Chapter Two
Harper
“Climb! Climb! Climb!”
Seven years ago, I’d used these hands to stroke the keys of a piano. Back then they’d been graceful, part of me, a tool that enhanced my songs. These days I still performed on a stage. But now my hands were strong from climbing a metal pole; they were pretty with pink nails and glitter.
It’s funny how our lives can change in an instant.
“Climb, bitch!” a man shouted. His words were blunt, but bravado had lost its effect on me. Men showing off for their friends isn’t personal. No, it’s only when you’re alone with them that you learn what they really think. In a private booth, they spill their guts… the most perverted thoughts swimming in the corners of their minds.
People laugh and say that strippers are therapists to their customers.
That’s wrong.
To these men… we’re less than human.
Being insulted in public is cake next to that fun fact. I could hear “bitch” a million times and still fake a smile. Hoisting myself up the pole, I twisted my body, making the bikini shimmer with my movements. Not every girl in the Golden Goose could pull herself all the way to the top balcony. I could, and the muscle burn was one of the few exquisite things left in my life.
On the top row of private booths, a group of men in midnight suits watched me. Only one of them truly watched me, though. Mister Big had spent years staring at my body. I was sure he hoped he could see into my soul and scoop up my heart if he stared hard enough.
He was wrong. He’d always be wrong.
Reaching the tip of the stripper pole, I bent backwards, thighs crushing the metal while I did a slow spin. Money rained down; my boss’s associates cheered, the balcony only an arm’s length away. For a second, Mister Big met my eyes. I so badly wanted to spit in his face.
Instead, I dropped like a stone.
People squealed and screamed—I caught myself before my body smashed into the stage. As a torrent of cash flitted through the air, I twisted on my ankle-breaking heels, doing a little hip-wiggle.
No matter how my life had changed, I’d always been one hell of a performer.
There were whistles and claps. Scooping up my money, I noticed someone watching me. Well, lots of people were watching me, but this man was hovering by the short steps that led off the stage. His face was a scraggly mess of beard; his hairline receded into nothingness.
But what concerned me was how he kept fidgeting. He’d glance at me, then away, his hands in his pockets—out of his pants and clenching—then in again as he swayed. This was more than nerves; I wondered if he’d taken some kind of drug.
Deciding to avoid him asking me for a private dance, I scooted to the other end of the stage and hopped off it. “Excuse me, boys,” I said, weaving through the crowd.
I could afford to avoid him. I didn’t work here because I needed the money; I did it because it was the only way Callum would allow me to see my little sister.
I’d do anything for her.
* * *
The parking lot was silent. I was the last to leave, I usually was. Some of the girls had a habit of drinking too much. I’d taken it upon myself to call rides for them; I wasn’t about to let anyone drive drunk.
My old but faithful green Ford Taurus was waiting for me in the lot. I’d had it for years—when Callum tried to buy me something nicer, I always turned him down. This car had life in it. It was an heirloom, one of the last pieces of my mother that I could still touch.
Sometimes, if I shut my eyes and tried hard enough, I could still smell her sandalwood perfume on the seats.
Shouldering my purse, I hummed under my breath. It was a bad habit—one that came out whenever my mother entered my mind. I promised myself I’d never sing for anyone ever again, especially not Mister Big, but humming didn’t count. No one cared if you could hum nicely.
I was reaching for my keys when the hand closed on my wrist. “Hey hun, where you off to?”
It was the man from earlier—the one who’d eyeballed me from the stage. His sour breath poured over me, his grip tightened as I retreated. “Nowhere with you. Let go. Now.”
His scowl showed me how uneven his bottom teeth were; little rotten gravestones in a cemetery assaulted by a tornado. “Come on, sweetie-cakes. I jus’ wanted to get your number. Maybe a drink or two. Wanted a dance, but you kept running off in there.”
“That’s because I was politely avoiding you.” I yanked hard, and when he held tight, I shoved forward, trying to throw him off balance.
“Bitch!” he snarled, stumbling—and for a second I was free. Like a manic bird of prey, he snatched at my purse, grappling until he had his arms around my waist.
“Let go of me!” My lungs burned with the crisp night air. I inhaled deeper; screamed harder. “Let go you piece of shit!”
“You heard her.”
It was a new voice. Fierce, all gravel and dark whispers, it softly threatened pain for anyone who didn’t obey. Together, my attacker and I paused, turning to look at the man who approached. He was wearing a faded leather jacket, the front open to display how his chest strained beneath his tight v-neck.
This stranger was all muscle. All beast. I wasn’t surprised when my attacker released me, hastily backing up in the lot towards the main street. “Fuck off, man,” he said. “I ain’t doin’ shit to her.” That was all the bravery he managed; my savior flexed his hands, and the sour-breathed man sped off into the night.
Hugging myself, I looked the stranger up and down. “Thank you. That was getting out of hand.”
The way he swept his stare over my body, I had to fight back a shiver. I was used to men who didn’t give free handouts—especially when they went out of their way to save your life. What kind of payment was this intimidating man going to ask for?
He stopped in front of me. “That song you were humming earlier, what was it?”
Cold prickles swept up my back. He heard that? Was he just standing in the shadows this whole time? “I wasn’t humming. You must have imagined the sound.”
Tension moved between his eyebrows. “Didn’t know I was blessed with such a beautiful imagination.” My mouth went slack from his surprising compliment. No one but Cena had appreciated my voice in years. I’d stopped singing for the public the day all of my dreams were ripped out by their roots.
I considered him with new eyes. “I’m Harper, do you have a name?”
His grin turned him from gruff ravager to warm ruffian. “That your real name? Lotta girls in that club over there go by something else than what their mamas named them.”
“Guess I respect my mom too much to go by anything else.”
“Risky move for a stripper.”
“Wait, how do you know I’m a stripper and not a waitress or a bartender?” I wasn’t wearing anything that gave me away—my coat and jeans and flats didn’t mark me as a dancer of any kind. My stomach tightened. He must have seen me inside the club tonight.
How did I not notice him? Very few of the male customers were what I’d call attractive; this guy was beyond handsome. Everything about this encounter felt… strange.
He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “Call me observant.”
“I’d rather call you by your actual name.”
“How about hero? It has a nice ring to it.”
“Listen,” I said, pulling out my car keys. “I’m too tired to play games. This whole Mister Mysterious thing you’re trying isn’t as cute as you think, so if you don’t mind, I need to get home and—”
“It’s Jack.”
I paused, turning to watch him again. His smile went up at the corner. It made him even more attractive, and I didn’t like that one bit. In the flickering parking lot lights, his eyes became more gold than chocolate.
For a second I was drawn into the past. To a time when I was young and free and alive with vibrant music in my heart. To a memory of a performance where a young man kept looking my way with enraptured interest.
It was a weird memory; I shook it off and wet my dry lips. “Do I… know you?”
Jack’s grin shifted into a hard frown. “No one knows me here.” Pushing his muscular shoulders upwards, he turned away, speaking as he moved. “Watch out for crazy stalkers. You never know who’s waiting in the shadows.”
His subtle threat had me crushing my purse strap. I almost told him to come back, but instead, I slid into my car and turned it on. Whoever Jack was, I didn’t know him and never would. I was grateful he’d stepped in to help, but I’d had my share of encounters with eager men; I could have gotten away if things went ugly. I knew how to take care of myself.
Speaking of taking care of things…
I pushed on the gas and hurried out of the parking lot.
* * *
“Hap,” Cena said, using the nickname she’d had for me since she was only a baby, “Is everything alright?”
“Of course.”
She squinted at me. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“Now you’re gaslighting me!”
I made myself laugh. “Where did you even learn about that word?”
With the brand of pride reserved only for eight year-olds, she grinned at me. “Internet.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You spend way too much time on there.”
“Now you’re changing the subject!”
Tossing my bag of stripper gear into the top shelf in the hallway closet—the one place I hoped Cena couldn’t reach—I faced her and crouched down to eye level. “Everything is fine, really. But even if it wasn’t, I’d still know how to fix it.”
Her nearly invisible blonde eyebrows inched up. “How’s that?”
Pulling her close, I pointed at the kitchen. “Gigantic bowls of ice cream before bed. Deal?”
“Deal!” she laughed, squirming free and racing towards the fridge.
A few scoops of strawberry in a bowl later, and my sister was scrubbing her eyes as she yawned. I gave her a nudge to get her into the shower. Playing mom wasn’t natural for me. I did my best, though. I helped with homework and I made lunches, always slipping the extra cash Mr. Big handed over for Cena’s school expenses into my secret bank box.
I was an okay cook, but nothing compared to Mom. Cena never really got to know our mother so my mistakes went unnoticed. That, or she was too sweet to point them out.
She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a giant robe, a towel covering most of her head. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” I said, taking the chance to rub the towel over her hair until her blonde strands were wet instead of soaking. “Pajamas and bed, come on.”
Cena rushed to change, diving under her blankets and shooting me a wicked little smile. “Sing me a bedtime song, please?”
She was my light, my soul—I couldn’t deny her any more than I could tell my heart to stop beating. Settling on the edge of the bed, I brushed a curl from her forehead. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Never. I promise.”
There are no promises more sacred than those uttered between siblings. “Sweet moon,” I sang. “My moon, yours… hanging over the silent waters…” Singing calmed me to my core. It was a power that required focus, I had to center myself to make it flow. Mostly, I had to grasp for control because if I didn’t, I’d remember all the times Mom had sung with me as we made pancakes.
Crying is a great way to ruin a bedtime routine.
The last note of my song faded into the air. Cena fluttered her eyes, fingers wrapped in the top of her down comforter. “Will you walk me to school tomorrow?”
This was an odd request. Cena—determined to grasp independence—always demanded she walk alone. I hadn’t minded; the school was close by, and the street was busy with people. “Sure, but why?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Always.”
She chomped down on her pink bottom lip. “Sometimes, I think there’s someone watching me.”
Fear rippled in my blood. “Who?”
Her shrug was pure sadness, like she felt guilty answering. “I dunno. It’s just a feeling… like a ghost or something spooky. But I’m too old to believe in monsters, you know?”
I wanted to tell her that monsters don’t stop existing just because you quit believing in them. Instead I smiled fondly, kissing her on each eyelid and tucking her in. “I’ll walk with you tomorrow. But listen, no one can get you while I’m here. Monsters or otherwise.”
She had one eye on me, sleep starting to steal her away. “And you’ll always be here,” she said, yawning. “Always and forever.”
“Always and forever,” I replied.
I headed for her door, flicking off the light. Something moved the hair on the back of my neck. Thinking about Cena’s cryptic admission about feeling watched, I glanced sharply over my shoulder.
A breeze swirled through her cracked window. Had it been open all day? Shutting it, I peered out into the dark. The street below was quiet; the city didn’t allow cars to park overnight in such a nice area. Anyone living in this luxury condo kept their expensive vehicles in the lot beneath the building.
Nothing moved out there.
Get a grip, I scolded myself. My encounter outside the club was still fresh in my head. I’d been attacked; wasn’t it normal to feel some lingering paranoia? I’m safe here.
This building was a castle in the clouds. Some days, if I looked down from my step-dad’s penthouse roof, I could swear the city was invisible beneath the white haze. No one could hurt us up here… no one but the enemy already behind our gates.
Except for the maid service that came early in the morning, and the security that kept watch in the lobby, it was private. Callum paid for all of it. But even if he lived an elevator ride away, he rarely visited us. He preferred his own sort of privacy; it meant he didn’t have his eight year-old daughter cramping his style. He was free to bring woman after woman into his bed.
Honestly, I didn’t care. If he was busy with them, he was leaving me alone.
Just ten more years. Then she’ll be eighteen and we can leave together.
Turning away, I moved around Cena’s bed. My fingers lingered on the door-frame. The light from the hallway lit up her profile; her soft cheeks, her button nose.
She was innocent.
I’d do anything to keep her that way.