Audition - Skye Warren, Amelia Wilde Page 0,14
keeping my tone light.
We reach the end of the cemetery. There’s no break in the iron here—only a low tomb that serves as a stepping stone. I hitch myself up and grab the arrows at the top of the fence. With a grunt I swing myself over. I land with an inelegant thud, the messenger bag slapping against my hip. Josh barely makes a sound when he follows me over. Most people don’t realize it’s easy to throw your body weight around. Muscles and inertia go a long way. It’s much harder to control the fall, to pull your punch. It’s much harder to be soft.
“Thanks for the beignets,” I say, squinting into the sunlight. I can see my house from here, the yellow gate, the black roof. The shards of glass dotting the top of the concrete fence. “In return I’m going to give you some free advice. Go away. Go back where you came from or anywhere at all. New Orleans has nothing good to offer you.”
It’s not hard to see that my brother has plans for this man. He’s skilled and without morals—the perfect employee for my brother’s business. Plenty of people have come and gone. Most disappear without a word. I never know if they’ve left or ended up dead. For some reason it matters that Josh doesn’t follow in their footsteps. The money isn’t worth losing your soul.
Josh leans back against the iron gate, crossing his arms in a pose of supreme relaxation. I can almost pretend I don’t see his alert emerald gaze or the bulk of a gun beneath his T-shirt. “You turn and turn and turn, like one of those ballet figures in a music box. Don’t you ever want to break out of the mold? Do something other than a pretty little plié?”
Every time I breathe. “You don’t know anything about my plans.”
“I know you’re afraid of something. And I know it’s not me. Call me jaded, but that’s pretty fucking interesting. I’m used to being the most scary motherfucker in the room.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Goodbye, Josh.”
I already have my back to him when his reply floats on the heavy breeze. “You’re wrong about one thing,” he says, his voice rich in the humid air. “New Orleans has something good to offer me. It has you.”
Probably a guy like this should be given the last word, but I’ve been flirting with danger too long to let him. There’s something about Josh that calls me to tease him. I blow him a kiss with an exaggerated wave of my hand. Goodbye, goodbye.
CHAPTER SIX
Bill Sikes, a vicious thug in the novel Oliver, was probably named after a merchant who lived near Dickens when he was a teenager.
Josh, five years earlier
I’ve been all over the world, but one bar looks like another one. Sloppy drunk girls and opportunistic motherfuckers hoping to fuck. That used to be me. It should be me. Instead I’m nursing the same Jack and Coke since I got here while Caleb feels up the third chick in a row.
They’re practically fucking at the table, her legs draped over his, his tongue in her mouth. I should take one of these girls into a grimy bathroom and fuck the tension out of my body. Instead I’m running my finger along condensation, cold where she’d be hot, imagining the sheen of sweat on a certain dancer’s skin. That dancer will be tucked into bed now. Big brother keeps a tight watch on her, which is pretty fucking hypocritical considering how he treats the girls in the bar. Caleb gives the pretty blonde a shove, sending her staggering on high heels toward a packed table with her friends.
“We have business,” he tells her. “Come back later.” And she goes, flushed, clothes askew. The group swallows her into a tangle of limbs and drinks. She’ll probably get fucked by someone else before Caleb takes her home. I’m not judging her. This is the life I live, too. It’s rough and dirty, the grime so thick no Clorox could make it clean.
We’ve got a square table for the two of us, which is practically VIP treatment in a place like this. He turns to me, and his tongue darts out to wet his lip. I keep my grip loose on the thick glass cradled in my palm. Let him think I’m only here for his business. The boss wants my eyes open on this trip to the bar, as if my