Page 12 of Shattered
Can I get an early payment to help cover the next few months of rent?I typed, cringing as I clicked theSendbutton.
Of course, darling, Dahlia sent. We both knew she’d increase my total debt to fulfill the request.
The Dahlia District was separated into a few sections, but the main floor was where most of the social interaction took place. The Dahlia District, first and foremost, was an elite entertainment club for billionaires, which meant that gourmet food, top-shelf alcohol, and erotic performance art was the perfect mix. It was nestled in the forgotten town of Cresting Heights, close enough to the big Sage City, but far enough away that you’d never find the Dahlia Districtunlessyou knew what you were looking for.
After I covered up the faint yellow mark on my neck from the night before, I crossed through the Greenhouse to Iris’s bedroom. I said hello to Teagen, then turned to Iris. Her choppy black bob whipped against her face. “You’re back. Finally,” she said.
“I heard she’s hiring you know who,” I said, referencing Kendall, the new belly dancer.
Iris rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.” Teagen reached over and squeezed Iris’s shoulder.
“Someone’s been asking about me?” I asked.
“Yeah. This new guy. Dark brown hair. Garrett. I think that was his name?” Teagen said, turning to Iris for confirmation. Iris shrugged. “He stays here for about an hour. Sees that you’re not here, then leaves. Kind of boring, really.”
I shrugged. “At least Dahlia took me off of penalty.”
“For sure,” Teagen said.
Iris winked, and I was sure thatthatwink meant she had had something to do with the negotiation to bring me back to entertainment.
“Thanks,” I said to Iris.
“Nothing to it,” she said.
I exited the Greenhouse to the main floor. A few of the regular club members were there, but most of the familiar faces were gone. I guess it didn’t help that Aldrich had caused a huge scene, then disappeared from here a few days later. It hadn’t taken the media long to get ahold of his claimed connection to the Pros’ Angel.
To the side of the stage was a lounge, situated on an elevated platform. It was lined with tall circular booths. Most were empty, but one in the far back corner had a man I didn’t recognize.
Tall. Brown hair. A typical, but expensive blue jacket tucked neatly on his shoulders. Dark brown, almost black, eyes. His cheeks were full of pitted scars, maybe pockmarks from acne or an infection, the kind of thing that men with his kind of money usually got rid of with surgery. What did it mean that he had optednotto get a cosmetic treatment like that? Did he use those scars as a shield too? My heart sank as I realized that even if he told me the answers, it would never reveal who he truly was.
His eyes fell on me, holding me in place.
“Garrett?” I asked. I held out a hand. “I’m Mel.”
I halfway expected him, like many of the other members, to kiss my hand as if I were a princess. But he treated it like business; he shook my hand, holding his grip tight. His palm was warm, making mine sweaty.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked.
“Would you prefer the Terrariums?” he asked in a deep voice.
The Terrariums were the private themed rooms for one-on-one entertainment. Usually, it took a few hours of courting the club member through verbal foreplay until he was ready to venture into those rooms. This made it easy. He knew what he wanted. I couldn’t complain about that.
I offered my hand again. “Let me lead the way.”
We took a door down a hallway with rooms to each side. Small lights indicated which rooms were occupied and which were free.
“Do you have a preference?” I asked.
“What’s your favorite?”
I raised a brow. How did he want to go to the Terrariums this quickly, but had no preference on a theme? Usually, men who knew what they wanted knewexactlywhat they were here for, so it was a little off-putting to have to select it myself, to guess what he’d want and hope that I made the right decision. I selected a room with my paintings hung on the walls, unsurprisingly called the gallery room. Most of the paintings were seascapes, inspired by our coast, but some were more interesting impressionist-style portraits of the different entertainers at the Dahlia District. Iris contorting over the edge of the stage. Teagen naked, her hands dangling against the harp, looking over her shoulder with a wide audience around her. Even Haley hanging upside down from the metal hoop. Each painting was created as if the subjects were outside, the night as a backdrop to the depravity that took place within these walls. Their nudity and faces were highlighted, the rest shadowed.
Painting was my outlet, but once it was on the canvas, I no longer cared for it. I could have burned each of those creations without a second thought; there was always more to follow. But I held onto the hope that profit outweighed my need for destruction. I couldn’t destroy them, but I could hold onto the hope that maybe they would turn into something more.
Maybe that’s why Garrett had found me.Not.
“Did you paint these?” he asked.
