Chapter 19

Dallas

I didn’t stumble tonight, and even though I enjoyed the applause that followed my set, that enjoyment felt cheap. I was nothing more than another pretty ornament in Preston Gromley’s menagerie of iniquity. Worse, I was his caged bird. They all flocked to see me perform, to see the beauty that had entranced both father and son for the last three years. Nobody cared about who I was, what my dreams were. Truth be told, I didn’t either. Not anymore.

I slipped off stage and headed to my dressing room, a five by five box painted blood-red at my own request. Some nights it was my refuge, and other nights it was a painful reminder of my bleak future.

Satan’s Perch didn’t have a dressing room before I started performing there, just a grimy area backstage where the bands who occasionally played there got wasted before their sets. As soon as I agreed to Preston’s offer of my own show at his club, he carved that space up and built a new room specially for me. My custom cage.

My dressing room was no refuge tonight. I’d barely begun removing my makeup when Wes barged in. He never knocked, and I never locked the door since all that did was piss him off.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, coming to stand behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders and grinned at me in the mirror. “Every guy out there wants to lick the ground you walk on.”

“What a charming compliment.” I peeled off one of my fake eyelashes and set it down on the table.

Wes’s mouth flattened, and the grip on my shoulders became a little too tight for comfort. I pretended not to notice, de-lashing my other eye and reaching for a makeup wipe to start tackling my eyeliner.

“We’re going out for dinner,” he said finally. “My dad has some business associates he’d like you to meet. They saw you tonight, and they’re big fans.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Wes’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry. In fact, I don’t remember asking a single goddamn thing.”

I think you’ll find your family isn’t in any position to refuse a request from someone of my family.

Those words still haunted me every day. Each time I gave in to him, each time I had to bite my tongue or put aside my desires to make room for Wes’s, I remembered the first time he said those words and that same shiver of disgust and fear coursed through my bones. There was only one thing I hadn’t given him, and it was something I never would. Wes seemed to think otherwise, but after three years he was no closer to getting his way.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to dinner. I don’t understand why you insist on parading me around like some goddamn prize pony though. Your dad could hire any girl with two feet and a big ass to do burlesque, and they’d never know the difference.”

Wes glowered down at me then bent until his chin was just above my shoulder. His breath blew hot against my ear, and the acrid stench of stale beer and cigarettes filled my nose.

“But you’re not any girl, are you? You’re our girl. We own you,” he sneered. “Who wants some cheap blow-whore when you could have a pretty princess like you?”

“I’m surprised you’re not up on the stage then,” I said, meeting him square in the eye. “You’re the prettiest princess of them all.”

Wes yanked me to my feet and slammed me hard against the cement wall, squeezing his fingers around my throat. I let out a cry of pain as my skull ricocheted against the cement.

I probably shouldn’t have said it. No, I definitely shouldn’t have said it. Wes had taken to manscaping like cat hair on black pants over the past year or so, and he was perfectly groomed from head to toe. Long gone was the beef head in plaid shirts and hoodies. Wes was all designer now, suited up to the nines with enough hair gel that his do could probably survive a nuclear holocaust. His friends made fun of him for being so pretty, and those same friends speculated about his sexuality behind his back since he still hadn’t gotten in my pants. It was a sore spot, to say the least.

“You better watch that pretty mouth of yours,” Wes said through gritted teeth. He glared daggers down at me. I’d hit quite the nerve. “Everyone else thinks your backtalk is cute, but I’m getting pretty fucking tired of it. Every time you sass me all I can think about is how good it’s going to feel when I finally get to put that fresh mouth to good use one day.”

As these kinds of threats always did, this one shut me up. I kept an iron front and tried to avoid all traces of weakness, but I still knew I would lose in the end. One day I would take it too far, or maybe Wes would snap out of the blue, and he’d forget all about this stupid little tango he thought we were dancing and just take what he wanted from me. His father had encouraged it, and I got the impression that if it weren’t for Wes’s territorialism, Preston would have had me on that first night in his office.

The one complimentary thing I could say about Wes was he didn’t seem to have it in him to force me into bed. He could talk about it, and he had no qualms with stealing a kiss from me or groping “his property” here and there, but something about actually ripping my clothes off and getting on with it crossed a line for him. I think he was relying on a Stockholm Syndrome type situation to evolve, but the longer I went without falling madly in love with him, the less that line seemed to matter. Sometimes I wondered if it would be easier just to pretend.

Wes’s eyes, dark as coffee, glittered maliciously as he held me against the cold stone. He was waiting for me to accede to his demands, and the anticipation turned his mouth from a sneer to a smirk. The moment I gave in was always his favorite.

And I did give in. I would always give in.

The alternative was a lot bloodier, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to my dad just because I didn’t want to go to another one of the Gromley’s stupid dinners.

“I could eat,” I said, voice sounding much too small for my liking.

Wes relaxed his grip on my throat, and something akin to tenderness took the place of malice in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t rile me up like that,” he said. “We both know you have to do whatever I say. Why do you have to make it so hard for yourself?”

He didn’t step back, didn’t give me the space I so desperately needed in that moment. Without my heels, Wes was at least six inches taller than me, and he used every single one in intimidation like a pro. When he was like this, though, he slumped over as if being cruel to me took a physical toll on him. His face was right in front of mine, eye to eye. His were bloodshot. Mine were blurring with tears. I blinked them away as he waited for my answer. I hadn’t cried in a long time, but something about tonight was getting to me. Maybe I was just breaking after all.

“You know why,” I replied.

Wes’s thin lips curved bitterly. “Because you think you’re too good for me.”

“Because a man who demands affection doesn’t deserve it.”

He backed away, and I felt like I could breathe again. Shaking his head, Wes walked to the door and stood with his hand on the handle.

“That’s where you’re wrong. A man who takes what he wants in life is the one who deserves it most.” He looked back at me. “You’ll see that someday. Someday very soon.”

“I won’t, Wes. As soon as my father’s debt is paid, I’m out of here.”

It was the frankest discussion we’d had regarding our “arrangement” in a long time. I blamed it on my sudden and unwelcome spike in emotions. A stupid part of me hoped that if I could make him understand, if I could make him believe that I would never love him, he’d realize it was pointless and let me go. He wanted my whole submission—not just my body, but my heart and soul as well. The twisted fucker wanted me to love him. Surely if he saw that wasn’t possible, he’d give up.

His eyes turned hard, and I thought he might come back to throttle me again, but he opened the door.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” he said. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

Wes slammed the door behind him so hard it rattled the glass bottles strewn about my vanity. I didn’t waste any more time standing by the wall and bustled back over to the mirror to finish the job of removing my stage makeup as quickly as possible. Afterward, I put on some mascara and a little lipstick, knowing that Preston would only get pissed if I showed up completely natural, and changed into a form-flattering dress and a pair of modest heels for dinner.

I made it up to Preston’s office with a minute to spare. He was a stickler for punctuality, and I’d already poked enough bears tonight. I just wanted to get this dinner over with and go home to check on my dad. He probably hadn’t eaten since this afternoon and would be up late working. These days that was practically all he did.

Preston smiled approvingly as I walked into the room. Two men in suits occupied the leather armchairs across from him at his desk. This office was similar to the one at his house, just smaller. Even though the club itself was a complete dive, Preston made most of his money managing loans and other shady shit, and he liked to look the part.

“Excellent show tonight, dearest,” drawled Preston. “You’ve earned yourself two new admirers.”

He made it sound like a coveted prize. Preston loved to taunt.

The men in the chairs craned their necks to look at me, both showing off crooked sets of teeth in matching licentious grins.

Wes crossed the room and threaded his arm through mine. “Anybody who sees her can’t help but admire her.”

“That’s true.” Preston rose languidly from his chair. “I could never have dreamed that a burlesque show would bring in so much business, but Dallas knows how to draw a crowd.”

One of the men laughed. “Well, with a body like that...”

I was used to being talked about like I wasn’t in the room, but it still annoyed the hell out of me. I glared at the two men, and the one who’d spoken about my body wisely didn’t say anything else.

“Let’s go,” said Wes. “I’m hungry.”

“Yes, let’s.” Preston ushered us all out, and we passed through the club on our way outside. The girls always danced a little sexier when they saw the Gromleys passing by, and the guys always stared in awe. Everyone wanted a piece of the Gromleys. Everyone except me, ironically.

We stepped outside, and a couple of smokers across the street cheered when they saw us. I usually tried to keep my head high and my sights distant, but something just beyond the stumbling smokers caught my eye. Someone. We passed by too quickly, but I could’ve sworn I’d glimpsed a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in years. Hair that was darker than I remembered but still familiar, chiseled jaw, devilish mouth. Could it be?

A blast of cold wind knocked the foolish fantasy out of my head. Shane wouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be. Nobody had seen or heard from him since that awful night at Preston’s party, and nobody expected to. It was just my mind playing tricks on me, another symptom of what I hoped wouldn’t turn out to be an emotional tailspin. I needed to get my head screwed on tight or I’d end up messing things up for myself more than they already were. What was wrong with me tonight?

I followed Wes into the waiting car and didn’t look back.