The Sextet - Entanglements [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (16 page)

Marcus went to the cage backstage where all the props were kept, and wheeled the huge satin-covered wheel out. He positioned it at one end of the stage, adjusting the angle and wheels until they were perfect. When he was done, he turned on his earpiece and fished the blindfold and razor-sharp throwing daggers out of the black satin bag he kept them in.

They had been practicing every day. First with just the wheel and a chalk outline of Hannah’s body. Then, once Marcus had gotten the timing right and no longer landed a knife inside the chalk ring, with Hannah on the wheel. There had been a couple of knives a bit closer to her rotating body than they would have liked, but all in all, practice was going smoothly. Then he’d started throwing blindfolded. The chalk outline again, which he hit perfectly by the third try, thanks to the ingenious sound tool he’d designed.

Tonight they’d practice the real thing. Hannah was looking forward to it, the buildup kind of like foreplay. Or maybe she just had sex on the brain and everything seemed like foreplay. She wasn’t at all afraid he’d hit her. After all, Marcus had been throwing knives for years, and his skill was legendary. He was a perfectionist, and even though he denied it, Hannah knew he often practiced before the show, after the show, and whenever he could grab a spare moment. Each throw would be perfect, each knife would land exactly where he wanted it to, with laser-sharp accuracy.

Hannah climbed onto the bed, and Marcus tied her wrists and ankles.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Marcus said, securing the tie at her wrists.

“What?”

“Practice,” he insisted, and from the bulge in his trousers, Hannah knew his mind was right where hers was. Still.

Marcus finished, turned on the wheel, and moved to his mark on the far side of the stage. Hannah began to rotate slowly, enjoying the head rush and slight feeling of vertigo that always overcame her during the first few rotations. It was a lot like the first wave of a great orgasm, which only made her more hot.

Every line in Marcus’s body said he was tense. From need or worry, she didn’t know, but Hannah smiled reassuringly at Marcus right before he pulled the blindfold over his eyes. “It’ll be fine,” she said more to herself than to him.

* * * *

Hannah was so damn sexy strapped to the giant bed that it was a chore for Marcus to force his concentration back to the trick. This would take all his focus and skill. He couldn’t think about sex. Or anything else. Marcus pulled the blindfold over his eyes, letting himself adjust to the darkness and the slight feeling of being off center. Once his equilibrium returned, he listened for the clicks that indicated where Hannah’s lithe, little body was on the wheel and where and when he needed to throw the first knife.

There were five daggers in all. The stainless handles lay heavy and cool in his hand, and he felt how the first was weighted, adjusting his grip. Marcus prayed his muscle memory wouldn’t fail him.

He took a deep, calming breath, focusing all his attention on the sound of the clicks in his earpiece. He imagined where her head was, where her body was splayed across the wheel. When to throw.

Marcus pulled back his arm and at the precise moment let the knife fly. He heard the thwack as it embedded in the wheel. He knew it had landed exactly where he wanted it to, just to the outside of Hannah’s left thigh.

Listening for the clicks, Marcus got his bearings again before taking the second knife into his hand. He gripped it loosely, distributing the weight exactly right for a precise throw before letting the second one fly. This one was a little off center, maybe a half an inch, on the safe side, a little farther from Hannah’s right thigh than planned, but still a good throw.

“You okay?” Marcus asked, switching the third knife to his right hand.

“Absolutely. You’re doing great.”

Marcus couldn’t believe how calm she sounded. But then Hannah was always calm. She was so trusting. So brave. There was no way Marcus could ever let someone tie him down and throw sharp knives at his head. He didn’t know many who
could
trust that way. She was amazing, and he couldn’t wait to show her just how much he thought of her. Maybe he’d take her back to his place and they’d spend some quality time in the hot tub. Or maybe the shower. She’d look so hot all warm and wet, her hair slicked back, her thighs…But he couldn’t think about that now. He had three more knives to throw.

Marcus cleared his head of erotic images. He took a deep breath and palmed the third knife, listening for the clicks of the wheel in his earpiece, shutting out everything else except for when he needed to throw.

He drew back his arm and, at the precise moment, flung the dagger. It felt good, and he knew he’d hit his target precisely, burying the knife in the bed beneath her outstretched left arm.

Two more. A trickle of sweat formed at Marcus’s hairline, and he brushed it away with the back of his wrist.

“Am I making you hot?”

He smiled a little, imagining the sexy smirk that turned Hannah’s pink lips upward. He couldn’t wait to kiss her, to taste those luscious lips. He wouldn’t untie her. He’d leave her right there and make love to her again on the silken prop until her eyes grew wide and she was screaming his name.

Blood rushed to his dick, and he shifted as subtly as he could. Her low, sexy laugh floated to him across the stage, and Marcus knew she’d noticed his problem and knew exactly what he was doing.

God, she was sexy. How had he lasted so long without having her? Why had he tried?

Marcus took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to clear his mind. His heart was beating wildly, and he spent a couple of long minutes getting his head focused on the job. Two more knives. One under her right arm, the last one directly above her head.

Drawing back his arm, Marcus listened for the clicks.

He knew as soon as he released it that it wasn’t a good throw. Marcus had shoved the blindfold off his eyes and had taken a couple steps across the stage before he even heard Hannah scream.

She was biting her lip and trying not to cry, even though tears flooded her green eyes. Blood dripped from her forearm where the knife had sliced her arm, though not impaled her, thank God. He couldn’t tell how deep it was, but the sight of crimson on her perfect golden skin made him feel like he’d just been kicked in the gut.

Marcus ripped the ties off her arms and ankles, feeling almost as much pain as she surely did and cursing himself under his breath. Holding her injured arm with her good hand, Hannah stared at him, her face going completely white “I think I need a doctor.”

Wrapping a white silk scarf around her forearm to staunch the flow of blood, Marcus ushered her to the exit. Panic exploded inside his head. Had he hit an artery? Hospital. He had to get her to a hospital.

His hands shook, but adrenaline raced through his body, sharpening his focus. He grabbed a jacket, wrapped it around her to cover up the skimpy costume, and ushered her outside the theatre. A security guard was standing there, and Marcus yelled at him to call an ambulance. Other guards came running as he radioed, and they were led to a side door. Hannah was still pale, and the scarf was soaked through with blood, but she had not passed out.

It was a blur after that—the paramedics, the flashing red lights, and crowds of spectators who gathered. Hannah being loaded into the ambulance. The look in her eyes. Pain and shock.

“Marcus. Come with me?” she asked through gasps of pain as the stretcher was lifted into the back of the ambulance.

Cold fear raced through Marcus. He’d hurt her. Hannah trusted him, and he’d hurt her. Maybe really hurt her. Cold, empty sensations, familiar ones, settled into the pit of his stomach, and he could barely get enough oxygen to keep from passing out himself. The only words that ran through his mind were
I did this. I hurt her
.

“I…can’t,” Marcus managed to get out, his voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

The look on her face, the empty, betrayed look in her eyes as the doors shut, would haunt him forever.

Chapter 6

The knife injury really wasn’t as bad as it had seemed at first. A few stitches and a big bandage later, the only thing that still hurt was Marcus’s refusing to come with her to the hospital. He was so kind, so thoughtful usually, that Hannah couldn’t imagine why he would just shove her into the back of the ambulance and make her go through it all alone. Maybe it was the anger at that betrayal that kept the pain at bay.

After she’d gotten the instructions from the doctor and clutched a prescription for some pain meds, Hannah called a cab and got a ride back to the casino. She should go home. She was tired and a little woozy from the loss of blood. But things weren’t over between her and Marcus. She needed to see him. Find out why he’d reacted the way he did.

A million possibilities had run through her mind as she lay on the stretcher getting the arm sewn back together. Was he afraid of the attention they’d get over the accident? Marcus was a celebrity, and anything he did made the papers. Reporters would have a ball describing how the great Marcus Lorenzo fucked up and nailed his own assistant with a knife. Or maybe it was Hannah herself that he didn’t want in the media. Their relationship—or whatever it was. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen with her, afraid people would think they were a couple. She wasn’t a supermodel. She was a poor kid who’d come to Vegas to work in the clubs and claw her way up to something better. Reporters would have a field day with that, too. How Marcus was slumming it. How Hannah wasn’t good enough for him.

By the time Hannah walked through the back doors of the darkened theatre, she was royally pissed. If he thought he was so much better than her, he could go fuck himself. She didn’t need him. She’d been fine on her own this long, and she’d be fine after he started in with the next supermodel on his list. If there were any left he hadn’t slept with.

He was on the stage and sweating. Hannah heard the thwack of the knives hitting wood, hard, with no control whatsoever. Marcus was as angry as she’d ever seen him. Out of control. Furious. With her?

Dozens of slits marred the once-beautiful silk sheets on the wheel. Pieces had torn away as if Marcus had slashed at them, trying to destroy them. Hannah let him throw a few more knives, her heart breaking at the obvious pain he was in, despite her own anger and confusion.

“You’re going to throw your back out if you keep that up.”

Starting a little, Marcus’s head jerked toward her. He must have been deep in his head when Hannah disturbed him.

“Hannah.”

His eyes focused on the bandage covering a big part of her forearm, and his mouth tightened. His hair was standing on end, his face red and streaked with perspiration. Obviously he had been going at this the whole time Hannah was at the ER.

Hannah crossed to him and tried to smooth the hair from his forehead. He flinched and turned away.

“I cut you.”

“You did.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine. Twelve stitches. No major blood vessels.”

Hannah could hear the slight exhale of breath he’d been holding, but his back was stiff, his shoulders a knot of tension under his damp white shirt.

“I’ll pay for everything.”

“I know. You don’t give me insurance.”

Hannah waited for him to turn and face her. His guilt and pain and failure rolled off him in waves.

She touched his shoulder, and he spun around.

“I could have killed you.” Barely suppressed rage darkened his features, the pain in his eyes breaking Hannah’s heart.

“You didn’t.”

“What if it had been the last knife. The one that was supposed to go right next to your head?”

He swallowed hard.

“It wasn’t.”

He bowed his head and took Hannah’s arm in his hands, examining the bandage.

“We can’t do this.”

Her heart stopped. “The trick?”

Marcus looked up and met her gaze, his eyes hard, his mouth harder. “Any of it. I’m sorry.”

He released Hannah’s arm and turned to leave the stage, to end this thing between them that flared hot and bright with passion but was forged by something so much deeper.

“So one fuckup and you’re ready to throw everything in the garbage. Or is it me? Maybe I’m not good enough for you, and this accident was just a convenient excuse?”

He spun around, angry now. “One fuckup that could have cost you your life, Hannah.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you.”