower. I want to wrap my fingers around the hard muscle I feel straining in his pants.

Our lips part, and he kisses my chin, my neck… He pauses, and his eyes fix on my breasts rising and falling rapidly under my thin shirt. I want to rip it off. I want him to devour my breasts. My body is melting from the heat, but I hear the footsteps on the stage out front. My reality trickles through the darkness.

“Oh, Mark,” I gasp, my legs trembling as I step back. “We can’t do this here.”

He stands before me panting, his hair tousled, his shirt loose, and God, he’s like a dream. I smooth my hair and straighten my sweater. I have to get to my room, but he stops me.

“Wait.” I glance up, and his expression, his beautiful, caring face melts my heart. “I hope your search went well.”

I nod, turning away so he can’t see the mist in my eyes. It didn’t go well, and in the smallest part of my heart, I’m glad. I don’t want to leave him.

“It’s not true…” His voice is quiet. “I want you to find what you’re looking for, but I wish we had more time.”

My eyes go to his, and I see his struggle. It’s my own reflected back at me. “I told Gavin I’d take the job.”

“I return to the show tomorrow night.”

We’re quiet in the face of our shared future.

“It’s your last night before you’re a star.” Slowly lifting a finger, he traces it along the line of my hair, a sad smile curling his lips. “Better rest.”

I turn and run into the blackness to my little room as the passage door closes behind me. Two turns and I’m there, but I pause in the narrow hallway before opening the door. I press my fist into my chest and exhale, ordering myself to get control.

But I can’t escape him. Images of Mark stubbornly invade my thoughts. His friendly smile, his burning kiss, his gentle touch. He promised to keep me safe.

Is it possible we’re stronger than the forces surrounding us? I spent today learning I’m trapped in this machine… Can Mark help us escape? Shaking my head, I know my salvation won’t come in time. He’s right. I need to make the most of tonight, because tomorrow everything changes.

* * *

Mark

Again I’m in the darkness high above the stage, waiting.

Gavin was pleased when I told him I’d take the job, but he was confused when I insisted I had to keep this task, up here in the dark making sure Lara doesn’t fall.

He started to argue. My work for him doesn’t involve being on the set crew. Still, I argued I know the requirements of this position, and I’ve proven I’m willing to do what it takes to keep her safe.

His watery blue eyes slid to my hands, and he agreed to my terms. Whether he knows my real reason, I can’t tell, and I don’t care. I don’t trust anybody up here with my girl, and I won’t risk Lara’s life as long as I’m here.

I promised her I’d be here every night, and I won’t break my promise.

Only this night, it’s Vanessa climbing that narrow ladder to the catwalk. With a heavy exhale, I step away, to the farthest point from the swing.

She doesn’t wear a robe or any cover over her body. Her costume is more revealing than the one Lara wears, and it’s somehow less sexy as a result. Vanessa stands at the top of the platform in a nude thong, a network of glittering strings draping from her neck over her bare breasts, and the smallest pair of wings attached to her shoulders.

Her blonde hair is long down her back to her ass, and her jeweled heels are so tall, our eyes are level. It’s clear her outfit is patterned after those runway angels. It’s a sexy getup, but for me, it’s on the wrong woman.

“Mark?” She trots across the narrow boards to where I’m standing, arching her back so her full breasts lead the way. “I think one of my straps came undone while I was climbing the ladder. Would you check it for me?”

She pauses a moment, standing very straight in front of me. I can see… everything. She’s not wearing pasties. She’s pretty much fully nude.

“It all looks… fine.” Turning my head, I fix my gaze on the show unfolding below. Tanya is doing her contortionist routine, tossing scraps of fabric into the wings with every backbend and twist.

“It’s not on the front,” Vanessa argues. “It’s on my ass.”

She spins on her heel and leans forward, thrusting her bare round ass into my crotch and twerking it. Fuck. My body responds to her movements because, hell, I’m not dead. Still, I take a step back.

“Yeah, it looks okay to me.”

She straightens and looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and lips curved in a smile. “I felt that.” She turns again and moves closer. “You like what you see?”

I’m at the end of the walk, and she’s pressed against my chest, putting pressure on the front of my jeans, and I distinctly feel her hand stroking my cock up and down, running her nails over my growing erection.

“Mmm, it’s so big.” Her green eyes sparkle. “I’ll leave my door open after the show, and you can sink this lead pipe deep in my well.”

Reaching down, I catch her wrist and move it off my crotch. “You’re going to mess up your costume.”

Her hand twists in my grip, and she guides my fingers between her legs. “Feel how wet I am for you.”

I pull my hand up and out of hers before she makes it to her cunt. Jesus, how long does it take to get to the musical cue? She’s all over me, and I don’t want to touch her.

Clearing the thickness from my throat, I move to the side, allowing her to have my place against the metal guardrail. I cross the narrow strip of boards to the bench and pull a pair of leather gloves out of my back pocket.

“You need to get seated and attach the safety harness.”

She turns and walks to me like a model on the catwalk, eyes fixed on mine. “You always make me wet, Mark. Do you know that?” Long fingernails trace up my forearm, and I step away, returning to my place beside the rope without answering.

Facing me, she sits, lifting her bare breasts as she holds the sides of the bench. Then she opens her legs wide, flashing me her pussy before crossing them again. The musical cue sounds, and the seat moves out over the open stage, but she looks back over her shoulder and mouths the words, All for you.

I almost mouth back, No thanks, but it doesn’t matter. She’s descending. I’ve made it through my last night in the dark with that naked octopus. I can think of five guys who would give their front teeth for my spot up here with Vanessa, and I’d gladly give it to them. The only catch is I’m not sure I’d get it back when Lara returns, and I have to be here for my girl.

The swing makes it to the bottom without a hitch, and I toss the gloves on the chair, hopping on the ladder and quickly returning to the floor. It’s early enough I might catch Lara before she calls it a night.

I know she’s tired. I know she’s worried about returning to her place tomorrow night. I want to reassure her about all of it. Even better, Terrence leaves for the Caribbean tomorrow. I’ll have the house to myself, and I want to ask her to come home with me after the show. I want to keep her safe there, away from this place at night.

My chest is tight, expanding with my dreams of our future, my plans for cheating the system, when Gavin bumps into me in the wings.

“Whoa, there.” He steps out from the side door, and seems surprised to see me. “Mark—just the man I was looking for. Come with me.”

“I-I was just—” I hesitate, my eyes traveling to the door leading to Lara’s room. I’m not supposed to be back here.

“Now.” His tone tells me it isn’t a request.

I nod and follow him through the side door into a narrow hallway I’ve never seen before. He walks fast, leading me on a steady slope down. We take a sharp curve, and we’re still traveling lower, going underground, beneath the stage to where the trap doors lead. Yellow lights in cages are scattered at distant intervals, casting long shadows through the dusty basement. Still, he doesn’t stop.

We arrive at another door at the opposite side of the theater from where we entered.

Gavin pauses, and looks at me over his shoulder. “In this job, you don’t talk about what you see.” It’s a command, given with icy finality.

He waits, and I realize he’s waiting for me to acknowledge I understand.

“Yes, sir.” My voice seems small in the vast area.

My skin crawls as we pass through the door. It’s clearly a secret area, recently renovated with fresh carpet and new wallpaper. My gaze travels up to the ceiling, and I see tiny black domes for surveillance cameras.

I think of what I know about secrets and places hidden underground. Usually when things are secret, what happens in them is illegal. Terrence’s warning flickers in my mind, and my muscles tense, bracing for what’s to come.

We’re in another hallway lined with doors, but it’s quiet. I’m pretty sure we’re alone. Gavin stops at the first door, pushing it open and reaching inside to flick a switch. It doesn’t flood with light. It warms with the illumination of yellow bulbs.

“In here.” He stands back as if waiting for me to enter ahead of him. I hesitate and meet his eyes before entering the room.

Immediately, I recoil. My voice escapes on a hiss. “What the fuck?”

A bed is against the back corner, and it’s torn apart. Sheets are pulled away and part of the bare mattress is exposed. The smell of sweat and something deeper, musty, hangs in the air, and dark stains are on the sheets, a swipe on the wall, a handprint. On the carpet is a large, black oval. Is it blood? Is this a crime scene?

“Clean it up.” He starts to leave, but I go after him, down the short hallway.

“What happened here?”

He doesn’t stop, and I reach out to grab his arm.

It’s a mistake.

He turns on me faster than I can see, slamming my back to the wall, his forearm at my neck. This guy’s as tall as me and twice my weight.

Blue eyes bore into mine, and bourbon stings my nose. “You work for me now,” he growls. “You don’t ask questions. You don’t think. You do as you’re told.” Tightening his fist on my neck, he pushes me toward the room. “Clean it up. Burn the rest.”

“Take it easy, Gavin.” The scuff of shoes precedes another man joining us. He’s short and beefy, and when he turns, light reflects off a badge. My stomach roils when I realize he’s a cop, and he’s staring at me, memorizing my face. “Mark Fitzhugh, right?”

I won’t confirm or deny.

I don’t have to.

“Reese Landry, meet the new guy.”

“Kinda young, isn’t he?”

“He’s young, but he’s got guts. He’ll do what it takes to stay here.”

In that moment, I realize Gavin has my number.

Landry walks closer, taking one glance into the room before smiling at me. “Welcome to our world, Mark Fitzhugh. Enjoy your stay.”

Nausea is in my throat, and I watch the two men leave. I’m alone in this strange hidden place facing this dark task.

Two steps, and I consider running. It’s not too late to catch up with Terrence and leave in the morning on a fishing boat headed for a tropical paradise. Or simply hop a train and ride it all the way to Chicago. He won’t come after me. Why should he? I don’t know anything—what happened here or why.

Fuck Landry, the crooked cop. Fuck both of them and their surveillance cameras.

One thing stops me. It’s the thing Gavin knew before I did. I won’t leave Lara behind in this place. She’s the reason I told Terrence no. She’s the reason I told Gavin yes…

She’s never given me a reason to stay. It’s only the barest hope, a few stolen kisses and a dream of something more. We both want more than this life, but now I’m being pulled deeper into it. Welcome to our world.

Reaching for the doorjamb, I squeeze the wood in my fist as my stomach churns. I won’t leave her here, which means I’m going to do this job. I look side to side in the hallway. He said to clean this up, burn the sheets…

I walk further down the passage, deeper into the belly of this beast, until I come to a narrow door with a brass plate on the outside. No inscription, but I push it open and find what I’m looking for inside. A mop, a bucket, shelves of supplies. Clorox and lighter fluid. It’s the start of my work here, cleaning up the mess, burning the evidence, covering their tracks.

I don’t know who lost this fight.

I only know I won’t be seeing Lara tonight.