Page 5 of Dancing with the Devil
I chuckled, blowing him a kiss before disappearing off stage to catch my breath.
“What the fuck was that?” Silvia half chuckled as she charged toward me in her usual skimpy dress.
With her jaw practically on the floor, the light bounced off the little metallic ball on her tongue. Using an insane amount of strength, she swung her arms around my body—engulfing me in a hug. “Did you pull that out of your fucking ass?” she beamed, tucking her raven colored bob behind her ears.
“Nirah Joy!” Marco—the club owner—grinned as he approached me with open arms. “You’re a million dollars, kid,” he reminded me as his arms too, swung around me. He smelled of cologne, cigarette smoke with a hint of mint.
I couldn’t contain my smile as we broke the hug. “Thanks, Marco.”
Marco has been running this place for almost a decade. He was pushing fifty, but the beard, graying hair and wrinkles around his eyes, did not stop the girls from flauntingthemselvesat him. He reminds us about it on a daily basis, but when Silvia and I burst his bubble, saying it’s their daddy issues, he counters with,it’s my striking charm and baby blue eyes.I know he’s not wrong.
“So, when are you going to give my man Giovanni a chance?” he whispered, slinging a muscular arm around my shoulder, and I looked up to see his pearly white teeth grinning down at me.
“Giovanni? As inthirty year oldGiovanni?” I mused as he and I headed to my dressing room, brushing shoulders with a couple of people here and there.
“Oh, come on, baby. He doesn’t even look thirty.”
That might be true, and I appreciated him being a wingman, but unfortunately, it was not happening. “Nice try.”
I slipped into my dressing room, walking backward, and Marco nodded, admitting defeat in the doorway. He turned to leave but spun back on his heels. “By the way, a guy by the name of Sylvester Toronto was outside looking for you. Ring a bell?”
My heart sunk to my feet as fear knocked the wind out of my lungs. I swallowed hard, shaking my head.No.
Marco contemplated asking questions but decided against it and smiled. “Well, I don’t like the looks of him, so if you do head out, find Jamie. Or me.”
“Thanks, Marco,” I sang, and he winked in response before leaving, and I shut my dressing room door.
My knees grew weak as I pressed my back against the door. I lied. Idoknow that name. I despised the fact that I knew that name. My stomach twisted, and afuck-me-in-the-asssized lump of fear balled in my throat.
With my heart and mind both racing a million miles per hour, I gathered all my belongings with trembling hands. I needed to get home.Fast.
I slipped into my black, leather trench coat before staring at myself in the mirror.
Long, dark eyelashes, puckered red lips with a hint of pink on my cheeks. My long, layered hair fell down my back in soft curls.
My eyes swelled with tears, but I fought against it, blinking them away. I inhaled slowly.Deep breaths, Nirah. You’re okay—you’re going to be okay.
With a sharp exhale, I grabbed my things and left my dressing room, making my way through the crowd. I greeted some coworkers on my way out, and when I hit the sidewalk, a chilly breeze brushed against my face.
We reached the end of summer, and fall was slowly rolling in. The short dresses, cocktails, and late nights at the club—I was going to miss it.
I noticed there were only two men in sight.
One beside me with his cellphone held to his ear as he spoke, and one across the entrance, leaning against his car with a cigar pressed between his lips as he inhaled. I didn’t miss the light bouncing off his shiny, expensive looking wristwatch.
Thankfully, they both seemed occupied, so I slipped right past them. Or, I tried to.
“Nirah Joy?”
I sucked in a quick breath as a huge hand wrapped around my wrist with enough force to stop me in my tracks.The man on the cell phone.I yanked my wrist from his grip, taking a step back.
“And you are?” I shot back. His face was barely noticeable, but I recognized the way he said my name.Sylvester Toronto.
He pulled his black baseball cap off, and his icy blue eyes pierced through the darkness. He had about five inches on me,his dark hair was buzzed, and he wore black clothing from head to toe.
“The look in your eyes tells me, you remember me vividly,” he grinned, making me swallow the anxiety lumped in my throat.Shit. I hadn’t seen him in months, so naturally, I took that as a sign that he had gotten what he wanted. Clearly, I was wrong.
“No. I don’t,” I lied before turning around and walking away with my heels clicking on the hard concrete.
