In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(55)

“What are you doing out there?” Kyrin asks from behind me, his eyes going up and down my body.

“Dancing,” I answer, short and clipped. I can’t have him throwing my vibe off.

“Careful, Little Bird. He’s always watching.”

He shoves me through the curtain before I can ask who the hell he’s talking about, and the spotlight is on me. It’s dim, burying my body in the shadows. “Carnival” starts playing, and I automatically slip into position. I slide up and down and allow my body to take over the lyrics and beat of the song before moving to the front seats in the VIP section. I mean, these people pay from $1400 onward for a VIP ticket. The least I could do is give them a show, right?

The man whose lap I find is decent. He’s already semi drunk as I grind into him to the music, paying special attention to him before moving to his wife. Her frown flips upside down when she sees me going for her as well.

I wink at her before dancing back to the stage, picking up the waiter’s plate and dancing onto my ass before spreading my legs wide and using the shield to cover my middle. The crowd roars over the music, hyping me up, and I find my next victim, taking the bottle of wine with me. I dance around them both, pouring wine into their glasses, before taking a sip of my own, swiping the residue off my mouth. It was over too fast because after my second victim, the song finishes, and I’m being led away with the curtains closing as everyone scrambles to get ready for the next act.

“What the fuck was that?” King is seething, waiting for me on the other side of the curtain.

“What?” I ask, panting. “It was what I want to do.”

King shakes his head. “Nah. You don’t need your own fucking show.”

“Excuse me?” My head tilts back. “How about you go tell Val what she can and can’t do and leave me the hell alone?” I go to shove him to the side, when he steps forward, and I’m well aware of all the whispers that are going on around us. “Dove, you’re not doing that fuckin’ act again. Period.”

“But she is,” Delila says from behind me, her hand coming to my arm. “And better yet,” her eyes come to mine, “I’m going to allow her to recruit extra dancers.”

My face breaks out into a cheesy smile. “Seriously?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like that isn’t what you wanted to ask me, Little Bird. You’re too transparent.”

“Delila,” King growls. “Do I need to remind you of your place?”

“Well, no, but you have to remember that you didn’t want Dove in your act, King. So, it’s settled. After the meeting you all have with Killian’s father in New Orleans, you will go through a recruitment process.” Her eyes cut back to mine. “New Orleans is where we have a four-week break. After those four weeks, I expect you to have your team of—” She waits for me to answer.

“Three. I want two girls and one guy.”

“Team of three to be in line, but there’s a catch, Little Bird.” Delila runs her bright red nails down my bra. “You have to follow the recruitment process.”

My mouth opens, and then closes, before opening again. “Which is exactly how I was recruited?” I confirm with myself.

Delila pats my shoulder. “Precisely.” Before I can get her to elaborate, she’s being pulled away by Val, who is having a mid-show meltdown.

“This isn’t over.” King glares at me before disappearing through the curtain. I don’t know what his problem is. Delila is right. He never wanted me in the first place.

Killian’s arm hooks around my torso from behind, pulling me into his chest. “Have you come yet?” he whispers from behind me.

“Killian, put her down,” Keaton grumbles, dropping down onto the ground to remove his biker boots.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Killian’s looking at Keaton now.

“Know what?” Keaton tosses the boots across the ground before getting back to his feet and undressing.

Killian chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, this is great.” He looks back to me. “Go get ready for the final act, Little Bird.” He brushes up closer to me, running his hand down my ass. “And wear something that shows your tits.”

I shove him away playfully, but his face doesn’t wave. “I’m not kidding. You owe me after this, though.” He winks before walking off.

Owing Killian isn’t something I want to do.




Dressed in black straps that crisscross by covering my nipples—and only my nipples—and my private parts, I’m bound with my arms tied above my head and my ankles tied together on the ground. Darkness cloaks around me like a safety barrier, the knot in the bandana that’s tied around my eyes secured around my head. Earbuds are in my ears, because Killian said he doesn’t want me to hear anything. I don’t know who has control over the music, but I want to thank them for putting on something good enough to distract me.

It switches to “You Can Cry” by Marshmello just as I feel a soft breeze of wind brush over my bare stomach. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the breeze turns more forceful. I don’t know what it is, but I want it harder and lower. Harder. My back arches off whatever it is that I’m strapped to as the feeling intensifies. Like ice being grazed over my hot flesh. My lips part, and my hips roll slightly. Blood red strobe lights flash inside my head, as if I’m in the middle of a club dance floor. The song remixes into “Play” by Alan Walker. My mind is an empty vortex, with nothing but the flashing of the red light and the deep pounding from the addictive base line of the song. The feeling is in tune to the song, and then from the far distance in the red, I see a shadow. He’s wearing a hoodie. The song slows for a second. He gets closer and closer, the song coming back in full force as the light flickers faster and faster and the feeling is coming harder and harder—until everything stops. Dead silence. Slowly, the red light comes alive again, only slower, and standing right in front of me is the man in the hoodie with half of his face showing. I can see by the profile that it’s King. The sharp edges of his jaw and his sunken cheekbones. What. The feeling hits me right in my core, just as his mouth slowly kicks up in a wicked smirk.