Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,11
one bothered me. It was also the first night I’d really gotten to watch her perform that wasn’t a rehearsal. If the show hadn’t needed to go on, I’d have broken that fucker up there with her already.
His knuckles whitened every time he gripped her. Her expression, as flawless as her execution of her movements, never once faltered. It was like she couldn’t feel what that asshole did to her. Maybe she couldn’t anymore.
That just pissed me off.
At him.
At her.
At the fucking people who should be protecting her.
What the actual fuck was she still performing with that dick for? None of the pampered elite in this audience gave a flying fuck about that tool. They were here for her.
The room plunged into darkness, and when the single light hit the stage again, she was alone. I hadn’t seen her practicing any solos this week, though I’d checked a few times and she’d totally skipped warmups today.
I couldn’t look away. Everything in the room faded as she moved like a fallen fucking angel on that stage. The lighting and her body suit hid the bruises I knew were there. Bruises I’d memorized, but it was like I could feel the tautness beneath my skin with every step she took, and yet she moved with such effortlessness, it sucked the air out of me.
When she vanished into that flower and the stage went dark again, I stared dumbly forward. Only the sudden applause breaking through the room shook me out of the stupor. I scrubbed a hand over my face and then pulled out my phone as the lights around us began to come up and the chorus girls hit the stage.
Chattering and plates clinking filled in the empty spaces at the ‘intermission.’
Rodrigo: They’re here.
I pinned a look on her driver again. He hadn’t moved, though he had his phone out. With a shake of my head, I slipped out the side entrance and headed down the catering corridor. A stream of bus personnel was moving at a clip, slipping in to empty the oversized trays of their dirtied dishes while servers navigated out with huge platters of desserts.
Ducking past them into another door, I headed to the backstage entrance. During the performance, this area was off limits. All the equipment for the first and second acts was secured here, but with the chorus on stage, it was a hive of activity packing away the first act and getting ready for the second.
I blended right in.
Fifteen minutes, and then she would be back on. I had zero intentions of missing the next half.
Emile Robert waited for me five feet from the loading dock, smoking a thin cigarillo and looking far too well dressed to be hanging out here. “Horan,” he said as I descended the steps. We met with a quick clasp of hands, and I fell back a step. Like me, he was armed.
“Robert,” I replied, favoring the French pronunciation of his last name, row-bear, which amused me. Because it sounded like something you’d call a stuffed animal. Emile Robert was not any kind of cuddly pet. His suit disguised his rough nature and brutal efficiency when it came to dealing with problems. “The terms are acceptable?”
We didn’t need to dance anymore. The deal was done. Tonight was literally a formality, one that Robert and his people wanted because they were old-school. They wanted permission to move product on our streets, and we wanted assurances they dealt in nothing dirty or tainted and that they also didn’t deal to kids.
We took a cut off the top as part of their tithe, and they pocketed a tidy profit. Our streets. Our rules.
“They are. If this deal works out for us both, I want you to consider expanding it to other products. You have port access covered.”
We did, but I just stared at him evenly. “It’s a little late to be adding new items to the deal.”
“Not a new item, not yet. Think of it as a promise of a future dividend.” The man was too smooth. In a lot of ways, this was a good deal for us—we kept the Royals and the 19 Diamonds in their place and we got a new revenue stream, while keeping a firm grip on our corners and our neighborhood.
Didn’t make me this guy’s friend though.
“We’ll see,” was all I grunted. As for friendly reminders, he needed to also remember something. “First payment is due next week. Nothing moves until the deposit is in.”