Chapter 26 Raoul #2
“Not everyone is tolerant of all romantic relationships,” I tell him. “Especially in the South or the Midwest, in some of these small towns and rural communities, it can be dangerous for people like us.”
“People like us?” He flashes me a devastating grin. “There are no people like us. Let anyone try to deride or harm you. It will be the last word they speak, the last act they perform. There are ghosts in this place, too, spirits on whom I can call.”
“While that’s all very fucking hot, you really need to keep your voice down.” I squeeze his arm briefly as we enter the big barn.
He scoffs a little, but he doesn’t keep talking about his godly powers—mostly because Christine captures him immediately and begins teaching him the basic steps of a line dance.
“They have an area for beginners, see?” She points. “We’ll start over there.”
He’s a natural dancer, because of course he is.
With a nearly infinite intellect and a perfect body to match, how could he not be?
The woman supervising the beginner’s area seems astonished at how quickly he progresses.
And that’s how, not ten minutes after our arrival, Erik and Christine and I leave our hats on a table and take places on the main floor to dance Big I know her sweet spot is somewhere between hip-hop and country with a dash of lyrical.
But I couldn’t have predicted the level of energy she’s bringing to the floor today.
Maybe it has something to do with all the orgasms we gave her—or the blood she drank from both of us—but she’s dancing with a gleeful frenzy that makes me laugh aloud.
Her hips swivel with a fluid grace I could never match.
Her waist writhes and her spine curves like she’s got no bones at all.
She makes it look deceptively easy, but I’m already sweating, and I know just how much taut muscle it takes to move one’s body so perfectly at that speed.
She’s fucking amazing.
And then I look past her to Erik.
He dances with a furious power and a wicked freedom that make my heartbeat kick up even higher.
His boots slam on the floor in perfect rhythm with hers.
There are flames in his eyes and knives in his smile.
His body swerves with virile ferocity I’ve never seen in a human being, and in that moment, I decide I need him in my show.
I need him onstage, opposite Christine, in the role of the love interest. Hell, with their level of talent and chemistry, Sidewinder will be headed to Broadway in no time flat.
Their energy drives me, hauls me into the same hectic storm, and I dance harder than I ever have in my life. It’s violence, it’s wild joy, it’s freedom—it’s brutal on the body, but it feels almost as good as sex.
During the slower section, Erik and I move in on Christine, rolling our hips toward her in sync while she dances.
We’re riding the line of inappropriate, so after a few beats, I pull back, and Erik follows my lead.
Still, even though we keep it PG the rest of the time, I’m pretty sure anyone watching can tell that we’re both into Christine and that she welcomes our attention.
We dance through Belles’s “I Hate Trucks” and Miranda Lambert’s “Ain’t in Kansas Anymore,” and then I stagger off the floor, soaked and panting. I collapse into a chair at the table where we left our hats. Maybe I should spend more time working out and less time writing songs.
“Need a drink,” I gasp out when the other two approach, and Christine hurries off to get me one. “So how’d it feel?” I ask Erik as he sits opposite me.
He smiles, the new scars across his right cheek pulling tight. “It felt like rebirth.”
“Feels like death to me,” I groan, and he laughs. His laugh, like his voice, is musical, beautiful. I crave the sound almost as much as I’m craving a glass of water right at this moment.
Christine returns with a couple waters and a couple beers. “Wasn’t sure which kind of drink you wanted.” She sets them on the table, then perches her butt on Erik’s knee. His look of pleased astonishment is so cute, I can’t help grinning as I open one of the water bottles.
A bulky shadow falls over our table, and I look up to see the same two guys who frowned at us in the booth earlier.
“Hey there, sugar. You wanna dance?” the bearded one says to Christine.
She lifts an eyebrow. “No, thanks. I’m here with someone—some people…” She blushes, looking disconcerted.
It doesn’t bother me that she’s a little flustered. After all, it’s the first time she’s had to explain our connection aloud to strangers.
“She’s here with us,” I clarify.
“But you and this guy are together, right?” says the bearded man to me. “So she’s free to have a little fun on her own.”
Christine has regained her composure, and she says firmly, “I’m here with both of them.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” says the man, and his friend whistles. “You’re here with him?” He points to me, and Christine nods. “And with him?” He points to Erik, and Christine nods again.
“You seem capable of grasping simple facts,” Erik says to the man, his voice a purring threat. “How delightful. Perhaps now you will take your unwanted attentions elsewhere and leave us in peace.”
“Yeah…” The man scratches the back of his head. “See, y’all don’t seem to realize that this ain’t no place to show off your lifestyle. This is a family event. I’m sure you can understand why it’s best if you move along.”
“We’re not showing off anything,” Christine says. “And you don’t run the event, so I don’t think you have the authority to kick us out.”
“I know the guy who runs it,” replies the bearded man. “Y’all need to get gone, and I’m asking nicely. If you won’t listen, Burt and I will go talk to some people who can make you move on.”
“Look, man, we’re just dancing and having some fun here, like everyone else,” I tell him in my most placating tone. “Can’t you just leave it be?”
“We gotta uphold the integrity of this event.”
“Integrity,” Erik says sardonically. “If she had agreed to dance with you, would you have left us alone?”
The man shifts his stance but avoids the question. “It’s time for you three to go.”
Erik’s brows pull together, the golden brown of his eyes intensifying to a glowing yellow. At the same moment, the air around him seems to darken.
He’s about to lose his shit and show off his supernatural side to everyone here. That can’t happen.
Christine notices the change in him, too, and she rises from his lap. “Come on, Erik. Let’s just go.”
“That’s right, honey, you tell him,” says the second man. “How much do they pay you anyway? Do you give ’em a group rate? Two for the price of one?”
So much for keeping it family-friendly.
Erik rises, and I can practically smell the power rolling off him.
He’s going to take these guys down, and it’s going to be bloody. Unless I step in and do it first.
I’m not the kind to fight back. All my life, I’ve either taken my knocks or let someone else defend me—like Christine did when we were schoolmates.
When I was locked up by my father, I stayed put.
Defiance or rebellion only brought more pain or incited my father’s alpha voice, so I just submitted, bowed my head, endured the agony.
But since last night, I’m different. I made a promise to the two people I adore, that I would summon the courage to break away from my family, to leave that toxic mess and cling to the ones who truly value me.
Here’s where I start exercising that courage muscle.
It’s gonna hurt, but if it saves Erik from outing himself, it’s worth it.
I leap out of my chair so fast, it falls over, and I send my fist flying into the second man’s jaw.
It’s a good punch, better than I expected. He staggers back, trips over his friend’s boot, and falls onto his butt. Pain flashes through my knuckles, but my adrenaline, already high from the dance and the confrontation, blurs the ache and swells my ego.
“Insult her one more time, motherfucker!” I roar at the man. “One more time!”
I’ve never yelled that loudly at anyone in my life. I came close when I was arguing with Erik, but this time, I’m bellowing the words with my whole chest. My face is probably beet red, and I feel invincible.
I’m not, though, which is probably why Christine grabs my hand and Erik’s, dragging us both out of the barn while the guy I hit is still getting to his feet. He yells something like, “Get back here, you little bitch!” but we’re already halfway down the slope, headed for the parking lot.
“I could go back and strangle him like Joe Buquet,” offers Erik.
“Joe Buquet?” I exclaim. “What do you mean? Gil got a text from him the other day. Buquet took a job in Florida…left pretty suddenly…oh, shit…” My voice trails off as realization sets in.
“Erik, did you send that text? You killed someone and didn’t tell me?
I thought all our secrets were out in the open! ”
“It must have slipped my mind,” says Erik coolly. “His death was well-deserved. Would you like me to drive? You seem agitated.”
“Agitated? You bet your ass I’m fucking agitated!”
“Raoul, we’ll talk when we’re on the road,” says Christine. “Not here, okay?”
“Fine.” Grumbling, I climb into the truck, yielding the driver’s seat to Erik.
Christine jumps in, too, and slams the door. “There’s a bunch of guys headed down the hill toward us. Not that we couldn’t take them, but it might get messy.”
“Go, Erik,” I urge him.
“One moment.” He’s fiddling with the radio.
Only when Post Malone’s “I Had Some Help” is blasting from the speakers does he pump the gas and send us out of the parking lot with a roar of the engine and a spray of gravel and dust. Christine whoops and waves to the oncoming men through the open window as we drive away.
“Back to Nashville?” inquires Erik.
“We’re picking up my car first, and then…” Christine looks to me.
“Back to Nashville,” I say resignedly. “I need to make a couple of casting changes to Sidewinder, and we’ve got a lot of rehearsing to do. But don’t think I’ve forgotten about Joe Buquet. We’re going to discuss this in detail.”
“Of course.” Erik gives me a sidelong look. “Does this mean you’re accepting my changes to the score?”
“It means I’ll look at them, and if I’ll like them, we’ll do it your way. But I’m still mad that you changed it without asking me first.”
The smile he sheds over me is like sultry sunshine, designed to melt even the most resolved of hearts. My lips widen in an answering smile before I catch myself.
“Nope,” I say firmly. “You can’t fix this by flirting.”
He frowns, looking deeply offended. “I never flirt.”
“But I do,” puts in Christine. I feel my zipper being dragged down by delicate fingers, and when I look at her, she smirks. “What can I say? Dancing and fighting make me horny. Scoot this way a bit. I’m going to sit on your lap.”
I shift along the bench toward the passenger side, and she climbs on top of me, arranging her short skirt so it covers what we’re doing.
Her panties are already on the floor of the truck—I’m not sure when she took them off.
Her fingers slide into my open jeans, bring out my dick, and nudge it into the slippery, warm center of her.
I gasp when she seats herself fully on me.
“Eyes ahead,” she tells Erik, and he reluctantly swerves his gaze back to the road.
With my left hand, I cup him between the legs, rubbing firmly even as Christine rides me, and my mind dissolves into bliss. My head tilts back against the seat. Slowly, the pain in my right hand submerges beneath the pleasure, and I allow myself a smile of satisfaction.
I defended Christine. Protected Erik from himself. Maybe I do have the strength I need to finally free myself from the Nashville pack. Maybe that’s what my two lovers give me—the power to do the right thing.
Christine told us she left Nashville because she was afraid we might be toxic to each other—that combined in a trio, we might become capable of terrible things.
But I suspect the opposite is true. Apart, we seem more prone to weakness, to fear, to evil.
Together, we are stronger. We make better choices.
We are healthier and more wholesome than ever.
I only hope our bond can withstand the pressure my family will exert on us once they find out why I’m leaving them.