Audition - Skye Warren, Amelia Wilde Page 0,12

find out whatever he wants me to find. Which means it doesn’t take me very long to find Scott Castle’s love nest.

I’m waiting outside when the dawn breaks across the steeples and gates that make up NOLA’s horizon. A century of superstition and voodoo hasn’t kept the city safe. There’ve been outbreaks and fires and floods. It’s beautiful even in its wounded state.

Much like the woman who emerges from the front door.

My phone vibrates. “North.”

Liam’s on the other end of the line. “Found her?”

“She won’t be happy to see me.”

“Don’t fuck it up.” My brother’s become way too fucking confident after making things work with the woman he loves. As if he didn’t fuck things up with her a million times. He doesn’t deserve Samantha any more than I deserve Bethany, but that’s the thing about women—they want what’s not good for them. It’s the only reason the human race has perpetuated this long.

The door opens, and two women step out. Marlena has a mass of strawberry-blonde curls that catch on the wind. In contrast Bethany has smoothed her dark hair back into a bun. She always looks so put together. I wonder if she knows it makes me want to mess her up.

Bethany spots me first. I notice the break in her stride even though she keeps walking. I sling myself into step beside them, startling a cry from Marlena. Her eyes widen as she takes me in. What must I look like? I’ve had no sleep, but I could go for another eight hours before needing a break. That comes from the military. I’m wearing a black T-shirt and tactical pants. I don’t go for the suits that Liam and the other close security people have to wear, not if I can help it.

“You know what?” Marlena says, a sly expression on her elfin face. “I don’t think I’m actually in the mood to walk. I’ll take the Bentley. Meet you there, Bethany.”

Bethany shoots daggers at her with her eyes but stays on the sidewalk with me as her friend leaves. “You scared her off,” she tells me, accusatory.

“She wants to play matchmaker.” I hold up a white bag with a green stamp.

Her hands go to her hips. “A peace offering?”

“Nah, I thought I might get hungry.”

She grabs for the bag, but I hold it out of reach. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“‘I’m sorry for making you traipse all over the goddamn city looking for me, when all you were trying to do is protect me, Joshua.’”

“You’ve never traipsed anywhere in your life.”

I shrug and start walking toward the theater. It’s only a few minutes away from the brownstone. “Suit yourself. I’m hungry after all that traipsing.”

One step. Two steps. Three.

“Fine,” she says.

That’s not good enough so I keep walking. Her footfalls catch up to me.

“I’m sorry.” Her teeth will turn to dust if she keeps grinding them that hard.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she says, stopping in front of me. “I’m sorry for skipping out on you when all you were trying to do is protect me.”

“And?”

Her nose scrunches. “And I accept your offer of security.”

“Was that so hard?” I ask, handing over the bag of beignets.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first ballet school was established in 1661 by King Louis XVI, who danced in the ballets, sometimes in multiple roles in the same ballet.

Bethany, five years earlier

I dodge cars and tour buses and horse-drawn carriages across the street.

The dance studio dots the edge of the French Quarter, which means it’s packed with tourists day and night. Between those times, there’s an uneasy quiet, a softer hum anticipating the night ahead.

Humid air boils the city. I’m wearing sweatpants and a loose T-shirt because they’re easy to throw over my leotard and tights. I don’t like lingering in the studio after class.

The shop below sells cigars and maybe other things. Illegal things.

A group of men always seems to gather on the street in front of it, smoking and swearing. More men as the night goes on. They give me looks as I go by, no matter what I’m wearing. Once, practice ran late. A man cornered me behind the cracked stone column.

He kept me there for hours, or maybe only seconds, before I kneed him between his legs. Curse words followed me into the cemetery as I dashed away.

Now I make it a point never to be outside when it’s dark.

The cracked sidewalk pulls me along the outside of a cemetery. Sunlight peeks around statues and monuments, the structures that