Under the Lights Page 3

  I thought he was done, but he grabbed her head again, jerking his cock rapidly, milking the final drops as he finished. Then he threw her back on the floor and pulled up his pants.

  I couldn’t tell if she enjoyed what happened.

  Evie told me she was earning her keep.

  Pushing the ugly memory aside, I look up at Roland watching Evie’s birthday group with a smile. “How long can I keep this up?” I ask him quietly.

  “Keep what up?”

  “Hiding, pretending like one day Gavin will actually make good on his promise. Staying away from those men.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been able to keep you away from them, and Gavin just gave me the go-ahead to write a new show. This could be it.”

  My stomach tightens, and I want to believe him. I want to believe that my time has come, that Gavin’s promise to let me sing, to make me a real star and not a prostitute, might actually happen… It’s the one thing that keeps me from taking Molly and running away—well, in addition to free room and board and the fact I have no other job skills or prospects.

  Another low horn sounds in the distance, three notes played together, one a half-step off. I try to place it. “Barge?”

  Roland looks out across the dark city rooftops. Then he frowns. “Train. Headed north to Chicago, I bet.”

  In his voice is a sound I seldom hear, one he never allows anyone to hear. It’s somewhere between longing and regret, and I glance up at him. He’s only a few years my senior, but in that moment he could be as young as Molly, wishing for something just out of reach.

  It’s gone in an instant. He exhales a laugh, breaking the spell, and wraps his arm across my shoulders. “Relax. Gavin’s practical, but he never forgets a promise.”

  My lips press together, and I don’t share my other fear—that Gavin’s promise doesn’t cover Molly, and the older she gets, the closer she gets to earning her keep.

  “It also helps that your voice is smoky silk laced with heartbreak.” He squeezes me. “I can’t wait to get started writing. Come on.”

  We return to the group where Evie is retelling how she stepped on Vanessa’s feather tail during the third number and ripped it off her ass.

  “Good thing it wasn’t a butt plug,” Vanessa deadpans, and Evie screams.

  “I blew champagne through my nose!” They’re getting a little tipsy. “At least it was funny!”

  “Fiona didn’t laugh,” Roland says. “Our Mistress of the Dance was livid. You should’ve seen her backstage.”

  “I’m such a menace.” Evie drapes a hand across her face, but my stomach sinks.

  The clock is ticking on her days of staying in the show, and she’s my best friend. I reach for another glass of champagne to calm the anxiety pulsing in my chest, and as I lower it, I see the metal door slowly open and Gavin step into the night. Our owner is tall with light brown hair and calculating blue eyes.

  Tonight his expression is grim. “Tanya said Evie is up here…”

  The glass slips from my hand and shatters at my feet. His eyes flicker to mine, and he frowns. I’m silent, afraid of what he might say, but Roland crosses the space between us and takes hold of my wrist.

  “Here to celebrate?” he asks, standing so his body blocks mine. “I was just discussing the new format with Lara.”

  Gavin grunts. “Sound good to you?”

  My throat is tight, but I manage to answer. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  He nods then walks over to Evie, standing in front of her with his hands on his hips. He seems to grow taller in that instant, more sinister.

  “Gavin?” Her eyes slowly rise to meet his. “Come to wish me a happy birthday?” She smiles, but I hear the tremor in her voice.

  “Walk with me,” he says. “I’ve had a few queries about you. One is willing to pay top dollar…”

  Roland pulls me through the exit and down the stairs. I follow him almost tripping to keep up with his fast pace.

  We reach my door, and he shoves me toward it. “Go to bed.”

  My heart is hammering, and fear radiates through my chest with every beat. “Will she… tonight?”

  He pauses, sliding the backs of his fingers across my cheek and nodding slightly.

  She’s out of the show, but Gavin has other ways of making money off our bodies. A breath hiccups in my throat, and the pain moves from my heart to my stomach as I imagine the things she might have to do. I imagine men hurting her, pushing her on the floor like Vanessa.

  Roland pulls me into a hug, and my fingers clutch his sleeve as tears heat my eyes. “I’ll help her if I can,” he whispers.

  But I know there’s nothing he can do. If she chooses to stay here, she’ll be a sex worker. She’ll be pulled into Gavin’s ring of darkness until she’s convinced it’s all she’s worth doing. It’s the same lie that keeps them all here. It’s a lie I refuse to believe about myself. I have talent. I have options, and I’m giving him one last chance to keep his promise.

  “Go to bed,” Roland says, releasing me. “You’ll feel better in the morning. We’ll start our new project.”

  Nodding, I go inside and slide the lock on my door. I always lock it against those men. We’re not humans to them. We’re a means to an end, and they’re dangerous, unpredictable. They don’t always wait for permission.

  The lamp is still on, and Molly’s copper curls are spread over the pillow. With a sigh, I gaze down at her sleeping face, so placid. So trusting.

  At thirteen, she’s way more interested in boys than I ever was. I have to double down on finding a backup plan, a new job that will get us out of here. Just in case anything goes wrong. Just in case Gavin tries to go back on his word.

  Shoving off my jeans, I climb into the bed beside my little friend. “Because he’ll never pass up the chance to make more money,” I say to myself.

  I turn off the light, and Molly snuggles closer to me like she’s done since that first night when I found her dirty and starving. I’m no better, a lonely orphan who managed to sing my way to a spot in the show, but I have no family, no one to love.

  “Who won’t?” Her voice is sleepy.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You’re still awake?”

  “A little,” she whispers. “Tell me who.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I’ve never wanted her to know about what happens here. I don’t want her to be afraid—not as long as I’ve got us covered.

  She’s quiet and just when I think she’s asleep, she says, “Then tell me how I came here.”

  “You want to hear that old story again?”

  “Yes.” She burrows closer into my side, and I stare into the darkness trying to remember how it goes.

  It’s a silly made-up story I used to distract her when she’d wake up crying in the night those first days after I rescued her. Even though the minor details change every time I tell it, she doesn’t seem to care.

  “Let’s see,” I begin. “Oh, yes, your mother was a gorgeous dancer. And when she met your dad, she couldn’t help but love him.” I smooth a curl. “He played beautiful music on the guitar, and she danced for him.”

  “But he couldn’t marry her,” Molly says. “Because he had no money, and she was a rich man’s fiancée.”

  “So he went away to find his fortune, but before he could return, your mother married the rich man. Still, he came back, and she went to him. Then nine months later—”

  “Tell me about our future,” she interrupts. “I like that story better.”

  My eyes are heavy, but I take a deep breath and shift gears. This story is not pretend; it’s a promise I’ve made to both of us. “One day we’ll leave this place. I’ll find a better job, something legit. Maybe Freddie will help me.”

  “Will he take us to Paris?”

  “He might.” I kiss the top of her head. “And if he does, we’ll fly right out of New Orleans and never look back. We’ll live on the Avenue Montaigne.”

  “The richest street in Paris!” she adds. “And we
’ll ride in a limo, and you’ll have diamonds and a little dog.”

  I squeeze her closer as my throat grows tight. “And we’ll never think about being here. Ever again.” I trace my fingers along her upper arm until I feel her relax. “Now go to sleep.”

  3

  “Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.” -Walt Whitman

  Mark

  Darby is shouting as Terrence and I enter the theater.

  Even though we worked solid from the time I got here, yesterday ended before we could test the new machinery for last night’s show.

  “Priority one is getting that pulley system operating and the safety backups tested today,” he yells. “Don’t let me catch you fucking around or flirting with the dancers. Gavin wants it ready to go tonight.”

  One glance tells me only half the crew is back to work. “What happened to all the men?”

  “Eh, it’s pretty common.” Terrence taps a fresh cigarette out of his pack. “They get a few bucks, spend them on screwing some pretty girls, and they’re gone.”

  That makes me frown. “How does anything get done around here?”

  He only shrugs. “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. They don’t pay enough for loyalty in this business. And Darby’s an asshole.”

  I look over at the stocky man shouting at a truck driver. My lips tighten. Terrence has a point.

  “Why did you come back?” I glance at my new friend.

  “I need the money, and I don’t like sitting around. You?”

  “Same.” It’s a good enough reason, and I’m not about to say the grueling labor keeps my mind off the shitstorm my life has become. That it quiets the nagging voices wanting revenge for my uncle’s death. I feel pretty confident Terrence wouldn’t be impressed.

  I definitely don’t say a part of me hopes to see a certain dancer again. The last thing I have time for is a girl, no matter what my dick says.

  “You need the money?” Terrence chuckles. “How old are you, boy?”

  His tone irritates me. “Twenty-one.”

  “Youth is wasted on the young. If I was twenty-one, I wouldn’t be here either—unless I was waking up in one of those back rooms.”

  Lowering his chin, he gives me a pointed look before going to join the other men. I stand by the coffee and day-old beignets, bruised fruit, and water. I grab a bagel just as the dancers start filtering in.

  I don’t want to look for Lara, but I can’t help it. She pirouetted through the few dreams I had last night with her silky dark hair and crystal blue eyes. I woke up with a hard-on, the image of her lean body, gorgeous and lined, slim hips rocking rhythmically on my cock taunting me to come. Both hands on my face, I scrubbed that vision away. I know from last night’s show, she doesn’t strip. I wonder why…

  Loud clapping breaks through my thoughts. A dark-haired guy about my age strides across the stage shouting, “Eat fast, ladies. We need to get moving.”

  He goes to the piano and stacks sheet music on it. As soon as he sits, he begins to play, but I don’t recognize the tune. A few of the girls go to the center to stretch or warm up and I linger, watching them. Two nights of lost sleep caught up with me last night, but I plan to stick around for the full show tonight.

  One of the blondes from yesterday looks over her shoulder at me and winks before bending forward in a stretch. With her ass pointing right at me, she blows a kiss through her legs, and I decide I’d better join Terrence and the other guys when I see her.

  She walks slowly across the stage, seeming distracted. Her long hair is looped up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing black dance pants and a black tank.

  Lara.

  She moves so gracefully, she’s like the ocean swaying out at sea or the movement of tree limbs in a thunderstorm. I wonder what I’d give to have my dream come true, her slim body naked in my arms.

  She doesn’t stop until she’s standing next to me inspecting the contents of the table. She chooses a small blueberry muffin, and for a moment she only holds it, lost somewhere else in her thoughts.

  “Not a fan of blueberries?” I give her a friendly smile.

  She blinks as if coming out of a dream and lifts those crystal blue eyes to mine. “What?”

  “Sorry. You seemed sad.”

  “Oh,” she exhales a small laugh. “I’m sad to be out of bed. We don’t usually start this early.”

  “Late night?”

  “Hmm, no later than any other night.” Her voice is soft and faintly melodic, and she doesn’t walk away.

  I should walk away, but I don’t. “Did you go out after the show?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, and her dark hair swishes around her cheeks. “Did you?”

  “Nah. They worked our asses off yesterday. I got back to my place at nine and crashed.”

  Her cute little nose scrunches. “You didn’t stay for the show? I thought it was one of the perks of the job.”

  “I stayed for a few minutes.” Long enough to see you…

  Images of last night’s performance filter through my memory. Tanya’s performance is primarily backbends and splits with scraps of clothing tossed off as the show progresses, until the only thing she’s left wearing is a jeweled thong.

  The rest of the girls saunter around like models on a catwalk in sky-high heels, thongs, and drippy, jeweled straps. Their legs are lean, their breasts are round, and they’re hot.

  Sure, I’m a red-blooded American male and their bodies got my dick going, but I was only interested in one of them… This one right here. And when she waltzed onto the stage in an elaborate feathered costume complete with enormous, white wings, I was unexpectedly relieved to see she wasn’t nude.

  She showed the least skin on stage, and still, she was the sexiest one out there.

  “It was interesting,” I say. She makes a sound of disbelief, and I smile. “What does that mean?”

  “Interesting? What made it so interesting, just Mark?”

  “You remember my name.”

  “You just told it to me yesterday.” She lifts the coffee cup to her pink lips and takes a sip.

  I want to ask her if she has a boyfriend. I want to know everything about her. “Maybe I could take you out one night after the show. If you’re not too tired.”

  Her body stiffens, but it’s too late to take it back—not that I want to take it back, but I don’t want to seem like an asshole only interested in her for her body. I really want to know her better. She’s pretty and thoughtful and I can tell she’s smart…

  “I don’t like to go out in the city,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to recognize me.” Worried eyes meet mine. “You probably think I’m silly.”

  “I think you’re smart. New Orleans can be pretty rough.” As I know too well. “I could bring a disguise? Black glasses with fake noses and mustaches attached?”

  She smiles, but the distance remains. “Isn’t it against the rules for you boys to be mixing with the dancers?”

  “I was told not to go into your room, but otherwise…”

  “Fitz! Get your ass over here,” Terrence shouts.

  My mouth pulls into a frown, and her head tilts. “I guess that’s you? Nice chatting with you, Mark Fitz. Take care of yourself.”

  That makes me smile. “I will. And I’ll be sure this thing is safe for you.”

  “I appreciate your commitment.” She does a little nod.

  You have no idea. “See you at the top.”

  Lara

  Molly appears at my elbow as Mark, the friendly new guy, walks away. He’s cute, tall with bright blue eyes and a friendly smile. I like talking to him, and I’d probably take him up on his offer if I weren’t focused on more important things.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Molly says.

  “I’ve been right here getting coffee.” I catch Roland’s eye. He’s sitting at the piano playing “The Very Thought of You,” and we exchange a smile. He knows it’s one of my favorites.

  Last night, I lay awake think
ing about what he’d said for so long. The first time he’d called me his muse, I’d instantly fallen in love with him. I was eighteen, and a silly, lovesick puppy. It was the first time I’d ever felt appreciated for my talent.

  I felt seen.

  I felt safe.

  I threw myself at him and tried to make out with him. My cheeks heat at the memory of me French kissing him. He took my arms and gently removed them, so gracious. I was so blind.

  Roland only ever leaves the theater with other men.

  Molly’s eyes are glued to my face. “That’s why you don’t care about Freddie,” she says. “You’re in love with Roland.”

  “No,” I shake my head. “I’m not.”

  “I’m not blind. There’s clearly something between you two.”

  “It’s called friendship.” I grab a mug and slide it under the coffee machine. “Anyway, why are you so obsessed with love all of a sudden?”

  She picks up a shriveled orange. “It’s not so sudden. Rosa’s new book is full of it.”

  “Rosa and her books.”

  Our wardrobe director is a matronly former dancer who keeps us stocked with reading materials, and she has a weakness for romance—the dirtier the better.

  “Besides,” Molly continues. “You’re way overdue for a lover.”

  “A lover? You sound like someone’s grandma.”

  She takes my arm, eyes sparkling. “So, am I right? Are you and Roland secretly lovers?”

  “No.” I sip my coffee, the warm liquid sending a tingle down my spine as it wakes me.

  I sniff the bitter-chocolate aroma mixing with sugary beignets, rosin, talc, and stale cigarette smoke—the smells of home.

  “I think you’re lying,” she says.

  I shake my head as I clutch my cup in both hands. “I’m not.”

  “Lara, come try this for me,” Roland calls from where he sits at the piano, erasing and rewriting notes. I walk over. “See if you can sing this.”

  He plays the introductory chords as I scan the sheet music.

  You’re in my arms and it feels so right;

  but it’s simply aaaan illusion…