Chapter 7
Violet
The remainder of the day passed in a blur.
My academic assignments were completed with a distracted inefficiency.
I shot poorly and at one point lost an arrow to the woods behind the pasture.
It was a shot I should have made with my eyes closed.
My post-lesson evening ride with Hyacinth felt diminished; his powerful—and much to my dismay, saddled—gait beneath me barely registered.
If Aaron noticed my sour mood, he didn’t comment on it, and instead he helped me clean up after our archery lesson.
Although he spent the whole time grumbling about cleaning up the carcasses left behind by some thing hunting in the woods on the school grounds.
I thanked him for his help before I took a quick shopping trip for the outfits I knew I would need.
Throughout the day and regardless of the activity, my nerves were alight with the fire of frustrated anxiety. Knowing that I was auditioning at Oubliette that night forced repeated panic attacks to continuously rise from the deep pit within me.
I had concocted a half-assed plan that relied far too much on other people letting me get my way. Every time I felt suffocated, I closed my eyes tight and recited: Count to ten, Violet. You’ve danced thousands of times at one Oubliette or another for the asshole who bought you. You will be okay.
Having the dorm to myself was serendipitous. After what felt like the millionth time, I tried to finish my makeup, and my shaking hands dropped the eyeliner. I had to pause again. Violet Shaw, breathe! I am not defined by what happened to me. I am a survivor.
The words, though truthful, did little despite how much I wished to believe them.
Two lives battled inside me as I prepared for the night.
The present me whispered caution and reminded me of everything I stood to lose.
Old Violet laughed, bitter and knowing that I was going to possibly die tonight if my plan went awry.
You’ve died and come back once. What’s to think it won’t happen again?
Memories from my first life kept assaulting me as I struggled to get ready. Edward’s mandatory humiliation of naked bodies while wealthy men sipped scotch and placed bets on which girl would falter first led to the pole becoming an instrument of both torture and freedom.
One mistake had meant the cane: blood running down thighs, welts rising on skin, then back up that cold metal. No excuses. No rest. Just climb and spin and pray you didn’t slip in your own blood. Once mastered, the pole meant a night without groping hands or forced sexual favors.
Now, that skill would open doors I needed to walk through, though this body lacked the brutal strength I’d once earned through suffering. There were a handful of moves that I wasn’t sure my softer muscles could perform. I didn’t know if I had the core strength required.
There was only one way to find out.
This time, my fingers trembled as I applied my eyeliner, but I didn’t drop it. When I’d finished my makeup, the mirror reflected back a stranger wearing my face. Someone beautiful and deadly. Someone with purpose.
I am whole. I stand in my power. He does not own me. I own myself.
Final touches were a classy black cocktail dress as I fussed over my sleek hair one last time before I grabbed my bag, stuffed my glittery stage outfit inside, and looked hard at myself in the mirror.
“I can do this,” I said aloud like a prayer. “I am strong. I am not weak. Oubliette is just a place. It does not own me.”
I didn’t want to risk either ruining the new seven-inch heels I’d bought or spraining my ankle, so fifteen minutes later a rideshare carried me to my destination.
The drive from the college to the shopping district near Oubliette was barely a blink, carved through the nicest parts of the city along streets that dripped with wealth.
As I exited the car at the closest stop the driver could get me to, my heels clicked against pristine sidewalks where even the cracks seemed deliberately placed for aesthetic appeal.
From a nearby designer boutique—the one where I’d bought the dress I was wearing, along with a replacement top for Alice—perfumed air wafted past me to mingle with the scent of expensive cigars and the subtle tang of new money.
Around me, the buildings rose as monuments to excess; gleaming glass and polished stone that caught the glow of the streetlights and magnified it.
The whisper of fabric against skin surrounded me as people brushed past, their jewelry catching the light and sending prisms dancing across the pavement.
I practically tasted the privilege in the air, and it was cloyingly sweet.
Only a block away, I saw the monumental building.
The club devoured the night, black walls drinking every drop of streetlight, except for the gleaming sign that announced its name.
Unlike most nightclubs, which would have had a line snaking around the city block filled with anxious wannabe patrons waiting for entrance, nobody stood outside of Oubliette.
That was part of what made it so alluring, so sought after, so upscale—it was invitation only.
I stood at the corner and stared at Oubliette.
I took deep breaths as I spent the better part of ten minutes trying in vain to think of an alternate path to Edward.
When none came, I walked up the stone stairs and hesitated for a brief moment before I knocked.
The weight of what I was about to do sank into my bones, and my heart slammed against my ribs.
“You can do this, Violet,” I said to myself. “It’s just a club. . . you’re just dancing in a club.”
After a few moments, the door opened.
No fucking way, I thought as I tried to breathe.
A wall of a man whom I hadn’t seen in years filled the doorway.
Romeo towered before me, unchanged from my memories from my first life.
He was immovable, expressionless, and massive.
His black hair was slicked back, his suit cut to hide the weapon I knew rested against his ribs, the blood-red tie knotted at his throat.
. . he was untouched by time and appeared exactly as I remembered him.
My lungs seized, refusing air at the sight of him, at seeing this ghost from my stolen years standing solid and real.
Well, that answered my question on how close I’d been to my childhood home. I should not have been surprised at Edward’s audacity to parade me around at a nightclub only an hour’s drive from where I’d been kidnapped.
Even in my heels, Romeo towered over me.
Snake tattoos coiled up his neck, black scales catching what little light touched them.
Seeing them again reminded me with clarity of how well I knew their path, how they twisted down his torso to his navel.
Being more than just a bouncer for Oubliette, I’d watched him strip and dance before.
Now those inked serpents writhed with his pulse, with his breath.
I almost took a step back, caught between the instinct to run and the need to do what I came to do.
His dark eyes bore into me, one brow lifting a fraction when he said, “Name?”
My voice trembled a little when I spoke. “Alexis,” I lied. I had already decided on my stage name in the event that I secured the job.
“Were you given an invitation?”
“Um, no. I’d heard that a girl named Jules said you were looking for more dancers?” Another truth mixed with a lie slid between my lips.
Breathe. Stay steady and breathe. I feared the quiver in my legs and trembles shuttering through my body would betray me. Standing at the door to the club where Edward tortured me would do that, I suppose.
“Jules asked you to audition?” Romeo scanned my outfit, a doubtful look on his face as he noted the luxury brand cocktail dress that clung to me like a second skin.
Just because I came classy doesn’t mean I can’t dance, I wanted to blurt out. Instead, I said, “Not directly. As I said, a girl mentioned the work. I figured Monday was a slow enough night for me to swing by to see Jules.”
With Romeo being here, the probability of Jules also being here was high. I was gambling on that.
Jules had been one of the girls who danced at Oubliette and one of the few bright spots I could recall from my previous life.
Whenever Edward sent us to Oubliette to bleed for him, Jules did what she could to help.
. . which, granted, was not much. But she was kind to me in a world where nobody else was.
I had loved her for that despite never really understanding why she didn’t report what she’d seen.
Having her here meant I could unearth those questions.
I guess everyone is tied to one devil or another.
Romeo said, “Jules would know best. Will you be attending alone?”
Relief flooded my veins as I opened my mouth to confirm when a voice sliced through the night behind me. “No, she will be with me.”
My head whipped towards the sound, a small gasp escaping my lips.
Rowan?
Dark clad and far too attractive than he had any right to be, Rowan stalked towards me, each step radiating the confidence of a predator who had cornered his prey.
I caught the subtle tells of irritation bleeding through his mask—the tightness around his eyes, the barely controlled tension in his shoulders.
No one else would notice. But I’d grown up with him. I knew.
Oh, he is pissed.
With my back to Romeo, I glared at Rowan and gave him a look that screamed, ‘What are you doing here?’ The asshole just smiled at me, his usually insufferable half-smirk growing into a downright infuriating grin. Heat blossomed in my chest, a bouquet of consternation.
Rowan nodded to Romeo, then looked at me. “Sorry for being late, princess. Shall we?”