Page 37 of Lovers Fate

“Why, are you a vampire?”

“Does it look like I’m a vampire?”

I use the excuse to get a good look at him from head to toe and back up. He’s gorgeous.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any fangs yet. But don’t worry about me. I’m used to the weirdos that dress up to hide what’s underneath.”

I’m not sure if what I said offended him because he opens the door and walks out, but I got what I asked for last night. His name.

I test it in my tongue, liking the way it sounds. “Draco.” I smile at the closed door. “It was nice to meet you, Draco.”

THIRTEEN

The following Friday,I was bored and frustrated. He didn’t come back to the club over the weekend. Neither have his friends. Fortunately, the police didn’t question me. Since I left The Church before Charles, the police didn’t question me.

After my encounter with Draco, all I could think about was our conversation and the fact that we both knew it was him in the black car that night. Two days later, the news report was released. At the scene, Charles was pronounced dead, and no one knew who drove that night. I had so many questions to ask him. Like why? Should I be scared? But I knew if I saw him, I wouldn’t ask. I wouldn’t bring it up because deep down, I knew whatever he did to Charlie had to do with me, and in his way, he wanted me to know.

“Hey,” Rachel says after grabbing her purse off the rack. “I’m about to go to the haunted carnival with the girls. You wanna come?”

“I don’t have a ticket,” I reply, my stomach doing tiny flips, wanting to go because he’ll be there, and, for some crazy reason,I want to see him. And there is no way I would show up at the haunted carnival by myself.

She gives me a once-over, the corner of her mouth lifting in a grin. “What you’re wearing will get you in without a ticket?” she teases. I look down at my outfit, my masquerade bunny mask almost smacking her in the face. “You can wear the mask at the carnival. It’s the only carnival that allows the fairgoers to wear them.”

My head snaps up. “You’re kidding?”

She snickers. “I am kidding. Take the mask off; keep the leotard and fishnets. Throw on ripped jeans and trade the heels for sneakers. We leave in five.”

She moves to walk out the dressing room and I blurt, “You’re serious?”

She pauses and turns around with a gleam in her eyes. “You want to go have some fun, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?”

I haven’t been to the fair since I was seven. Chris wanted to impress my mom by inviting me to the fair in town when we first moved to Stockbridge, but I never went to the haunted carnival side. My mother was annoyed because she hated doing something that she didn’t like. The fair was one of them.

“Good, you can hitch a ride with me. I’ll tell the others we’ll meet them there. You’re not afraid of haunted houses, are you?”

I smirk. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ll be alright.”

The parking lot is full. Hank closed early to install a new stage and pole, so he could have two dancers on stage instead of one at a time. He said it would double the money, as if he didn’t already skim fifty percent off the take every time. That’s why the girls fuck regulars at the motel so they can keep one hundred percent. I can’t blame them. If I needed money that badly and Iwas giving my pussy out for a buck to some stranger, I wouldn’t want to share fifty percent with anyone.

“The girls like you, you know,” Rachel says as she parks her electric BMW. I like to think of her as the head stripper. The mother of a girl never had that. She gives shit advice when it comes to making money.

I glance at her, and I’m sure she can see the surprise on my face. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like we’re all BFFs, but we all have the same goal, right?”

I nod, agreeing not to disagree. “Make money until you have enough to stop?”

“Pretty much. I know you keep to yourself, but the girls know you’re not out to take money from them. You could have easily taken some of the regular living in the motel and all, but you haven’t.”

I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not. I guess that makes sense. I can’t tell her the truth about my past or that I’m against pimping myself out for sex.

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” I ask confused.

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