Nocturnes (13 page)

He tightens his grip on my arm. If he squeezes much harder, I’ll be wearing even more bruise blossoms. That’ll keep me out of Hell for another week. I can’t afford to miss more work.

“You’re not getting clumsy, I hope. I’d hate to see you dishonorably discharged as a fallen angel from Heaven. Charlie would be very disappointed.”

I straighten. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

He lets me go, and my heart resumes pumping. “You’d better be. Now you got two strikes, Lola. One more, and you’re out.” Scowling, he gestures to the stairs with his chin. “Go home.”

I lower my head, stuff my tail between my legs, and mount the steps. By the time I reach the dressing room, I’m pissed. I quickly change into a pair of jeans and a tight cashmere sweater. After running a brush through my hair, I slam it on the dresser. Mascara, eyeliner pencils, and lipstick tubes scatter all over the place. The other dancers look my way, and then they whisper to each other. Fucking bitches. I grab my bag and kick open the employee door that borders a quiet alley.

The foul-smelling air is thick with humidity after last night’s rain. It clings to the inside of my throat. Chokes me.

Or maybe that’s the humiliation.

Goddamn Rico. Goddamn
me
for being careless. I’m one fuck-up away from kissing my dreams goodbye.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry.” The voice comes from somewhere to the right of the door. Hard to see by only the light of the moon. But my heart knows who it is and trots to a faster rhythm. Rax.

Another deep breath. I shake out my mane to cover my excitement. “I’m beautiful no matter my mood.”

The outline of Rax’s shadow draws me a couple steps closer. He lifts a brown paper-wrapped bottle to his mouth and drinks. When he turns his head, I see an angel-demon hybrid. Heavenly body, hellish attitude. Supernatural any way you slice him.

The black waves pulled into a partial topknot give me a glimpse of his entire face. For a moment, I wish I had ignored him and kept walking toward my car. I know where this is going.

Two lost souls on a road to nowhere.

Our paths were bound to cross again.

I’m in the mood to defy Rico. Passive aggressive sex with someone I’m not supposed to talk to seems like a damn good way to do it.

Plus, I kind of like Rax. When we’re together, I
feel
. Anger, passion, frustration.

Desire.

The only other people I ever felt connected to were Mama and Papa. I miss sharing a link to another soul.

Rax pushes away from the wall and meanders toward me, kicking stray trash bouncing along the pavement with a sudden breeze. Laughter follows. Along with another swallow from the bottle.

I hate how much he drinks, but my heart and head have come to an agreement, and there’s no reneging now. I want to have sex with him.

Though it’s dark, the blue of his eyes shines through the shadows, snagging my attention as much as the snake on his neck tearing into flesh. His face glows with the same hunger I witnessed in the downpour last night. Except more vibrant.

When he stops in front of me and leans in, my pulse stumbles out of rhythm. He inhales close to my hair, closing his lids as he does. Retreats a few inches and centers his gaze on mine. “You smell like sex.”

“Funny. I haven’t had any lately.”

A hand slips between my legs and strokes the denim. The bastard knows I’m wet for him. “I can remedy that situation. You’re ripe for it. Aren’t you, Lola?”

Torn between what I want and what I need, I close until our chests touch. Tipping my head back, I loop my arms around his thick shoulders. “Even if I were
allowed
to have sex with you, I’d pass. You’re not my type,” I lie.

“Even after all that awesome finger-fucking last night? You wound me, lovely lady.” His hands slither around my waist, and his thigh parts both of mine with a gentle nudge. “If you’re not willing to give it to me the old-fashioned way, then my offer still stands. Five hundred for a night with you. I know the amount is paltry compared to your usual fee, but a desperate guy like me has to ask.” His sarcastic smile is enough to make me want to slap him. Or jump him here in the alley.

“All right. You’re on.”

Gleeful shock spreads across his face. “You’re serious?”

Not at all. Mad, more like. I’m beyond intrigued by the bad boy who’s so wrong for me, he must be right. And I can justify taking out my frustrations with Rico on Rax. I don’t need the money, but I need the release. And some job satisfaction.

Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot.

“Your place?” I say.

His entire demeanor shifts from carefree and haughty to stilted and anxious. His upper lip twitches. “No. Somewhere else.”

We sure as hell aren’t going to my apartment. I like him, but not enough to show him where I live. “Hotel, then.”

He turns and scans the street. “You feeling bold?”

I swallow.
Yes.
“No.”

In half a second, he fills my field of vision with his six-foot frame, leather, and that gorgeous hair. I don’t bother looking at his eyes. I’d probably dissolve into the piss-tinged puddle under my feet.

“Let’s do something crazy.” Damn it, the eyes snagged and reeled me in. I tried to look away, but he caught me off guard.

I shift weight between my feet and curl my arms under my breasts to give him a distraction from my face, which is currently leaking way more information than he should be privy to. He needs a dose of his own medicine. “Like what?”

He lifts his head to the sky. “I don’t know. Let’s go anyplace but normal. I’m sick to fucking death of normal.”

What’s he trying to escape at home?

“The cemetery. This alley. A fucking swamp. I don’t care. Just somewhere…else.”

My attention pricks again. “I’ve got an idea.” I pause and glance to his hand. “Only one rule, though. You can’t drink any more booze.”

He lifts the bagged bottle and considers it for a long moment. “I’m way more fun when I’m drunk.” He turns to me. “And so are you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d rather remember this night with all the blanks filled in. And sobriety is my only nonnegotiable.”

He cracks a grin. “So, that means anything else is fair game?”

I shrug and head toward the street. The crash of glass hitting asphalt echoes off the alley walls, and his hurried footsteps follow.

What am I doing? If Rico finds out, I’m fired. No more chances. I’m totally breaking club rules by agreeing to fuck this guy. But I’m so disheartened with work, so intrigued by the connection I seem to have with Rax, and so damn tired of always playing someone I’m not, I’m willing to take the chance.

This angel wants to sin.

A weird, hopeful feeling settles in my gut. I do like Rax. A lot. He’s a conceited asshole but buried somewhere underneath the attitude is a glimmer of tenderness. And I certainly don’t need a reason to jump a smoking-hot body like his.

If he’d just lay off the booze…

I can deal with assholes, but a drunk lover, not so much. I have to do that at work, and the reminders of what happened to my parents are starting to get to me. Still dreaming about them nightly, and now Rax has made a few appearances with them. I think they’re telling me to keep away from him.

Why can’t I find a nice guy?

Because beautiful women attract beautiful men, and beautiful men are often raging assholes. Or gay.

Rax appears beside me, swinging his arms, stomping his feet. We hit the street, and he darts in front of me, walking backward as he speaks. “So, where’re we going?”

“Decatur Street.”

“What’s there?”

“Jax Brewery.”

He lifts his brow hopefully. “So, we’re drinking after all?”

“No, my car’s parked there, but we’re gonna spend a little time getting to know each other down by the river first.”

He stops. I run into him. He angles his head down to mine and grins. “Now you got my mind spinning in all kinds of directions. Every scenario ends the same way.”

“How’s that?”

“With you screaming my name like you did in Jackson Square.”

“If that’s what you want.” I push him away and keep walking.

Frowning, he catches up and resumes his spot in front of me, trotting backwards. “What do you mean ‘if that’s what I want’? I wanna make you come, Lola.”

I laugh.

He stops again. “What’s so funny?”

I circumnavigate his body and toss back, “Hookers don’t come. Everybody knows that.” Damn truth too.

He falls in step beside me. “You’re not a hooker.” The uncertain tone in his voice tells me he’s being polite.

“No, I’m worse.” I’m afraid if I wait for a denial out of him, we’ll be sitting here all night, so I don’t give him an opportunity to prove me wrong. “Why are you so hung up on me, anyway? There are plenty of pretty girls in New Orleans. I’ll bet you get all kinds of action on the road too.”

“I used to,” he mumbles.

Now I stop. “What happened? Your monthly STD screening come back with less than satisfactory results?” I immediately regret my words.

He turns on me suddenly. “I could say the same to you.” Though dulled by alcohol, his tongue is as sharp as snake fangs.

Ouch. Naturally, my fighting instincts kick in and take control of my mouth. “How come I’ve never seen you sober?”

He presses his lips together. The rings at the corners flash along with his temper. “Why’d you let three guys fuck your ass while I videoed?”

I can’t answer. At least not honestly. “None of your goddamn business.”

“Ditto.”

So, this pissing contest ends with a draw.

Fine. I resume my paces and veer toward Decatur Street. He follows, and we don’t speak again until we get to the huge rocks lining the Mississippi River. Staring out over the water with the city lights all around, I question why the hell I brought Rax here. I don’t want his money. But I made a verbal agreement to sleep with him. I gotta follow through.

He stands behind me. Lifts a hand, then drops it. Hesitant. Apologetic? No, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who apologizes for anything.

I turn to him. His face is a battlefield of emotion.

Figuring Rax out is about as easy as an English-challenged kid trying to interpret literary fiction with all its subtleties and unspoken truths hiding deep beneath the obvious. To say he’s an enigma is an understatement.

I could take a chance and try to get him to open up, but that might lead him to believe I care. In my line of work, caring is a big no-no. Distance, detachment, and feigned empathy are much better traits to employ in the bedroom.

So, I go with my old standby. Get to know the customer. “Tell me about your band.”

He looks away and huffs. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

There he goes, getting defensive again. Maybe he’s not on good terms with his bandmates. He shut down earlier when I suggested we go to his place. Kristina told me he was in New Orleans to record an album, renting a house in the Quarter. Wonder if he lives with them.

What’s his damage? Aside from alcohol abuse, a condescending personality, a penchant for losing shit, and an apparent death wish?

Why do you care? Fuck him, take your five hundred bucks, and go home.

I rest my hands on my hips. “Okay, then, let’s skip the pleasantries and get to the fucking.”

He sighs loudly. “Wow, that really puts me in the mood.”

“Rax, you’re paying me to have sex with you. It’s not like this is a date. You wanna call it off? Fine. I’d love to get some sleep tonight.” His agitation is wearing off on me. “Maybe it’s best I go home. I’m not supposed to see you anyway.”

He brings his head up suddenly. “Why not? Who said?”

“My boss.”

“Your boss can’t tell you what to do outside of work.”

I snort. “Yes, he can, and he does.” I spy a bench near the river and sit.

Rax joins me, but he doesn’t look at me. He just stares across the water like I did moments ago. “Why, are you his slave or something?”

Yes
. “No. But I signed a contract.”

“What kind of contract?” He turns to me. The snark has left, replaced by genuine interest and tinges of accusation.

“This is all hush-hush. I trust after our time together in the basement of Nocturnes that you won’t tell anyone.”

He twists an invisible key, locks his mouth shut, and tosses it over his shoulder.

“The dancers who work in Hell—it’s actually called Heaven, but some think of it as the opposite—aren’t allowed to have any romantic ties or sex with people outside of the club. We sign an agreement stating we’ll abstain. But everyone on the inside is fair game.

“All of the girls and members get tested monthly. We have strict rules. Clients can do anything they want to us except leave scars. They get to pick from a number of dancers, and we can be called down to Hell any time. We have to keep our bodies clean, healthy, and free of cuts, marks, and piercings. If we renege on our contract, we’re terminated.”

I can’t look at him. Not interested in seeing the judgment in his face.

“If you can’t have sex outside the club, then what the hell are we doing here?”

I close my eyes for a few seconds. “I’m breaking the rules.”

He pulls up a leg, rests his knee on the bench, and faces me. “Why?”

I have no answer.

“So, you work for some kind of brothel and can’t have your own life. Sounds…familiar.”

“You work for a pimp too?” I smile, but only a little.

“Bitchy manager. Same thing.”

Now I turn to him. I need him to understand how serious this is. To know what I’m risking by being with him. “If my boss finds out I met you, he’ll fire me.”

He squares his shoulders. “Then I’ll join the club so I can have you any time I want.”

His naiveté kills me. “You got five million dollars stuffed under your mattress?”

He frowns. “What?”

“That’s how much it costs to ascend to Heaven, baby.”

“Five.
Million
?” he sputters. “You’re fucking joking.”

I shake my head. “I wish I were. See why I shouldn’t be with you?” Flipping my lashes downward, I lean a little closer and inhale. His scent catches in my nose, and the muscles in my gut loosen, unleashing a horde of fluttering baby demon wings on my unsuspecting stomach. I study his hand beside mine on the bench and wonder what his music sounds like. The angsty sub-audio kind his body’s playing for me right now is beautiful.