The Guardians: An Urban Fantasy Romance (3 page)

Addison sashayed down the catwalk, her platforms clicking over the stage as she reached for the gleaming pole at the end. The rowdy cheers greeting her passed through one ear and out the other. With a mechanical precision born of experience, she gripped the pole with both hands and wrapped one leg around it. Swinging to gain momentum, she joined the first leg with the other, using her thighs to grip it tight before bending backwards. Reaching behind her head with both hands, she held on as she executed a perfect upside-down split, earning her even more cheers, whistles, and a shower of dollar bills across the stage.

Sliding down and flipping right side up, she dropped back to her platforms and worked the crowd, though her mind wasn’t focused on the task. She’d danced to “Cherry Pie” so many times, she could do it in her sleep. After two years of working at Temptations on Bourbon Street, she had mastered the art of stripping for tips while her mind wandered elsewhere. Just then, it was on her final semester of college classes, and the English degree waiting for her at the end. It was the sole thing that made her crappy job bearable … hell, the only thing that made her entire existence bearable.

Someday, she’d pack her stuff and move far, far away from New Orleans and make something of herself. Maybe she could teach, or even pursue her dream of publishing a novel. Anything would be preferable to this. The men—and a few women—in the crowded club didn’t know her. They didn’t see anything other than the size of her breasts and that she knew how to shake her ass. To them, she was nobody … just a piece of flesh to throw dollar bills at. While she had never been ashamed of her job—she made more money in a week than most people with regular nine-to-fives—she had always wanted more. Ever since she’d been a little girl growing up in a dilapidated trailer, Addison had wanted to be someone.

She would be. Addison Monroe was nothing if not determined.

She crouched near one corner of the stage, swinging her vibrant red hair as she dropped to her knees in front of a group of young guys crowding that edge. She collected the bills scattered near that side of the platform and tucked them into her g-string without missing a beat. She then reached down to pull a near-non-existent fishnet top over her head, revealing the red leather halter underneath.

Flashing a friendly smile to the blond jock-looking guy who slid a fiver into the string against her hip, she arched her back in a feline fashion and rolled her hips.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he bellowed to be heard over the music, leaning against the stage.

Rolling onto her back, Addison struck another provocative pose, parting her legs a bit for the benefit of the people sitting on the other side of the stage. She was going to milk this drunk guy for every dollar he had.

“Red,” she replied, giving him her stage name. The other dancers had christened her ‘Red’ for obvious reasons. She might be a natural redhead, but the fiery color she sported now came nowhere near what she’d been born with.

The guy reached toward her and she danced away.

“Sorry, honey,” she said in a syrupy sweet tone. “Touching’s not allowed. You can look all you want, though.”

With a wink, she pulled at the strings of the halter at her back, revealing two heart-shaped pasties and round, perky breasts underneath. The drunk blond slid her a ten this time.

They always made it so easy, like taking candy from a baby. She had the attention of his friends now; they crowded the stage as she went up on her knees, shimmying in a way that made the tassels on her pasties twirl. Another shower of bills, and Addison reminded herself she was working for one more course, one more book, one more month of rent.

“Screw that, baby. It’s my bachelor night. How much for a private dance?”

“Forty bucks,” she told him, “for just you. If your friends want to come along, it’s going to cost extra.”

“That’s not the kind of dance I meant.” He curled his upper lip as he leaned even closer.

She could smell the beer on his breath and it caused her nose to curl.

“I’m not a hooker,” she growled between clenched teeth. She stood—this guy’s money wasn’t worth putting up with that kind of talk.

Lightning-quick, his hand shot out and curled around her wrist in a bruising grip. Addison fell to her knees, the impact rattling her teeth. Fury shot through her so fast, her blood raced hot in her veins before she knew what had happened. The edges of her vision went hazy and her breath sawed in and out of her lungs in rapid drags. Instead of trying to pull away, she leaned closer.

Her free hand shot up to his throat, her fingers digging into his flesh with savage intent. The black rage causing her head to pound also darkened her vision until she grew almost blind from it. She could feel the blood running through his carotid artery. She could smell his fear, mingling with the odor of sweat running down his temples. It would be so easy to dig in with her fingernails, not stopping until the hot spray of his blood showered over her. The anger consumed her, the feeling not unlike that of being high on drugs. The man’s grip on her wrist loosened as he gurgled and gasped, struggling for air.

“I said, no touching,” she snarled, giving him a rough shake before throwing him back into his chair. The force of her shove sent him head over heels, overturning the chair and dumping him on the sticky floor.

Andrew, the bouncer, interceded a little too late, appearing only after the scene she’d caused. Addison shook her head as her vision returned. Now that she’d calmed down, the severity of her actions hit her like a club to the back of the head. Forgetting the rest of the bills strewn across the stage, she gathered up her meager clothing, then turned and fled the stage.

***

“Girl, you okay?”

Addison glanced in the mirror and her eyes met the reflection of Marie, friend and fellow dancer. Her inky black hair had been slicked back and covered by a wig cap, her face made up like a drag queen’s. Her golden skin gleamed from oil and body glitter, and her stage getup left little to the imagination. Unlike Addison, Marie was petite and slender, with an almost boyish frame.

Around them, the other dancers changed and refreshed their makeup. Where the dressing area behind the stage usually hummed with conversation and laughter, you could have heard a pin drop just then. Addison knew why … they were all staring at her out of the corners of their eyes and wondering what the hell kind of freak she must be.

“I’m fine,” she answered, avoiding Marie’s gaze and leaning forward on her stool to slide her platforms off.

“Why don’t you bitches mind your business?” Marie snapped, her scathing glare landing on several of the other girls. A few of them turned away, intimidated. Others rolled their eyes in annoyance, though they eventually looked away, as well.

Plopping onto the bench beside Addison, she faced the mirror and reached for the blonde wig she wore on stage. She slid it on and began arranging the bangs to her liking.

“That jerk-off deserved what he got,” she said, pursing her lips at her reflection before touching up her fire-engine red lipstick. “Don’t feel bad about it.”

“I don’t,” Addison insisted. Retrieving a cleansing cloth from the pouch she carried in her bag, she began the process of removing her makeup. “I just …” she trailed off with a sigh, frowning at the girl staring back at her in the mirror. Smokey eye shadow rimmed her hazel eyes, and a few light freckles made an appearance as she swiped the cloth across her cheekbones and nose. Grabbing another wipe, she tossed the first and used the second to scrub her eyelids. “I don’t know what happens, Marie. When I get angry …”

She couldn’t explain it, and even if she could, Marie would think her crazy. Sometimes, Addison thought she must be. It would be just the sort of icing on the cake representing her life. Deadbeat dad, drug-addicted mom, boozed-up stepdad, abusive boyfriends, and far too many bad decisions to count … yeah, if she were to be declared insane, it would fit.

But then, there had to be something more to it than just anger or rage. The intensity of those moments couldn’t be described. Just then, when her hand had been wrapped around that man’s throat, her mind had filled with gruesome images of tearing his head from his shoulders and being doused in his blood and gore. The idea had given her a feeling of euphoria, a high unlike anything a drug or drink could give her.

She’d endured this her entire life. Since childhood, she’d been tempted with thoughts of violence. She had been horrified by the fantasies of choking her brand-new puppy to death that had filled her mind at the age of five. She’d cried so hard, and for so long, her mother had just taken the puppy away. Addison had been relieved, because even then, the urges proved strong. However, she’d always controlled them. Through the years, she’d always been able to remind herself that the thoughts were wrong and acting on them would be out of character. She was
not
that person. Wherever the anger came from, she remained determined not to let it rule her life.

Only once had she lost control … but never again. Just thinking about that day seven years ago made her sick to her stomach. She lowered her head to the table and took a deep breath as the memories assaulted her. The stench of stale cigarettes … the rasp of calloused fingers up her spine …

You’re stupid … worthless … trash …

She fought against the emotions that converged on her all at once, shaking her head to dislodge the voice echoing in her head.

I am not stupid. Someday, I’m going to be something more. I’ll show him. I’ll show them all.

Marie’s hand was gentle on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m worried about you.” Her voice came out low and sweet. “So is Andrew.”

The club’s bouncer acted like a big brother to all the dancers at Temptations. She’d known before she’d even left the stage that he’d get his beefy hands on that jerk who tried to manhandle her and toss him out into the alley.

“I appreciate that you guys care about me,” Addison said as she lifted her head, wiping away a few tears as well as makeup when she confronted the mirror once more. Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to push the feelings away. No sense in dwelling on them. The moment of rage had passed, her shift over. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m just going to go home, drink a few glasses of wine, and soak in a bubble bath. Tomorrow, I’ll be good as new.”

Marie wrapped her arms around Addison, giving her a tight squeeze. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I promise, I’ll be fine. Just a rough night.”

“Just a few more months and you can quit this place,” her friend added with cheer. “When that happens, I’m throwing you the biggest, best graduation party a stripper could have.”

“Thanks, Marie. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Marie teased before disappearing through the curtain separating them from the stage.

Addison took her time getting dressed, trading her skimpy dance gear for her comfortable shorts, tank top, and sneakers. After pulling her hair up into a ponytail and then slinging her messenger-style bag over one shoulder, she left feeling much more like herself. Everything that happened on stage got left there. The woman she portrayed on that platform existed as a separate being, a persona she put on to make tips and nothing more.

“Until tomorrow night, Red,” she mumbled, stepping out through the side door of the club. The narrow, short alleyway led her right toward Bourbon Street. The flashing lights of other clubs and bars greeted her. People milled about on either side, and in the middle of, the boulevard. Across the street, the bouncer of a competing club gestured toward the two half-naked girls at his side, hoping to steal some business. He called out to passing men like an auctioneer, his wild gestures ushering them toward the club’s double doors.

Before she broke free of the alley, footsteps sounded behind her.

“Hey, Red.”

She turned, but before she could react, a fist had crashed into her jaw. Pain exploded across her face and one of her eyes stung as she went reeling against the brick wall of the club next door.

The blond from the club and two of his friends came into view, their smiles menacing. Instead of the fear she should have felt, she experienced a rush of exhilaration. The punch had given her a surge of adrenaline, one that had her ready to tear each of them limb from limb. Part of her knew the feat would be impossible—she stood at only five-foot-six and one-hundred-thirty-five pounds. Still, something deep down inside of her whispered a different story. It told her she could dismember each and every one of them with very little effort if she wanted.

Balling her hands into fists, she dropped her bag to the pavement.

One of the guys came up behind her, his arm wrapping around her waist in a tight grasp.

Addison didn’t even fight him, using the disgust his touch triggered to fuel her anger. The blond approached next, his fingers gripping her chin in a crushing grip.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he whispered, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on her cheek.

Addison panted with anger, her chest heaving and bursting with fury. “I thought I told you,” she murmured as her vision went dark and hazy again, “no touching.”

The heat creeping along her skin reached an unbearable limit, leaving just one way to get relief.