Page 27 of Shattered
My damn sex drive was haywire lately. I couldn’t explain what turned me on or why anymore, so I chose to ignore it. To suppress it. To pretend like I didn’t find anything sexual unless it had to do with selling my time in the Terrariums. I focused on the candles in my hands, rearranging them on stage as if their order actually mattered. But when Garrett looked up, I waved. I couldn’t help it. He nodded deeply, his eyes fixed on me. My skin pricked with heat, his gaze burning into me.
At least I could somewhat explain this attraction. Garrett might have had strange scars on his face, and he might have been weirdly evasive and inquisitive, but he was still a decently handsome and wealthy man.
But I couldn’t explain the attraction to Rourke. Any normal person would have been scared, not drawn closer to him.
I told Iris which song to play, and when I heard the hook, the spotlight flickered on, illuminating me in a soft haze. I lit the candles with a lighter. Once they were burning, I kneeled. I looked out at the audience, the spotlight above me making it hard to see. But Garrett’s eyes were unmistakable. Mysterious and dark, focused completely on me.
I unhooked my bra in the back. Then, holding the front, I slipped out of both straps, then let my bra fall to the stage. My nipples beaded underneath his gaze. There was a strange urge inside of me to keep my attention on him too, and it seemed like it wasn’t about the money, but something else. It was better to focus on the entire audience to evenly entice the club members. But it was like we were the only ones in that room, as if no one else existed. Was it his locked-in focus that made me want to return that dominating stare and challenge him? Was it because Rourke made my entire body electric, and I couldn’t stop thinking about his arms wrapped around me? Molding me to his control? Forcing me to submit? Holding my very life in his hands?
I lay back, lifting my hips and pulling my panties off, throwing them to the side with languid movements. I squeezed some oil into my palms and took my time rubbing it over my body, making sure to make eye contact with Garrett each time I went to a new erogenous zone. My hips, my breasts, my neck. I lifted the first red candle high above me, then tipped it back, letting the liquid wax drop onto my breasts. I couldn’t feel it at first; the burning sensation was delayed and my skin was already on fire, knowing that he was watching me. But once I locked eyes with Garrett again, it was everywhere. The burning wax marking my body in waxy red drops, like blood. Would Rourke think this was authentic? That I enjoyed the pain, the flicker of violence, the desperate need to clutch onto anything that wouldn’t let me drown?
Garrett’s eyes darkened to ink as he drew me in. Taking in every inch of me. Drip by drip. The next candle, another red one, marked my thick thighs with their brutal color.
He must have thought that he was turning me on. Who could blame him? But inside, my mind was filled with thoughts of Rourke.
This was a dangerous combination, these two men. I couldn’t let myself fall for the same mistakes I did with Aldrich. Garrett was a wealthy man, someone who was willing to pay for what he wanted. Rourke was a murderer who had piqued my curiosity. It seemed so simple, and yet I knew no one was what they seemed.
By the time I was done and the lights were dimmed, the few that were watching clapped, but Garrett stayed still. His vision marked me, seeking me out.
After I flicked off the drippings and dressed, I went to the wings of the stage to grab the broom and dustpan. Garrett met me at the edge.
“Can someone else clean?” he asked.
As long as it meant taking me to the Terrariums. “Sure,” I said. I found one of the staff members and asked if someone could clean the stage. She nodded, and Garrett and I walked side by side to the private rooms.
We went to the same gallery room. It was hard to look at the paintings now and not think about what Rourke had said. I had painted these, especially the ones of the coast, for the sole purpose of pleasing the club members. At least the ones of the servers had a hint of destruction buried underneath.
“What’s on your mind?” Garrett said, his tone husky and deep.
I sucked in. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, anticipating something. Anticipatingeverything. I couldn’t tell him the truth, that I wanted a man who was stalking me, the same person who had killed my roommate. So I told him something else.
“My mother got me a job interview,” I said. At least there was truth to it. “I haven’t spoken to her in years and she’s trying to get me to leave the Dahlia District. Like I need to be saved.” I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the deep blues of the coastal paintings. “I’ve had enough interviews lately. Police interviews. Job interviews. Best friend interviews.” Not to mention interviews by my stalker. By Rourke. “And then there’s my debt here. I refuse to look at the current total. That’s how bad it’s gotten.”
Garrett’s fingers clicked back and forth on his phone. My own device dinged, and I checked the notification; he had bumped up his payments, doubling them.
“Thanks,” I said. That was generous of him, even for a club member. “What do you do, exactly? To have that kind of money, I mean.”
Garrett’s expression stayed even. “My father gave me a large sum when I came into adulthood. I’ve invested it wisely.”
That sounded about right. “Born into wealth?”
“Adopted.”
That answer was more straightforward than I had expected with Garrett. And I admit that I liked it. He wasn’t avoiding every question I asked, like last time. There was more to him than avoidance.
But I couldn’t mistake this closeness for something more. Even if I had known that the relationship with Aldrich would always be false, it was still heartbreaking to realize that even the fantasy was wrong. I couldn’t let myself get close to Garrett. Not like that.
And I especially couldn’t let myself get close to Rourke.
“What’s really on your mind?” he asked. I glanced up, and his gaze swept over me. “Those things are on your mind. But that’s not what’s eating at you right now. There’s something else.”
Eating at me. Bite by bite. Until I was utterly devoured. No longer there. I couldn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t anymore.
The truth was worse, but at least it was genuine.
“I can’t stop thinking about breath play,” I said, giving this small hint at the truth. “I must sound crazy. My roommate gets strangled to death, and here I am, thinking dirty thoughts about someone doing that to me.”
He observed me for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “We can’t control what intrigues us.”
