Audition (North Security 4)

CHAPTER TEN

In 2008, the world’s first sustainable dance floor opened at Club Watt in Rotterdam, Sweden. The floor’s tiles rest on springs wired to generators. The harder people dance, the more the springs are compressed and this converts into energy, which runs the LED lights in the floor.

Josh, present time

Marlena opens the door to her townhouse with a flourish, her gauzy red sleeves accentuating the movement. Then the act cracks and she giggles, throwing her arms around Bethany’s neck. “You’re here! I’m so excited. And you brought your bodyguard.” She shoots me a questioning look. “You know she’s perfectly safe with me and Scott, right?”

“Now you’ll all be perfectly safe.” I give her a wide grin, like this is a fucking joke. It’s the furthest thing from a joke. Having Bethany in my house is an exquisite torture. I thought agreeing to this little double date with Marlena and Scott Castle would help ease the tension. Surprise, surprise. It hasn’t. Not yet. That’s probably because Bethany would have climbed down the ivy on the side of my house if I didn’t agree.

Marlena squeezes Bethany a little tighter—tight enough that I consider peeling her arms away from Bethany’s skin one by one—and then releases her. “You look gorgeous,” she tells her friend. “Everyone at the club is going to have their eyes on you. And I know there are so many guys in the city who’ll make it worth your while.” She winks at Bethany. My stomach lurches at the thought of Bethany in one of their lurid little deals.

What would you even call it? A sugar daddy? Prostitution. Marlena holds power in the city. If she’d been born a few decades earlier, she’d have been posted up at the Moulin Rouge. Or salons full of artists and courtesans in France. Instead she’s bought and paid for at this brownstone, with its outrageously built-out doorframe and spiky wrought-iron fence rising out of brickwork at the front.

“Oh, stop.” Bethany’s voice is light, revealing nothing.

Does she want a sugar daddy? She might need one. I’ve seen what that sad excuse for a dance company reports on its taxes. I’ll pay her a million fucking dollars not sleep with one, even if she never touches me.

“I need tequila,” Marlena announces. “Are we ready?”

As if she’s summoned him, Scott Castle appears behind her. For a man in his fifties, he’s pretty fit. His suit’s probably bespoke from Italy or some shit like that. Not a single silver-blond strand of hair moves out of place. He slips a possessive hand on the curve of Marlena’s waist. Like I’m going to try and duel him for her.

“I see our guests have arrived.” He tugs her closer as he says it, brushing a kiss to the spill of her auburn hair. She’s set it free for the evening. Bethany’s remains in a tight, sculpted bun, not a wisp of hair out of place. Scott gives all of us a sharp-edged smile, then extends his hand to shake. “Joshua North. Your reputation precedes you. North Security has developed quite a reputation for quality work. I’m surprised you’re working such a small detail personally.”

His glance at Bethany tells me he’s fishing for details. I’m not giving him a damn thing. “That’s right. We have.” I shake his hand once, hard, and let go.

“Will you be stepping in for drinks, or should we get going?” Scott raises his eyebrows. So fucking genteel. Bethany stands in graceful stillness next to me. People take stillness for granted. They think dance is all about movement. That life is all about movement. Bethany proves otherwise. The scent of her skin taunts me. Her stillness is a call to action. There were nights I could have gone into Marlena’s home and sat on the creamy leather of her sofa and let her bring other women to me. That I might have swallowed too much of Scott’s liquor and fucked myself into a blessed numbness.

Not tonight.

Tonight the four of us get into the Bentley that Scott keeps for Marlena and go to the French Quarter. Marlena’s favorite club is a sleek three-story bar with views of the city on all sides and a valet staff that won’t fuck up your car.

She makes us split a bottle of champagne on the way.

For some reason, with Bethany looking at me from beneath heavy lidded eyes, knowing other men are about to look at her body in that shimmery purple dress, I throw back a flute. By the time the driver pulls up in front of the velvet ropes demarcating the walk underneath the famous brick archway, the bubbles have infiltrated my blood.

It feels strangely like hope. And hope is always reckless.

Hope is always a mistake.

Marlena has her arm hooked through Bethany’s as we take the staircase up to the second level. This place isn’t crammed into a grimy basement that suffers from a permanent moisture problem. The shutters on the tall windows are thrown open wide. Music escapes them into the night, while humid air slips inside.

The club lights shine in Bethany’s hair. That damn bun has been the bane of my existence since she walked into my house. It makes me ache to fit my palm underneath that bun and feel her body bend beneath my grip. Jesus. Five seconds in this club and I’m already harder than steel. I grit my teeth and tell my dick to calm the fuck down. Nothing’s happening with me and Bethany. Not tonight. Not ever.

We split up long enough for Scott and me to get a round of drinks and for me to scan the place while the bartender works. More champagne for Marlena, who likes fun in every form. Jack and Coke for me. That will be the only drink I’ll have tonight. Scott orders two fingers of thirty-year Glenfiddich, downs it in one gulp, and slams the glass back onto the bar. His eyes narrow. “Where are they?”

I motion with my drink. Even from ten feet away, I’ve been aware of every move Bethany has made. I’ve been aware of every man in the room, every potential threat to her safety. “Over there. Dancing.”

“Are you going to come? Or are you going to find a table?”

The old me would have planted myself at a table and let the women come to me. They always do. I’d have had one in my lap in five minutes flat. And you wouldn’t have caught me dancing. But Marlena and Bethany circle each other, the bends of their bodies like water. Bethany’s purple dress somehow manages to look regal. Every move she makes sings of power brewing under her skin. Her eyes catch mine. The hint of a smile. She knows I’m watching.

I throw back the Jack and Coke. The burn reminds me of the club I took her to that night five years ago. That one smelled like mildew and electricity. This one has the subtle scent of hydrangeas pumped in through the ventilation system. And just like then, I’ll be damned if anybody else gets close.

Bethany, present time

Marlena pulls me into the bathroom at top speed, still laughing. “Oh my God.” She twirls on tiptoe over to the sink, then grabs the porcelain with a wince. “Remind me not to do that again. My calf is killing me.” Dying or not, her face is still flushed pink from the series of tequila shots she did after the champagne. “I’ll probably have to ice it once Scott’s done with me.”

I lean into the mirror and pretend to examine my mascara. Done with her.