Chapter two #2
I slowly walk through the air before lowering myself inch by inch to rest on the floor.
With a flick of my hair, the music changes to the recognizable transition piece between dancers, and I stand to enjoy the audience's appreciation.
I walk to the front of the stage to take my bow. As I bend, crossing my legs and opening my arms wide, I’m momentarily frozen to the spot as my eyes lock with the man in front of me.
Russell Chase sits in the middle chair, as he has every time I’ve performed since the first time he appeared weeks ago.
He’s dark-haired, handsome, and an absolute asshole, but hell I find him attractive.
He’s bigger than his brother, Connor, and the opposite of him in personality.
But put them side by side, and there’s no doubt they’re related.
Both are gorgeous, wealthy, masculine, and oh so fucking dangerous.
They are the light, and I am the moth. There’s no doubt in my mind I’ll get burned—or worse, incinerated—if the current situation continues: dating one brother while being stalked by the other.
The solution is to walk away; the temptation is to sample both delicacies if the offer arises.
Dark eyes watch me retreat from the stage as he sits, wide-legged, sipping an amber drink.
His hand drops to his crotch as his gaze holds mine, and he blatantly readjusts his cock, then smirks.
A gasp catches in my throat, but I will my features to remain impassive.
He can’t know he affects me. I won’t have a man like that think I want him.
His ego doesn’t need any nurturing; I’m sure there’s a never-ending queue of featherbrained women willing to make him feel good.
When I reach the door to the dressing rooms, I turn to have a final glance at the crowd.
Russell is gone, which is no surprise. I know exactly where he’ll be; this won’t be the last time I see him this evening.
His presence will surround me until I enter the safety of my apartment, and up until then, he’ll watch.
My journey home isn’t long, at least not for now.
A short walk to the tube station, two stops, then five minutes through the dark streets on the other side and I’ll be there.
I pull my black winter jacket around me as I step out through the rear entrance of the club onto the old, iron staircase.
My heavy boots cause the metal to trill as I descend.
It’s cold, and a thin sheet of ice covers the ground.
My sole slips, and as I grab the freezing handrail, the structure wobbles with the movement.
For all the money spent inside the club, the outside needs extreme maintenance, but part of me believes that omission is deliberate ― a way to keep prying eyes off of what’s inside.
His familiar shadowed figure stands in the same betting shop doorway as it has every time I have walked home recently.
He should make me nervous, and the first time he was here, he did.
But I know this man isn’t like any of the other men I’ve met.
He gives me a sense of peace with his presence.
His bizarre obsession with me feels right.
I stroll past him, less than three feet between us, but keep my eyes focused in front, refusing to give him any attention. He steps out behind me, his dull footsteps echoing in the silent night. I keep walking, each stride deliberate and steady.
I skip down the steps at the tube station when the announcer advises the next train is approaching the platform.
My toes land on the solid yellow line, the station quiet with only a handful of people milling around.
I glance to my left, and Russell steps up to the line at the next door along.
He doesn’t look at me, but I see a dark smile on his lips.
He enjoys this, him following and me knowing damn fine he’s there.
We both step onto the train in synchronization, the doors opening and closing with equal precision.
I stand in the center of the train and hold the red pole.
He mirrors my movement, walking toward me and grabbing the same pole, his hand a fraction above mine.
We don’t look at each other, but I can hear his breathing, measured and throaty.
I inhale deep to steady my nerves, and the strong aroma of cinnamon and male fills my nostrils. Fuck, he smells as good as he looks.
My stop approaches; he recedes, then steps out the next door in time with me once more. We’ve played the same game for days. The first night he followed me I was nervous but not terrified, then as each night passed it became perversely normal for him to be here. A naughty pleasure I craved.
The final part of my journey is short, only a few minutes walk to my apartment. After exiting the tube station, I turn down a small alleyway, reducing the time further. Russell is still behind me, possibly a hundred feet away. The sound of him is clear, but the scent of him sadly absent.
I’m passing a rear entrance to an office block when I become aware that we’re not alone in the alleyway.
Two men step out to block my path. Both are tall, with long beards and shaved heads.
The clothes they wear are dirty and covered in rips and stains.
It’s hard to put an age on them, with it being dark and them unkempt, but I would guess they are in their fifties.
“All right, sweetheart?” the one on the right says. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing? Got any cash?”
“No, move out my fucking way, arsehole.” I reply, then step to the side before trying to walk around him. His hand flies out to connect with the wall to stop me from passing.
He leans in, his nose inches from mine. “Nasty little bitch, give us what we want and we won’t hurt you.”
“Piss off,” I snarl, then drop my hand into my coat pocket in search of the small pen knife I carry for situations such as this.
“Money,” the other bastard orders, reaching forward to grab my wrist.
The sound of a man clearing his throat causes both of them to move their focus from me, and I take the opportunity to wield my knife, swiping at the first man's arm. I catch his hand with the blade, and he snaps it away. I push past him and run.
When I get to the end of the alleyway, I turn back briefly.
Russell has one man pinned against the brick wall by his throat, while the other asshole lays on the ground motionless.
Russell’s arm retracts, then a balled fist hits his captive squarely in the stomach.
He glances in my direction, smiles and salutes, then continues his assault. I take that as my cue to escape home.
After pushing open my bedroom door, I throw myself onto my already messed-up bed; I didn’t bother straightening the sheets this morning. As I hit the soft cotton, my phone beeps, and I pull it out of my pocket. A message from an unknown number blinks back at me on the screen.
Threats terminated. I’ll always have your back, Trouble. Fuck, you look good wielding a knife. I love a lady with claws.