Page 75 of Heart Sick

His heart beats wildly, but this is the first time it finally feels like mine—my sick beat for Luna and…music.

I hear it. The beat sings to me how it once did.

Closing my eyes, I get lost in the way the water bounces off the tiles and gurgles down the drain. The buzzing of the flickering fluorescents is in concert with the rhythm ricocheting deep within. I tap my fingers against my chest, cocooned in a world I never want to leave.

I begin to string together a piece of music with no start or end. It all flows into one beautiful song.

As his heartbeats subside, so does the music, and before long, I hear nothing once more. But I’m not disheartened this time; I am determined to hear it again.

Turning off the shower, I dry off and dress.

Luna has always been my muse, but it’s like I’m seeing her again through different eyes, and with a different heart—myheart.

Running my fingers through my wet hair, I exit the room and make my way for the club, unsure what I’m about to walk into. I pay my fee at the door and am hit with cigar smoke and terrible pop music the moment I enter.

Two cops are sitting by the stage, ensuring they make their presence known as they laugh and carry on like fuckheads. No doubt they have runt dicks and use their position of power to get laid.

Luna isn’t anywhere to be seen, so I make my way to the bar and buy a drink. The clientele mind their business because they’re not here for a chat and the two-dollar beers. The dancers are working the crowd, so I take a seat in a dark corner because I don’t want any attention.

Sipping my scotch, I watch the jaded young woman dance around the pole as desperate losers throw dollar bills onto the stage. I’ve never really understood the hype that comes with strip clubs. Strippers don’t want you; they want your money. And they’ll say anything to get it.

If you’re stupid enough to fall into the honeytrap, then you deserve to be robbed blind.

The music thankfully stops and the lights dim, throwing the already dark club into almost pitch black.

A microphone tapping sounds over the speakers, followed by a squeal of feedback. Some dicksmoke waddles onto the stage wearing a ridiculous circus ringmaster outfit.

“Here at The Big Top, we like to shake things up a little, and boy, are we about to blow the roof off this fucking place. Please give a warm and wet welcome to our newest member, Poison Ivy!”

‘Fever’ by Peggy Lee cuts through the darkness which is completely appropriate because that’s what I have when the stage lights flick on and I see that Poison Ivy is Luna.

I watch, utterly spellbound, as she uses her body as an extension of the music. Seeing her this way, becoming one with the music, rouses the monsters once again. I can’t take my eyes off her as she owns the stage and pole, climbing it with skill.

There’s no doubt she’s done this before.

The jeweled outfit she wears covers just enough, but the glitter coating her skin glistens under the lights and has me leaning forward, desperate for a taste. She saunters over to the cops, clearly trying to get their attention as she bends in front of them, shaking her perfect ass.

It works because they almost fall off their chairs.

I have no idea what she’s doing, as this isn’t keeping a low profile. Does she want to get caught? And when she turns over her shoulder, giving me a subtle wink, it seems she is in total control of this situation while I’m seconds away from losing my shit.

The more she gives, the more they want and when the song ends, they stand and wolf whistle, throwing their entire life savings onto the stage.

The club bursts into applause as a man scoops up Luna’s hefty earnings in a net. The bald cop offers a hand to Luna to help her down the stairs. She happily accepts.

It takes all my willpower not to spring up and elbow that asshole in the nose for touching my girl. I don’t fail to notice my possession over her because Lunaismy girl. She always has been. And when his hand slides down her back, only to squeeze her ass, all resolve is shot to hell.

I jump up, but a beautiful redhead comes into view, stopping me. She leans forward and whispers into my ear as she slips a set of keys into my hand, “She said you’ve got twenty minutes to find out who you are and make the call that you’re no longer on the run.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about until I see Luna lead the two cops away to a roped-off area. The beefy security guard parts the red velvet curtain and when she disappears, I realize she wants me to pretend to be them.

Whoisthis mastermind? I know I shouldn’t trust Luna because of what Jack “showed” me. She knew Jack. I am certain of it. And I can’t rule out the possibility that she was the one who killed him.

Itwasher who I saw behind the wheel. But how trustworthy are the visions of a ghost?

I can deal with that later because now, I must find out the truth.

Nodding in gratitude to the redhead, I quickly make my way through the desperate men and actually sigh in relief when I step outside. Being inside a strip club is like being sucked into a black hole, and when you emerge, you don’t know what day or time it is.

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