A dance with devils lies.., p.9
A Dance With Devils: Lies And Truths Trilogy Book 1, page 9
She giggles again and stands beside me. “Well, that’s new. Against your will? Most people beg to get in here. He’s dreamy, isn’t he? Assuming you’ve met him. Malachi,” she says, swaying. “Have you danced with him yet?”
Danced? No. And I’m not going to either if this is what happens to women around him.
Not that I’m overly surprised given his looks and that underlying sense of obscurity he delivers so well. Bad boy stuff. Slightly depressed outlook, as if he needs fixing and loving and then he’ll turn into a nice man.
And, of course there’s the money he wafts around. Power comes with money. Power makes women stupid.
I'm not stupid.
“I have to prove myself first,” she continues. “Run, he said. Run for them. I did well, don’t you think? I hope he’s happy with that.”
Another freak.
I huff and stare at the steel, brushing my dress into place rather than carry on with conversation. She’s odd. Everyone is here so far. A maid that winks, men that run and hunt like pack dogs, and then there’s Malachi himself who must have several screws loose up there if he thinks this is normal behaviour. Run? I’m not running like this one has.
I’ve done enough of that already.
The sudden jolt of the elevator under my feet makes me startle, eyes wide for whatever’s about to happen. What happens, happens so quickly I’m not even remotely ready for it. The door slides open and I’m assaulted by heat and noise, a huge cavern of a room spread out before me filled with bodies and sound. People move in my vision, all of them turning and swirling to the beat I’ve been listening to all this time. It’s so loud I cover my ears, barely able to process the sights, smells, or sounds over the seemingly in unison movement.
Whoever this woman is slips past me, her hand being pulled into the throngs by a man as he goes past us. She smiles and waves at me before being swept into the masses, shouting her thanks as she goes. What the fuck is going on? It’s a dance. A waltz or something. Arms wrapped around each other, feet all moving seamlessly to the near deafening music. And everyone’s laughing, or smiling, some with barely any clothes on their fucking body.
I duck sideways, pushing myself back against a wall and then up a few steps in the hope that I don’t get swept into the freakery like she did. Strange clothes, odd outfits. Rubber, leather. Heels. Lots of heels. Impossibly tall fucking heels at that. I scan, searching for anyone who appears remotely normal in the midst of this. There are several of them dotted about with the others. Normal suits. Normal dresses. Odd.
And I’m pretty sure those four on the far side are fucking – openly.
A rush of colour heats my cheeks, heart pounding under the visions assaulting me, as I scan again. A woman hangs from chains on the opposite side of the room, men admiring her as she’s toyed with and slapped about. And a man’s being perused, women stripping him of his clothes as he laughs and stretches his arms wide for them. I find myself watching, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene as it unfolds. It both turns me on, disgusts, and embarrasses me to the point where I turn my head, eyes casting over the slightly safer dancefloor instead. It’s then that I notice him.
Malachi.
Something inside me changes, morphs into something that it wasn’t. Anger seeps away, as confusion turns to some understanding or acceptance I can’t process. I’m hot, bothered, a mess of conflicting feelings, as I try to stroke the heat away from my chest and neck. He’s right there in the middle of the dancefloor, a woman in his grip as they dance slowly, her head nuzzled into his neck. It’s intimate. Close. Or she is, as she lifts her head to kiss him. He’s not. He looks a thousand miles away, his eyes open as he stares over this raucous show of people still moving around him. He kisses her, though. Or lets her kiss him.
So slow, so smooth.
Dexterous, manly feet in heavy boots again push her anyway he chooses. A fitted, black shirt part open, draping his tan body. Jeans. Dark hair and even darker eyes, shadows underneath them, as he keeps his eyes open and scours the room around him. It’s incongruous. The elegant dance, the look of his roughened clothes as he expertly navigates through it. Even his hands seem to draw me to them, the grip on the girl light yet commanding. I want to be her. For a split second, I want to feel that, feel cocooned and held and safe so that reality drops away. His lips on mine, his hands on me rather than her. And this damned feeling of need is growing by the minute because of it all, pressuring me into wanting something that is not for wanting at all.
My head drops, mind refusing to acknowledge the ache that’s building between my thighs because of him, these visions, and the possibility that I want to join in with it all. He stole me, forcefully. He whisked me away and brought me somewhere I do not want to be. And then he told me to run so he could chase me, hurt me like these others are doing to each other. It’s wrong. All of it.
They must all be off their heads.
He said that – said drinks might be spiked.
I need to leave.
Or hide.
Either, but I cannot look up again.
Chapter 12
Malachi
L ost. Found. What does it matter anymore?
The skin is warm, the body pliable. The sound enjoyable.
I stop and look down at the woman I’ve had in my grip for the last however long, watching as she nuzzles in gently in the hope of more. There isn’t any more than this. We’ll fuck and then I’ll pass her over to someone else, little care for what happens to her next. I haven’t cared about anything for too long, except maybe my little Hannah as she ran and hunted down her truths. I admired her for that, admired her for taking on the beast and making it see some form of sense.
The woman coos and mewls, whimpers slightly as I tighten my hold and lean her back to expose her neck to me. A treat. An expensive treat given the jewels wrapped around her throat. Marcus’s wife, something he’s dismissed as irrelevant in his life now he’s got a new thing to play with. That’s why she’s here, why she asked me if she could pay for the privilege of coming every six months. She can, but no amount of her teasing her way around me makes her any more interesting than the rest of the women who ply me with skin.
No tattoos on her either.
Where is my little Alice?
I partly drop the woman, giving her some stability until she realises this little dance is over, and then gaze around the room again – searching. Nowhere to be seen. Reds and blacks flash in my thoughts, green vines creeping out under bathrobes following suit. My little Alice – poor little Alice. Maybe she’s found something to fuck, lost herself in the moment and given in, taken some pills of her own. Or maybe she’s still up there, hiding in corners and doorways, waiting for me to come hunt her down. Unlikely. Women like that don’t hang around waiting to be hunted down – they run or they face things head on.
I weave, brushing hands off me as I pass through the crowds to find her, and grab another few pills out of my pocket. It’s good to be home, good to let go and feel the world tilt on its axis. Tonight I’m me again. Visceral, primitive. Instinctual. No care, no thoughts. Just me and my needs, all of them forging through blood that wants to run, to hunt, to devour.
Another corner turned, another room checked - nothing. No Alice. And nothing’s merging either no matter how much I try to find the pull. They don’t work for me – the pills. They ebb and flow in my bloodstream, changing the visions and views, but nothing seeps in, not like it did for Gray and Hannah or others that have found their match. No focus or consuming sensation. I envy that.
Want it.
And there she finally is.
Found.
My feet halt, eyes narrowed and focusing on the small hunched frame that sits quietly on one of the steps, her head in her hands. My Alice. She’s shaking, her body being knocked and barged as men and women pass by without noticing her in their way. Images flood me, a sense of calm drawing me forward into them. Fucking. Lots of fucking. And pain, screams, shouts and pleas.
Twice I’ve had samples of the feeling before now, neither time as potent or consuming as this is now. It rushes over me like a storm, anchoring and channelling me to her. My heart rate has quadrupled, muscles tense and wound tight. I need her to lift her head, look into my eyes – feel me like I can already feel her. Loose lips, soft skin. I can smell her, taste her, and sense her under my teeth. But still I stand in the shadows and watch the way she scrunches into herself further, as if trying to ignore what’s happening around her or hide from it all. Odd place to hide. In plain sight. It isn’t useful to anyone when I’m hunting them down.
Maybe she needs some pills to help her realise.
Nothing works without them.
Three drop into my palm as I walk towards her. The steps start to clear as I approach, men and women scattering to make room for me. I barely see them over the continued narrowing tunnel in my line of sight, her form at the centre of it.
“You’re not running, Alice.” Her head whips upwards, sending shards of bright colours around her body, her eyes wide and feet clambering her upright. “Silly girl.”
“Stay away,” she snaps, backing up the steps. More colours pulsate as she goes, vibrations of them seeming to radiate out of her frame. My head tilts, watching the way the colours get stronger at her tone. “This isn’t right.”
Everything’s right. Everything is as it should be. Something’s mine again, just for me to play with and enjoy. No one in my way. No thoughts other than fucking and enjoying and this feeling that won’t be denied.
“You can’t make me do anything,” she spits. “People are crazy here. This isn’t real, Malachi.”
Reality? I don’t live in that. Especially not here.
I sway, watching her colours glowing at me as she readies her mouth for more, and I remember my Grandfather for some reason. He said that. He said we’re from a different plain than ordinary people. We look like them, and move like them and talk like them, but we’re nothing like them. Too much money for ordinary. Too much power. Only gravity holds us here, he said. And only the extraordinary interests us.
“Extraordinary,” I muse, watching the colours around her face.
Reds, blacks, greens. Bold colours. Live and vivid, as she stares. I move closer, entranced by them, or her, or the whole damn pull that keeps dragging me inch by inch towards something I’ve been without until now.
“I don’t want this, Malachi,” she shouts, shoving at my chest and stumbling backwards up the steps again to turn and run. “I don’t and I won’t-“
She will.
I move swiftly, legs climbing two at a time to get to her and grab her into my hold. Her head’s wrenched back, mouth opened and the pills slipped in before she gets a chance to protest. More wide eyes dragging me to them, as my hand covers her mouth and nose. Pretty eyes. Soulful and warm. So many colours in there. Not blue. Not green either. Hazel flecks, lines that move and undulate around the dark, dilating pupil. Wide lips under my fingers, pouty. I like that.
She struggles and writhes, trying not to swallow.
“Swallow them down, little Ally cat. Don’t try to fight.”
More hostility. More battle in my hold. I like a fight, enjoy the power play. Maybe she’ll fuck and run, let me play all night, all week. I chuckle and watch her wide eyes widening further, her head shaking as she realises she’s running out of breath. “Just swallow. It’ll be done then. I’ll let you go.” Not before making sure she joins, though. Not before she stares into my eyes, makes the bond and loses herself. Then she can run again, try to pretend it isn’t happening.
The throat finally does at it needs to do, and I slowly release my hand. Nothing for a moment. Just our eyes and her panting breath under me. "Good girl." Silence. Not even the pulse of this music seems to be making an impact on the connection. My lips drop down to hers, softly brushing over them because I can’t help myself. She’s rigid – unmoving, but she won’t feel it yet – too soon.
Time is what she needs.
Easing her to stand again, I back away and let her make some choices on how she’d like to play. We could fuck now, make it easy and simple. Or she can stretch the night into days and the days into weeks and the weeks into fucking months if she’d like. More pills is all we’ll need. More pills, this place, and time where there isn’t time to contend with.
“Are you running again, little Alice?”
She stumbles, lips parted, as she turns her head to look behind her. The maze of rooms is all she’s got. Contemptible rooms. Insidious rooms where everyone is free to do as they choose. And she’ll be so pretty in all of them. Maybe stretched, hung, racked and beaten.
My smile broadens, feet wandering around her where she’s still perched as if not knowing what to do. “I want my tattoos, Ally cat,” whispers out of me. “Bared, stripped. Hunted. Ready for me to lick them off your skin.” She gasps as I slap her ass hard, then gasps again as I turn her in the direction of all my sinister rooms and push her towards them. “Run.”
Laughter erupts behind me, a chorus of cheers to help her on her way. She stumbles two or three steps, bare feet trying to gain traction on the slippery floor laced with cum and spit, and then sprints. My eyes close, body turning into the fold of other people now heckling her for more speed. She can have some time. Find her way until I decide to follow. Perhaps she’ll get an idea what’s coming then, be ready for me. For now I’m enjoying my colours, letting my vision spin and my mind see filters it hasn’t seen before.
The pull can pull longer, draw me in deeper.
I have all the time I need.
Chapter 13
Ally
I ’m rushing, crashing into anything that gets in my way and elbowing people out of my way. Rooms pass me by like waves of colour. Smells, sights, people. So many people. I can’t keep up with myself, can’t find a safe route to run through. The elevator – that was safe. Back upstairs, or down. Which way was it? I don’t know.
My shoulder cracks into a wall, body spinning me away from it instantly so I can run again. That’s all I know now – run. Like that girl did. Play the game – outwit him.
My feet trip, and a man’s arm catches me before I fall head long to the ground. He picks me up and laughs, his hand too tight around my waist as his fingers dig in. What the hell is happening? I’m in the middle of them, no matter how much I tried to keep on the outskirts of it all. And now I’m being hauled with him, more hands joining his to keep me moving forward.
So much noise – so many people.
“Let go,” spits out of me, as I struggle to get my feet back to the ground.
He doesn’t. None of them let me go. All I can feel is them on me, their hands, their bodies, even their breath as they laugh and keep moving. I struggle again, body twisting and turning to get them off me, and my gaze ends up looking backwards, arms reaching for where I’ve just come from. It just keeps getting further and further away, lights seeming to spin above my head.
I shake my head, unsure what the fuck the pills I’ve just swallowed are going to do to me, and keep kicking out. Off. Down. I need to get down and get away, away from all of them and this noise.
Someone moves in my vision. A woman, I think. She’s smiling – laughing with all the others. Black skin. Or black clothes. I don’t know. It’s blurred. Or she is. And my frantic movement is stopping even though I’m still trying to move, to get away. The music – where’s it gone? I can’t hear it anymore, just the base of it. Deep. Heavy. It rides through me like a stampede, as if I can feel it vibrating in my skin and bones suddenly. And the hands don’t feel so harsh now. They feel lighter – easier to tolerate. It’s not right, though. None of this is. This is – my eyes snatch glances at the woman again, watching as her fingers latch onto mine – a mess.
Nothing makes sense.
I’m weak, loose.
Those pills, it must have been. They’ve done something to me. Everything’s dark but for the spinning colours and this beat. Murky in the distance. Distorted. Only black and white, and the white seems to splinter off towards the ceiling, like lightning bolts around me flashing and glinting.
I gasp as another woman drops in front of my face, her head inches from mine. Upside down. Bright red lips. A black mask over porcelain skin. She giggles and rubs something on my cheek, feather like. I don’t know. And then she’s gone, as if she’s been pulled up and away from me. My arms move of their own accord, reaching and stretching for her above me in the obscurity.
Pain ricochets off me somehow. Don’t know where. Back maybe. Ass. I scream, but not at the feel of it, more the confusion ebbing frantically. It was too dull for real pain, empty. I just know it must have hurt. Must have. Pain should hurt. I should feel that.
“Be careful, Jonas. She’s Malachi’s.”
I heard that. I did. A man’s voice. My head moves, hands trying to handle something solid around me. Nothing is. Everything’s fluid and warm, like it’s constantly moving rather than stable and solid. But Malachi’s? I’m not Malachi’s. I’m here alone. Forced into things I didn’t want.
And now someone’s touching my dress, tugging it.
Air hits my waist before I’ve managed to protest, the full weight of this whole place sending pressure all over it.
And then I’m alone, nothing to cling to at all.
I’m in the air, floating.
“Move for us,” someone says.
Move? Where?
I blink, trying to get my vision to clear. It doesn’t. But it does sharpen somehow, focuses on everything and yet nothing. Another rapid blink, my fingers rubbing through the blur, and suddenly I can see everything. It all moves slowly around me, like a circle spinning continuously. A giggle shudders through me without consent, my hand waving in front of my face. Not dancing this time. No joined bodies. They’re like statues below me. Upright. I can spin them with my hand, send them spinning round and round. All black and white.
