Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wearing nothing but a tool belt, jeans, and work boots, Damien paced backstage at the Pink Pit of Pleasure, spewing every swear word in the book. None of the other male dancers said much, but he knew they were laughing behind his back. What was such a man—tall, dignified, and supremely alpha male—doing in a place like this?
Fodder for the hungry, sex-deprived spinsters of Dallas. From the sound of their screaming, one would think they’d never seen a man before.
He couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this situation. All because he couldn’t walk away from Cimil’s offer until he spoke with Sky, who was MIA.
Why can’t I be more of an asshole? It wasn’t that he still loved the woman, but he knew what it was like to be trapped in an existence that felt like torture. Those years hosting a rage demon had not been easy—or gore-free—and if someone had offered him a fresh start, a new life, he might not have ended up the solitary, coldhearted ex-assassin, ex-soldier, ex-fixer he was today.
At least I am a fantastic tailor.
Still, how could he in good conscience deny Sky one more chance to live? If that was what she wanted.
Unfortunately, there was still no sign of Pet or Sky since they’d gone off to look for Cimil, and he had no way of contacting them. Thus the reason he’d buckled when he received a text from Cimil, insisting he fill in for the missing dragon stripper.
Cimil: Lose it or lose it, tailor. Tick tock! Forty minutes to showtime!
Damien: You are evil.
Cimil: Wha, wha. No duh.
When he’d shown up here, looking to renegotiate with Cimil, she was nowhere to be found. Instead, he’d been greeted by Frankenstripper’s bride here—some Amazonian-like female in a leather catsuit, who immediately began barking orders.
I’ve never felt so degraded.
“You almost ready?” the woman said, looking him over like a piece of meat. Drool included.
“Where is Cimil?” he asked for the fifth time.
She licked her lips. “Look, buddy. I just run the place, m’kay? And if Cimil said you’re dancing, then you’re dancing.”
But this had nothing to do with the original deal: he would help her with the dragon; then she’d help Sky and surrender peacefully.
The woman added, “You have one minute. When the music starts, you go out there and do the moves I showed you. Okay?” She grabbed the air in front of her and began rocking her pelvis.
“I’m a tailor. I dress people, not take clothes off. Or perform ridiculous mime-porn.”
“Don’t you dare insult mime-porn. It’s a dying art!” Her nostrils flared. “Enough with the whining. You in or out? Thirty seconds.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Damien tightened his tool belt and drew a deep breath. The damned thong was riding up his ass. How did anyone stand these?
Jac didn’t know what to make of that creature in the sky, but it had to have been some sort of hologram. Dragons weren’t real.
What was real were the bent bars on that lion cage. Someone must’ve come to help Dash.
And they brought the Jaws of Life with them? That didn’t make sense.
Now in her truck, she floored it to the Pink Pit of Pleasure. Not that she expected Dash to be there, but Mink would know where he lived.
She parked along the side of the building since the main lot was full for their midnight show. The moment she stepped out, Mink appeared. “You’re late!”
“I don’t work here anymore. You fired me.”
“Says who?” Mink barked.
“You, and…never mind.” Jac shook her head at the annoying, creepy woman. “I just came because I need Dash’s home address.”
“I can’t give out that information.” Mink smiled wilily. “But how badly do you want it?”
Oh, I get it. “I can have the address if I help you out at the bar. Is that it?”
“Such a generous offer.”
“Gah…” Jac grumbled, quickly losing her patience with these asylum inmates. She followed Mink inside through a side door that led to the staging area for the dancers. Out in the theater, Jac could hear the audience booing and jeering whoever was onstage.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Our Dash substitute has poor thrust moves.”
Jac felt sorry for the poor sucker attempting to fill Dash’s boots. The audience came for him and only him.
“Hurry,” Mink said. “Get to the bar and start liquoring up the women.”
“Fine.” Jac went out to the hallway and entered the theater from the back. The audience looked downright feral, and not in an “I want to lick Dash” sort of way.
The tall, very handsome man onstage had a killer body and an impressive six-pack, but his moves were stiff and robotic. He kept rolling his eyes, like the entire thing was beneath him.
“Dash! Dash! Dash!” the women began chanting.
Tough crowd , she thought.
Jac found one of the servers behind the counter, making a mess of everything—margarita slush everywhere, limes on the floor, grenadine syrup spread across the counter.
“Here, you start cleaning, and I’ll make drinks,” Jac told her and got to work. The server burst into tears but began cleaning. It seemed everyone was working against their will tonight.
Jac reached behind her for a bottle of Jack to prep a drink. Suddenly, the crowd went wild, screaming with delight. She turned around, and there on the stage, next to the bored hot guy, was Dash.
“I don’t believe it.” At his feet was Heebie, his little leg looking perfectly fine.
What the hell? It didn’t make any sense. She’d seen the broken leg with her own eyes.
“Jac? I need my drinks,” said Trish, the same server from the other night.
“Oh. Sorry.” Jac went to work, keeping one eye on the show.
Dash turned his back to the audience, removed his jeans, and did a butt flex, popping his cheeks to the beat of the music.
Like before, the women lost their minds and began acting like possessed, sexual she-demons worshipping at the shrine of Master Dash.
Not right. It wasn’t natural for grown women to behave so crazily.
She glanced down at the bottle of tequila in her hand, a thought crossing her mind. Was it possible? Was Mrs. Peepers slipping something in the booze?
Dash ended his routine with a snap of his fingers, and Heebie ran up his back with no signs of injury.
Weird. Weird. Weird. I am going to get to the bottom of this.
The moment the theater began emptying out, Jac cleaned up the bar. She noticed the guy, who’d been booed off the stage, yelling at someone in the corner.
“You were laughing at me!” he roared. “I did this to help you, and you were rolling on the damned floor.”
Jac did a double take. There was no one there. It’s got to be drugs in the alcohol. It wouldn’t be difficult to do, and it explained everyone’s bizarre behavior, including this guy’s. He probably had a drink when he got here.
Anger bubbled in Jac’s chest. Drugging customers for profit was wrong on so many levels.
Jac headed backstage to find Peepers or Mink and demand they end this sick, twisted scam. Jac was just past the door when she heard Dash’s deep, recognizable voice yelling in the staging area.
“Cimil, for the last time, it’s not going to happen. Got it?” he said.
“You listen good, my little dragon slave. The dragonettes will be here tomorrow night, and they’re expecting action.”
Wait. What? Jac continued eavesdropping. The female voice—whom he called “Cimil”—sounded like Mrs. Peepers. Why is she calling Dash her dragon slave?
Jac’s mind immediately jumped to the monster she’d seen in the sky. Had it been real? No, it can’t be. Dragons. Weren’t. Real.
“Well, I don’t care what they’re expecting; they’re not getting it,” Dash said firmly to Cimil.
“Their eggs must be fertilized,” Cimil countered, “or else there will be no more dragons. Is that what you really want?”
“What do I care?” Dash said. “I have my life, and I’m happy.”
“Your kind are all alike—only thinking of yourselves!” Cimil barked.
“And you fucking gods only think about power and subjecting us all to your bullshit.”
Gods? Jac started feeling dizzy.
“Dashiel, the scrotum butter better be flowing tomorrow, or there will be hell to pay. Do you hear me?” Cimil said. “I want to see these walls dripping with sexy, hot bechamel! It’s the only way to make sure every egg is fertilized.”
Jac couldn’t believe what she was hearing. (A) Disgusting. (B) Dragons were real, and Dash was one of them?
No. No. Impossible. Maybe the two were rehearsing for a play or making adult fantasy films on the side, and these were their lines.
On the other hand, she had seen something in the sky tonight, and that something had spit fire.
“What do you want me to say?” Dash asked. “You need to deliver on your end of the bargain before tomorrow night, or no dragons. Either way, not my fucking problem.”
Jac heard a door slam—maybe Dash going to his dressing room.
Suddenly, Jac felt something hot and steamy on the back of her neck. She slowly turned her head to find two glowing red eyes beaming down at her. Jac’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t make a sound. Then something wet and warm swiped across her cheek, and for a split second, Jac could’ve sworn she saw a creature that looked like…like…
A unicorn?
Jac found her voice. “Help! Help!” She fell back on her butt. She needed to get the hell out of this place.
She flopped over onto her hands and knees, attempting to get to her feet, but whatever that thing was took hold of the back of her jeans.
Jac went flying through the air, landing facedown on the concrete floor. Ouch. Pain shot through her body.
“Dammit, Minky. Leave her the fuck alone.” Dash appeared, hovering over Jac protectively.
Jac heard a loud growl. Suddenly, Dash flew backwards onto the floor, too.
“Oh, you want to play, little unicorn?” Dash hopped to his feet and charged at whatever was attacking them. With his strong arms, he launched the invisible creature into the wall, leaving a big dent.
A loud mewl erupted in the air.
“Don’t make me get out the dragon, Minky.” Dash narrowed his blue eyes.
A shriek of garble erupted, followed by Dash saying, “You’ve lost the last hundred times. You’ll lose again. Now fuck off. I have things to do.”
The sound of hooves clacked across the floor, followed by the exit door swinging open and then closing.
With wide eyes, Jac looked at Dash. “What the hell was that?”
He flashed a smug smile. “Guess you’re not so tough now, are you, dart girl?”
“Wha-what was that?” she stammered.
“You’re the animal expert. You figure it out.”
She stared, her mind spinning with everything she’d just seen and heard. “Are you…a dragon?”
He laughed dismissively. “Have a good night.” He turned and began walking away.
“Tha-thank you for saving me.”
“Thank Heebie,” Dash called out. “He likes you. Oh, and I wouldn’t go out the front exit tonight. Minky is in a mood.”
Minky? Did he mean Mink?
Jac fell back on the floor, trying to catch her breath. Her heart felt like it was about to jackhammer its way out of her chest.
“So, the dragon likes you,” said a deep voice.
Jac looked up, finding the bored stripper hovering over her.
“Who are you?” She sat up, prepared for anything to happen.
“The name is Damien Greystone. Let me buy you a drink.” He held out his hand.