Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAMIEN
The small pebble makes a satisfying tick against Ophelia’s window. I grabbed a handful from the neighbour’s front garden on my way here, car parked along the road as usual.
I’m still wearing my tux, overdressed for what I’m planning, but the outfit I picked for Ophelia is perfect for the occasion.
Another stone. Another tick off the glass.
The window slides open and Ophelia’s pale face appears, hair loose around her shoulders, all mussed and lovely. Even from down here, I can see the confusion etched across her brow.
“Damien?” Her voice is hoarse from sleep. “What are you—”
“Get down here, Snowflake. We’re going out.” I hold up the dress, letting the streetlight catch the shimmer of sequins.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Astute observation. Now hurry before I wake the neighbours.”
She leans farther out the window, her new glasses impenetrable in the darkness. “We agreed on Wednesday.”
“This isn’t about sex.” A combination of words that feel strange in my mouth. “I’m taking you on a date.”
Ophelia stays put and I can practically hear the gears turn in her head, searching for whatever angle I’m working.
“A date,” she repeats, flat with disbelief.
“You know. That thing normal people do before they fuck.” I give the outfit another shake. “Now are you coming or do you want me to climb up there and dress you myself?”
She disappears from the window. For a moment I think she’s ignoring me, going back to bed, and irritation prickles under my skin. Then there’s movement behind the glass, her shadow crossing the room.
I meet her at the back door, passing her the dress so she can change out of her sleep shirt without anyone else perving.
Her head tilts as she scans my outfit, and I shoot out my arms, adjusting the cufflinks for the full effect.
“I’m not going to change while you’re watching.”
With a heavy sigh, I turn on my heel. “Fine. Come meet me at the car when you’re done.”
When I get in the driver’s side, the familiar, corrosive itch beneath my skin dissolves into the liquid heat of anticipation. A sensation only Ophelia ignites.
Five minutes later she emerges from the side gate, the silver dress sparkling in the moonlight. It fits her perfectly. Short enough to show off her legs, tight enough to hug the curves I’ve memorised with my hands.
Her new glasses complete the ensemble and there’s a special rightness in knowing everything she wears is what I’ve bought her. I reach across to open the passenger door.
“Get in.”
She hesitates on the curb; arms hugging her torso. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere loud.” I gun the engine. “Somewhere you can stop thinking for a few hours.”
That gets her moving. She slides into the passenger seat, and I pull away before she can change her mind. This late, the streets are almost empty, and we’re soon taking the tunnel across to Lyttelton, emerging into the steep hills edging the harbour.
Ophelia keeps fiddling with her seatbelt. “You agreed to organise these things beforehand.”
“I told you. This doesn’t count towards our total.” I glance at the profile of her face, delicate against the looming portside petrol tanks through the window, shipping containers stacked into metal mountains. “Consider it a bonus round.”
“Nothing with you is ever a bonus.”
I laugh, resting my hand on her knee. “Fair point. But I promise there’ll be no sex tonight. Scout’s honour.”
She scoffs. “You were never a Scout. They don’t have badges for manipulation.” But a smile tugs at her lips, barely visible in the darkness.
The road leads us farther around the hill range and her fingers twist in her lap as we reach the harbour heads, waves crashing into the rocks below.
“Relax. If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it already.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” I turn down a gravel road, headlights catching the hulking shadows of the old buildings. “We’re here.”
The bass hits us before we’re even out of the car. A deep, primal thud that vibrates through the chassis. Ophelia’s head tilts, following the sound.
“What is this place?”
“Old gun emplacement and barracks from World War Two.” I come around to her side, offering my hand. “Now it’s where the cool kids come to get fucked up on a Saturday night.”
The empty buildings loom above us, graffitied concrete and rust stains, windows dark except for an occasional strobe of coloured light. I lead Ophelia through a gap in the chain-link fence, following the surge of bodies towards the music.
Inside, the rave is in full swing. Strobing lights turn the crowd into a stop-motion film. Bodies jerking and swaying, hands raised, faces slick with sweat.
The DJ works from a platform of wooden pallets, headphones clamped over their ears, fingers dancing across the mixer. The bass is so loud it replaces my heartbeat, pounding through my sternum.
Ophelia freezes in the doorway, overwhelmed. I lean close to her ear, shouting over the music.
“Dance with me.”
“I can’t see anything.” But she’s not protesting, not really. Her body is already responding to the rhythm.
“You don’t need to see. Just feel it.”
I pull her into the crowd, into the crush of sweat and chemical energy. She’s stiff at first, self-conscious, but I keep moving, giving her no choice but to follow. The music shifts, drops into a faster beat, and something in her loosens.
She starts to dance alongside me.
It’s not graceful, but it’s genuine, freeing. Her arms lift, her hips sway, her head falls back as she surrenders to the sound. The strobing lights catch her white hair, turning her into something even more ethereal and strange than usual.
Her stamina outlasts mine and an hour later, I step back, giving her space, positioning myself where I can keep watch.
One guy stumbles too close, and I intercept him with a shoulder check that sends him sprawling. Another sidles behind her and I’m there before he can make contact, my hand closing on his wrist hard enough the bones grind together.
“Fuck off,” I mouth, and something in my face makes him cut and run.
Ophelia doesn’t notice, lost in the music. Her eyes are closed, a smile on her face that I’ve never seen before. Unguarded. Free. I memorise every detail, wanting to capture her in this moment, and hold it forever.
Alive and moving and mine.
She opens her eyes and finds me in the crowd, her smile widening. When I take her hand, she comes along willingly, and I lead her past the graffitied concrete wall, ending up by the twin harbour cannons.
“You like this style of music then?” I ask. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“This would’ve been a disaster if I didn’t.” Ophelia swings herself up onto the iron mounting. “But I like most styles of music.” Her voice turns wistful. “I used to dream of being a music producer. What about you?”
“I’ve never dreamt of being anything much.”
“You should.” Her legs swing and I hoist myself onto the cannon beside her. “With your voice, you could be a star.”
“Oh, sure.”
She elbows me. “I’m serious. With that deep baritone and your looks? No one would care what you’re singing.”
“Reducing me to parts, eh? I feel objectified.”
“Good.” She tilts back her head like she’s looking at the stars, but her eyes are closed, hair swinging in time. “It’s about time you were knocked down a peg or two.”
“By telling me I could be a rock star?” She giggles and our shoulders brush. “You’d have to stick with me. Be my manager.”
“Producer.”
“Do it all. Manager. Producer. Head groupie. I don’t want anyone else meddling in my fantasy career. Only you.”
We stay like that for what seems like hours, the music a constant backbeat. At one point, a guy comes past selling bottled water and I buy one, passing it back and forth between swigs.
Ophelia relaxes completely. She leans closer, almost like she’s going in for a kiss, and I jump down to avoid her.
“Come on,” I say, clapping my hands together. “That’s enough talk for one night. Back to the dancing throng.”
I guide her through the tussock grass, the noise hitting just as loud the second time.
Song after song plays in whirling pulses of energy, and I’m growing tired when whispers start near the DJ booth and ripple through the crowd.
Police raid.
Someone knows someone who texted a warning.
I grab Ophelia’s wrist and pull her towards the exit before the panic sets in properly, and the surge of bodies tramples anyone stupid enough to freeze.
“What’s happening?” She stumbles against me, disoriented by the sudden movement.
“Time to go.” I navigate us through the crush, shouldering past people already scattered and wild-eyed.
Outside, car engines roar to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as the rave dissipates into the surrounding roads.
I help Ophelia into the passenger seat, her chest heaving, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The silver dress clings and I force my focus away, reversing out of the makeshift parking area before we’re boxed in.
Flashing lights illuminate the dark harbour waves, blinking in and out of view with each sharp turn along the hillside.
A siren’s wail catches me off guard, forcing me onto a back road, where I exchange asphalt for a rough gravel track and the judder of cattle grids.
Once the rush of police has passed, I pull over near a stand of pine trees. The forest stretches dark and deep to our left, the trees close enough their lower branches scrape the roof of my car.
“Wait here,” I say, cutting the engine. “Lock the doors. I’ll be back in a bit. Maybe half an hour.”
Ophelia’s brow furrows. “But… where are you going?”
“Since you’re off limits, I’m going to find someone to fuck.” I deliver the words casually, checking my phone. “Don’t worry. With the number of girls there tonight, it shouldn’t take long to find a grateful stray.”
The animation drains from her face, and her fingers clutch hold of the seatbelt across her chest. “What?”
“You heard me.” I pocket my phone and reach for the door handle. “I’m horny and you’re off limits tonight, so—”