Page 27 of A Dance With Devils
She laughs. Gently at first, but then she laughs to the point where I think hysteria must be setting in because no one laughs after that.
“Press both please,” she says, pulling herself up.
“Both?”
“Buttons. I need a minute.”
My hand moves slowly until I press both simultaneously. The elevator eases to a halt instantly, the only sound the continued beat I can still hear thrumming through the rocks and steel. She moves around, shuffling what’s left of her dress into place and trying to tease her hair back into place. Fingers wipe under her eyes, pinching the corners of them to make the slightly dilapidated makeup appear good again.
“Thank you,” she says, looking me over. “Although, they won’t be happy now. Maybe Malachi will make them hunt someone else instead. If I beg.”
“Beg?”
“I’m free fodder.” What? I’m confused and that must show on my face because she giggles a little. “Not owned by anyone?” she continues.
“Owned? You mean married?”
She reaches past me to the buttons, pushing the down arrow. “No. Owned. Part of a two or three, or four here. You’re new, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you before.”
“I was brought here,” I mutter. “Against my will.”
This makes no sense. She was chased by men, frightened – I saw that. And now she’s laughing about it, talking as if this is alright and normal. It isn’t to me. I turn to look at the door, part wondering what the hell is going to be on the other side of it when it opens and part considering the sanity of everyone I’ve met so far.
She giggles again and stands beside me. “Well, that’s new. Against your will? Most people beg to get in here. He’s dreamy, isn’t he? Assuming you’ve met him. Malachi,” she says, swaying. “Have you danced with him yet?”
Danced? No. And I’m not going to either if this is what happens to women around him.
Not that I’m overly surprised given his looks and that underlying sense of obscurity he delivers so well. Bad boy stuff. Slightly depressed outlook, as if he needs fixing and loving and then he’ll turn into a nice man.
And, of course there’s the money he wafts around. Power comes with money. Power makes women stupid.
I'm not stupid.
“I have to prove myself first,” she continues. “Run, he said. Run for them. I did well, don’t you think? I hope he’s happy with that.”
Another freak.
I huff and stare at the steel, brushing my dress into place rather than carry on with conversation. She’s odd. Everyone is here so far. A maid that winks, men that run and hunt like pack dogs, and then there’s Malachi himself who must have several screws loose up there if he thinks this is normal behaviour. Run? I’m not running like this one has.
I’ve done enough of that already.
The sudden jolt of the elevator under my feet makes me startle, eyes wide for whatever’s about to happen. What happens, happens so quickly I’m not even remotely ready for it. The door slides open and I’m assaulted by heat and noise, a huge cavern of a room spread out before me filled with bodies and sound. People move in my vision, all of them turning and swirling to the beat I’ve been listening to all this time. It’s so loud I cover my ears, barely able to process the sights, smells, or sounds over the seemingly in unison movement.
Whoever this woman is slips past me, her hand being pulled into the throngs by a man as he goes past us. She smiles and waves at me before being swept into the masses, shouting her thanks as she goes. What the fuck is going on? It’s a dance. A waltz or something. Arms wrapped around each other, feet all moving seamlessly to the near deafening music. And everyone’s laughing, or smiling, some with barely any clothes on their fucking body.
I duck sideways, pushing myself back against a wall and then up a few steps in the hope that I don’t get swept into the freakery like she did. Strange clothes, odd outfits. Rubber, leather. Heels. Lots of heels. Impossibly tall fucking heels at that. I scan, searching for anyone who appears remotely normal in the midst of this. There are several of them dotted about with the others. Normal suits. Normal dresses. Odd.
And I’m pretty sure those four on the far side are fucking – openly.
A rush of colour heats my cheeks, heart pounding under the visions assaulting me, as I scan again. A woman hangs from chains on the opposite side of the room, men admiring her as she’s toyed with and slapped about. And a man’s being perused, women stripping him of his clothes as he laughs and stretches his arms wide for them. I find myself watching, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene as it unfolds. It both turns me on, disgusts, and embarrasses me to the point where I turn my head, eyes casting over the slightly safer dancefloor instead. It’s then that I notice him.
Malachi.
Something inside me changes, morphs into something that it wasn’t. Anger seeps away, as confusion turns to some understanding or acceptance I can’t process. I’m hot, bothered, a mess of conflicting feelings, as I try to stroke the heat away from my chest and neck. He’s right there in the middle of the dancefloor, a woman in his grip as they dance slowly, her head nuzzled into his neck. It’s intimate. Close. Or she is, as she lifts her head to kiss him. He’s not. He looks a thousand miles away, his eyes open as he stares over this raucous show of people still moving around him. He kisses her, though. Or lets her kiss him.
So slow, so smooth.
Dexterous, manly feet in heavy boots again push her anyway he chooses. A fitted, black shirt part open, draping his tan body. Jeans. Dark hair and even darker eyes, shadows underneath them, as he keeps his eyes open and scours the room around him. It’s incongruous. The elegant dance, the look of his roughened clothes as he expertly navigates through it. Even his hands seem to draw me to them, the grip on the girl light yet commanding. I want to be her. For a split second, I want to feel that, feel cocooned and held and safe so that reality drops away. His lips on mine, his hands on me rather than her. And this damned feeling of need is growing by the minute because of it all, pressuring me into wanting something that is not for wanting at all.
