His Entertainer

Chapter 9

                  IVY SILVER POV.

    The white spaghetti-strap bodycon dress Carlos had bought felt utterly wrong.  He was sweet, but the truth was, I might be a stripper, but I preferred baggy, comfortable clothes when I wasn't working.  I opened the bedroom door, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.  I still didn't know my way around this house, and a primal fear whispered that this place was far more sinister than I'd imagined.

As I turned to close the door, a presence behind me sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.  Every muscle tensed, but I forced myself to remain still, refusing to let anyone see my fear.  I turned slowly, relief flooding me when I saw it wasn't Hermann.  Then, panic clawed at my throat. It wasn't Carlos either.

He was a mountain of muscle, heavily tattooed, his torso bare, showcasing impressive abs and biceps.  Not surprising, really; tattoos seemed to be a rite of passage in this house.  He had long, dark brown hair and a beard that added to his ruggedly masculine appearance.  His gaze was intense, predatory, as if he were considering taking me right then and there.  A smirk played on my lips; the thought was oddly exhilarating.

“I see why he’s suddenly become so possessive,” he said, his voice a low rumble, less possessive than Hermann’s, though.  He smirked, his dark eyes locking with mine.  “Miguel,” he added, the name a casual introduction.

“Ivy,” I replied, returning the smirk, the playful facade crumbling as my eyes fell upon the glint of a half-drawn gun at his waist.  I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

“I see you’ve found Ivy,” Carlos said, his grin widening as he approached. Miguel, noticing the sudden shift in my demeanor, quickly shoved the gun into his back pocket.

“Yeah,” Miguel said, turning to Carlos.

“You look beautiful,” Carlos said, his eyes lingering on me, making me feel like a prized possession, a delicate doll.

“You really do have great taste, Miguel!” he exclaimed, his gaze still fixed on the dress.

“I could have been a designer, you know,” Miguel said, his eyes glued to the dress he’d chosen.

“Thank you, but I prefer baggy clothes,” I said sincerely.

“Forget that. With your body, I’ll dress you up like a queen. You wait and see,” Miguel assured me, his words sparking a genuine smile.

“Let’s go watch a movie I picked,” Carlos said, breaking the tension.  “Yeah, okay,” Miguel agreed, and I nodded.

Carlos took my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and guided me downstairs to the comfortable sitting room.

I sat in the middle of the sofa, Carlos on my right, Miguel on my left, a large, fluffy blanket draped over us, a bucket of popcorn between us. Carlos tucked the blanket around us, and I grabbed the popcorn.

We watched The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It.  It was terrifying! Carlos’s grip on my hand tightened with each jump scare; he couldn’t control his screams and often hid his face behind me. Miguel threw popcorn at him, and I laughed until my sides ached.

By the end of the movie, we were a tangled mess of fear and laughter.  The darkness of the room amplified the unsettling feeling, and none of us volunteered to get up.

“Carlos, it’s your turn today,” Miguel said. “I did it last time.”  They actually argued over who would turn on the lights.

Finally, Carlos took responsibility, his trembling evident even in the dim light. Before he could reach the switch, the front door burst open, making him leap onto Miguel and me in a chaotic pile of limbs.  Then, the lights snapped on.

“What the fuck is going on here?”  Hermann’s voice boomed, shattering the tense silence.

We all jumped. Carlos scrambled to his feet, Miguel pushing him in the process.

“We were watching a movie, Signore,” Miguel replied instantly, his voice smooth and calm.

I turned to face Hermann. Beside him stood a tall, handsome man – Norman, the one I’d seen talking to Genevieve at the club.  Hermann’s gaze lingered on me, a possessive hunger in his eyes, tracing the line of my lips, then back to my eyes.

“Clean this mess up. We’re having an emergency meeting,” he ordered Carlos and Miguel, who muttered something in Italian.  They’re all Italian? I thought, a sudden realization dawning.

“Go to your room,” Hermann said, his tone curt, commanding. I stood, not out of obedience, but because I wanted to escape his gaze.  I knew the way to my room now.

I climbed the stairs, feeling his burning stare scorching my skin as if I were naked.  I hurried, relieved when I was finally out of his sight.

I opened the bedroom door, closing it behind me.  I went to the window, craving the fresh air, my eyes drawn to the glittering city lights below.  The view was breathtaking.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, a genuine smile spreading across my face.

[Past] “Not as beautiful as you,” a voice said, and I felt arms encircle my waist.  Wilmert’s head rested on my neck, his lips pressing gentle kisses against my skin, making me giggle. He chuckled.

[Present] We were perfect, happy, together.  I knew I would never find happiness with anyone else.  No other man would ever capture my heart the way Wilmert did.  When I see him again, I'll run from him, hide from his embrace.  I don't want him to see me like this, not as the broken woman I had become.

I remembered our first kiss, the electric shock that had coursed through my body. I remembered how he’d looked at me, the warmth in his smile, the way he’d made me blush.  He was the only man who could make my stomach flutter.  The only man I wanted to give everything to.  Wilmert had always been a part of me, and I was desperately trying to survive, to forget all that had happened.

Does he think of me sometimes?  Does he dream of me?  Does he still love me?  Is he still looking for me?  Or has he given up?

The questions echoed in my mind, unanswered, each one a fresh stab of pain. Another day gone, and I was still trapped.

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