Chapter Two
Late August in San Francisco was unexpectedly chilly. The temperature had been sitting at eighty degrees for weeks, then it plummeted into the fifties, and the fog threatened to roll in from the ocean.
Scarlet Rush walked toward the bar where she was meeting her friends, pausing to breathe in the crisp night air. She watched the busy Pacific Heights neighborhood buzz around her, waiting for the shock to wear off.
Is this really happening? Am I dreaming?
She hurried into the bar, scanning the area for a familiar face.
“Scar!” Her best friend Nora Brevic waved from across the room. “Over here!”
Scarlet waved back, making her way over to the table where Nora and their other friend Jason Koss sat. She sighed, dropping her messenger bag to the floor.
Nora handed Scarlet a glass of wine before stepping up onto her chair to address the entire room.
“My bestie, ladies and gentleman!” the petite blonde girl gushed. “The new prima ballerina of North Pointe!”
Nora raised the wine glass high into the air and it caught the light of the busy bar.
Scarlet laughed and as she sank down into her seat, hiding her face in mock shyness.
“Stop.” Jason smirked. “You’re embarrassing her.”
Nora laughed, leaning down to clink her glass to Scarlet’s. “I don’t care how loud I am, this is a big deal!”
Scarlet lifted her head, looking at her, feeling a surge of appreciation. “Thanks, guys.” She took a drink of the wine. “Sorry I’m late. I had to call and tell my parents the good news!”
Scarlet was still waiting for the shock to wear off. A few hours earlier, her life changed. Just three hours ago, she sat in a room with the most important people in the ballet company: the owner, Edward North; his husband, principal choreographer, Armand Onesti; and the artistic director, Madame Adele Amorette. They were the holy trinity of influential people in her world, and just one of them could make or break her. Their presence was overwhelming. Scarlet had never been in such a confined space with all of them at once. Her nerves dropped out immediately. Horrible thoughts of why she’d been called in had run through her head, and she’d begun to sweat profusely.
She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she had never been acknowledged, either. She was a corps dancer. Edward never once threw her a second glance, Armand always focused on the principals, and Madame Adele—who insisted her title be used—usually only threw her a critical glance here and there during rehearsal, and often told her that her posture was horrible for a ballerina.
Then, suddenly, all the attention was on her like a switch had flipped.
The news was nothing Scarlet expected to hear. Isobelle Laurent, the current prima, was retiring, and they were naming Scarlet the new star of North Pointe Ballet Company.
Scarlet didn’t understand at first. There was a long line of principal dancers vying for the coveted spot of prima. Giving it to a newer ballerina in the corps was unheard of. Scarlet figured she’s be stuck in the trenches for at least another four years.
Edward assured her that she was the first choice, even if Madame Adele’s sour face insinuated otherwise.
Scarlet blinked, bringing herself back to the bar and to her friend’s enthusiastic toast.
“Oh, and to the future,” Nora said, jumping back to the floor. “Our future as badass ballerinas! Drink up!”
Scarlet took a drink of the wine, relishing the buttery taste.
“She’s gonna get white-girl wasted.” Jason smirked. “You know Adele has her on the good ol’ air diet.”
Jason was a newer addition to the company, but had become instant friends with the two women. He was like the older gay brother Scarlet always wished she had. He was protective, but would also do her hair.
“Carbs.” Nora snorted. “We need carbs.”
Nora and Scarlet became friends two seasons ago when Nora moved from New York to San Francisco with her father, a businessman, who swiftly became a North Pointe partner to ensure his ballerina daughter became a soloist—a fact Nora didn’t even try to hide. Scarlet liked that about Nora. She was real, and didn’t care what others thought.
“Sounds good,” Scarlet agreed. “So does cheese.”
“Our waiter needs to take our order before I eat this tablecloth.” Jason sighed dramatically.
“Someone’s bitchy,” Nora said, ruffling up her pixie hairstyle.
“Whore,” Jason replied, raising an arm to catch the waiter’s attention.
The waiter finally arrived to take orders. It was bar food, and everything was off Madame Adele’s nutrition list, but it was a celebration, and Scarlet was going to eat. She’d worry about the long-term effect of french fries later.
Scarlet glanced around the bar, letting the excitement settle in her stomach. She knew Nora was dying to know everything, but her parents taught her to be humble, even when achieving big goals. She didn’t want to appear too eager to talk about herself.
When the waiter left, Nora turned to Scarlet.
“Well,” she pushed. “What was it like? How did they tell you? Were you nervous?”
“Easy, Nor.” Jason scrunched his lips up. “One question at a time. She’s not a hostage.”
Scarlet laughed, shaking her head. “It was kinda weird. Like, Mr. North was excited to tell me, but seemed off-put by something.”
“Probably pissed he lost what’s-her-face,” Nora replied slyly.
“You know her name.” Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Everyone does. He seemed stressed, but happy about it.”
“The man has layers,” Nora said. “Complicated layers. I mean, he was a decorated war veteran who left his wife for another man and started a ballet company with him.”
Scarlet blinked. Nora could sound so crass at times. She gossiped a lot, but it was usually harmless. Scarlet was mostly used to her friend’s talkative nature, but in one outburst, Nora sold Edward North out as being human instead of the mysterious and intimidating ruler of her world.
The military part Scarlet already knew. It was no secret he’d served in the Gulf War. Even her father, an Israeli American diplomat, knew who he was.
“He told me he’s had his eye on me since since last season,” Scarlet added. “He planned on bumping me to soloist anyway, but then…”
“I can’t believe Isobelle up and bolted,” Jason said, his attention on the waiter’s behind.
“Mr. North said she retired.” Scarlet shifted in her seat.
Nora blew a raspberry and took another drink of her wine. “I heard she left to go to Frisco Met. More established, and she’s banging the owner.”
“I’d bang him, too,” Jason said. “He’s dreamy.”
Scarlet frowned. The San Francisco Metropolitan Ballet was more established, but it was almost shut down a few years ago due to tax evasion and possible money laundering. Scarlet figured most of the talk was just rumor. The world of ballet loved to feed off of drama.
“Regardless of what happened,” Jason said, pointing at Scarlet. “How pissed is Victoria St. Claire? I bet she’s tearing that red hair of hers right out.”
Scarlet made a face. “She was waiting for me outside North Pointe. I don’t even know how’d she’d—”
“Mommy,” Jason said. “The perk of being Edward North’s lawyer is you get to tell your self-entitled daughter she didn’t get prima. Then you get to tell her who to thank.”
Scarlet recalled her brief encounter with the tall, beautiful firestorm known as Victoria. Scarlet hadn’t had an easy time with her since she joined the company. Victoria was arrogant and rude, acting like everyone who didn’t kiss her ass wasn’t worth her time. Her bad attitude was notorious in the company.
“She told me she wasn’t going to allow some nobody to come in and take what she’d been working for her entire life.”
Nora choked on her drink. “She didn’t!”
Scarlet’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Then she told me to watch my back.”
Nora and Jason looked at each other, then back at Scarlet.
“She didn’t!” Nora repeated.
“If drama had a name.” Jason whistled.
“What a cow,” Nora said. “Seriously, you should tell North about that crap. He wouldn’t stand for it. Maybe get her suspended.”
Scarlet ran a finger around the lip of her wine glass. “I don’t want to be some tattletale. I can handle myself.”
Nora leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. “It’s not tattling, it’s being safe. I mean, Victoria has those friends of hers so brainwashed, she could talk them into sabotage.”
Scarlet hesitated to respond. She certainly didn’t like Victoria, but she didn’t peg her for some ballerina gangster, either.
“Stop exaggerating,” Jason said. “You make it sound like it’s war.”
“It is.” Nora winked. “And you have to choose your battles carefully.”
Scarlet shook her head to clear the spike of irritation. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m not worried.”
She didn’t want to dwell on the negative. Everything was still good. Scarlet’s dreams were coming true. Nothing could take that feeling away. She sat with her friends, talked, laughed, and wondered how life would be different.
Scarlet’s five-year plan shifted into something much bigger. She was passionate about dance, but also realistic. She’d always wanted to make principal, but left the coveted title of prima for her dreams. Then, Edward thought otherwise.
After dinner, Scarlet felt the adrenaline high wane. She yawned, remembering tomorrow would be a long day.
Nora lifted her wine glass again. “I’m getting another drink so I can flirt with the bartender. You want one?”
“A drink or a bartender?” Jason asked. “Because both.”
Nora smiled and looked over at Scarlet. “How about you?”
Scarlet shook her head. “I’m tired, and I should probably be refreshed for tomorrow.”
“Already living that prima life.” Nora chuckled, pulling out her cell phone. “Fine, I’ll be right behind you … just one more drink.”
Jason got up with Scarlet and brought her in for a hug. “It’s going to be amazing. I know it. You’re gonna be brilliant.”
Nora closed her distance and joined the hug. “The brightest star in West Coast ballet.”
“Thanks.” Scarlet squeezed them tight. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.” She broke free from their grasp, tossed her messenger bag over her shoulder, and navigated her way out of the restaurant.
“See you at home!” Nora called after her.
The fog had rolled in, blanketing the streets, making the surroundings eerie despite the bustle of city life. Scarlet let herself be temporarily hypnotized by the blurry orbs of car headlights before she pushed forward. The house she shared with Nora was a few blocks over, off Fillmore. The Pacific Heights area was on the safer side as far as San Francisco neighborhoods went, but dark and foggy made even the safest places seem foreboding. Scarlet quickened her steps.
She turned down her street and everything got quiet. The two- to three-story buildings were all mashed together in their classic San Francisco style. Lower Pacific Heights wasn’t as fancy as the famous Nobb Hill area, but it was still pricey. She couldn’t afford to live there if it weren’t for Nora insisting she needed the company and charging her ridiculously low rent since her father already owned the house.
While Fillmore was rather busy, the side streets were residential and looked even more menacing in the fog. She swore she heard the footsteps of someone behind her, but when she turned to look, no one was there. To her right was one of the parking garages built for the residents of the neighborhood. She couldn’t see anyone inside.
She wanted to forget the idle threat from Victoria, but her words repeated in Scarlet’s ears.
Just get home. You’re being paranoid.
She crossed the street away from the darkened garage, keeping her attention forward, willing her front door to be closer.
There was definitely a distinct sound of footsteps. She stopped to listen. They were heavier than hers—like loud thuds on the concrete.
Scarlet turned to look behind her once more.
This time, she saw someone. The looming figure appeared in the fog, and stopped a few yards away. Scarlet could tell it was a man by his build. He was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. His face was completely hidden by a mask and hood.
The dread grabbed hold of her spine quickly as she realized he was holding a weapon in his hand.
Scarlet took a step back, clutching the strap of her messenger bag. Her paranoia was now full-blown fear.
The man swung his hand down, and the metal baton he was holding snapped into place.
Run.
The man started forward, willing Scarlet to heed her own command.
She turned and ran down the street toward her house. She could feel the man closing the distance gap fast.
“Help!” She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. It was so riddled with panic, it sounded like a squeak.
The darkened buildings flew by as she pushed herself forward. She knew she wouldn’t make it to her front door, and even if she did, her keys were still in her messenger bag.
The hooded man was almost on her. She screamed again, hoping someone would hear.
Scarlet neared the next alleyway, making a sharp turn so she could run to a busier street.
She stopped dead when she realized she stared at the open back end of a van. The moment of hesitation was enough. A sharp pain registered in her side right before her legs gave out.
Her confusion surged as she realized she was on the ground and the hooded man was above her with the baton raised.
He hit me, she thought, trying to work through the pain.
A voice registered from somewhere in the dark, in a language she didn’t know. The man responded with a hushed tone before bending down to pick Scarlet up. She winced and tried to move, but the pain in her side momentarily subdued her.
The man roughly turned her over, holding her head down. He ripped her bag away, tossing it somewhere into the alley.
Scarlet let out a strained grunt as she tried to fight against him. Her entire body tensed up, making the pain in her side throb worse. He put a knee to the small of her back, subduing her movement, then grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back.
Horrible thoughts raced through Scarlet’s head when she realized the man was tying her up. Tears began to form in her eyes as the man leaned in close. Scarlet felt his hot breath on her neck.
She found her voice. “Please, let me go.”
In the distance, an angry voice called out. “Hey you! What are you doing?”
For a moment, Scarlet felt relief. Someone saw. Someone could help. She let out a blood curdling scream. “Help me!”
“Stop! I’m calling the cops!” The voice yelled.
Maybe she’d be saved.
Her attacker chuckled before he easily picked her up and tossed her in the back of the van.
Maybe not. Scarlet’s relief dissolved. She continued to scream, anyway, her voice echoing into the night.
The doors closed, bathing her world in darkness.