Chapter 11

"I can't believe you took my knife," I whisper to Delilah through a tense jaw, though she doesn't respond. Her gaze is laser focused on the sliver of space at the center of the drawn curtain that separates the crowd from where we stand backstage.

"I needed that, you know," I add, bringing my hand to her shoulder, tapping it in an effort to wake her from the daze she is in, but it's useless. "Hello? Earth to Delilah."

Finally, her torso twists in my direction, breaking the brief hold I had on her. "Blair, you can't keep doing this," she reprimands, seemingly dumbfounded as to how I have a knack for running into trouble instead of away from it.

"Doing what?" I deflect.

"This!" she exclaims, throwing both hands up in the air for emphasis. "Haven't you gotten into enough trouble with knives?"

I bat my lashes at her before my lip falls into a pout. Swinging my hips forward, I close the space between us. My index finger brushes against her forearm. Playfully, I drag my finger up and down, stroking her skin. I can tell by the way she is biting her bottom lip that she's trying her hardest to keep a stern front with me. "D, can I have my knife back? Pretty please," I plead with a pouted lip.

My hold on her begins to shift as she crosses her arms tight above her abdomen. "Don't you even try to butter me up," she clicks her tongue. Shesinks deep into one hip before unfolding her arms and wagging her finger at me. "I'm your best friend–"

"Exactly. So, you out of anyone should know why I need my knife."

I watch as her cerulean curls bounce against the motion of her head swaying side to side as she scoffs.

"What you need is help. Which I offered you, countless times. Even though Alex and I aren't together anymore, he cares for me and you, just like he does all the girls that work here. His connections in the city, they could help take care of that fucking psycho."

Except…they won't.

What Delilah doesn't know is that shortly after I started working at Satan's, I discovered that Maddox is friends with Alex. Apparently, they all grew up in the same neighborhood. So, Alex's connection to the Moretti crime family—mainly his cousin Carmine, who is part owner of Satan's—doesn't do me any good. They would only support his need to punish me for what I did to him and, even if they did want to help me, I don't want the help.

"I can take care of it myself," I reassure her, but the lingering look of disapproval is still ripe in her expression.

"I'm only looking out for you, Blair Witch." She pauses, smiling. "You're as stubborn as they come, but if you change your mind... let me know."

I move closer to her. "I promise, I got this."

Delilah moves her hands to the curtain, parting it slightly. She releases a sigh that almost sounds like she's relieved. She centers her neck at the split of the curtains as she scans the audience. "Well, I don't see him in the crowd," she whispers, crossing her fingers. "Maybe he won't be here."

The moment I hear "maybe he won't be here" a lump becomes lodged in my throat as disappointment settles in. I need him to be here. I need him to think I'm sorry for what I did so he can lower his guard, allowing me to finally get rid of the upper hand he thinks he has on me.

The knot in my throat loosens as the beginning of Enter Sandman begins to play. The music is so loud that it feels like the floor is vibrating.

The crowd begins to cheer. Drunken shouts emerge before a thunderous clap, followed by chants of "Katrina" sounds all around me, but all I can think about is him. As always. God I really wish I fucking killed him that night. These games we play, as fun as they can be, have become exhausting and…all consuming.

Delilah is now standing behind me, with her hands on my shoulders, centering me behind the curtain. Her hands fall to my ass where she gives me a good luck tap just as the opening riff begins to build and my adrenaline begins to spike.

With my entrance mark of the song nearing, I look back at Delilah who has moved off to the side of the stage. She mouths at me to be careful, but what should be a warning only makes me more excited for what the night has in store. Chaos and all.

My fingers brush against the smooth curtains just as they begin to part, exposing me to the flashing lights and boisterous applause that competes with the music blaring from the speakers. The energy of the crowd feels contagious, it fuels my inner exhibitionist. I love having all eyes on me, though I'd be lying if I said these strangers' eyes are enough to really get me going. It's his eyes I need, whether concealed beneath the strange masks he likes to wear, or bare and brazen, with his light blue-green irises and pierced brow. Those are the eyes I need, watching me, plotting against me, I don't care, as long as they are on me, that's when I feel the most alive.

With the curtains cast to the sides of the stage, I emerge as this year's slutty Katrina Van Tassel. Cheers sound once more, this time several octaves higher, making the floor of the stage feel like its trembling. I blow a playful kiss to the crowd, before waving my hand up, greeting the rowdy patrons as I strut my curves over to the pole in the center of the stage.

Bright spotlights flash, making it difficult to see if he's here. All my gaze is met with is a sea of rowdy costumed patrons, half dressed as the Headless Horseman and the other half as Ichabod Crane.

Disappointment rattles my core, feeling like a sting to my heart, but if there's one thing, I've learned from all these years of being the recipientof Maddox's peculiar tastes it's that he thrives off tricks. He'll be here, likely when I'm in the middle of my routine, probably with the hopes of throwing me off.

I give up my search for him and instead lean into the music so I can get in the zone. Pressing my back against the pole, I lift my hands overhead, searing my grip to the pole asI glide down, slowly parting my thighs into a split. My legs bend and widen, causing a boisterous roar to explode. I love the way my body feels as it meshes with the pole. It's similar to the way it feels when I have a knife in my possession. When I'm on the pole I feel as powerful as when I kill—they have become two of my favorite pastimes, with the exception of stringing along Maddox who, much to my surprise, still isn't here.

How the fuck am I supposed to stab him again if he doesn't show up?

Hands still above my head, I tighten my grip, twisting them on the pole as I begin to slowly roll my stance upward. My back arches as I rise from my split position, extending my hip forward so I can begin my first spinning pirouette.

Wrapping my other ankle around the bottom of the pole, my body suspends into a twirl as I surrender myself to the dance. Or try to, but tonight feels different. The usual calm that I feel when I'm up on stage isn't working its magic right now. I wonder if the damn vial of blood that"s slung around my neck has anything to do with it. I can only imagine whose blood is trapped within the glass vial; knowing that Maddox is about as stabby as I am, it could literally be anyone.

As the sinister chant verse of Enter Sandman is about to play, I decide to slow the tempo of my movements. Straightening my spine, I grab hold of the middle of the pole and slowly begin to circle it. I make sure to keep a seductive stare on the crowd and keep my hips swaying to the beat to give the illusion of it being part of my routine. But I'm really using this part of the song as an opportunity to see where he's hiding.

"Hush little baby don't say a word, and never mind that noise you heard. It's just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head…"

I'm about to make another full turn when, through the darkness that lingers over the seating area, I see my favorite possessive fool, making his way through the crowd.

The way he moves is like a god parting the dark sea. Dressed in all black, his annoyingly delicious body is highlighted by a thick leather harness strapped along his chest that works its intricate web down to his thighs. The chains that drape at his sides makes his stoic presence—tall, dark, and sinister—feel like a match to my waiting flame. The pole that I have been twirling around is no longer made of steel, but of every part of him I want to wrap myself around before I drain the life out of him.

A devious grin breaks from my lips when I see the mask covering his face, a veilmade from a sinister scrapbook. I have to say, the level of dedication he has for unique and creepy masks really is a turn on, even if I find him to be absolutely infuriating.

Now that he's sitting front and center, I decide to have a little fun. I begin exaggerating my every move, teasing him a bit and judging from the wide set of his legs as he sits watching me, I'd say it's working.

He thinks he has me trapped. That there's nowhere to run. But he forgets, the only reason I allow him to chase me – and live– is because I get off on the chase. Role play is one thing, but having a kink that only a depraved devil such as himself can provide day or night, deadly consequences and all? That"s the only reason I haven't added him to my roster like I did with Ethan and the, I don't know, twodozen others I've killed over the years.

As I hoist myself to the top of the pole for the song"s finish, I notice Glinda walking angrily over to the DJ booth. I'm used to seeing Glinda in a pissy mood but this is different. Even from up here, I can practically feel her seething. Curious as to what has her so vexed, though taking a wild guess that it probably has to do with the fact Maddox is here, on Satan's biggest night, likely has something to do with it.

Spreading my legs into a suspended split, the blood begins to rush to my head, muffling my hearing as I descend down the pole. With my body contorted in this position, my eyes are now forced to focus on where Maddox's large palm is teasing the leather strap of his thigh harness. Large, ample veins swim on his muraled skin causing a rush of heat to travel to my core. The aroused feeling that begins to wash over me is only exemplified by the unusual stream of boo's that begin to sound from the audience. Which can mean only one thing. He didn't come here just to watch, he came here to make sure that no one gets to me, unless it's him.

My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Glinda's stern voice flow through the speakers.

"I apologize, everyone. It looks like there has been a mix up with who gets the evening with this year's Katrina."

And so, it begins.