The Danger You Know Page 2

  Okay, fine. I know everything there is to know about Jason Ayers, but only because I’m looking out for her best interests.

  He chucks her chin with his finger before turning to grab the drinks she paid for.

  My teeth clench and I watch as they wind their way through the growing crowd to set their drinks on a high-top table in the dungeon room, fake whips and chains adorning the walls while half-dressed women dance in the cages.

  Jason remains near the table while Adeline takes her place against a pole close by, her hands lifting to grip the black metal above her as her hips begin to sway to the dumbass emo/retro/alternative shit music mix that makes my ears bleed…and that I will always associate with Adeline for as often as I find myself listening to it because of her.

  The sight of her, though, it almost makes the music enjoyable. I’m as entranced in the way she moves as her no dick, no ass boyfriend, which only pisses me off more.

  I feel like a pedo, but still I slip into the room, blend into a dark wall and watch Adeline move, her hips becoming liquid, her body becoming the music itself.

  Real Life’s Send me an Angel is blasting through the speakers, the fast tempo forcing her body to sway, her arms to stretch out, her hips to move in such a way that desire rattles in my chest. Eyes jealous of the strobe lights that flash against her face and the colored lights that roll over her skin like a lover’s hands, I become engrossed, my head falling back against the wall while my tongue slides slowly across my teeth.

  It doesn’t help that her mini skirt hangs low on round hips, the length barely traveling mid-thigh, or that the scrap of cloth she calls a shirt does nothing to cover her sculpted stomach. Tight over her chest, the shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, not that she takes issue with people knowing what she looks like.

  Adeline likes being naked and I often wonder if she knows I’m watching.

  She’s a temptress with tragic eyes and a black soul, her heart locked behind steel bars. Only I possess the key to it, but she doesn’t know that. And she never will.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch for what feels like hours. Her boyfriend keeps running for drinks - on her tab, I might add - and she keeps dancing while consuming them, the temptation of her drawing the gaze of many predators, all circling like the sharks they are.

  Meanwhile, the idiot with too tight pants is oblivious to their attention, at least until one brave soul decides to stroll up and take a taste of what Adeline can offer.

  He isn’t much older than her from what I can tell, a mess of spiky blond hair and facial piercings. A tattoo peeks up from under the back of his collar when he turns to face Adeline where she dances.

  Her eyes flick open and she gives him the same hazy, fake smile she gives everybody else, the one that pins them as nothing special while they believe they are. The man’s hand cups her cheek and he leans in to kiss her.

  I know what you’re thinking.

  She should shove him off. Should tell him she has a boyfriend. Should mention that her boyfriend is standing only a few feet from her.

  But she doesn’t.

  Not Adeline.

  Not a girl who doesn’t care about any of them.

  Call her a slut if you want. Clutch your pearls over her lack of commitment. But she won’t give much of a damn about your opinion because she’s living her life as she feels.

  The same can’t be said for ninety-nine percent of the world, those people who love the comfortable walls of societal cages.

  Adeline will go to her grave without regret for the way she lives her life, only for the bullshit that same life handed her.

  I respect that.

  Embody it.

  Find more truth in her than I’ve ever witnessed in another person.

  It’s why I can never stop watching.

  That and she’s always good for entertainment, especially in moments like this.

  Rather than shoving the stranger off, she melts into him, her beautiful body still moving in a teasing rhythm, her mouth opening wide to accept his tongue. She kisses like I know she will fuck if anybody ever plays her body right.

  Warm.

  Open.

  Unashamed.

  I’m not jealous. And other parts of my body that react are merely natural. They can’t be helped. Like watching porn. They have nothing to do with me wanting her for myself.

  She’s too young.

  I’m the reason for a large part of her heartbreak.

  And it would be selfish of me to take advantage.

  So, why don’t I believe it when I tell myself that?

  In a way I helped create her, was part of the bullshit she’s trying to escape now.

  But, fuck, if she isn’t more beautiful because of the fractures.

  My lips twitch when No Dick finally looks up from his phone to notice what she’s doing, my shoulders shaking with a bark of laughter to see his jaw go slack in surprise.

  The poor guy just learned that he’s nothing more than a number, a pathetic placeholder for one moment in time.

  Most would assume that Adeline is drunk and doesn’t know better, but I’ve watched her do this before. She knows exactly what is going on. No Dick made the unfortunate mistake of not paying attention and she slipped through his fingers like water.

  Damn, I admire her.

  It’s rare to find a woman so uncaring and unafraid, especially one as young as her.

  Shifting my posture, I watch with a smirk as Jason shoots from his seat to lay claim on his now soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, but rather than confronting the guy with his tongue crammed down her throat like any real man would, he grabs her hair instead and jerks her sideways.

  This is a moment when I should step in to help. And I would if I didn’t know Adeline as well as I do. She isn’t a victim - yet another reason she intrigues me so much. Jason has no idea what’s coming.

  The random stranger she’s kissing walks away like a scared jackass, unwilling to help a woman being manhandled by someone twice her size.

  Wrenching away from Jason’s hold, Adeline’s blue eyes fill with a fire brighter than a thousand suns, a fierce blaze that warns of her violence.

  One punch and she knocks Jason back a step, her mouth opening to tell him off, her hand landing on a drink sitting on the table that she throws at him with significant force. Not just the liquid, but the glass, as well, before shoving him against a wall and telling him where he can stick his piss poor attitude.

  That’s my girl...

  The date is as good as done, Jason slinking off into the crowd with his tail between his legs, as Adeline stares after him, pure adrenaline causing her cheeks to tinge red and her pulse to flutter.

  I grin.

  She truly is amazing.

  And instead of crying or giving much of a damn for the scene she caused, Adeline finds another drink she’d yet to finish, takes a sip, sets it down, and resumes dancing to the beat of a faster song.

  Sighing, I shake my head and I’m glad I came to babysit her from afar. She’s now a drunken girl alone in a club. The sharks are circling faster and I have to make sure she doesn’t end up in the jaws of one she won’t be able to fight off.

  Another few hours pass. In that time, Adeline drinks far too fast for her small size, sweat glimmering over her body as she dances. Her hair is a wild, dark mess from running her hands through it, her eyes closed as she loses herself to the music, her clothes sticking to her from how hot her skin has become.

  Several men have approached her. Some danced and then walked off after realizing she didn’t really notice them. One tried to kiss her, but she’d actually shoved him off, surprising me. It was a typical night for her, the slow spiral of self-destructive behavior that makes her more a victim of herself than anybody else.

  As the night wears on, I watch her stumble over her feet, her eyes becoming unfocused, the alcohol in her veins finally catching up to her.

  And then another man approaches, this one about six foot two, over two hun
dred pounds easily, a bruiser I’d seen work another girl over earlier in the night. He isn’t interested in hearing the word no and Adeline is in no condition to fight him off.

  She’s against the pole again, hips swaying, thoughts lost to whatever nightmare plagues her, and for the first time in the years I’ve watched, I know I have to step in.

  The first thing the asshole does is trap her hands against the pole, his beefy fingers easily crushing the delicate bones of her wrist.

  I step forward, hesitant to reveal myself, but also hoping she will be too drunk to remember.

  The brute’s other hand goes to Adeline’s hip as I weave through the crowd to approach, her eyes opening and locking to his with intoxication behind them.

  I see her mouth move to tell him to fuck off, see her body jerk away from him, but he isn’t the type to care what a woman has to say. He’s the type to pick on someone smaller than him when there is no one around to protect her.

  Adeline won’t be able to fight this one off.

  I shouldn’t have stepped away from the wall. Shouldn’t have intervened.

  If only I’d minded my own damn business, I wouldn’t have made the mistake that dragged me even closer into her orbit, a mistake that I would regret for rest of my damn life.

  A mistake that would make me an addict with the very first taste.

  Adeline

  Nobody sees me anymore.

  Not that anybody really saw me in my life. Not the real me. Not the girl staring out from behind the normal facade, the one who pretends when she smiles and says all the expected things.

  I’d had a family once. Friends. Little girls when I was younger who didn’t yet realize I was different, but more guys than girls now that I’m older.

  Boys are easier.

  They don’t invite me places I can’t go because I have issues that need to stay hidden.

  Like sleepovers, the kind where girls braid hair and talk about clothes and boys. Those stopped when I was just a kid because I have sleep disorders that will cause me to get up and walk around, disorders that will trap me between the curtain of consciousness and dreams while I’m completely aware that something isn’t right.

  Girls can’t handle that, but guys can. One of my best friends learned to wrap his arms around me when I would thrash, he learned to whisper softly to wake me up. He moved away, off to college. Now there’s no one to hold me still anymore.

  I prefer friendships with guys because they’re easier to get along with, they’ll keep me company without expecting much in conversation.

  I don’t like to talk, another strike against me when it comes to female friends. Not because I’m not bursting with a million different, vibrant thoughts, but because I’m afraid of what I might say.

  People look at you funny when they tell you about their dreams and you admit you only have nightmares. They feel uncomfortable when they’re crying over a sick family member and you confess you’re jealous when people die. Most can’t understand when you tell them you were meant for another life, yet find yourself trapped in place.

  I’m not depressed. Enough therapy visits have confirmed that. I’m not hollow. It’s the opposite, in fact.

  I’m large.

  I’m electric.

  I have worlds colliding inside my head, but I have to keep it all tucked away to be polite.

  I have to stay hidden so people won’t think I’m insane.

  Nobody sees me because the world demands I wear a mask.

  And I wore it. For sixteen years, at least. I’d strap it on every morning and rip it away at night. I walked the walk and talked the talk. I’m gifted when it comes to being someone I’m not.

  People complimented me on the strangest things as I grew up, on expected things, while the real me was staring out at them with a grin on her face thinking Oh, you dumb fuck, you have no idea about me.

  That was when my parents were alive, when they lectured me about reputation, decorum and feminine grace. I loved them dearly, it destroyed me when they died, but when their bodies last breathed and their ghosts were given up, they took my pretty wrappings with them.

  Now, I’m just Poor Little Adeline, a girl with a reason to be sad, a girl with an excuse to spin wildly out of control because she is running from the pain.

  Nobody knows that I’ve always been out of control. This is just the first time I’ve shown it.

  I like the freedom. The excuse. I’ve done drugs when I felt like experimenting. I can drink most people under the table. I have sex with people I shouldn’t, in places I shouldn’t, and I don’t care when they leave.

  There’s no reason to hold on to them. They never see me in the first place. They never pull back the curtain to see how badly I need something else.

  It’s constant, that yearning. Overbearing at times. A drive for something that’s just out of reach, and the most frustrating part is I don’t know what I need.

  I just know that I need it.

  It’s what led me to this moment, the night of my eighteenth birthday. I’m alone in a club, lost to the driving beat of Marilyn Manson’s Sweet Dreams cover, surrounded by black walls and scary cages. I’m dancing with myself because I don’t need a partner, I’m dreaming of that which I crave.

  It’s a given I’ve had too much to drink, especially after Jason decided to be a possessive ass and pull me by my hair. Had he just asked me to stop kissing another man, I would have. But instead he became aggressive. Like he owned me.

  Like anybody as weak as him could own me.

  I think somebody could own me if they were stronger than me. Not just physically, but mentally, too. Someone I could admit all my secrets to, and they wouldn’t run. Somebody who knows me and accepts I only want to be free.

  Needless to say, I haven’t met that person yet, so when Jason took off, I didn’t get upset. I decided to enjoy my birthday with the only person I can trust:

  Me.

  It was going great until Mr. White Van skipped the part where he twiddled candy to lure me over and decided to put his hands on me instead.

  The jerk has my wrists locked in his hold and his other hand on my hip. He thinks he can trap me when I try to jerk away. He believes he can ignore me when I tell him to fuck off. He smiles when he leans down to kiss me as if I don’t have sharp teeth and a temper that sees red.

  I’m not a squeamish little girl that worries about hurting things.

  I’m a righteous bitch who doesn’t appreciate guys who won’t take no for an answer.

  The meathead hasn’t accounted for my knee, not until I catch him between the legs. And while the move would have toppled a normal man, would have sent him off holding his junk and limping badly, this asshole merely winces for a split second and grins.

  My eyes round to realize I’m as good as fucked.

  His fingers tighten on my wrist, and I can feel the bones crunch together, his hand that previously held my hip now slipping down to lift my skirt.

  This son of a bitch has every intention of taking what he wants right here without concern for the crowd around us, and sadly I’m not sure I can scream louder than the music.

  Not good.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much. The room is spinning around me and there are three ugly faces staring down with the focus of a rabid dog, his fingers climbing up my thigh, knuckles dragging against my panties.

  I try to jerk away again, but swallow hard when I can’t fight. My strength has waned, my bravery forgotten, and fear dances in to take up court and chill the breath in my lungs.

  Ice water is my blood and all the sweat from dancing is suddenly too slick for me to tugs my wrists free. They just twist together, the bones aching, my heart doing a helpless tap dance in my throat.

  Damn it. I’ve really gone and done it this time.

  But then I’m yanked forward, the fingers clamped on my wrist letting go, my body tumbling down to the dirty floor where my hip strikes sharply, pain radiating across the bone.

  Swip
ing the mess of black hair from my face, I glance up, not sure what I’m expecting, but it certainly isn’t to see the meathead held against a wall by another man who is just as tall. He has to be a bouncer.

  Thank God he was paying attention.

  The new man holds Meathead’s arm at a painful angle behind his back, a bicep flexing as his face comes to down to whisper to the asshole who thought he could push me around.

  I’m not sure I’m seeing it right, adrenaline is now flooding in to mix with the alcohol in my veins, but I could swear I see the color drain from Meathead’s face in response to whatever the other man says.

  He’s terrified, a wet trail soaking down the leg of his jeans.

  The other man releases his arm to step back, and the jerk who had his hands on me runs off into the crowd, knocking a few people aside who were unfortunate enough to get in his way.

  Then the new man turns around, my eyes lifting and out of focus.

  He’s handsome, I think. Square jaw, dark hair, cruel lips, broad shoulders, tapered waist - that upside down triangle upper body that only lucky men are born with.

  Either I’m drunker than I’ve ever been, or he’s gorgeous.

  I have to be drunk.

  Gorgeous men like that don’t work in Goth clubs.

  He marches over to grab my arm and lifts me up, but I’m unsteady on my feet, the adrenaline-alcohol combo making it impossible to balance on my legs.

  “Time to go, baby bird. You’ve had enough to drink.”

  Baby bird? What the hell does that mean?

  I open my mouth to ask, but his t-shirt brushes my face as he tugs me against him to walk me forward, the scent of his cologne so dark and decadent that I inhale deeply, rolling every note across my tongue.

  He smells of fire and deep caverns, of spice and forbidden places, of mysteries and clandestine gatherings. Everything that haunts me and keeps me awake at night.

  It’s an exquisite scent that reaches between my legs and whispers dirty words in my ear. My knees grow weaker as I lean against him.