Allured, p.1
Allured, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Van R. Som
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Cover design by Design by Dublin
Interior design by Summer Grove Illustrations
Line Editing by Kim Kay
CONTENTS
Authors note & content warning
1. Alek
2. Alek
3. Alek
4. Ezekiel
5. Alek
6. Ezekiel
7. Alek
8. Ezekiel
9. Ezekiel
10. Alek
11. Ezekiel
12. Alek
13. Ezekiel
14. Alek
15. Alek
16. Ezekiel
17. Alek
18. Ezekiel
19. Alek
20. Ezekiel
21. Alek
22. Ezekiel
23. Alek
24. Alek
25. Alek
26. Ezekiel
27. Alek
28. Ezekiel
29. Ezekiel
30. Alek
31. Ezekiel
32. Alek
33. Ezekiel
34. Alek
35. Alek
36. Ezekiel
37. Alek
38. Ezekiel
39. Alek
40. Ezekiel
Epilogue
Holy shit, you read my book!
Acknowledgments
About the Author and Social Media
AUTHORS NOTE & CONTENT WARNING
Allured is a feel good, high spice romantic comedy that is intended to make you laugh and sweat in equal measures. While there are a ton of laughs and a lot of heat, there are a few heavy subjects that are touched on in the story so please read below and look out for your mental health.
Allured is the first book in the Love and Burlesque Series, a trio of interconnected standalones that focus on each of the Delgado siblings and their HEAs. Make sure to check out the pages after the epilogue to learn more about the couple in book 2 and the expected publishing date.
Thank you again for taking a chance on this new indie author, I love you more than you know!
—Van R. Som
Content warnings: cursing, explicit MM content, homophobia (not from MCs), past sex work, parental death (not detailed, not on page) and shitty parents.
Friends, this is your reminder to always live loudly and be bold.
CHAPTER ONE
ALEK
Thongs might as well be currency around here.
“Goddamnit, T. Stop stealing my thongs!” I yell out to my brother as I stalk up the stairs from the dressing rooms located below the stage. I swear to God, these stairs will be the death of me one day. I’m one shimmery body oil drip away from tripping and eating shit after a show.
I swing open the door leading to the west wing of the stage and quickly see that my target isn’t back there. Huffing in annoyance, I carefully part the side curtains leading to the center of the stage. The front curtains are already open in preparation for our rehearsal. Taking a moment, I look around past the stage and take in the vast establishment.
The Garden of Eden Burlesque Club is basically empty this early before a show. From the stage, all the seats, booths, and the massive bar are clearly visible, especially without the bright lights hitting my face like they usually do when I’m up here. We also don’t have a ton of staff on hand today since the weeknights are our more laid—back performances and the days we book our bachelorette parties.
The club looks so calm and unassuming without the moody lights and the sultry music booming over the speakers. The ornate bar only has a couple of bartenders behind it, prepping for tonight’s Roaring Twenties theme. One of them is my girl, Emma.
Earlier today, I swear I thought I’d never hear the end of her complaining about the special liquor they had to find to make the ‘bougie’ themed drinks, as she called them. My best friend is a riot, but man, can she brew up a storm about work sometimes. Not that I blame her, really. Her job can get intense.
We get all sorts of clientele here. Some come with more money than they know what to do with. Some come and hang at the bar to let off some steam from the work day. There’s always a good mix of people in the audience.
Despite the kind of crowd we might have, I rule it everytime.
I’ve been dancing at the club since the place opened up ten years ago and have been headlining since our first show.
Ten years? Fuck, you’re getting old Alek.
Was it always my dream to take my clothes off for money? Nah, not really. But I love it and damn if I don’t look good doing it. It’s a bit of a far cry from my original career path in gymnastics but I guess I kind of do a bit of both with being a burlesque dancer. Sure, I’m not winning any gold medals. But I have won the Sexiest Man in Burlesque Award several years in a row.
I’m just saying.
I offer a small wave to Emma when I catch her staring at me like I’m some sort of freak. I guess I was lost in my introspection a little longer than what would be considered normal, so I don’t blame her for her incredulous look. She shakes her head at me in question, making the brown curls that frame her face move around wildly.
While I would love to talk shit with my best friend and sample some of tonight’s special drinks, I have justice to deliver. Choosing to continue my search, I shoot Em a playful middle finger in goodbye which she returns with two of her own.
Atta girl.
The other wing of the stage is where I finally find Thomas.
T doesn’t hear as I slide through the side curtains. He’s still in his gym clothes from our workout earlier. Nothing like a pump before a show, I always say. And apparently there’s nothing like the thrill of theft either, according to T. It’s not the first time he’s taken my shit.
For some reason, my younger brother thinks everything in my locker is up for grabs. Anyone with a sibling knows how it is fighting over stuff. But taking underwear? That seems to be a Delgado family specialty. Specifically, a Thomas Delgado specialty because who the fuck steals their brother’s underwear?
I get a little closer and finally notice Thomas is talking to Vivian, our little sister and costume designer, as they look over some outfit changes for tonight’s show. His giant frame blocks the entire view of my sister in front of him, forcing me to the side so I become visible to her. Quietly, I raise my finger up to my lips in a shushing motion. I continue to approach undetected and I’m impressed with myself— big guys like me aren’t known for being light on our feet. Viv’s eyes are gleaming with mischief the closer I get. But she doesn’t give me away.
Stealthily, I reach up and give him a brotherly slap right on his ridiculous man—bun. Viv laughs as T curses and rubs the back of his head, further messing up his already rumpled blond locks. When he turns back to glare at me, I can see my new thong hanging off his hand. I grab his hand and raise the evidence between the three of us. A price tag dangles off the pink fabric.
“Seriously dude, my thong? It won’t even fit your big ass.” I chastise him in a way only a big brother can.
T easily breaks free from my grip as he looks down and rolls his eyes at me, indignant as ever. I’m not short by any means but compared to his 6’6” frame, I’m freaking Gimli to his Legolas.
“Look, I accidentally forgot my bag, and Vivian was telling me I had this new costume, but she doesn’t want panty lines to show—”
T sends a glare over to our sister. The innocent smile on her maroon lips gives nothing away. Someone might think it would be weird for your sister to design clothes you’re going to be stripping off, but, one, she’s talented as hell, and two, it’s not like she watches the shows. No, Viv is always backstage ready to mend up anyone’s pants that ripped from too deep of a squat or too high of a kick.
“– and thanks for calling my boxers ‘panties’ by the way,” T continues. These two are closer in age and have always fought more with each other. I scoff and roll my eyes at him before sharing a quick look with our sister, pursing my lips in a way that says as if he doesn’t wear tiny thongs for a living.
He looks back in my direction and starts speaking with a somewhat apologetic tone.
“So I thought it’d be okay if I took the new pair you got and reimbursed you later. I don’t want to head home right now.” T’s brow grows heavy and there’s a distant look in his eyes now. Shit. I forgot he had recently broken up with his girlfriend. I feel like an ass.
Viv lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Our sister has always been like this, kind and caring. She reminds me of my mom and damn, does my heart twist at the thought. I quickly push down the feelings that are threatening to rise. I don’t have time for that right now.
“Keep ‘em. They’re more your color anyway.” I smirk and smack T’s shoulder, trying to lighten the mood.
That’s been my specialty since we were kids: Joke, laugh, be the guy who doesn’t take everything too seriously. Make sure my siblings are doing okay. The role comes naturally now with anyone I care about.
Thankfully, Viv speaks up and pulls both me and T from our trains of thought.
“Seb let me know Knight said we need to have a run—through with some of the new guys. Something about a special event coming up.”
T and I look at each other and sigh.
We’re already tired from back—to—back rehearsals and shows this week, but with the holiday season coming up, we have a bunch of new acts and performers joining us. The lag in my brain makes me take a moment to register what she said.
“Wait, Knight’s here? And the son of a bitch didn’t even say hi?” I fake offense as I raise a hand to my chest.
I won’t lie. It’s definitely weird that he’s here on a random Tuesday. I know very well how busy Daddy Big Bucks is and how we’re a small stop among the many business ventures he’s constantly bouncing between. But I’ve known the guy for ten years. We’ve been through a lot together and I definitely deserve a hello and maybe a little smooch or something.
“Actually, Seb said he was looking for you. He said Knight seemed a little angry.” Vivian’s usually easy smile drops for a moment as she points backstage. It’s always odd seeing her anything but happy with a cute little smirk on her face. With a sigh, T turns towards me and crosses his arms while raising his eyebrow in that annoying way that makes me want to tape it down or shave it off.
“What did you do now, Alek?”
I look at him and frown, thinking it over. As if I’m the only one who’s gotten in trouble around here. Yes, it’s mostly me but that doesn’t mean I did anything this time. At least I don’t think I did anything. Probably.
“Well I guess I’ll find out, huh?” I shrug one shoulder nonchalantly, backing away to the hallway that leads to the backstage office. With my departure, I do a mock salute and throw a wink at them.
“It’s showtime, baby.” I’m about to swing the door open and take my first step downstairs when I hear Thomas yell behind me.
“The show isn't for a few hours, dumbass!”
“Yeah? Well good luck fitting in that thong, you fucking giant!”
CHAPTER TWO
ALEK
Daddy, chill.
“Idon’t have the time for this, Jack,” a deep voice scolds as I make my way down the dark hallway leading to Knight’s office. Well, more like the office Knight commandeered with his surprise arrival to the club today. Though, technically this is all his.
That deep voice is usually scolding me so it’s kind of nice to not be at the receiving end of the curt words.
“It’s absurd Harriett has to cancel the gala because her chemical face peel did its job too well. It’s even more absurd that she expects me to rearrange what took her months to plan in a matter of four days.”
I lean against the doorway, watching the frustrated way Knight rubs down the side of his face, his thick fingers lightly digging into his heavy five o’clock shadow. His profile is front and center as he sits upright in the office chair, his charcoal gray suit partly hidden behind the messy desk full of show schedules and promotional items. I can tell his eyes are closed. Otherwise, he would have seen me leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of his eye.
“Fine,” he sighs. “We will hold it at my estate and go along with her lie of being sick. I’ll arrange the larger details but I will need you to send the word out to the invite list. Also, please contact my sick mother and tell her I’m regretting this already.” With finality in his tone, he hangs up the phone and sets it on the desk.
“Got an extra invite? I hear rich people’s parties, oh sorry– galas– have the best booze.”
“Must you always sneak around like that?” he asks with a heavy sigh, still not looking at me.
“I’m light on my feet, you kinda pay me for that. My twinkle toes.” I let out an easy chuckle as I walk over to one of the empty chairs in front of the man at the desk. While he’s still frustrated by the phone call from Hell, he seems a little more relaxed in my presence. Finally, he turns to face me as he unbuttons the top of his undoubtedly expensive dress shirt. The slight look of relief when he looks at me would make me feel special but it’s probably because I’m not pushing some gala on him like his mother just did.
“I need your help,” he says with a wince, like it pains him to ask. Knight is a man who enjoys taking charge and lives with a tight schedule. In the time that I’ve known the guy, I swear he’s never done anything spontaneous or last minute.
“And what would Daddy Knight like me to do?” There’s a grin on my face as I ask him the question. I’m definitely teasing him but I’m thinking this is the light—heartened vibe he needs right now.
“Again with the nickname?” He arches an eyebrow at me. Honestly, Knight pretends to hate the title but this man forgets that I know some of his secrets too. He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the desk before he leans into his large open hand and taps his finger against his temple with a steady rhythm.
“Look Aleksander, since you were creeping in on my conversation, I’m sure you heard my predicament.” He glares at me. If I were anyone else I’d be frozen in fear or even running out of his office, but Knight’s armor has never scared me.
“I need a chef for the gala Saturday night. We both know that you’re a talented cook and you’re one of the only people I trust to get this done correctly, even with all of your antics.”
It wouldn’t be a true Knight compliment if there wasn’t a bit of criticism in there. Still, my eyes light up as he explains the help he needs. I fucking love cooking. I swear if I wasn’t dancing, I’d be competing head—to—head in some reality TV cooking shows.
Knight goes on about how the original chef his mom had hired wasn’t willing to make the two hour trip to his place instead. His estate instead of his mother’s mansion. He let me know there would only be about thirty people in attendance and I had full control of the menu with the exception of a couple of food allergy restrictions.
I’ve got to admit, the whole time he was explaining things I was trying to figure out what the Hell the difference between an estate and a mansion was. I still hadn’t come up with the answer by the time he hit me with his last question.
“Am I assured I can count on you, Aleksander?”
“Yeah, I’ve got you.” A genuine smile stretches across my lips. I can do this for him and I’d like him to know I’m taking it seriously. He may not think it sometimes, but I actually do care for this man.
“Let me know when you think it would be best to go shopping and I can either have someone grab the items–”
“Actually, I’d like to do the shopping myself. I wanna make sure to pick out the best stuff,” I interject. It’s something I’m picky about. If I’m cooking I’d like to choose everything down to the type of salt I’m using.
There's a little pride showing through his businessman mask. I know he appreciates how thorough I like to be, ever since I helped him design the club.
“Why am I not surprised? Take this, then.”
The guy reaches into his freaking breast pocket. You know someone is loaded when they keep their wallet there instead of in the back pocket of some worn—out Wranglers. I feel like I’m some peasant compared to his lordship.
With quick precision, he takes a black card out from his wallet. Meeting my eyes again, he slides it over the desk. “And I’ll have my assistant email you a copy of the dietary requirements for some of our guests.”
“Sounds good. See you Saturday morning, then? You mind me showing up early to prep?” I ask as I get up from my chair and lean over the desk, meeting his stare with one of my own.
“Of course. I will make sure Ernest knows of your arrival and that you’re not just some vagrant passing by.”
Ernest is his head of security and I swear I get the stank—eye from him any time I’m over. It’s been a freaking decade. Surely, the guy knows me by now but he still makes getting into Knight’s place like getting through the TSA.
Taking the card, I clutch it to my chest like he took a shot to my heart, dramatically stumbling as I start making my way towards the door. “You wound me.”
“Leave, now.” He’s reaching for his phone. I’m sure he’s got other fires to put out because of this surprise gala.
