Chapter 24
LUCY
He doesn’t see me at first, but he sure as heck hears me when I gasp, my whole body locking up in shock.
My mouth opens before I can stop it. “Are you—?”
His eyes snap up and he winces underneath the bottom half of his mask. “Alice, it’s not what it looks like.” He pulls out the syringe and rubs his thigh—his naked thigh—how did I not realize his pants were pulled partially down? “It’s—”
“—Allergies,” I finish on an exhale, walking farther into the room.
I breathe through my nose as I hold out my hand, trying to get a grip on myself. “Here. Let me help.”
He eyes my hand warily before he relents and gives me the injector. When I take it, the dim light of the VIP room—the Sugar Room, as it turns out—shows me the syringe is that same eleven-hundred-syllable medicine as before. I swallow with it in my hand.
“Alice?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I tell us both, then roll my shoulders back and cross to the bin in the corner of the room that Oscar informs all the dancers about when we get here.
I depress the red biohazard box’s lever with the toe of my shoe, toss the syringe in when the lid opens, then press the second lever so the separate, non-tamperable sharps compartment opens and swallows the syringe.
“We get this more than you’d think,” I say softly, when I turn back around he’s yanked his slacks back up and sits normally now.
“No, Alice. I promise. It’s not what it looks like. I’m allergic to cats. And dust. And mold. And cheap perfume.” He huffs, somewhere between frustrated and pleading. “Pretty much every damn thing in this building.”
“Well good thing we don’t have cats in here then, huh?” I laugh.
He groans. “Yeah, but I have one at home. She’s the sweetest, cuddliest little princess but damn, she’s gonna be the death of me.”
Excitement at the thought of a cute furball buzzes in my chest, but then I frown. “Why on earth would you watch over something that could kill you?”
His gaze grows intense. He bites his lip, looks away, and shakes his head. “It’s complicated. I’m hoping I can get her back to her mom soon.”
“Her mom?” A million questions fly through my head. “Where’s her mom?”
Hatter’s lips quirk sadly. “That’s complicated too.”
Oh boy.
I simultaneously want to know every single nook and cranny of everything he’s not telling me and to also run far, far, far away from whatever truth he’s hiding. I clear my throat and point my thumb back at the biohazard box.
“Oscar—erm, Chef—installed these in all the rooms. His wife Iris had a sister who was an addict.”
“I’m not an addict, Alice, you have to believe me—”
“I do,” I say fervently. “I promise. It’s just... It’s a little daunting to watch, is all.”
He eyes me. “Because of your history.”
The words came out slowly, like he’s still not fully convinced about my story. Funny, since I am actually the one lying.
But I nod. “Yeah. Exactly.”
He leans back into the plush pink loveseat, and I take the room in properly for the first time.
It’s a completely different vibe from the Flower Room. Where that one was romantic with a dark, gothic garden motif, this one is more playful. Almost aggressively so.
The walls are bubblegum pink and covered in framed candy illustrations.
The pole on the small stage in the corner is designed to look like a candy cane.
Along the back wall, big glass dispensers with turn knobs hold every kind of candy imaginable, filled by Iris from her tea and sweets shop next door.
Whatever isn’t eaten each week gets split among the staff.
Dorman and Watchman—who both have surprisingly robust sweet tooths—always take home the most.
The room also smells strongly of Smoke, and I breathe it in with a new wariness coiling in my chest now that I know what it actually does.
“I read somewhere that this color can drive people mad,” I say idly, nodding at the pink walls. “They used it in prisons and psych wards once because they thought it’d be calming. Before scientists figured out it did the opposite.”
“Well that’s pretty fucking ironic,” Hatter mutters, squinting around. “I can see how it could put people on edge.”
His back is straight, shoulders tight, like he’s bracing for my reaction.
“Did you come in here with Tweetie?” I ask, shocked by the sharpness in my question.
He frowns. “Yeah, I did. Why?”
“I… saw her take you back here.”
A sly smile spreads over his face. “Are you stalking me, Alice?”
“What? No!” I yelp, a little concerned that he’s not totally wrong.
“Hm. Jealous then?”
I growl. “No. What you do and with who isn’t my business.”
His eyes narrow on me like he wants to argue. But he seems to decide against it, shaking his head instead.
“She saw me sneezing and asked if I was okay. I told her I just needed to take my meds, so she showed me this room and left through the back.”
The tightness in my chest eases, and I sigh before tackling my next question.
“If you’re so allergic, why do you work here?”
He shifts uncomfortably, then shrugs. “Needed a job.”
I tilt my head. “Aren’t you a dockie? Why wouldn’t you just get work at the port?”
He frowns. “What makes you think I worked at the port?”
“I…” I drift off, realizing I have no idea. In fact, I have no idea who I’m talking to at all. My entire job is to decipher and decode this man and report his secrets to Castle—after I’ve protected my own, of course. But I’ve failed miserably at every single turn.
“I don’t know. Just assumed, I guess,” I finish with a sigh.
The sugary, cotton candy scent is even stronger here than the Flower Room, though I suspect that’s more the candy dispensers than the Smoke. Still, the thought needles at me.
Is that why I was so turned on and loose-lipped with Hatter the other day?
I couldn’t get a coherent thought in edgewise, only wanting to dance on him and get off.
Dee said Smoke’s a truth serum, but what if it’s more like an inhibition serum?
Something that just dissolves all the careful walls a person puts up?
I definitely can’t let that happen.
It doesn’t feel like Smoke is as concentrated in here, but we have vents for a reason.
I press the button for them on the wall now.
The air rattles into a low rumble, and the scent clears to a noticeable degree.
Then I lower the lights, dimming the oppressive pink to a pretty rose, something tolerable.
“You should keep taking the antihistamines,” I say. And I should double up, pronto.
“What did you just do?”
“Turned on the air filter. It smells too much like Smoke in here for my liking.”
He huffs. “Tell me about it. The only good thing about it for me is, while these meds usually barely cut it anywhere near a cat, they honestly seem to be working better since I got here. I’m still waiting for my doctor to send me my next batch soon. Hopefully.”
I grimace, guilt in my chest. “I’m sorry I took your other syringe. It’s back at my place. I can bring it back tomorrow?”
He eyes me, then nods. “Yeah, that’d be good. I have a few more doses, but the more the merrier.”
I snort. “Okay, consider it done.”
He smiles, then tilts his head. “I know why I’m hiding in here—to make sure I stay alive.” He chuckles. “But why are you in here? You’re between sets. Isn’t this when y’all work the floor?”
My cheeks heat, and I don’t entirely know why. The fact that he knows my schedule shouldn’t be as pleasing to hear as it is.
My eyes flick to the door. I should go back out there, but…
I nibble my lip as I walk over and collapse onto the loveseat beside him.
“Frog’s here.”
He immediately tenses. “Did that fucker do anything—”
I wave him off. “No, no. It’s fine. I just didn’t want to get mixed up with him again. The girls say he’s harmless, but… I don’t know.” I find myself shuddering. “Something about him gives me the extra creeps.”
“Grabbing your ass in front of an entire room of people when the rules explicitly say to leave y’all the fuck alone isn’t harmless.”
My chest squeezes.
The girls mean relatively, I know that. But there’s something so… protective to his words. A quiet ferocity in his voice that I don’t know what to do with. It’s nice to hear after watching out for myself my entire life.
My dad would burn the entire world to the ground before he let anyone take me again, but my trauma says otherwise. And that’s the problem. I wish I could trust him. But after being so profoundly let down before, the only one my mind lets me rely on is me.
Though lately, it’s kind of starting to feel like Hatter’s being added to that list too.
“What’re you looking at me like that for?” His lips lift in a pleased, but slightly confused, grin.
I shrug. “I like that you feel protective, I guess. I know it’s your job—”
“It’s not just about the job,” he says quietly, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
I press my hand to my lower belly where it’s flipped with some emotion I don’t have the freedom to name.
“Well, I like it.” I swallow. “I’ve… I’ve never had that before, I guess. The certainty that I’d be protected.”
Confusion filters across his face. His shoulders relax as he turns toward me, and his hand reaches out along the loveseat cushion—then stops, tightening, flattening inches from my thigh.
“What do you mean? Didn’t your parents—” He stops and clears his throat. “Most parents would do anything for their kids.”
“Oh, mine definitely would,” I say quickly. “Both of them would do anything for me.” I smile a little at that. “It’s just… something happened when I was little. Not even they know the full extent of it.”
The air between us thickens. I can feel the anger radiating off him before he even speaks.
“Alice. What happened?”
Can I tell him? My secrets have eaten me alive since I was seven years old, but I never wanted my parents to know what I went through. They’d be crushed.
But this man… this stranger, what’s the harm in telling him? It’s not like he can do anything. He doesn’t even know my real name.