Page 40 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“Shouldn’t it feel victorious? You’re the one that gets to go home with me.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Maybe it would if you didn’t run so hot and cold. One minute you’re into me and the next you seem to hate me with total abandon.

“What happened with the police, whose Harriet?” I ask, ignoring his observation.

“I’d love a private dance,” comes a whisper from behind me. It was Damien, the Facebook prick who always asks to suck every girl’s nipples at the end of the dance.

Liam’s whole body tenses, and he straightens up. His chest widens as if he’s an ape about to strike his pectoral shelves and declare that I’m his Jane.

Damien backs away, his palms face out.

“If I see you dancing with another man, I’m really going to go to prison for his murder.”

Liam reaches into his pocket and produces a huge wad of cash. Placing it down on the bar “for the rest of the night,” he says sucking the heat of the whiskey through his teeth. He looks forward, staring at the neon lights illuminating the green Midori bottle.

“Let’s go to a private booth, but I still expect answers.”

“There’s so many things I expect from you, none of which you’ve given to me,” he says, his hot breath palpable on my cheek.

“Turn down the music,” he says, as we enter the private booth. I do as he asks and turn down the music as he takes a seat in the red velvet booth. I creep towards him, licking my lips.

“It made me really angry seeing you like that.”

“You’ve seen me up there like that a thousand times before.”

“Not after I felt you unravel on my fingers. Things are different now. Aren’t they?” he says, searching my eyes for an answer.

My hair flutters around my shoulders. The cascades of thick brown curls were the bane of my life, keeping them clean and tangle free was practically my side hustle.

“Don’t you think there are much more important things to discuss?”

He puts his hands up to his face, and rubs up and down massaging his temples.

“Harriet, she was a family friend. She met my dad in the nineties, lovely girl really, really lovely girl. She was my first love, but I was eleven. She was eighteen,” he chuckles. “My dad told me she was murdered by the Albanian crew, one of Admir’s predecessors, at least that’s what he said.

“Why did the police bring you in?”

“My DNA. It seems my DNA was entered into the system and it was a match.”

“And what did your lawyers say?”

“My lawyer said the truth, that she was a friend that I was with her shortly before she died, but I had a cast-iron alibi. Why do I feel like you’re interrogating me again?”

“What was your cast-iron alibi?” I ask.

“I was in police custody at the time of her murder.”

My heart skips a beat. I’m speechless for a moment as I try to clear my throat.

“Why were you in police custody?” I ask.

“A guard found me and Aaron smoking cannabis.”

“The police must have known that, so why did they arrest you?”

“My da had them wiped,” he says interlacing his fingers through mine. “You know, she was so young when she died. She was orphaned alone in the world.”

I swallow hard.

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