Page 19 of Marcus-stiltskin

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure him. “You’re responsible and attentive. And if not, it’s not like she can’t turn you into something useful.”

He snorts. “Thanks for putting things into perspective.”

“I’ll see ya out there.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head and walking off.

Chapter Eight

In Which There’s a Whole Lot of Shit to Deal With

As promised, Zander is there at the stage for every single dance I do that night, his eyes glued to the men nearby, waiting for one of them to make the wrong move.

He follows me around between dances as I walk around and talk to some of my regulars. He laughs and jokes with me and anyone around me more than normal. I’m sure he’s trying to cheer me up, but it feels impossible to be anything but depressed.

The rest of the weekend drags on.

It doesn’t help my mood that I have to drive by Marcus’s several times a day. His truck is always there, and the lights on the second floor seem to be on no matter how late I get home at night.

I don’t tell any of the other girls about my meeting with the Alphas, but by Saturday night, word has spread around the club that my hours have been cut because of the incident on Wednesday night. I’ve worked a few clubs before the Wild Hare and most places other dancers can be pretty competitive, butthere’s something about working for a pack that makes it feel more like family.

I come in on Saturday night to find that the other girls have harassed the DJ until he’s switched out each of their names on the rotation with mine at least once. It’s an enormous sacrifice. Saturdays are usually one of the biggest money making nights at the Wild Hare, and I’m getting in almost an extra hour of stage time.

It doesn’t make up for all of my lost income, but it helps a ton, though I’m more exhausted at the end of the night than I’ve ever been before. I go home and pass out on my bed immediately, thankful that Randy requires us to leave in street clothes.

Sunday afternoon sunlight is shining through the blinds when I finally wake from what feels like the dead. For a moment, I’m completely lost. I have no concept of when or where I am.

I’m just about to drift back off to sleep when there’s atap-tap, like a small polite knock, at my bedroom window.

I close my eyes against the brightness, trying to remember my name when it happens again.

Tap-Tap

The window is on the opposite side of the room from my bed. I’ll have to get up from the bed and actually walk to see what’s there. The back yard isn’t really a yard at all but an open field that butts up against a tall hill. Any number of deer, geese, ducks, random farm animals on the loose, and even Darla’s pig friends could be back there. My brain is fuzzy and getting up feels incredibly unimportant, so I roll over and pull the blanket back over my head.

Tap-Tap

Tap-Tap Tap-Tap

Tap-Tap Tap-Tap Tap-Tap

The taps grow more and more insistent.

“Ugh, fine.” I say aloud. I roll out of bed, careful of my still sore ass and head to the window.

“Shania, I swear to God, if you’ve locked yourself out again, I’m going to–” the words stop on my tongue as I pull open the blinds and find myself staring at a donkey. Not just any donkey–Willow.

I mess with the janky lock until it opens and pull up the window. “Willow, you need to go home.” She looks at me for a long moment as if she’s really considering my words, and then shoves her snout in my hand, pushing hard until I give in and start scratching behind her ears.

There’s a high pitched bark and the bray of several donkeys just out of eyesight.

“Seriously?” I say aloud to no one.

Still blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I consider my options. I could call Marcus to come get Willow and whoever else is out on the lawn, but that would mean talking to him. Not something half-awake me is up for at the moment. Plus, the yard is super uneven near this part of the house and it seems like an asshole thing to ask a man with a prosthetic to cross that area just to come do something I can do myself.

I take my hand away from Willow’s head, and she brays in protest. “You need to go home,” I tell her again, only to have her turn her back to me and begin nosing the ground.

“Asshole,” I tell her, then shut and lock the window and find some slip-on shoes.

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