In Silence She Screams (Midnight Mayhem 3)

We both start laughing as she finishes up.

“There! All done.”

I turn in my seat and my muscles seize when my eyes connect with myself in the mirror. I reach up to touch my cheek, but her little hand slaps my wrist playfully. “Not yet! It won’t be all that dry.”

“Wow.”

The base is white, but where my lips are is black, curved in a wicked smile with shading that hits all of my facial bones. It looks scary, sure, but more importantly, it looks sexual.

“You like?” she asks, bumping my shoulder with her hip.

I’ve never in my life met a young girl with so much confidence and light. She must be protected. My heart rate thickens when I think back to my childhood.

“How old are you, Ariana?” It’s barely a whisper, but something I find myself wanting to know.

Her glowing eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I’m fourteen! Just turned last week! What about you?”

My shoulders stiffen, my palms clammy. I swipe them down my robe, confused. Why the hell would they be sticky? “I’m nineteen.”

“Wow. You’re like, real young!”

I smile gently at her. “Something like that.”

“Well…” She turns, packing up her paint. “I better go do The Brothers. It always smells like cigarette, soap, and testosterone in there.” She pushes her trolley out of my cubicle, and I watch the curtain move after her departure. Ariana is a good kid. I want to throw a protective barrier over her.

I reach for my coat, pulling the tie to my robe off me and watching the silk fall to the ground.

“Well, fuck—” I catch Eli’s eyes at the threshold as he takes in my body. His reation was loud and obvious, but the next word comes out more as a soft whisper. “Jesus.”

I look at myself in the mirror, trying to see what he obviously does. What most people see. My nipples are pierced on both sides, with decent-sized breasts. A good handful in the right-sized hands. My waist is pinched in unnaturally from all of the corset training I’ve done over the years, while my hips spray out in a triangle. My thighs are curved and lean, yet if I bend over, I’d give the perfect thigh gap entrance for the taking. My ass is peachy. Not big, yet nowhere near small. Little markings scar over each cheek lightly to show the naturality of them. No BBL for me. Because I don’t need it, though I’m sure if I weren’t blessed with this ass, I would have had to buy one. Aside from the small stretch marks over my butt, my skin is flawless. No tattoos, but I’ve always wanted them. My hair is an odd shade of silver, even though I’m naturally brunette. I’ve always had a hairstylist keep up the maintenance on it, though I’m guessing Midnight Mayhem will have their very own. Bleach, and then grayed. No one knows it, but I dyed it gray to age me, after being sick of being told I looked “nice and young.” As a kid, I never understood what that meant. It wasn’t until I became a little older that I realized the men who came into Patience liked that look. I should have done the opposite—I mean, I’ve always liked to keep the men happy, right? Right?

But why did I dye my hair? Did I unwillingly do something because of my subconscious?

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize Eli has taken more steps into my cubicle. He wears dark slacks, a dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos, and the simplicity of Chucks. It should look out of place, but it doesn’t. It’s perfect for him, and I’m not sure why I know this without really knowing him.

He presses a single fingertip to the base of my neck, tilting his head down to peer up at me in the mirror. I can almost feel the heat of his chest radiating off him and sending vibrations into my back. “You’re a fucking demon. There’s no way you’re human.”

I brush off his touch and reach for my coat, shimmying it onto my shoulders. I need to thank Ariana. This is a perfect fit. “Thank you.”

I turn to face him, leaning against my vanity with curled fingers. He’s so close I can almost feel his breath on my lips. “Apparently, it’s showtime.”

“And what is your act here?”

He smiles, and it’s so disturbing I almost falter. He could match mine. Dammit. “Not a part of the crew. But I’ll be in the crowd, if you want to look for me.” He turns to leave, but stops right at the threshold, turning to look over his shoulder. He points to a spot behind me. “I’m gonna go ahead and suggest you wear the crown with your top hat.”

“And why’s that?” I ask, reaching for my pack of smokes.