The music crescendos and my twirling angel spins so fast she’s a blur. As the pace hits its height, then crashes, she drops to the dirt, skirt splaying out around her, head down and arms stretched out in front in a puff of dust as the other dancers end in the same position and the music stops.
The crowd explodes in applause, whistles and catcalls. I turn to stab dirty looks to a few of the men, and they must see the rage in my eyes because they stop and turn away.
Smart.
Many of the onlookers throw coins and bills into the basket there to accept the cash. As for me, my fingers twitch, my throat is dry and tight. A spring is coiled inside of me ready to release.
I want to give her more than money.
I want to give her everything.
Chapter 4
Kezia
I heave a few deep breaths. The scent of the dirt just below my nose is familiar, yet this time the world feels different.
It’s as though the earth is new and the spinning in my head isn’t just from the manic twirling that ends my dance.
It’s because something in the eyes of the sheriff that stood in the crowd sent some odd electrical buzz through me when our gaze connected.
I silently count to fifty, then in perfect sync, I raise my head along with the other dancers and we line up, taking a bow as applause and whistles fill the open air. I glance back into the crowd and see his eyes, still trained on me, and my stomach flips.
Close-cropped deep-sandy-colored hair, perfectly pressed brown-and-beige uniform with a silver badge glinting in the sunlight on a chest thick and wide pulling at the fabric it covers. He’s holding an extra-large coffee in one hand, sipping it as I pretend not to look, but how I wish I knew what his lips felt like sipping on me…
I’m confused, both because I’ve just never felt anything like this and second, I certainly have never felt anything like this for a person in law enforcement. In my world, they are the enemy, and both personal experience, and the stories I’ve been told since I was old enough to remember stories, tells me they are all corrupt. Trust no one outside of the family.
Cops are on the take, just as much as we are. Only, with their uniforms and badges and power, their self-service is condoned. Even accepted.
As the crowd breaks up, instruments from behind me begin to play, signaling the next part of our show. This is the time when the dancers, especially me, are meant to move into the crowd. Smiling and accepting compliments, and tips, distracting mostly the male onlookers that appear to be without female company or young children, while others in our group slip through and help themselves to wallets, money clips, phones…anything of value small enough to fit into the pouches and pockets sewn into their clothing.
The other dancers move away but I’m stuck to the dirt under my bare feet. He’s directly in front of me, exactly where I should be heading.
“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice hisses in my ear. “Get out there.”
A thick hand on my elbow and Thadius urges me forward on a grunt.
“That sheriff is looking at you. You know what to do. Go toward him, be near him…I’ll take it from there.” His baritone voice is just above a whisper and it makes me shiver.
He’s never been violent with me, but I’ve seen his violence with others in our troupe, as well as outsiders, and fear bounces through me whenever he’s this close.
“Yes, sir,” I answer, my training teaching me that any other answer will at best have me on rations again. At worst, time in the box, which for me is the worst of all punishments.
With a knot gripping my stomach, I take a step forward and the hand on my elbow tightens, making me turn toward Thadius.
“Smile,” he grits out, then releases me and a rush of heat floods my limbs.
As I work through the crowd, I pull my lips into a smile and nod and whisper thank you’s to the compliments as I move by, but my focus is in front of me.
The sheriff stands in the same spot, pinning me with his eyes.
The closer I get, the more the warmth rolling inside me takes over and a flutter between my legs adds to the intoxicating moment. I watch as he tightens his lips over his teeth, the deep set of his eyes coming clear. They are a dark green, like moss in a forest, and the muscle in his jaw is hard like he’s gritting his teeth.
There’s less than six feet left between us, and it must be clear I’m walking directly toward him. My eyes pull him in as I’ve been taught, the sway of my hips exaggerated as I set my teeth into my lower lip, adding an eyelash flutter, my training kicking in without conscious thought.