Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Zephyr
Reentering the club was like diving into a fishbowl. The walls closed in around me, and I held my breath. It was small. So small. And I felt magnified. Inspected by everyone. Terribly, horribly seen.
I’d gotten away with nothing.
The bouncers watched me return, unsubtly slipping by while mumbling apologies.
Maslow now had a recording of Beck in the private area, a location he would not have found without an escort, and the wraith would sense the change in me.
The charge of lust was like a drug I couldn’t quit.
All of it made what should have been shallow waters seem endlessly deep.
I could drown here. Or be pulled under. Falling again.
Thankfully, the VIPs had no reason to complain. Darby had covered for me, and after I told him where I’d been, he promised to do the same when Beck came back the next night.
And he did come back—again and again. He became a familiar presence in the crowd, a body I hurried to embrace, a hand I held as we slipped out of the club and into the relative quiet of the parking lot.
It became a habit, a high I chased, followed by the lows I endured each time Maslow took his due.
While my nights were full of passion and performance, my mornings now started with the wraith lurking in the hall outside our rooms. It was a new routine—unavoidable, enforced, and draining in every sense of the word.
Every day, he lined us up and strolled past, siphoning a different flavor of energy from each of us, filling his distended belly.
This morning, we’d been rounded up earlier than usual.
Maslow claimed to have “a prior engagement,” and would be gone most of the day.
He was here now, though, standing at the end of the corridor in his finest suit.
His sparse hair was stuck down with gel, and his gold teeth glinted as he smiled at us.
Pleased as he appeared, the bouncers behind him remained stern, standing shoulder to shoulder in a wall of menacing muscle.
“I’ll only be out for a while,” he informed us. “I expect you to behave and be stage-ready by showtime. No slacking off just because the cat’s away.”
After a week of this ritual, some of the dancers had adjusted better than others. You’d think that after five years under the wraith’s thumb, the fight would’ve been wrung out of them, but some still resisted. I couldn’t tell if that made them brave or just stupid.
Oz stood at the front of the line. He was by far the biggest of us, and yet somehow the meekest. Maslow had already taken from him. Now he stood off to the side, broad shoulders slumped, head bowed, looking like a scolded child in Superman pajamas.
Darby stepped up next, and Maslow clasped his hand in a stiff shake. The gesture seemed innocuous until the color bleached from Darby’s dark skin. His glossed lips strained a smile as Maslow beamed.
“Pleasure doing business with you, darling,” the wraith cooed.
“Always,” Darby gritted before he pulled free. Shouldering his shower tote, he strutted toward the bouncers’ barricade with his head held high, albeit a little wobbly.
The hounds parted for his exit, then remerged into the impenetrable barrier as Maslow advanced toward the twins.
Colt stepped out to meet him, cowboy hat tipped askew, wearing nothing but boxers and boots. Before Maslow could extend his hand, Colt seized it, locking him in a white-knuckled grip. The tendons in his forearm pulsed with the effort.
Maslow smirked, clearly entertained by the challenge even as he siphoned Colt’s strength and energy simultaneously. The drain showed in the tightening lines of Colt’s jaw, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he yanked the wraith in close, voice ragged but eyes flashing green fire.
“Take a li’l more, boss. Cal had a bad night.”
Beside him, Callum started to protest, but Maslow moved faster. He slipped free of Colt’s weakening hold and turned, bypassing a handshake to grasp Callum’s shoulder.
“Mmm. You’re right.” Maslow nodded as if weighing the taste of him, then leaned in, bumping Callum with his swollen belly. “Never the popular twin. Must be hard, sharing the spotlight with an attention whore.”
Colt’s jaw flexed hard enough I could have sworn I heard the grind of his teeth.
“You about done?” he growled.
“Of course,” Maslow assured him as Callum began to slump. He backed away, and Colt stepped into the space he left, checking his twin over with a worried pinch to his brow.
“I-I’m all right,” Callum whispered as Colt placed a kiss on his forehead.
Then it was Elliot’s turn.
Directly beside me, the wraith squared himself with the sulky goth. Elliot’s red eyes snapped up, smudged with leftover eyeliner from last night’s show. He didn’t move or speak, just glowered with a fury that could have melted ice.
Maslow’s hand hovered in the air between them while he decided where to touch. “No fight today, hmm?” the wraith mused. “Just gonna let me take it?” His hand shot out and collared Elliot’s throat, driving out an abrupt, choked sound. “That’s a shame. Wrath tastes best when it’s fresh.”
“Hey!” Oz shouted, stirring from his slouch. He started forward, only to be seized by one of the bouncers. For all the blond man’s muscle, he was no match for two hellhounds armed with bladed weapons and threatening glares. The protest died on Oz’s tongue, and he averted his gaze again.
Elliot set his jaw, and the lines of his face hardened, but he didn’t so much as twitch to his own defense while Maslow pulled the power from him.
It was so close, and knowing I was next made me want to run.
Then I felt guilty because I should have wanted to stay and help.
Instead, I did nothing but watch until Maslow released Elliot and turned my way.
Stepping close, he curled his hand around the side of my head, plump fingers raking through my hair. “Baby boy, this is what I’ve wanted for you,” he said. “So vivacious. Simply…” His tongue drew a wet line across his lips. “Brimming with lust.”
Did he wonder where I got it? What had changed?
I felt his touch then, like the prick of a needle, preparing to draw.
“There’s so much,” he practically moaned. His eyes closed as he savored my energy, readying to take what should have been mine.
“You don’t mind sharing, do you?” His eyes had closed, but he cracked one open as he asked. Fixed his gaze on me. Waited for an answer.
In my mind, I wasn’t replying to him at all. I was making a statement. Telling him what I wished I could have every day for the past eight weeks.
“No, Mazzy,” I gritted out.
And he took.
He finished in seconds and left me dizzy. Aching. Empty.
Nobody said a word.
I balled my fingers into fists when what I wanted to do was stick them in my mouth. To take them down my throat and suck and try to find the comfort only Beck provided. His hands gave me relief. His desire dulled the gnaw of hunger. And I had nothing that compared.
The wraith tugged on his cummerbund, adjusting it to accommodate the ever-growing bulge in his gut. “It’s gonna be a good day, boys,” he crowed. “I’ve got a feeling.”
Quiet persisted as he walked down the hall, then descended the stairs with the bouncers in tow.
Beside me, Elliot rubbed a gloved hand across his neck as Oz came over to investigate.
The twins were engrossed in each other; Callum leaned against Colt’s shoulder, looking readier to return to bed than to start the workday.
In the pause, the bathroom door swung inward and Darby strode out, wearing a string bikini and a floppy straw sunhat. Fishing a towel from his tote, he wound it around his waist and secured it with a loose knot.
He didn’t need to say anything; the sight alone was enough to command the attention of everyone in the hall.
“Everybody, get your shit,” he said. “We’re going to the pool.”
Elliot groaned and shuffled toward his room, while Oz cracked a grin before darting off.
The twins exchanged a quick high five, then slipped away.
I stood there, baffled, because unless Darby had flooded the bathroom, there was no pool on the premises, and everyone knew we weren’t allowed to leave the club.
When I continued to linger, Darby came over with his tote pinned under one arm. “What’s eating you, Cherry?”
“We don’t have anywhere to swim.”
Darby smirked. “We may not have anywhere to swim, but Vaughn Ashford does.”
I recognized the name as one signed on the cards and flower deliveries that showed up at the club weekly.
He was one of Darby’s sugar daddies, and a regular in VIP.
I met him once, a handsome middle-aged Black man who’d boasted about owning the Crowndell Casino Hotel, which he had informed me was about a mile down the Strip.
“I have a standing invitation,” Darby continued. “And I’m bringing you boys along. Call it a morale booster.”
A smile found its way onto my lips. My ventures into the Dollhouse parking lot had left me wanting more. More freedom. More distance. More… fun. And I trusted Darby to provide.
“What should I wear?” I looked down at my leggings and tank top. “I don’t have—”
“Stop right there.” Darby raised his hand. “You’ve got me, my extensive wardrobe, and my impeccable sense of fashion. You have been blessed, child.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, he wheeled me toward his bedroom. “Let’s go try some things on.”
Ten minutes later, someone had knocked on Darby’s door three times, and I had lost myself in a pile of bikini tops and bottoms. I couldn’t imagine how the stretchy strings and triangles would cover my cock, which was the problem I arrived at while standing with my hand cupped over myself behind the privacy curtain Darby had hung.
“I don’t think it fits!” I called out.
There was no mirror, but I could feel well enough to know I was exposed. And uncomfortable. And wondering if I should have checked with Elliot or the twins instead for clothing options.