Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,12

by tomorrow,” Robert told me with a smirk, then he glanced back at the theatre. “I’m glad we met here. I’ll get back to my table before the next performance. After seeing what she can do with her legs, I’d like a chance of bending her around me.”

His fancy accent didn’t make his words piss me off any less, but I couldn’t respond. I gave him a shrug and lifted my chin, staring at him until he was the one to walk away. Rodrigo ghosted out from the shadows as Robert headed back around to re-enter the theatre.

Smart little street rat didn’t say a word while I stared after the French gangster, the stinking trail of his cigarillo still lingering in the alley. My fingers itched to pull out a cigarette, but I would already be cutting it close. “Keep an eye on him. Make sure they leave after the show.”

“Alone?” With that single word, the street rat earned a few points.

“Definitely alone.”

The kid nodded, then pivoted on his heel and followed in Robert’s wake. I wanted to follow too, but I only had a few minutes to get back into place before the second half of her show started. My phone buzzed.

V: I have him in my sights.

I nodded, then keyed in a response.

Me: Don’t lose him.

V: I won’t.

Rome was still maintaining his distance, remaining quiet and unavailable, while Kellan was being a little bitch. At least Vaughn and the kid were doing their jobs. Fuckers, every single one of them.

Inside, I threaded my way back to the caterer’s hall and then drifted into the theatre proper just as the lights went dark. Settling in against the wall, I folded my arms. The first haunting bars of music filtered through the darkness, nearly silencing the faint conversations threading the room. The light shifted, blues pushing in around the ceiling. The catwalks and the scaffolding weren’t at all visible from the dining tables, but I’d been up there a couple of times, just to walk the theatre.

I knew where everything was. The fastest routes between two spots. The place was a virtual warren of secret passageways, hallways, stairs, and ladders. All so that the performers and the servers could move out of sight of the patrons.

Definitely my kind of place.

My heart stopped when she appeared, suspended by just some silk, pale under the blue lights and absolutely still like a corpse. It began to pound again with her first stretch, but it beat against my ribs like a sledgehammer. If she was graceful on the stage, she was like a damn goddess in the air.

Her body weaved sensuously in the silks at one point, they shrouded her whole form and then she twisted and weaved. There was nothing between her and the hard stage except some twenty feet of air.

The rest of the room faded away as she moved. This… I’d seen it in videos online, but they were nothing like seeing it in person. Based on the hushed theatre around me, I wasn’t the only one utterly trapped as she cast a bewitching spell. I didn’t know shit about art or dance. I didn’t care much about them either.

But this?

What she was doing up there?

Fuck, I was harder than I’d ever been if it were a titty dancer grinding on my lap. They had nothing on this utterly graceful creature. For one moment, she dropped, dangling like she was falling but not, and her eyes opened. Even at this distance, I could see her staring down at the asshole who was supposed to drive her.

Rage spilled into my veins.

She didn’t need to look at him that way.

The moment seemed to last too damn long. Even after it ended, I wanted to push forward and be closer to the front, where she would see me the next time she opened her eyes.

How fucking stupid was that?

When the lights changed and the music shifted, I sucked in a ragged breath. This had been an epically bad idea. The last fucking place I should be was here. I dragged my gaze away from her by sheer force of effort. Where the fuck was Robert?

I found him, leaning back, his attention wholly focused on the stage, and with brighter lights, it wasn’t hard to read the raw lust on his face.

Yeah, fuck that.

The street rat stood like a silent shadow at the wall not far from him. His gaze was on the French fucker, not the woman on the stage. The pound in