You’ll see it soon enough.
Images of her pleasuring herself in this very bed trickle into my mind. I lick my lips, imagining her breath halting as she plays with her clit and fucks herself with her trusty vibrator. If my dick was a semi when I entered the room, it’s fully grown now. I cup my cock to ease its pain and lie on her bed. The cherry blossom scent from her comforter invades my nostrils once more.
She doesn’t bring guys over to her house.
That much, I know.
But does she meet someone in that club of hers?
It hits me that my little church mouse is still very much an enigma I want to solve. That I need to solve, for both our sakes, since I fear Stone may have been right all along. Maybe The Society has some twisted reason for targeting Scarlett, other than just make our lives a living hell. Could it be that she got involved with one of those rich pricks back at that club, called it off, and this is their petty revenge? Or did she snub them from the start? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t sit well with me to think about Scar with anyone else. I much prefer her on her lonesome—just like me. She can cum by her hand any way she wants, just as long as it’s hers, and only hers.
Under all the ugly attire she insists on wearing to school, Scarlett has a fucking body to die for. That first dress she wore for her show is still imprinted in my memory. Full, round breasts, tiny waist, and long legs built to wrap themselves around me, her stiletto heels begging to dig into my back.
Feeling the urgent need for a smoke, I get off her bed before I fuck her sheets, leaving on them my scent as her homecoming gift. That urge gets stronger and harder to deny, but I’m not a fucking creep that would actually do that shit, no matter how much the idea incites me.
I go onto her porch and light up, thinking about how Scarlett will be home in a few hours, all geared up from tonight’s performance. I hate not being there to watch her dominate the stage with her voice and her lithe movements, but asking Lincoln to come with me as my chaperone, is not how I want to do this. I’ll just have to find another way, and as much as I don’t want to accept it, I know just the person who will give me the clout I need to get inside those club doors.
I exhale a puff, watching the cloud of smoke leave my lips and drift through the cold October air toward Oakley Woods.
Little did I know how close you were to us that night, Scar.
But then again, The Society was somehow closer than you.
There are so many unanswered questions regarding those bastards, and every time we think we have one solved, two more pop up. I hate the fact that we are nowhere near putting a face on whoever is behind The Society. I know everyone is busy trying to decipher who these motherfuckers are, but so far, we’ve all come up empty-handed. Every contact I used came back with the same answer—The Society is nothing but an old Asheville urban legend. The last few months have made it abundantly clear that isn’t the case.
Our only breakthrough, surprisingly enough, was discovering The Brass Guild.
My intuition tells me that The Society must have ties to the clandestine club somehow. I’m not sure they ever intended for me to discover their sinful little playground when they sent the black letter, requesting me to fulfill their next task. But discover it, I did. I’d be an idiot not to dig into it further. Who knows how many secrets lie within its walls?
It’s only fair, isn’t it?
Discovering our blackmailer’s most vile secrets is befitting retribution when they insist on holding ours over our heads.
All I need is time.
Time and Scarlett.
And right now, I’m working on obtaining the latter.
Chapter 9
Scarlett
All day I’ve felt eyes on me.
It’s been like that for a while now. I keep telling myself that I’m being paranoid and that my PTSD is playing tricks on me again, but after Easton’s insinuations in class the other day, I should have listened to my gut.
Yet, I’m still troubled. I know how it feels to have Easton’s undivided attention on me. It sends electricity down my spine, making my skin feel charged and full of unspent energy.
This isn’t it.
This gut-wrenching feeling I’ve been plagued with for the last month or so calls for caution. It demands that I keep alert and careful at all times. The sinking sensation only leaves me when I get to The Brass Guild. Ironically enough, on stage where everyone can see me, is when I feel the safest. No one can hurt me while I’m on stage. It’s when I leave it that I feel most vulnerable.
I’m thinking of a new route to take home tonight when a light knock on my dressing room door pulls my attention.
“Come in.”
When the door opens, I smile at the familiar reflection in the mirror. Dressed in a stunning silver gown, Ruby walks in with a genuine smile on her lips—one that is reserved only for her girls.
“You were wonderful tonight, Angel,” she proudly singsongs, using the stage name given by her.
Ruby gives all her girls names and almost makes us do a blood oath never to disclose our real one. Fake names and fake smiles are our shields to keep our private lives private, and I’m all for it.
“Thanks, Ruby. I’m glad you liked it.”
She walks closer to me and begins to take the pins out of my hair, which I use to keep my wig in place while I perform. I let her help and start wiping off my glitter make-up.
“Something on your mind?” she asks with one perfect, manicured brow arched, taking in my sullen expression in the mirror.
“No. Just tired,” I lie.
No use in worrying Ruby with my drama, especially since I already know what she’ll say. She’ll offer words of comfort and try to make me feel safe. She’ll say no one is out to do me harm, that no one in The Brass Guild would dare to hurt me, and it’s all in my head, but I know better. Everyone is out to hurt someone. The world is full of predators looking to find the perfect prey. I just have to be smarter than they are and avoid being caught.
“Your benefactor asked for you tonight.”
My face falls.
“What did you tell him?”
“That after a performance like the one you gave tonight, you would surely be too exhausted for company.”
“Thank you.” I throw her a meek smile.
“He cares about you, you know?”
I thin my lips, and she sees the sadness blooming on my face.
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“It must have been once. Otherwise, why would he do all the things he’s done for you?” she asks, genuinely curious.
For Ruby, sex is always a transaction. Be it an exchange of hearts, favors, or dollar bills. No matter how many times I’ve denied having a relationship with Owen in exchange for his benevolence, she will never believe me.
“Because I remind him of her,” I tell her truthfully.
She sighs.
“I know you don’t like me saying it, but every time you go on stage, I see her in you. It’s like looking at a ghost.”
“But I’m not a ghost, Ruby. I’m still breathing and she… she’s gone,” I stammer, feeling the hot tears begin to prickle behind my eyes.