Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Lacey
The next few hours pass in a blur, like someone else has taken over my body and turned me into a walking fantasy.
By the time Marco reappears, I’m barely recognizable, even to myself.
My makeup is flawless, artfully dramatic without being overdone.
My hair’s pinned up in a style that looks effortless but clearly took skill, with a few soft curls left loose to trail down my back and frame my face just right.
I take one last look in the mirror, trying to hold on to the girl underneath all this polish, and swallow the nerves rising in my throat. No backing out now.
Marco calls for us with a clipped nod, and I fall into step beside the other dancers.
He doesn’t say much, just turns and starts walking.
The hallway is long, winding slightly as it slopes upward, and with every step, the muffled music pulses louder through the walls.
The other girls chatter quietly behind me, their heels clicking in sync across the polished floor.
But Marco doesn’t glance back at them, he hoovers close to me the entire walk, like he’s personally responsible to make sure I don’t get cold feet and back out.
We pass through a set of ornate double doors and step into the VIP lounge.
The air here is heavy, laced with cologne, cigar smoke, and money.
The lighting is low, gold-toned and sultry, glinting off chandeliers that drip crystal like melting ice.
Velvet booths circle the room, tucked into shadowy alcoves, and high-rollers lounge in them like kings, nursing aged whiskey while others sit around poker tables scattered across the floor.
Five raised platforms circle the room like altars.
Each about waist-high and draped in deep crimson velvet, their edges trimmed in gold with dim lighting that flickers like candle light at the base.
Dancers are already on a few of them, their bodies fluid under the amber lights, graceful and magnetic.
A DJ booth is nestled in the far corner, and the rhythm spilling from it is slow and seductive, like a heartbeat just below a moan.
Marco stops beside an empty platform in the center of the room and nods. “This one’s yours.”
The girls behind me scatter toward their own stages as the current dancers step down, but I hesitate for a second. Not because I’m afraid, I’ve danced in rooms thicker with testosterone than this but because Garett is watching.
He’s standing near the back wall, one hand around a crystal glass, the other tucked casually in his pocket.
He’s not watching the room, he’s watching me.
He nods in my direction and Marco’s hand wraps around my arm, tighter than needed to help me onto the platform.
I wince from the bite of his fingers on my skin.
The lights catch on the crimson of my corset as I step up.
The music pulses through me, grounding my nerves and I let it flow through me until I’ve convinced myself that I can do this.
I’ve performed before but somehow this feels different.
Like I don’t have a choice, all though I did.
I choose to be here with my stubbornness to prove to Aero that I don’t need him.
I don’t need anyone but God, I wish I had been smarter.
Garett’s eyes narrow to slits and his smile tightens as I stand there without moving. His glowering stare pulls at my nerves. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t sip his drink.
“Dance.” Marco grumbles and steps back until he blends with the shadows behind the platform.
I start to move, my hips syncing with the beat, letting the rhythm carry me into the role I’ve played a thousand times before.
The costume clings to my body like it was custom made for me, which is still unsettling.
My gloves shimmer when I lift my arms, and the slit in the skirt rides high with every sway of my legs.
The men in the booths take notice. Heads turn. Smiles curl. One tosses a chip toward the edge of my platform, then another, and another until it’s raining money at feet. But that’s not what rattles me.
It’s the burn of a gaze from across the room that brands my skin. Hot. Possessive. Unforgiving. It wraps around me, drags a shiver down my spine, and settles low in my belly like a warning.
I twist on the platform, my heart thudding against my chest and lock eyes on Aero.
He’s standing just inside the entrance, partially hidden by shadows, but I see it all.
The clench of his jaw, the fire in his eyes, and the way his hand curls into a fist at his side.
He looks like he’s fighting a war behind his eyes. And losing.
That look guts me. Because I want it. I crave it. I want his eyes on me like this forever, even if it tears us both apart.
I let my hand trail down my thigh, slow and deliberate, the hem of the skirt riding higher as I tease the movement out.
It’s not for the high-rollers.
It’s not for Garett.
It’s for Aero.
He’s watching me like he owns me. Like anyone else looking is a crime he’s already planning to punish. My breath catches in my throat. My thighs clench. I hate the way he makes me feel, like I’m burning alive and begging for more.
I turn away, pretending I don’t see him, pretending I don’t feel my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. But his gaze sticks to me like heat, dragging over every inch of skin like a brand.
And God help me… I love it.
My body moves on instinct now, slow and sinuous, a deliberate tease. I run my hands up my thighs, trace the line of my waist, tilt my head and let my eyes flirt with the room but really, they’re flirting with him.
Because even if he won’t claim me, even though he keeps his walls locked up so tight they scrape my skin when I get too close, I can still get under his skin. Maybe this is the only way I get to have his attention. Maybe this is the only way I get to feel him feel something for me.
I catch Garett watching too, his gaze tracking mine straight to where Aero stands. He adjusts his tie, subtle but calculated, then signals to a man who looks a hell of a lot like Marco. A moment later, Garett slips into the shadows behind him, disappearing into the dark like he was never there.
And just like that, the feeling slams into me.
I’ve stepped into a trap.
One I won’t be able to dance my way out of.