Perfect obsession || book 2

XV - grudges and games

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Grudges and games

Eira's pov

The bass vibrated against my ribs, thrumming through my bare legs as I stalked onto the platform. It felt like stepping into another skin, this version of Eira - sleek, confident, all razor-sharp angles and shadowed lips.

My eyes caught the familiar glitter of dollar bills stuck to the stage, trophies from previous nights, and a thrill snaked through me. Tonight, I was their siren, their midnight goddess.

The music, a pulsing blend of hip-hop and electro, pulsed under my feet. I moved with it, fluid and predatory, each twitch of my hips, each flick of my hair deliberate. The skimpy, silver dress whispered against my skin, barely there, a provocation more than a covering. I knew the game - tease, reveal, retreat. It was a ritual practiced in the dim light of a thousand clubs, a language spoken in goosebumps and stolen glances.

My eyes scanned the room, taking in the shadows pressed against the wall, the faces flushed with beer and anticipation. One man, older, with the air of a businessman trying to outrun his regrets, held my gaze a beat too long, sending a flutter through my stomach. I smirked, a slow, calculated movement, and he flushed, dropping his eyes. Easy prey.

The tempo shifted, a sensual crawl, and I sank lower, kneeling on the stage. My fingers traced the line of my thigh, a slow invitation, and the tips rained down like confetti. I rose, a twist of my body that sent the dress slipping down my shoulder, a glimpse of forbidden flesh.

The gasps were music to my ears, fuel for the fire in my veins. I spun, the skirt rippling around me like liquid silver, a whirlwind of barely-there fabric and practiced sensuality. My head swam with the pounding music, the scent of sweat and desperation, and I danced like a possessed thing, every movement a silent challenge, a dare.

And then, a hand. It grasped my wrist, strong and calloused, pulling me off the stage. My heart stuttered, the rhythm broken. For a moment, I was back in the dingy flat, the echo of my father's screams still ringing in my ears. But then I met his eyes, warm brown flecked with gold, and fear gave way to defiance.

"You come with me," he growled, his voice a low rumble. My heart beat in my chest as the man who had been stalking me and then I discovered was my uncle pulled me with him, towards some mysterious dark corner.

His grip on my wrist was unyielding, his fingers like steel bands wrapped around my skin. The familiar scent of cigar smoke clung to him, a bitter reminder of the family ties I'd been trying to escape. As he led me through the dimly lit corners of the club, the thumping bass echoed in my ears, drowning out the protests forming in my throat.

"What do you want?" I demanded, my voice sharper than intended. I squared my shoulders, defiance burning in my eyes. This was my world, my domain, and I refused to let anyone, especially family, dictate my steps.

He leaned in, his voice a low murmur that only heightened the tension in the air. "You think you can just disappear, Eira? Run away from the family, from your responsibilities?"

Responsibilities. The word hung heavy between us, a reminder of the shackles I had fought so hard to break. I scoffed, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "Me dancing is embracing my responsibilities. And you have no say in what I do or don't do"

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Dancing, huh? You've always been good at spinning tales, Eira. But you can't dance your way out of the mess you've left behind."