Read The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy) for Free Online Page B

woodenly. I kept looking towards where I had seen Max. If sex and death were a stubborn snarl in his mind, what was he thinking?
I don’t want to hurt anyone.
What if he tried talking to one of the dancers in the lobby? What if he asked her out? He was an attractive guy; any one of the single girls might say yes. I couldn’t say anything to breach confidentiality.
    Monica took the stage, a red silk veil wrapped around her. She had picked one of the classical Middle Eastern pieces she loved. She began to spin and opened the veil, which swirled around her in a silken cloud. Her sparkly gold costume caught the light, accentuating her chest and hips. It was hard not to love Monica’s dances, because she obviously had a great time and an infectious way of projecting that good mood to us. I cheered in the right places, but I didn’t actually absorb any of it, even though some part of my brain registered the barrel turns and veil tricks and complex layering.
What if it bothered him? What if he told Jeff? What if he asked Jeff for a new therapist, and Jeff asked why?
My body was weightless, my head wreathed in flames. Dammit. I could handle this if I’d had the quiet. I wanted a glass of wine and a plate of cheese fries. I wanted enough dark chocolate to make me sick. I wanted to muffle the panic under layers of food like layers of sediment covering the white-hot core of the earth.
    Lisa followed with a routine involving the white shirt I’d noticed earlier; black tearaway pants; a black rhinestone, bowtie-style necklace; and the clever use of a fedora. Then Tish closed the show with one of her famous fan dances: huge Sally-Rand style pink fans concealing and revealing her milky curves.
    Finally, the lights came up. I dashed through the sound booth and dark passage to retrieve my things. A few girls said something to me and I answered automatically, hugging them and congratulating them on great performances. I struggled to get situated so the hanging bag didn’t catch my suitcase’s wheels, then headed out through the sound booth passage again.
    Grant looked up from the sound board when I came in. “Great job tonight,” he said, with a grin that normally would have made me collapse.
    “Thanks,” I said absently and headed to the lobby. It was the last place I wanted to go, but I would get an earful from Tish if I didn’t make an appearance and thank her for the opportunity to perform.
    Audience members clustered around the speakeasy. Adam waved to me from behind the bar. I gave him a furtive nod and continued towards the door, scanning the crowd for Max. I didn’t see him, but Tish noticed me and beamed, waving me over.
Crap.
I headed dutifully to her side to thank her for including me in her show. She wore a white satin robe with white marabou trim, and little sandals with a puff of white marabou on top of each foot.
    “And this is my single friend Velvet,” she said to the guy in front of her.
    No, you fucking didn’t,
I fumed.
    “Velvet, this is Kevin,” she said. Using another dancer’s burlesque name at shows was important for two reasons. First, it sustains the glamorous illusion. Second, there is a safety issue. Stalking is rare, but it does happen, so we protect each other by not giving out real names.
    Unfortunately, Tish had no code against throwing single troupe members at innocent bystanders.
    He was cute; not entirely my type, but cute in a young Daniel Ash way. He was tall with tangled, almost white-blonde hair. I could tell he bleached his hair, even though there were no roots, because his expressive eyes were dark brown. His eyebrows were also brown, and just close enough to perfect arches that I could tell they were natural. Guys who look like Ken Dolls freak me out. The pale skin and high cheekbones of his diamond-shaped face gave him an almost unearthly appearance. “Hi,” he said. “What are you drinking?”
    “Um,” I stammered as Tish winked at me and disappeared. “I’m rather dying of