Memory Ch. 02byGigi_Rose©
Comments and feedback are welcome. Thank you to everyone who commented and offered advice on Ch. 1 it all helps me grow as a writer. (-:
In the light of a new day, nine times out of ten, things are just as horrible as they had been the day before. Deacon, having rolled out of bed at an abnormally late nine am, discovered that that statement was very true. He was still divorced, he still felt like a failure and, since the departure of his parents due to his "successful" mating with Sarah he was still very much alone. He missed them but he wouldn't call on them to hold his hand, they were too busy RVing around the country and enjoying their retirement. They deserved it and while he spoke with them almost every day, he had made it abundantly clear that they didn't need to drop everything just because his marriage had failed. If he was going to continue as pack alpha he was going to have to learn to deal.
As he headed toward the kitchen, this time he barely noticed all the portraits that still hung in the hallway some covered with various sheets. Sarah had loved portraits, both of herself and of them together. Initially he had believed that it was because she had so desperately wanted to record every moment that they spent together. Now he knew that that was stupid, she was simply vain and there was nothing more to it. Just before he entered the kitchen he noticed that the last portrait on the right was partially uncovered and for a moment he stopped and stared. It was of them just before they got married, they looked happy and he could see, shining in his own eyes, the blind adoration that would one day be his undoing. He still couldn't look at her, maybe he was afraid of what he would see. After returning the cover he was more desperate than ever for his morning boost of caffeine.
"Well look who decided to join the land of the living!" Owen of course was already there gorging himself on the tasty delights his personal chef had to offer. "I do have to let you know bro that you need your coffee stat, after such a great midnight run you still look like shit. How is that even possible??"
Deacon didn't even bother to respond; he just lifted an eyebrow and downed his first taste of Almo's sweet sweet coffee. Owen's mention of last night did bring to mind something that he had wanted to discuss though about the night before.
"Did you notice the lights coming from that old Rayne shack at the edge of town last night? I know the ladies from the church had been helping out the old coot that lived there, but I doubt any of them would be snooping around there in the dark that late at night. I even caught a whiff, seemed familiar, sweet somehow, but can't place the scent. Know anything about it?" Having settled down to have breakfast Deacon waited for his beta's response. He usually was up to date with any local activities Deacon had missed, it was after all his job, but this time around Owen seemed to be taking an eternity to come up with any answers.
"Can't say that I have boss, after the old man died nobody came around to claim a thing... not that you would expect that anyone would." He left the rest of it unsaid because they both had a pretty good idea of why they wouldn't. Old man Charles had been an old evil drunk and while the kind hearted ladies of the church had reached out to help him, it hadn't changed or taken away from the fact of who he was. It still amazed people that he had even had a family once, a wife and even a little girl.
"Well get on it, you know we can't afford to have strangers just roaming about." Owen nodded and returned his attention to his meal. They ate in a companionable silence for a while each occupied with his own thoughts until Almo came in bearing the gift of the morning mail.
"Good morning boys!!" Almo was not only an amazing chef/ personal assistant/ whatever else he got paid to be, he was always amazingly outrageously happy and on days like this sometimes that wasn't always a good thing. Almo's life philosophy was simple, he was a wolf he, was gay and he was more than happy to be all that he could be. Deacon sometimes begrudged him his seemingly unending joy. "I come bearing the gift of mail and don't you worry Owen yah big freeloader," this he said with a smile, "Yours is here too." Almo got treated to an obscene gesture courtesy of Owen and he simply smiled and whistled loudly as he left the kitchen.
"Where on earth did you find that guy and why on earth did you hire him?" Owen sat shaking his head and sorting through the mail. Spam, spam and more spam it seemed until he came across a particularly ominous looking package addressed to Deacon and after a brief internal debate he silently handed it to him. He accepted but quickly dropped it on the table like it had burned him. He had a bad feeling about this.
Owen decided to be the one to rip the band-aide off and open the letter. Only a few paragraphs into the thick legal document Owen visibly paled and looked up at Deacon who was doing his best to keep his emotions in check despite the fact that he still had no idea what it was about but deep down he knew.
"She wants the house."
Her second day in town was a productive one, after a brisk walk into town and a short bus ride she had arrived at her destination, The Red Door a gentleman's club clear to the other side of town. As a kid growing up in the falls she had heard whispers about this place, had even heard her mother haranguing Charles about his frequent visits. She had of course promised herself that she would never end up working in a place like this, she had been so young and stupid then, there were worse things a girl could end up being. Stripping and being up on that stage that seemed to be her calling, she was herself there and at home.
Since the Red Door had been a favorite of scum like Charles it had given her pause about the kind of establishment it was. She had worked in some rough places before but she did not feel the need to make that a habit, a smart girl wouldn't. Skye had been pleasantly surprised when she had gotten there. It hadn't seemed so bad nice, clean; relatively new surroundings had been lightly overlaid with the familiar smells of this kind of establishment. She had met the owner, Joe Scantllin, and had learned that it had been recently renovated and revamped in an effort to attract a different kind of crowd.
She had then been given the usual spiel; no drugs, no hooking and no drunks on the stage, keep your hard shit to yourself and your ass out of trouble, all in all pretty standard stuff. She hadn't needed to audition since the place needed some fresh girls and her resume was quite impressive. She had gotten the sense that this wouldn't be such a bad place to work. It was clean, relatively safe and the boss didn't seem to be like some of the pervs she had worked with before. The final questions had dealt with her getting to work on time and getting back to her place afterward. She had made it quite clear that she'd get there on time and get the job done; if she needed help she'd ask. They both knew that wasn't true, she didn't seem like the type that would ask for a damn thing to Joe.
So here she was again on the hot dusty road back to the shack. She had a roof over her head, all hers for the first time in ages and she was back to doing the thing she loved. She felt herself coiled in anticipation, she'd rule the night tonight and be on the hunt. She would tempt and entice and maybe she'd find a willing participant, who would be willing to accept the sweet sweet hurts that only she could inflict, as she took from them all that they had to give. It would be a good night tonight she could smell it; she almost smiled into the sun.
"Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occurring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you..."
~ Andre Breton
Sometimes life took you to the darkest places, when you were powerless with no place to turn without hope or even the will to save yourself from despair. This place was a lonely place for Deacon to be. If he could have gotten himself rip roaring drunk he would have but his gift and his curse was that he couldn't. He had dismissed everybody from his home and switched off his cell phone and made it abundantly clear to the pack that he was to be left alone, he just wasn't fit company right now. He had spent the day pacing his home, HIS home; the one his cold hearted ex bitch was trying to take from him. It wasn't fear that had him in such a state but disbelief and rage; she could never hope to take his birthright from him. Why would she try?
At around two in the evening he had gotten an answer in the form of the devil herself. She had shown up knowing that he had been all alone having kicked everyone else out, he was a lamb for the slaughter. She appeared as she always had to him, sweet and innocent, somehow without the taint of evil he knew existed within her. He tried to see past it to what was really within her, to what had caused him so much pain and grief, but he was weak and couldn't. They had fucked hard and fast and he had felt just as empty as he had before. She wanted to reconcile, the play for the house was just to get his attention or so she claimed. She had come to remind him of how good they could be together but also to warn him that she would follow through with her plans if he thought otherwise. She had even been so generous as to give him time to think about it.
So after taking a bit more of his soul she had left. He showered just to get her smell off of him and then he had run, so far and so fast that he was exhausted. Still he kept on going until he ended up clear on the other side of town at the Red Door a club he had only ever visited once, but seemed tonight like a fit place to drown his sorrows. He found one of the many hidden stashes of clothes, shifted and entered his own personal hell.
The place was livelier than he had expected, brighter and smelled like lust, sweat and beer. Some eager patrons were getting lap dances while others were content to either leer on from the sidelines or sit in eager anticipation for whoever would be gracing the main stage tonight. After about thirty minutes he had cleaned up his sixth beer and brushed off his hundredth offer for a lap dance. He was about ready to call it quits and ask to use their phone to call Owen for a ride home. He wasn't drunk but maybe Owen's company would put him in a better frame of mind than this crowd did. As he was about to signal the bartender the lights dimmed and he realized that the main dancer was about to come on stage. He figured he'd wait it out until after the dance; there was no way he was getting the human's attention in the sudden darkness anyway. He had expected to hear rap, techno or metal not the opening chords of... Hotel California.
Glitter, glue, fake, diamonds, hard cocks and sweat. She was ready and she was queen. Tonight she would be the seductive ghost ready to lead men to their doom. She sought a mate, someone to get caught up in her world, if only for a little while. The dance was soft meant to seduce and with every twist and turn and flex suggest the fulfillment of their wildest fantasies. This was who she was, she would draw them in and she would love them the best way she knew how, she was the deceptive beauty to their carnal beasts. She took them on a sensational ride.
All around her were hard cocks, lust and sweat and while the harder chords of a faster beat would get her men all revved up; the slower sensual pace that she had set would keep them all on edge eagerly anticipating every sensuous move of her flesh. She was their goddess tonight ready to pull them in and trap them in her arms. Glittering wedding rings and eager eyes, all were hers and she would weigh them, cast them aside if she found them wanting. They who so eagerly got their fill on cheap thrills were somehow held at bay and made to wait for her slow traveling gaze. Sometimes she seemed to come so close they could touch her and bask in that slow intense haze that was her dance.
Deacon was just as mesmerized as the rest, breath held, as she danced. He hadn't heard her intro, too distracted with his own thoughts, but at this point how he longed to know her name. She executed perfect Icon splits, Geminis, Spinners and Angels none of which he knew the name of but all of which combined, with the slow haunting music, to add to her mystique. In his eyes she danced for him and only him nobody else was there, she was the spider to his fly. Before he knew it he was at the edge of the stage, "some dance to remember...", and caught up in her quiet storm, "some dance to forget."
She had found her prize and she was ready, eager and filled with her own power. Usually it was the most desperate that caught her attention, since they were always so eager to sample her medicine. They didn't care that they had wives and lives outside of the allure of the night, and if they didn't care why should she? Many times she had been confronted by and angry or a tearful wife or girlfriend but all she could do was laugh at them, all those silly boys they could have them. She had gotten what she wanted from them, she remembered their faces and her siren call was strengthened by them.
This man though seemed familiar and his heavy lidded gaze made her shiver. Her heart somehow skipped a beat and she faltered, imperceptibly of course but enough for her to be aware that this one would be different from the others. Just as the Eagles discovered that they were trapped in that world of decadence and debauchery she discovered that she had been trapped by this man. The dance became his dance as his eyes moved like fingers over her flesh. She was for the first time uncertain whether she had chosen, or had he? The last chords of the song faded with the lights dimming once again and she was left breathless. She swore she could still point him out. His eyes seem to glow on her in the dark.
"Why do you dance? To remember or to forget?" the questions seemed to come to her as a whisper of thought as she left the club. She had collected her night's pay and received the "good job" from her boss; he wasn't a man of many words. There were also some of the scathing looks she got from the girls, after her performance she was once again in high demand. She had expected her mystery man to seek her out. Sometimes fans did that eagerly, and stupidly, backstage and got their asses bounced out early for their trouble, he didn't do that. She even expected a special request for a private dance but he didn't do that either. She had looked at herself in the mirror and questioned if she was losing her edge and somehow picked a looser.
She knew it was his voice that she heard from the darkness. She hadn't seen him clearly yet but her mind drew together what details it could. He was tall, at least six feet to her own 5'5", with dark hair and what seemed like the deepest blue eyes that she had ever seen. He was definitely her type, tall dark and handsome, she rarely indulged in that vintage though since lately her mantra seemed to have been the nastier the better. In a strip club you didn't always find the cream of the crop.
"Both." She answered and held her breath when she heard his soft almost mocking laughter.
"Funny, but that seems to be the same thing I came here for." She heard him move and shivered but not from fear or cold. It only took her a second to realize what it was though, anticipation. Still she wasn't used to carrying on conversations with men in the dark and didn't like how he made her feel unbalanced. She checked herself though and gathered all the sultry strength of the dancer; she suspected that she would need it.
"Well then," she purred, "If you crawl on out of the darkness, maybe I can help you with that." She waited, expected him to obey.
"I have no doubt that you can help me baby but I suspect that your help comes with its fair share of hurt." She stood stunned, shocked beyond a quick reply. This was her game and he wasn't playing it right. She had known he was dangerous and knew it was time to get away. It was never wise to play with snakes.
"Fine," she shrugged, pretending indifference, "have it your way. Next time don't call me baby." And as she turned to make good on her escape, she felt a warm, firm hand reach out from the darkness to pull her unrelentingly up against an equally warm and firm body.
"Not so fast little lady, don't run off before we get nicely acquainted." She was once again, stunned, he'd changed the endearment. In a few seconds she was breathless but upon inhaling the all-male, fresh woods scent that was this man, she was just as quickly slightly wet and panting. Some secret carnal part of her enjoyed the quiet control he exuded, that seemed to envelop and override her usual sense of confidence which typically dictated how these things ended. One thing was for certain though, she wasn't certain of anything. In the semi darkness of the club's neon lights she could see the lighter hue of his large hands, appearing to glow against her darker skin tone and couldn't help envisioning those hands making their way all over her body. Never before had she ever thought of hands as beautiful. She needed to get out of this.
"I think I know all I need to." She tried to keep her voice calm so that she wouldn't give anything away. "How about you let me go now? I trust you enjoyed the show and look forward to you turning out... another time. I do aim to please." Her breath had cause to stutter again, did he just smell her? She could feel him bending and shifting closer to move his nose along the delicate line of her throat, through her hair and then pull her closer.
"Now don't play coy, you know I did." And he proceeded to show her how much by pressing her against what, hands down, was the hardest cock she'd ever felt. She shivered again; he definitely wasn't a small man. "My name's Deacon Sloane by the way, what's yours?"
Sometimes moments can change your life. The squeaking of a door in the middle of the day, the sound the world makes when it's silent. Sometimes these things mean more than they seem and it was the same when Skye decided to turn around. It was surprisingly easy she thought in a surreal way, he had after all been holding her so close. It only took her relaxing and exerting a slight pressure for him to release her into that pregnant silence between his question and her answer and just like that she was staring yet again into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. She would never forget them and as they stared back at her she knew that somehow they had changed.
Deacon Sloane was still handsome; God was he handsome, tall broad and muscular with the same dark hair, a little longer by now, and those eyes. He had filled out and really come into his own, if he was anybody else she'd be on him in a second but somewhere between the shock of actually seeing him again and the surprise that he would actually want her she was frozen.
"Well honey I'm waiting for an answer, I doubt you want me calling you honey all night." And he smiled that wonderfully crooked smile that he had used to sway the girls at school. It was the one she'd never received but would often dream about seeing. She could've stayed like that, lost in his smile but a cool wind blew in and she shivered because she had lost his heat. It was just better to get it over with.
"Well hell I'm offended," she purred and tried for that air of sensual indifference that she relied on so often. "I thought at least you would recognize the name, I never changed it, Skye Rayne ring a bell?" and she forced a smile.