Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (12 page)

By Friday, I'm feeling anxious, edgy, and stressed. Kel's informed me how sick Sean's grandmother really is, Hidden Star called and confirmed my information, and I'm not too sure the show is going to go smoothly. My stomach is in a knot when I step off the bus and see photographers. Keeping my head down, I slip by them and into the club.

"What's with the photographers?" I ask, stepping into the dressing room.

"Our guest performer draws attention," Bethany answers flatly.

"I never did ask what she's famous for." Settling into my chair, I start pulling out the sponges and brushes. Bethany stays quiet.

"You okay?" I set down the applicators, twisting to face her.

"Oh, are you speaking to me now?" She presses a hand to her chest.

And the Oscar goes to Bethany Hall for dramatic performance.

"Look, I was pissed, okay? You really have no idea what happened and that's not your fault. I'm sorry for the silent treatment. It really wasn't all about that, either."

Turning back to my table, I start twisting my hair into curlers.

Bethany sighs heavily beside me.

"I'm sorry if you didn't want him to know where you live. I really didn't think it through further than Jackson Shaw wanted your address."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smile.

"I'm sorry."

Twisting hair around the pink, bendable curler, I meet her gaze in the mirror.

"It's over now. Let's just forget about it." Giving a smile, I reassure our reconciliation.

But my mind does anything but forget. My hand pulses, remembering the silky hardness of him fucking my hand. Tingles prickle my fingertips recalling the cool steel of his piercing.

"Liza?" Nikki says, her tone telling me this isn't the first time she's said my name.

"Yeah?" I blurt.

"Geez, girl, where were you?" She laughs and shakes her head. "Never mind. Guess who's here to see you tonight?"

Wrapping the last of my hair, I turn away from the mirror to face her.

"I have no—”
Oh, yes, I do have an idea.

"You figured it out," she sings the words.

"Excuse me." Annoyance laces the sickly sweet female voice.

Stepping aside, Nikki allows the tall, willowy blonde entrance. Kristyna Molvic: Gucci spokesperson, supermodel, and Jackson Shaw's girlfriend.

I face my mirror, keeping my eyes on my makeup.

Why does karma strike so quick?

"Thanks, sweetie," she coos, obviously insincere.

"Yeah, sure." Nikki turns her nose up, leaving the room.

"Red said I could use this dressing room." She bats her long, fake lashes at Bethany and me.

"Yeah, that table is free. It used to be Jazzmin's." Bethany points to the empty table.

"Oh," Kristyna pouts. "I thought I'd have the entire room to myself."

"Sorry, not in this place," Bethany quips, turning back to her mirror.

A small huff sounds from behind us, but I need to put all my focus on my makeup.

"Is there a makeup artist?" The sound of her voice sends a sharp twinge of guilt through me.

"We do our own, but I can give you a hand if you’d like," Bethany offers, pushing up from her chair.

"Would you?" The chair creaks under the pressure of Kristyna's weight. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure." Bethany moves to assist our special guest performer, the real reason Jackson is here to watch the show tonight. After mistaking Kel for something other than my brother, the sick bastard must love this.

Chapter Nine

Jackson

Before Red called to invite me to a "special night" at Lux, I'd resolved not to return. But the moment his name popped up on my phone, I knew I was a fucking liar.

"What the hell?" Leaning toward the tinted window, I take in the crowd of paps surrounding the club entrance. I groan as the car pulls to the curb, preparing to exit.

The flashes, already annoying, intensify from the amount of cocaine surging through my system.

"Hey, Jackson, how are you tonight?" one calls.

"Jackson, give us a shot," another demands.

Keeping my head down, I slip my hands into my pockets so I won’t flip them off or punch someone.
Fucking leeches.

A slow, steady beat fills the air of the extremely packed club.

"Jack!" Red's call pulls my attention to the VIP table.

I sit in the booth and one of the busty servers sets a drink on the table.

"Thanks." Grasping the cold glass, I bring it to my lips.

"You feeling okay?" Red examines me through narrow eyes.

I nod, setting the glass down on the table.

"What's with all the commotion tonight?" I ask, lounging into the booth and stretching an arm over the back.

"It's time to publicize this place." He grins. “I have a guest performer tonight that will draw some buzz."

"A guest, already?"

Completely unlike Red, he stays silent, a mischievous smile on his face.

The lights dim and a man's deep voice fills the room.

"Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, let's give tribute to rope, paddles, chains, blindfolds, and handcuffs. Please welcome special guest, Kristyna Molvic, for your viewing pleasure."

My lips part, chest tightens, and anger boils my stomach.
What is this bitch up to now?

The flirty music fills the room, curtains part, and Kristy steps forward, asking to be spanked and for hanky-panky. She doesn't really sing, it's more of a rhythmic talking.

She's got nothing on the other girls and sure as fuck, not my snake charmer.

Kristy's eyes lock on to me. Sitting straighter, a flash registers from near the bar.

Damn, paps!

In a silky, pink corset, short shorts, white fishnets, and other accessories, Kristy struts off the stage through the crowd. She reaches our table and hops up, leaning back on the black lacquered surface. Pulling herself up to end the song, she spins and lands into my lap. Her big finish is straddling and kissing me.

Instinctively, my hands clasp her hips, but I feel the urge to toss her off. Another flash from a camera stops me.
I don't need any more damn press involved in my life.
Going lax, I let her finish the act.

She pulls back, her look telling me she's pissed by my lack of reaction. Another camera flashes and she's quick to put her practiced smile in place. Slipping off my lap, she soaks in the applause and accolades from the audience as she returns to the stage, disappearing stage left.

"You're one lucky fucker," Red boasts.

"You think?" I narrow my eyes at him, my mouth tight.

"What, man? I thought you two were together. She wanted to surprise you," he explains.

"Ah." I nod, now understanding. "She's a psycho, man. I've tried to drop the bitch twice now, but I can't get rid of her."

"Why would you get rid of someone so ready to ride you?" His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

I close my eyes and rub my face, fighting not to say the three words that will make it perfectly clear. So, instead of "she's not Liza", I say, "She's like single-white-female meets Jigsaw."

Red's brow furrows in confusion.

"She'll do whatever it takes to get where she wants to be and her games are fucking twisted and bloody."

Before he can react to my explanation, every light goes out, including the ones over the tables. The lights flicker in synchronization to the beat of
Tainted Love
, until her voice deliberately ear fucks everyone with the first verse.

In a black and gray striped corset, lace bottoms, sheer black thigh-highs with fuck-me-now bows, and black stilettos, she slinks to the edge of the stage. A large, black pole in her hand, she stabs it into the stage, singing and grinding. Her blood red lips push the words out to the audience. This version is harder, edgier, like Manson's but slowed to a sexier tempo.

Stepping to the extended runway part of the stage, she struts, dragging the pole behind her. Two backups dressed in red follow. Once she stabs the pole into the stage floor again, they dance around it.

Leaving the dancers with the pole, she enters the crowd. Moving like a panther on the prowl, her body curls around the tightly packed bodies.

I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, my cock painfully hard. It knows exactly how slick and hot she feels, and he wants more.

Chest rising and falling, I inhale hard as Liza puts a foot on some asshole's chair between his legs. She unclasps one thigh-high before swaying her torso forward, pushing the sheer stocking down.

Gripping the table, I hold myself in place. She fucking transforms on stage, giving the audience a glimpse at the naughty charmer I know intimately.

No one else should see this. It's mine, damn it!

With a small shake of my head, I remove the thought like shaking a fucking Etch-A-Sketch.

It's not mine. She's not mine. She belongs to another fucking guy.

She pushes away from the guy, giving him her back, and shimmies, releasing the clasp on the other leg. The douchebag reaches his hand out.

I start to stand, but Red puts a hand on my arm, and mouths, "You don't want to leave now." Grinning, he points to Liza.

I look back, seeing she's tied the asshole's hands behind his back with a napkin before walking away. Smiling, I start relaxing until she pulls another guy from the crowd onto the stage.

The backups quickly strap the guy to the pole and Liza plucks at the fingertips of her gloves before shoving one in his mouth. The man bites and she pull her hand from the glove.

After repeating the action with the other glove, she kicks away her heels. The backups remove her stockings and then Liza practically crawls up the guy's body. When the dancers start loosening her corset strings, the whooshing sound of my heart ricochets in my ears.

The corset hangs loose, her hand holding it to her chest, and bare back against the dickhead I plan to track down later and kill. She finishes the song almost on a whimper, begging for him to take her tears and lets the corset drop. My heart stops, starting again when the backups move their heads in the way before anyone actually sees anything but black X pasties.

Darkness falls around us again. The roar of applause is deafening. She's brought every man and woman to their knees, or possibly to orgasm.

My fucking snake charmer. One night was supposed to be enough. I'm not supposed to care about you flirting with the audience, revealing the seductress I'm intimately acquainted with, or…fuck, I'm not supposed to care at all, to want you the way I do
.

The lights in the booths and on the tables fade back to dim.

"I fucking love that girl," Red boasts, proud and impressed.

I grunt. If I speak, not only will I lose my shit on Red, I'll find those douchebags out in the audience and show them what a spanking with a fist feels like.

"Don't worry. I'm not making a play for her," Red laughs.

My eyes meet his.

"I thought you were just looking for a distraction, but it looks like she may have gotten to you, huh?" He puts his beer bottle to his mouth.

"Nah," I shake my head, "she was just a distraction."

I reach for my glass and toss back the watered down JD. Red's boisterous laugh draws other people's attention.

"Dude, you were ready to go Captain Caveman when she was performing." His big hand slaps the table.

"I was not." I lie my fucking ass off. "In fact, she's just like the rest who have someone at home, but still fuck around."

The server appears with fresh drinks, clears the old, and disappears.

"That girl is good." I point to the retreating server but look at Red.

He nods, taking a pull from his new beer.

"Liza's got an old man?" Red's question annoys and amuses me.

"Old man? Really?" Furrowing my brow, I'm a little surprised by the label he chose.

"Yes, really, fucker," Red responds. "Anyhow, I swear Bethany said she's single. Lives with her sons, or brothers…or something. Fuck, I'm not sure. She was naked and I got sidetracked." He shakes his head.

"Well, that didn't take you long," I taunt, changing the topic to him.

"Actually, she took a couple weeks to break down. Even then, I had to be pretty persuasive since I'm the new boss. She was all worried about fucking her boss and how it would look," he snorts.

"She has a point." Raising my brows, I sip my drink.

"No, she doesn't. I'm not fucking everyone who works for me. And I wanted her long before I bought the place. Though, she doesn't seem to like when I call her my little signing bonus."

The lights dim again while we're laughing. A spotlight pierces the dark stage. Liza stands center in a pair of golden silk underwear, gold mesh belt, and a thin, gold, chain metal top. The top clings to the curve of her breasts, hanging exquisitely from the peaks of her nipples.

I lick my lips, the memory of her taunting my taste buds.

The beat of the song is familiar. One of the first I heard her perform, but tonight, it's darker…dirtier, somehow. She opens her mouth, and sings, "If I let you in, let you deep inside."

I've been inside and somehow you got deep in me. What the fuck did you do to me?

An ache fills my chest, while warning bells resonate in my head. And, just because he doesn't like to be excluded, my cock presses painfully against my zipper.

Without a word, I leave for the bathroom, patting my pocket for the small vial.

Liza

"Jesus, Liza, I haven't seen you go so deep into Miz Liz in a while." Jennifer stands in the open dressing room door, watching as I slip my red robe over my bare torso. The silky material is much more comfortable than the rough mesh top.

"Really?" I play it off, hanging the chain metal top in its place and cleaning up my vanity. The last thing they need to know is seeing Kristyna all over Jackson, in front of the crowd and cameras, hurt.

It shouldn't hurt.
I dip two lip brushes into cleaner and scrub with a paper towel.
He's not mine. It was one night.
Placing the brushes in their case, I move onto the foundation brushes.
I'm jealous over something I could never have. Why did I watch Kristyna's performance? You said you'd stay in the dressing room, but no, you just had to see how she would do.
I snort.

"Liza?" Bethany asks in a small voice.

"Yeah?" I respond, keeping my attention on the brushes.

"Are you okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I look up at her.