Page 29 of Dare Me

They didn’t change much about the club for the masquerade. It’s high-end enough as it is, but they added intricate candelabras on tables and two giant crystal chandeliers with real candles. The lights are even dimmer than usual to emphasize the flames. On the dais, there are four contortionists performing, completely nude except for elaborate masks. There are rooms that branch off the main floor, set up for privacy or exhibitionism. In the two largest of these rooms, there are acrobats and aerialists swinging, hanging, flipping all while fucking, like an X-rated Cirque du Soleil.

There’s something about using only candles that feels regal and mystical. The faceless crowd and freaky circus elements make it like something out of a dream—elusive, ominous, and unsettling in a thrilling sort of way.

Stella and I arrive together but quickly part ways. I put in face time with the Mauldin brothers and their associates, while she finds the couple we met on the boat—Nicola and Jazmine—at the bar. Each time our eyes meet from across the room, there’s a crackling of energy at the base of my spine.

We circle each other like this for a few hours. What I first thought was a game of cat and mouse is beginning to feel like she is straight up avoiding me. Insecurity isn’t a natural feeling for me, but as the night stretches on, doubts start to fill my head.

Did I push too far? Take too much?

I never want to hurt her, but there’s a monster inside me that doesn’t care about anyone else’s pain. Sometimes, I fear that I’ll only hear what I want to hear, see what I want to see, and not give a fuck all about anything else. It’s sick and twisted, but it’s kept me alive in a bloodthirsty world.

It’s impossible to focus on the conversation when I can’t stop tracking her with my gaze. She’s magnificent in the pearlescent lavender dress. I honestly expected her to wear something else just to spite me. Though, I haven’t yet confirmed if she followed my no-panties order or not.

This inaction, the not knowing, is killing me. Standing idly by is arguably more painful than her ignoring me. I’m about to excuse myself and go to her when a slap on my shoulder is accompanied by a rough voice that smells of vodka and cigars.

“If it isn’t the Fox boy,” Ilya drunkenly rasps, teetering next to me.

“Jakšic, good to see you.” I remove his hand from me, clapping it in a handshake as he sways. I subtly assess Clark’s and Jeffery’s reactions to him joining. Jeffery continues his conversation, pompous and self-important, while Clark goes silent, looking the older man up and down as if weighing him.

Ilya himself seems undisturbed by the Mauldins’ presence. It could simply be because he’s wasted, but it doesn’t help me decipher what’s going on between the two families. He begins to tell a story about his favorite brothel in the motherland, occasionally switching from English to Serbian.

Soon, he has a group of five men, including the brothers, engrossed in his story. He talks madly with his hands as he tells us about the time he had to escape out of a four-story window, butt naked, because the woman he thought was a common whore—his words not mine—was actually the president’s mistress.

I have to give it to the old man. Even two sheets to the wind, he knows how to tell a story. I am in stitches by the time he’s explaining how he stole a horse and rode past the president’s men in nothing but a pair of stockings.

“I will tell you right now, nothing in all my years has been more painful than the chafing my poor balls got from that saddle—ah, my beautiful bride!” He grins wide and lopsided. I look in the same direction as him and see Marcella approaching, her long blonde hair making her unmistakable even with a feathered mask. Stella is next to her, and my heartbeat picks up pace as her eyes lift from the floor to mine. She holds my gaze, and my breath is trapped in my lungs as she draws closer.

“Ilya, darling,” Marcella coos with fake sweetness and lets him pull her into his side. She barely grimaces when he grabs a fistful of her ass. “I hope you’re not spilling all our secrets to the Good Ole Boys’ Club.” Her eyes dart to Jeffery then back to her husband.

“Oy, never, ljubavi.” He plants a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek, oblivious to how she stiffens. Poor girl.

Stella watches their interaction with a poorly concealed scowl, her lips sneering under her mask. She’s always hated the arranged marriage aspects of this life. Says it’s archaic. I don’t necessarily disagree, but this life is built on tenets that predate even the concept of marriage—power, greed, strength.

Clark seems antsy, particularly eager to put distance between himself and Ilya. He pulls me into a conversation that slowly separates us from the group. We sit in a booth alone as I ask him what’s next for them after Summerland. I try to discreetly pry about the Jakšics and tease out what the tension is between their families. I keep my eye on Stella, but she seems to be holding her own, if not a little tired.

At some point, she comes up to us. She holds herself up with a hand on the table. “I’m gonna call it a night.” Her eyelids are heavy, and she seems a touch wobbly. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

I place a hand on her hip to steady her. It’s not like her to overdrink, but it’s hard not to when every server in this place does their best to keep your glass full. I look up at her. “You want me to walk you back?”

“No, no, you stay.” She bats her hand, but I’m already standing up.

“I really don’t mind.” I offer her my arm, and she pointedly crosses her arms instead of taking it.

“I’m a big girl, Lochlan. I can manage on my own.”

“Then have at it.” I sit down, and a small part of me is relieved. I feel like I’ve been walking a tightrope all night, trying to keep tabs on so many different people. The mental exhaustion from constantly reading, deciphering, and mentally noting their behavior is taxing on its own, but especially so when I’ve had more than a few drinks myself.

“Okay, good night.” I’m satisfied to let her leave when she walks away without a sway or wobble.

I don’t want to pass up this opportunity with Clark while he’s loose-lipped and tipsy. I’m an expert at using pain to extract information, but you can never underestimate the effectiveness of a casual, drunken conversation either.

I turn back to him with a disarming smile. “So, Jakšic and his new wife are quite the happy couple. Are they frequent guests?”

He barks a laugh but then seems to reel himself back in. “They came for their honeymoon a few months back. Apparently, they loved it so much, they bought up one of our newly built villas. She practically lives here now.” He says the last sentence with a hidden sentiment, like he wants to tell me something but is holding himself back.

I settle in, sink into the cushion, and let him run his mouth.

Chapter 12

---