Page 183 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Taking Helena In Hand by Sassa Daniels

Chapter One

Helena

This sort of music really isn’t my thing, but after a while, I find I can’t resist the beat. There’s something infectious about the heavy, rhythmic sound. As I move through the crush of people, into the center of the floor, I can’t help but think it’s been far too long since I enjoyed myself like this. For the past few months, I’ve been working flat out to complete my PhD thesis. It’s left me with no time to relax. Well, tonight is going to be different. Tonight, I’m letting myself have fun for a change.

Closing my eyes, I let the music take control. I move with a sensuality and grace I hadn’t realized I possess. I’ve always thought of myself as awkward, ungainly. It’s because I’m taller than all of my friends. At school, people made fun of me for it, comparing me to a giraffe. All that is forgotten as my hips sway to the sultry rhythm, seeming to take on a life of their own. As I raise my hands over my head, my heart flutters at the thought of giving myself over to something so primal. For once in my life, I feel free.

When the bass drops and the crowd goes wild, I bounce up and down with everyone else. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Then something shifts. My skin prickles with the uncomfortable sensation that comes from knowing I’m being watched. Not for the first time, I sense someone close by taking more than a passing interest in me. Men look at me all the time — I inherited my Scandinavian mother’s supermodel stature — but this is different. It doesn’t feel like I’m being admired. Far from it. In this situation, I’m prey, pinned down by a hunter’s penetrating stare.

A shudder lifts my shoulders. I turn and scan the room, looking for whoever’s watching me. I don’t see anyone suspicious but I’m certain they’re there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. They’re trying to decide when to pounce.

Suddenly, the crush of people sparks panic in me. I push my way back through the mass of gyrating bodies to the table where my friends are sitting. I say my friends, but the only person I really know is Sophia, who I share an apartment with, just off the King’s Road. The rest of them tagged along with Sophia’s odious boyfriend, Martin. They make me uneasy.

As I sink into my seat, Sophia slides a glass across the table to me.

“Got you another drink. Soda with a twist of lime, right?”

“Yes, thanks.”

My friends think it’s strange I don’t touch alcohol, but it was drummed into me from an early age that Carmichaels should always carry themselves with dignity. Although there’s nobody left of the family, but me and a few distant cousins, there’s a pressure to maintain the good name our forebears worked hard to gain. I don’t want to be the one who lets the side down. I’ve seen how reckless drinking makes people. There’s no way I’d succumb. It’s too great a risk I’d get into a state where I humiliate myself and sully the Carmichael brand.

Raising the glass to my lips, I drink until there’s nothing left. Clearly, the heat has made me thirstier than I realized. And it is hot in here, unpleasantly so. My dress is clinging to me like a clammy second skin. As I put my glass back on the table, I’m alarmed to discover my hand is shaking.

“You okay?” Sophia’s boyfriend, Martin, is the one who asks.

He reaches across the table and grabs my hand in an unconvincing show of concern. Completely blind to his smarminess, Sophia sighs. She’s utterly besotted with this creep.

“I’m fine.”

The smile I flash is cool, and I quickly snatch my hand away from his unwanted touch. The man makes my skin crawl. There’s nothing specific I can point to, but something about Martin Bannon makes me incredibly uncomfortable. He dresses like a down and out in clothing that hangs from an almost skeletal frame. He looks as if he hasn’t had a decent meal in months. His hair is too long, and he has a stupid goatee. Although he doesn’t have a steady job, he always has money to throw around. The cash isn’t coming from his family, as far as I can tell. He’s mentioned his parents a few times, but it doesn’t sound like they’re close. He comes and goes at strange hours, and I’m worried he’s into something illegal.

Whether he’s neck-deep in shit or not, Sophia worships the ground he walks on. I just don’t see the appeal. Then again, we have very different taste. Hers has always been dubious. She just loves those bad boys.

“This place is fucking awesome!” Sophia raves, her words slurring after several lurid cocktails. “We have to come here again.”

I nod, but next time she suggests a night out, I’ll be busy washing my hair. Sophia must be pretty drunk because this place is awful. The décor’s cheap and nasty, with a black and gold color scheme that makes it look like a strip club. The patrons aren’t exactly classy either. Most of the women are wearing dresses that reveal more skin than I’d ever show in public. They make me feel matronly in a red dress that falls to just above my knee.

Leaning back, I rest my head against the wall behind me and immediately regret it when my hair sticks to something. I pull away, disgusted, and rub my eyes. A wave of exhaustion that comes from nowhere sweeps over me. Although it’s early, I’ve been on my feet all day. From five a.m., I helped at a women’s shelter I support with both time and money. Then I hit the gym before editing a few pages of my thesis. Perhaps it’s not surprising when I cannot stifle an enormous yawn.

“Boring you, are we, sweetheart?” Martin asks.

His tone is light, like he’s teasing, but there’s a malevolent gleam in his eye. Snide bastard.

“Just tired,” I reply tightly.

“That’s what comes of all that do-gooding.” Now he’s openly sneering at me. Even the love-struck Sophia notices his tone. She nudges him in the ribs to shut him up, but, as usual, he doesn’t take the hint. “Saint Helena trying to save those poor, battered women and their helpless spawn. It’s no wonder you can’t keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

Knowing he’s trying to provoke me into an argument, I don’t respond. I’m too tired to deal with his bullshit right now. He likes to get a rise out of me, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of drawing me into a debate. I’m not up for it right now. Pressing the back of my hand to my forehead, I find it’s hot, sweaty. I am definitely coming down with something nasty. I get to my feet, deciding it would be a good idea to splash some cold water on my face.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I say, to excuse myself.

“Want me to come with you?” Sophia asks half-heartedly.

She looks pretty comfortable, snuggled up to Martin, and though she tries to hide it, her reluctance to leave him is clear.

“No, stay here and have fun.” Is it my imagination, or are my words slurring now? They must be, because Sophia suddenly looks more concerned. She pulls herself out of Martin’s embrace, but I raise a hand to stop her. “I’ll be fine.”

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