Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“More free publicity. You realize, of course, that Micah and the other bigwigs are about to lose their shit.” Simone dipped into a low stretch. “Ticket sales are apparently insane, and with you leading the news again this morning because of the vandalism at your place…” She slowly straightened her spine. “We are going to be sold out every single night.”
Violet remained stretched out on the stage. “So glad that my personal tragedies can help the show.”
Simone winced. “Okay, yeah, sorry, I sounded like a completely unsympathetic bitch, didn’t I?” She hurried toward Violet. Did a split in front of her before she bent to grab the toes of her right foot. “But at least you weren’t alone.” Her head turned as she maintained the pose, and she grinned at Violet. “Have you been holding out on me? Since when are you dating mysterious club owners and bringing them home with you? ”
The news hadn’t just been splashing her image onto the screen. They’d captured footage of Royal leaving her house. Correction, of her and Royal leaving. His arm had been wrapped around her. His clothes had been wrinkled and very clearly the same ones that he must have worn the previous night.
Everyone in town who’d watched the footage would believe that she was sleeping with Royal. It was what the cops on scene had believed.
It was clearly what Simone believed.
And it was exactly what Royal wanted everyone to believe. Violet cleared her throat. “You’re the one always telling me that I need to stop living like a nun.”
Simone let go of her foot. She arched her back, rotated, and pinned her bright eyes on Violet. “There’s living like a nun…” Her voice carried only to Violet. “And then there’s jumping into the deep end before you know how to swim.”
Or how to fuck.
Violet’s chin lifted. She got exactly what Simone was telling her.
“That’s a man who doesn’t play around,” Simone warned softly. “I think you need to be careful with him.”
“I know what I’m doing with Royal.” No, she did not. At all.
“I hope so.” Simone’s face softened. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Thanks, I?—”
“Practice time, people!” Micah clapped his hands. “I want a complete run-through of the production today. Special effects. All props. Impeccable timing. Lace up the shoes. Drink your water. And get your asses in motion.”
Violet rose to her feet. Her head moved in a small circle as she tried to work the kinks out of her neck.
Micah stopped in front of her. Surveyed her. His lips tightened. “You look like shit.”
Anger stirred inside of her. “Thanks, Micah. No, please, don’t worry about me. The incident at my house doesn’t have me rattled at all, and I got plenty of sleep.”
“You took home a man you just met, Violet. I’m sure you weren’t getting much sleep even without the rock hurtling through your window.” He tapped his chin. “Are you up to the rehearsal today? If not, Simone can step in.”
“I’m good.” She needed this. But…
I also want to be with Royal. Hunting down the bastard who took me. Surely, Royal wouldn’t hunt without her? They were supposed to be a team.
Only they hadn’t exactly discussed a thorough game plan.
“I don’t need you to be good.” Micah shook his head. “I need you to be perfection. Anything less won’t cut it for me. Can you give me what I want?”
Such a demanding asshole. When she became an artistic director in charge of her own show, she would never be like him. And that was the plan. To step away from the spotlight and to be in charge of the performances. This show was going to be her last lead.
“Violet?” he pushed.
She flashed a hard smile his way. “Perfection. Coming right up.”
“That’s what I love about you.”
Simone waited until Micah strolled away, then she closed in on Violet. “That man is such a dick.”
Violet agreed.
“Totally makes me regret those three…no, four times I slept with him.”
Violet looked at her friend and raised her brows.
“What?” Simone shrugged. “He’s straight, gorgeous, and actually really good in bed. He’s also a super bastard. That’s the way nature works. Can’t have it all.” She pointed at Violet. “That’s why I’m telling you now…your mystery club owner? He’s gonna have some serious flaws. He doesn’t get to be gorgeous and rich without having some major skeletons hiding in the closet. There will be red flags, mark my words.”
Oh, he had a few red flags.
Like the fact that he seemed to enjoy hunting down killers.
“You’re fucking the woman you saved?”
Royal had expected that to be the first question Beau asked. He’d gone straight to LeBlanc’s, his brother’s riverfront bar, because he knew a reckoning was at hand.
When Royal entered LeBlanc’s, Beau had been standing behind the counter. A wall of the best whiskeys in the world waited behind him. When it came to his whiskey, Beau spared no expense.
“Caught the news story.” Beau crossed his arms over his chest. “Me and everyone else. You were at her house last night.”
“I was protecting her.”
“Do tell.”
He crossed to the counter. Flattened his hands on the top. “You really think you’re in a position to lecture me about wanting to protect someone? Try that bit with someone else. I know how long and how closely you guarded Avalon.”
Beau’s eyes narrowed. “Completely different.”
Was it? “You stalked the woman for years?—”
Beau surged toward him. “I was watching her ass! The arsonist who nearly killed Avalon wasn’t caught. Someone had to keep her safe.”
And, of course, the fact that Beau had been in love with his Avalon ever since a very long ago night when he’d saved her from a fire in New Orleans—a fire that had occurred when Beau was just a teen—well, Royal supposed that was irrelevant? Whatever. He forced a shrug. “The killer who kidnapped Violet wasn’t caught. Someone has to keep her safe.” He sent his brother a tight smile. “Guess you and I are more alike than you thought, huh?”
“You told me that you’d stopped hunting.”
Yeah, well. “I lied.”
Beau growled.
“And if I hadn’t lied, if I had stopped, Violet would be dead right now. So how about you stop reading me the riot act, and you get on board with this hunt?” There was no need for the moral high road BS. Beau had once hunted with him. During their time in Savannah, they’d taken out two murderers in the area.
They hadn’t killed those men.
They’d stopped them.
Two men. Sadistic predators who’d gotten off on torturing others. Murderers who’d needed to be stopped.
But those weren’t the only hunts Royal had ever done. And even though Beau swore he was done with hunts… I’ll keep hunting without him. Because Royal wasn’t going to let the bastard who’d taken Violet just get away. Hell, no.
Royal rolled back his shoulders. “From where I’m standing, my last hunt counts as a win.”
“Even though the killer got away?”
“ Momentarily got away.”
Beau grunted. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Nah. You’re the one who does that. Not me. I’m just helping out a pretty dancer.”
“You’re fucking a pretty dancer.”
He dropped his relaxed pose. “Watch what the hell you say about her.” His hands slapped on the bar’s countertop, and he leaned toward his brother. Got practically nose to nose. “She’s an innocent in all this.”
“An innocent who knows what you like to do for fun on the weekend. In case you missed it, your hobby isn’t freaking typical. It’s dangerous and scary as hell, and it’s also the kind of thing that can get you tossed into a cage.” Beau’s eyes glittered. “I’ve been in enough of those over the years. I’ve tried to keep you out of them.”
Beau had always been looking out for him. Ever since they were kids. Beau was the only family that Royal had in this world. The only person who actually gave a shit about him. So Royal took a breath and took a step back. “I’m in control.”
“No, you’re not. And I think that, with her, your control is going to get weaker and weaker.”
Royal lifted his hands from the counter. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I? You were at her house last night. You gonna really try and sell me the story that you were keeping your hands off her?”
He actually had kept them off. Mostly. “I was on the couch. She was in the bedroom.”
Beau’s eyes narrowed.
“Someone tried to scare her last night. Someone who did not like the fact that I was in her home.”
“You think it was the killer?”
“I think…” A slow exhale. “I think I need to call in a few favors. I’ve always had your back, right? Bodyguard work. Some bending of the law. Whatever you needed.” He would always give Beau whatever his brother needed. “This time, I need you to work some magic for me.”
A furrow appeared between Beau’s eyes. “I’m listening.”
“You’re tight with the Ice Breakers.”
“I don’t know if ‘tight’ is the word I’d use. But, yeah, I know some of them.”
The Ice Breakers. A cold case solving crew that had been making headlines quite a bit in the last two years. From what Royal had been able to discover, the group had first started online. They’d all come from different backgrounds. Civilian life. Military. Former law enforcement. Billionaire Archer Radcliffe pretty much bankrolled the operation these days—mostly because his wife, one of the original Ice Breakers, had helped to clear him of a murder suspicion that had dogged the guy’s steps for years.
One of the core Ice Breakers actually lived in town. A badass SOB who went by the name of Saint. Royal and Saint had crossed paths a few times. Mostly because Alice, Saint’s wife, ran one hell of a speakeasy. Royal had picked up a few tricks and tips from Saint. But it wasn’t Saint’s help that he needed right now. Royal tilted his head to the right, ran a hand over the stubble that coated his jaw, and asked, “You ever hear about a woman called the doctor of the dead?”
Beau’s face tightened. “People say she’s almost psychic when it comes to finding dead bodies. She hunts with her dog, Banshee.”
“I think I need her to do a hunt at the old winery where I found Violet.”
Beau cursed.
“There were three dead vics that I linked to the perp, but I’m suspecting there are more.” His instincts screamed there were. “And I think the doctor of the dead can help me find them.”
“This is gonna go from bad to worse, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” He glanced at his watch. “See if you can work your magic and get her to town for me, will you?”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Ah, what I do best, of course.” He flashed a tiger’s smile. “Hunting the sonofabitch.”
Sweat soaked her body. The rehearsal had been brutal so far. In a way that she absolutely needed. Her movements had needed to be timed down to the exact second. Her focus complete. Violet hadn’t been able to waste energy thinking about the jerk who’d taken her. Or what could have happened at her house last night.
“Bring out the coffin!” Micah’s voice rang out. “Looking great, people! Great! Violet, perfect death. You were delicate and tragic, and that was just what I needed.”
“Praise from Micah.” Simone—just as sweat soaked as Violet—slid toward her. “That’s like winning the lottery.”
Violet bobbed her head because Simone was absolutely right.
“Curtains will be down.” Micah was holding court in the middle of the stage. “During the intermission, the coffin will be brought out by the crew. Violet, you’ll get inside as soon as it is positioned. The curtain will rise, and the prince will come. He’ll be desperate to awaken you.”
The stage crew brought out the coffin. Made of glass—and gold. Or at least, it looked like gold lining the edges of the coffin. It wasn’t, of course.
“Beautiful.” Micah hurried forward and ran his hands over the coffin once the stage hands put it in place. “Seriously, it’s exactly what I wanted. The audience can see our poor heroine through the glass. Every inch of her. They’ll grieve with the other dancers. Emotions will be high.” He raised the lid of the coffin. “Violet, hurry, get inside!”
Right. Inside the coffin.
At least it’s made of glass. Since she could see through it, she shouldn’t feel claustrophobic. Her feet rushed across the stage, and she slipped inside. Violet stretched out her body. The coffin had been built so that it fit her body perfectly. Not a whole lot of wiggle room, but, it worked.
“Arms over your chest,” Micah ordered.
She put her arms over her chest.
“Perfect.”
She watched him lower the lid. Then she stared through the glass and looked up at him.
Micah smiled at her. “You’re gorgeous in death.”
A shiver slid over her body.
He tapped the lid. “Okay, eyes closed. We’re going to lower the stage lights and send in the fog.” He rose and turned to the crew. “I want the mournful music playing. This is our death march. The tone should reflect her sorrowful end…”
Her body had felt so warm just moments before. But now she seemed chilled. She hadn’t closed her eyes. Not yet.
She kept her hands over her chest. The other dancers backed away. Violet knew they’d come out on their cue. When the curtain rose, though, she’d be the only one on the stage. The coffin would be the focus. Fog would swirl around her, like wisps of the evil queen’s magic lingering in the air.
Violet breathed in and out as she tried to calm her racing heartbeat.
The lights overhead dimmed.
She jerked.
With all the darkness…
Back in the trunk. Closed in. Can’t get out. She’d banged and banged her bound hands against the trunk’s lid. She’d had bruises on her hands for days after her rescue. She’d pounded even when she’d been certain no one would save her.
Get a grip, Violet. You’re not in the trunk. You’re on a stage. This is a show. There is no danger.
But her racing heart didn’t seem to get that message.
She heard the music start.
Violet squeezed her eyes closed.
Each rapid heartbeat seemed to echo in her ears.
You have this. You aren’t going to break apart in front of everyone now. No big deal. You have this.
The music rose. She felt the vibrations on the stage and knew that the other dancers were coming closer. Her prince would be there soon to lift the glass top of the coffin. He’d press his lips to hers and bring her back to life.
Except…
He didn’t.
She lifted her lashes just a little.
The top of the coffin hadn’t lifted off.
Why hadn’t the lid lifted? What was happening? She could see light. Not total darkness any longer, so that was a win. But what wasn’t a win?
The lid still being shut.
“I can’t get it.”
The prince’s voice. Only, she wasn’t supposed to hear his voice. There was no speaking in the ballet. Her eyes flew wide open. She stared at Dante Baxter. His dark eyes were wide and worried as he frowned down at her. “I can’t get it open, Violet!”
“You’re not supposed to speak!” Micah’s snarl. “This isn’t freaking Broadway! It’s the ballet! Shit. Everyone, stop! Dante can’t open a damn lid.”
She could hear his voice so clearly. Then she saw him. Micah bent over the coffin and pulled at the lid he’d closed moments before.
The lid didn’t open.
She stared right at him, so she saw the surprise—and flash of worry—in his eyes. “It’s…jammed.”
Her head shook. Her hands rose and pressed to the glass.
“Crew! I need the stage crew!” Micah jerked on the handle—the lever? He sent Violet a wide smile. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just jammed. We’ll have you out in no time.”
He’d have her out?
Her hands shoved hard against the glass above her.
Nothing happened. She just slapped the glass. The top section of the coffin didn’t rise.
Most of the stage still seemed dark beyond the glow of light that surrounded Dante and Micah. Fog swirled around the coffin. But at least there was some light. There was?—
Darkness.
The light died, and the whole stage plunged into darkness.
“What in the hell is happening?” Micah demanded. “Dancers—off the stage! I want everyone off but the freaking genius who built the coffin and who can now open the damn thing.” Something tapped the top of the coffin.
Her heart raced faster. The darkness seemed so consuming. Panic flared inside of her. Too much darkness. Too much?—
Light. A flash of light from Micah’s phone shone onto her face.
“Power failure. Can you believe this crap? I have to get the dancers off the stage before someone breaks a leg, and I’m screwed.” The light stayed on her. “You are safe here, Violet. Andy built the coffin, and he’s coming. The lock just jammed.”
Why was there a lock? Why had a lock been included at all?
“You’re safe,” Micah said again. “I have to get everyone else off my stage. But I’ll be back. You just breathe and don’t break the glass!”
She’d panicked and started pounding the glass. Her hands froze.
“We don’t want to have to build another one. It’s just a technical glitch. You know this sort of thing happens all the time.” The light lingered on her. “I’ll be right back.”
He was leaving her? They were all leaving her?
The light pulled away as Micah’s steps pounded to the right.
Darkness engulfed her. Panic built. This was not happening. They couldn’t leave her there. She wasn’t just going to stay in the trunk, helpless, until that bastard came back and finished her off. She couldn’t die now. She wouldn’t die. She’d get out of the damn trunk even if?—
Not a trunk. You’re not in a trunk. You’re in a coffin.
And wasn’t that even worse? Her right hand fisted, and she drove it at the glass above her.
Light.
Light hit her face. She squinted and expected to see?—
“It’s me, Violet.” Royal’s voice. And she could hear his fury. “I’m getting you the hell out of there, sweetheart. Roll to the side. Get as far to the left as you can.”
She immediately rolled and hunched her body.
Thuds sounded behind her. The crack of glass and then…then a faint squeak as the coffin lid lifted. She rolled back.
“Easy.” Royal’s arms caught her. He hauled her up and into his arms. “Broke some glass when I shattered that damn lock.” He pulled her tighter against him.
She was shaking.
“I’ve got you,” he growled against her ear.
How was he there? Oh, screw it. Forget how. She was just grateful he was there.
“What the hell are you doing?” Micah’s horrified voice. “The coffin! What did you do to the coffin?”
Held tightly in Royal’s arms, Violet turned her head in the direction of Micah’s voice. In that moment, the stage lights turned on again. Startlingly bright and too powerful. She blinked quickly. Over and over as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden, almost blinding brightness.
“ What the hell were you doing?” Royal snarled back. “You left her trapped in there.” And, with his hold on Violet tightening, he took an aggressive step toward Micah.
She felt something whistle in the air. Or at least, it seemed like a whistle.
Some thing hurtled down right behind her and Royal and glass shattered. Not one little crack. Shatter.
With her in his arms, Royal bounded forward. Loud screams echoed throughout the theater and then…
“OhmyGod!” Simone’s shocked voice. “If Violet had still been in the coffin, that light could have killed her!”
She strained and peeked over Royal’s shoulder. One of the lights had fallen from overhead. Big, black, round. The light had hurtled into the side of the coffin. Broken glass littered the stage.
Everyone seemed to have frozen. Violet’s horrified gaze was on the coffin. On all that glass. “Again,” she breathed. She looked at Royal.
And found him staring down at her.
“You’ve just saved me again .”