Chapter 4- Ema
Shit.
I resist the urge to take a deep breath as I stand outside the dinged and peeling back door of this shitty-ass club, delaying for every moment I can before I have to go into my shitt-ass job. It's not that I don't need to be as centered as possible- god knows I do- but I am in an alley even dirtier than the Hole and I truly believe I would rather suffocate than breathe deeply of the wretched filth and whatever the fuck else is out here.
The thought is enough to make me grab the handle to go in. Not enough to actually open the door, but I'm halfway there, right? I hate Tuesdays.
How the hell did I even get here?
It seems like it was just yesterday- just the blink of an eye- that I had been fresh faced and joyful. I was working on my Master's degree, riding the coattails of a rich dad and an unlocked trust. I had landed the good job in the shiny high rise… I was living the life of my early 20's dreams in the sparkling heart of Soul City.
It was just a breath ago that I had blushed furiously when some co-workers invited me along to their strip-aerobics class with them. Pole dancing as exercise? How scandalous! I had almost completely noped out at the skimpiness of the work-out outfits alone, even in my all-female class, but my co-workers… my friends… had pushed me on through and encouraged me. "It's such good exercise," they said. "It'll build your confidence, and you need more confidence, Em," they said.
The real kicker? They were right.
I felt great. I looked even better. And I KNEW it.
I bought the nice clothes. I learned to rock stilettos. I even flirted with a few guys at the office. It's not like I was some cloistered virgin, but I didn't think I could be the flirty girl, the hot girl, the ambitious girl. Now I did. Most importantly in that growth, I asked my boss- Mr. Kuchiki- for the promotion to his second assistant position. And I got it.
Yeah, it and so much more than I bargained for.
While I slaved away for that man, I was able to brush shoulders and built rapport with every big-wig in the company. I built and carefully cultivated relationships in the hopes of furthering my career in whatever way I wanted. I even managed to make Mr. Kuchiki's surly, flame-haired body guard crack a few smiles! Despite the breakneck pace and long hours, I was having the time of my life.
I was even confident enough to step in when Mr. Kuchiki's standard PA was out in the hospital for a while. I was sure enough in my abilities that I even decided to organize the files and space while I was at it. Mostly, I was too stupid to know to not ask questions you don't want the answers to. Questions like, "What is this? Why is this file stuck under the drawer? What's in it?"
I just had to fucking look. I always have to fucking look. Apparently, that's my thing. Look at the file detailing marks and payments. Look at the blue-eyed Hollow whose eyes never stop following me.
Two weeks. For two long-ass weeks he had been at the club every night- a highly unusual occurrence, or so I'm told. I could feel those eyes on me, burning like twin flames, though every single shift until they seared into my very dreams.
Hell, I could have sworn I even felt him watching me at the pawn shop earlier. I can't say I really minded it then… dreadful place run by an even sleazier man. At least he didn't recognize me, sans makeup, contacts, and with a large hoodie pulled over and around me. Of course, that didn't stop the lecherous ass from trying all he could. Pig.
He began to refuse any trade without my number- like I have one- but as soon as he thought I was the infamous Venus' lackey, he was more than happy to buy back the trashy jewelry that people insist on throwing on stage at a steep fee. Half of it probably came from there anyways.
In this world of uncertainty and technology, there's a beauty in cold, hard cash. Tip fucking cash.
I may have also dropped a line about Venus liking white gold and platinum, not gemstones. Hopefully it worked on the grubby regular. At least then it couldn't be traced by serial number, if it was stolen, and I could trade it in somewhere better. Eventually.
Until then, I got to collect my shiny trinkets like a raven and come to this horrible place. It was the only one, even on this side of the river, that didn't have security cameras. The tattoos I had suffered through were inlaid with CCD reflectors, meant to reflect and refract light to distort any video recording device. It was no small expense to get the pieces and pay off a tattoo and piercing parlor to stick them in the wounds. As a matter of fact, it had cost me everything I had managed to drain from my trust before it was frozen, as well as all my current pay up to 2 weeks ago.
While it had worked on the videos Honey took on her phone, I had no desire to test deeper waters if I didn't have to.
At least I could start stashing my money now. I just needed enough to bail. Blow this town and run like hell. Away from the Reapers and away from the blue-eyed Espada…
"Yo! Pixie! You gonna go in or just stare at the door?"
Speak of the devil.
"I'll go in when I want to go in."
Was that surly? Yeah, that was surly. I don't even bother turning around. I only talked to him one time on that first day but his voice washes over me and gives me goosebumps. Its delicious. I hate it.
"And don't call me Pixie."
Grimmjow's low laugh makes my pulse spike, and his well-muscled arm comes in my view as he props himself against the door frame.
"You know, most men would assume you are offering other… extracurricular services, hanging out in an alley like this," he drawls, earning a glare. The sight of me looking at him only seems to make his curling grin widen.
"Brown today," he notes, "It suits you."
Crap! The damn pawn shop owner had talked so long that I hadn't had a chance to put back in the standard green contacts that I normally wore. Dammit.
But I still don't bother to reply, only narrowing my eyes more. I don't trust myself to speak when he's so close that I can smell his surprisingly fresh cologne. I can feel the warmth coming off of him. His presence and closeness do things to me that I have absolutely no time for.
"I think I like the green better," he continues nonchalantly, as if I'm not trying to set him on fire with my thoughts. "You remember how to open doors when your eyes are green."
With a roll of my eyes, I finally turn the handle to go into the Hole, its dark dankness yawning ahead of me appropriately. I notice Grimmjow scrunch up his face in disgust at the assault of smell and noise right along with me before I charge ahead.
"If you hate it so bad here, you can just go again," I tell him, finally able to speak with some distance between us, "It functioned fine before you."
"No."
Well, that was not the answer I expected.
"Why not?" I can't help but wonder as I approach the dressing room, "I hear you never stay this long."
Grimmjow's low chuckle stops in me in my tracks and feel him close against my back. I can't breathe. "So, you are interested in me."
It's not a question. He already knows the truth.
Fuck him.
If he really is as insightful as he seems to think he is, then he is going to hate tonight's songs. Time to get those firebrand eyes off my back.
.
.
.
"You want to go from boots and fishnets to ribbons in under a minute?" Honey asks me incredulously as the long ribbons in question dangle from her fingertips.
I finish applying the metallic purple paint in a small trailing triangle under one eye before I roll it at her. "Yes, it's important to the songs."
"Speaking of those," she leads in and she lowers herself gracefully onto the chair next to mine to meet my eyes in the mirror, "You seem to be sending a message."
"Do I?" I reply, taking a swig from my pre-dance bottle. Tequila this time. I think. I buy such cheap stuff that it all tastes like nail polish remover.
Honey gives the bottle a pointed stare before meeting my eyes again, one perfect brow raised accusingly.
"Does this have to do with a certain blue-haired man who seems determined to stick around?"
I take another swig and swirl the alcohol around like mouthwash before swallowing the liquid fire. "I don't know who you are talking about."
"Right…" she drawls, snatching the bottle from me and setting it on the floor next to her. I have got to stop letting her do that. "That's why you are jumping from Five Finger Death Punch to Florence and the Machine…"
She trails her words of in a way that lets me know she knows what's in my mind. From hate to moving on, it's everything my traitorous voice can't say to let him know to go away.
"And it's not targeted on the man who can't keep his eyes off you at all?" she continues, "Or who you can't stop looking at despite my warning?"
"Who?" I ask dumbly as I smudge the eyeliner around my now bright purple eyes. Brown suits me, my ass.
"Whatever," she sighs breezily, "You're playing with fire though."
I set down the kohl with a sigh, finally meeting her sharp gaze with a weary look. "I don't need the distraction or the entanglement. And I can't seem to tell him myself, so the music has to do it for me."
"You know these men don't pay attention to a damn word of those songs, Little Bit," she says in that motherly way of hers as she rises to stand behind me and straighten my red wig, gently sliding back in a loosened pin. It has stopped catching me off guard to have her topless and mothering at the same time, but it still shocks me sometimes how well she can read me with my face plastered into a kabuki level mask. "You have one value to them, and neither they, nor you, will ever forget it."
"I know that," I sigh, "All the more reason to drive him away."
"With songs?"
"He's different, Mamma Bear," I tell her petulantly, "He'll listen."
"Or you'll just make the chase that much more exciting."
Balls. I didn't even think about that. I hate myself even more over the fact that that excites me.
No… NO. This is not how this works. Scare the pretty man away. The drop-dead gorgeous man with a voice like silk and a wicked smile. Add in the body that was made for sin and you have… a problem.
The sharp hit of Honey's hip against my shoulder jogs me out of my reverie. She may as well have screamed "Incoming!" as I see Destinee flounce into the dressing room. Brace for impact, people, in 3…2…
But the trollop has happily sat herself in a different seat with a grotesque little grin that just looks menacing.
"What's got you all happy?" Honey asks lightly, grabbing my tequila from beside the chair before I can and spiriting it away to my bag. Bitch. Love her… but bitch. "Nnoitra finally let you get on your knees for him?"
The skin around Destinee's eyes tightens, crackling her heavy makeup, but her smile stays in place.
"Even better," she daintily replies back, "I'm booked to give the other boss a private dance after this little… ordeal." She waves her hand at me in general, thinking I'll be offended by her remark. Not so much. This is an annoying ass ordeal.
It's the other part that makes me jolt. Not on the outside, obviously. I've got my 'dead inside' look down pat; it helps that I am.
"I guess Grimmjow fiiiiinally realized that you really are nothing but a passing novelty."
With a roll of my eyes, I rise to my feet in front of her, obscenely happy that I am dressed for death metal with chains and shit-kicker 8-inch-tall platform boots. That widening of her eyes, that fear, its such a fun thing. "From calling me a whore to being one," I say with the sweetest smile I can manage with blood red lips, "You're really rising up in the world, Destinee."
My smile weakens, however, as I see that, despite her fear, her smile hasn't lessened at all. "Break a leg out there, Venus."
That's not ominous at all.
Fuck it. I have an espada to scare off and it looks like he has the perfect set of willing arms to run into. I mean, c'mon, she's actually helping me out. So why do I now feel such a strong desire to bash their heads together?
"Let's go, Little Bit," Honey says gently, pulling me toward the door and away from my stare off with Destinee.
I give her a worried look that she returns as we head out and she hands me my tequila for one last swig before we exit the hall and breach the crowds. I'd say yay but that little parle must have shaken her as much as me for her to just hand me back my bottle of doom.
Too soon, the press of the people and the noise and the lights are invading my space, reminding me acutely of the chaos that my once ordered life has slid into with abandon. Not even the dabs of my Chanel Allure perfume, sparingly applied to my neck so that I could just barely take the edge off the stench of despair in this place, manages to calm me.
The blaring riffs of Five Finger Death Punch's 100 Ways to Hate echoes the feeling inside me. Anger. I'm angry.
My life is gone.
My stability is gone.
I'm reduced to worrying about how not to get groped by a sleazy pawn shop guy and squabbles with stripper Barbie and how I'm going to get a goddamn shower.
I'm fucking furious as I stomp up the damn stage and let the frustration burn out of me with every move, studiously avoiding the glint of bright aquamarine in the VIP section.
At least that's my plan until the front double doors of the club fling open with a bang as loud as a gun shot and the club is enveloped only in the sounds of the song until that too is cut. An oppressive silence descends over the room and I stop my movements, leaning with one hand on a pole on the stage, to see what is going on. The overhead lights flicker on and I finally see what- who- is causing the disturbance.
I can't breathe.
All the running, the starving, the pain. The CCD chips. The wigs. The contacts. The living in squalor in Hollow territory was for nothing. I can't breathe as I see Renji fucking Abarai standing at the door, flanked my two other men I know from the company as well. I knew him for most of the time as Mr. Kuchiki's bodyguard. In reality, he's his hitman, and he wouldn't pull a stunt like this unless he was hunting.
I'll give you two guesses who he is looking for and the first one doesn't count.
It takes everything in me not to flee like a rabbit from the dogs of war, but I know if I draw attention to myself, it will end even more quickly. Slowly I let some of my long red hair drape over half my face, better than nothing. I know I don't look the same. I try to ground myself in that thought. The miracles of makeup, contacts, wigs and heels means I don't resemble the quiet, short brunette from the office at all and I desperately try to calm my pounding heart. The fucker can probably hear it, if I were to believe all the stories about him.
His eyes don't spare me a glance though, as he pans the crowd and seems to catalogue every waitress and female in the place. His bald companion seems to do the same, but his gaze contains a challenge and he levies it against all the biggest, scariest fuckers in the joint. The third, however, casts his own naturally purple eyes on me as if enraptured. He tilts his head, his shoulder length raven hair accenting the distinctive feathers around his eyes.
He looks too pretty to be a fighter, nearly effeminate, but he couldn't stand in this room with such confidence if he wasn't. He exudes danger. They all do.
As a unit, they slowly begin to move deeper into the club, the low ranked hollows parting like the red sea. Grimmjow was right- they're all cowards. Every last one of them.
"You look awfully familiar," a Hollow says, one finally refusing to move from their way, and I try to watch while still hiding my face.
Renji cocks his head to the side, tattooed brows bunched together as he studies the blonde in front of him. "Granz, right? Ilforte Granz?" he asks, so close to the stage that I can see a smile playing at his mouth revealing unnaturally pointed teeth. How did I never notice that?
The Hollow doesn't reply but to nod.
"Well, Granz, I had to come to this shitty side of town y'all call home to find somebody. Imagine my surprise when I start getting reports of lost business and profits from our premium strip clubs! It seems y'all have quite the racket going on here."
"Glad to see our business plan is working so well." The serpentine drawl jerks the offending Reapers upright as it comes from behind them where Nnoitra has planted himself between the three men and the door.
"You?" The bald one scoffs out, "You made a business plan?"
Nnoitra's almost cordial, albeit creepy, smile drops from his face and his eye takes on a dangerous glint. "And here I was hoping that you'd simply come for advice, but…"
"Actually," the pretty one finally speaks up in his flowing voice, "we came to see your infamous show for ourselves."
Oh no.
"Eh?" Nnoitra mutters in confusion.
"Some hollows we ran into… found it in their best interest to tell us when and where the best show in town was," the bald one sneers out with a smile.
"Yeah, rumors of a mysterious great beauty weren't cuttin' it for us," Renji adds on.
The pretty one's eyes are back on me and he steps closer. Of course, the blonde hero Hollow has sunk back into the crowd during the exchange. "They weren't that far off," he murmurs softly, extending his hand as if to touch me on stage. "Its you, isn't it?"
I'm going to die tonight. There's something in this one's eyes. They remember every contour; they see to deep. Before I try to shrink into myself more and spare my face, the man disappears from view behind a blur of blue.
I shouldn't want to see Grimmjow there. I should still be angry at him for twisting me up in knots and doing for Destinee, but holy shit am I glad to see his hulking figure blocking me from death. I draw my first deep breath and contemplate jumping on him in a hug. I don't… but I could. Instead, my eyes leap back to Renji and the bald one, who's eyes widened imperceptibly for a moment. If they knew Grimmjow was involved with the club, they sure didn't expect him to be here. Yeah, I want to hug him.
Leaning down to eye level with Pretty Boy, Grimmjow's whole body seems to vibrate as he snarls one definite word. "Mine."
Well, shit.
"So, tell me," Nnoitra asks, casually posed leaned against a chair, "why would I let you stay and watch my star dance?"
"Professional courtesy?" Pretty Boy quips, spinning to face Nnoitra and appearing stunningly unperturbed by Grimmjow's menacing presence.
Both Espada exchange an amused look at that, their low sinister laughs crawling through the silent space. Their tension is gone, and I realize it's because they outclass the men who have come in. I seem to have forgotten in my own little rage that I've been making my bed with monsters and I really, REALLY need to rethink my complacency.
I feel my resolve struggle as Grimmjow mirrors Nnoitra's ease, hips leaned against the stage and arms crossed over of his broad chest, but he does not relent from his position steadfastly in front of me. The others notice it too, exchanging quick glances.
"No need to extend courtesy if they're dead," Grimmjow says lightly to Nnoitra over the Reapers' heads.
"Good point," Nnoitra says, toothy smile returning, "I never did like the professional world anyways."
"Too bad, the professional world offers a lot of perks," Renji pipes up, drawing attention back to his group.
"And better understanding of it might let you think things through more," Pretty Boy speaks up again, examining his nails with a practiced calm, "For example, you would know that if we don't leave this club it could lead to … an explosive situation."
The tension returns in both Espada as they recognize the veiled threat just as well as I do. Now they aren't sure if they outclass whoever, or whatever, is outside.
"Aww, ain't no need to get your feelings hurt!" Nnoitra exclaims happily in the biggest 360° turn outside of a BMX competition, spreading his long arms wide in welcome, "Mi casa es su casa, brothers!"
Even the Reapers seem to have trouble discerning this mood swing as they look at each other in abject confusion.
"Aww no worries," Nnoitra keeps going toward them before slinging his arms around Renji's and Baldy's shoulders. Pretty Boy steps deftly out of reach. Good choice. "TESRA!" Nnoitra screeches out as he sits the men in a table at the front of VIP, "Let's get you guys some whiskey to regrow the balls you lose on those crotch rockets you ride, and then I'll treat you to the best damn strip show in Soul City."
Briefly, I catch myself marveling at how deftly Nnoitra could both insult the reapers and diffuse a situation in one fell swoop before the second part of his statement hits me. He wants me to dance for them. He stuck them in the best fucking seats in the house, close enough to jump on the damn stage and he wants me, the wanted girl, to bare it all for them.
No. No. NO! "No," I find myself whispering out loud.
It is also in this moment that I realize that I have talked to these men before, I have joked and presented and the one thing I can't change about me is my voice.
The trio narrow their eyes, but if it's displeasure or suspicion, I couldn't really tell you. I'm too busy trying not to hyperventilate over the snafu that could cost my life.
"Venus!" Nnoitra snaps, eye narrowed in definite anger, "Start your songs."
I'm frozen in that glare of his, but I still manage to shake my head.
"Venus…" Nnoitra's menacing hiss slides across my skin before a heavy arm falls on my shoulder.
"I'll get her situated while you get our friends their whiskey," Grimmjow purrs from above me, swinging me around and heading straight to the back.
"Five minutes!" Nnoitra yells after him and I can feel more than see Grimmjow's grin as he raises his hand in the air to wave Nnoitra off with his middle finger.
Whatever appearance of a calm and sweet couple we held in the hall ended as Grimmjow shut the door behind us in the dressing room and spun me around to face him.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" he growls out.
Oh, no sir. Anger fueled by fear is a powerful thing.
"Me?!" I screech right back, "You're the one who went all super alpha and drew attention to me in the first place!"
"You already had attention. You were on a fucking stage!"
Ok, he's got me there.
"And you are the one who directly defied Nnoitra," he continues, "In front of Reapers, no less!"
"You still put a target on my back!" Screw him.
"You did that your damn self the minute you said no."
"I don't dance for Reapers," I grind out, crossing my arms across my chest for good measure.
"Even though it would get both upset parties off your back?"
He seems genuinely curious. Too bad.
"I don't dance for Reapers," I repeat, giving him nothing.
"Ain't no hole on you," he says pointing at his own semi-exposed abs. Damn those abs… shit, he's still talking. "…what fucking reason do you have to hate them so bad?"
Yeah… no. Not answering that.
"I. Don't. Dance.-"
"This isn't a choice," Grimmjow finally growls out, running his hand through his hair and making it ridiculously and adorably messy, "You heard the threat out there just as well as me and don't pretend you didn't."
I really want to roll my eyes at his concern. Like, REALLY want to… but even I know this isn't the time. I also know he isn't wrong.
"Three men don't just stroll into this den without some serious backup ready to roll," he continues, "And if any shit goes sideways, and I mean anything, they'll reduce this place to rubble."
"Not my concern," I say lowly.
"It is if you're in it." Reaching out Grimmjow steps face to face with me, holding one arm he tilts my chin until I have to look straight at him. "Sorry, Pixie," he actually looks sorry, "You have to dance."
God dammit.
I can't meet his eyes, regardless of how he holds me in place as the realization hits that he is right.
"You're scared," he notes, and I realize that I've been gnawing on the inside of my cheek in a very obvious fashion. "You're just a dancer, they have no business with you."
I need to pull away.
"You are just a dancer, aren't you?" he asks, suspicion now glinting in his own eyes.
I finally break his hold and take a step back but for some reason I still can't look at him. Damn this Hollow. "Of course, I am."
"Uh-huh."
The doubt in his voice tolls like a bell in the dead of night.
"You know, one thing my super alpha move did besides draw attention to you, was protect you. They won't touch you and risk causing all-out war without a damn good reason."
Oh, if only he knew how good a reason they had. "Yeah," I reply dourly. I just can't muster enthusiasm for that one. But I can appreciate him trying, it's far more than most do and entirely unexpected. "So how do we make that clear then?"
"Just dance for me."
I can't resist the smile and chuckle that brings. "I already was," I say, grinning at him with the thoughts of my "Fuck Off Forever" set in my head.
"With 'Ways to Hate'? I'm hurt!" he laughs back, holding his chest as if I'd aimed for his heart.
"100 ways, to be exact," I quip back, before his face sobers sightly.
"I don't think that really puts across what you want to say."
There's a question in there, but I do not have the ability to find it right now. Instead, I nod in understanding and rush to my bag to pull out a notepad and pen. "You gotta phone?" I ask distractedly.
"Yeah," he says pulling out a sleek little number from his pocket that I can't help but look at in a flash of envy before turning back to my paper.
"Pull up YouTube."
"You pull up YouTube," he says with a frown.
"No phone," I answer him, finally caving into the urge to roll my eyes hard enough to see my brain, "Just pull up YouTube."
"You make bank in this bitch, how do you not have a fucking phone?"
I turn, fully ready to chew him out only to see that he already opened the app and is holding the phone out to me with a curling grin. Ass.
"Thank you," I say, quickly scrolling and clicking, listening in 5 second intervals to various songs.
"We're running out of time, Pixie," Grimmjow warns me impatiently, "Just pick 'em and go."
"I already told you not to call me that," I remind him petulantly, "and it's not that simple."
The man has no idea what goes into these looks, clearly. "This," I gesture at my body and face, "can take an hour, plus changes in the show. I also choreograph these routines since I use them a week or two at a time. I need something that fits what I already have going on."
I finally jot down the songs on a piece of paper and pull hair ties from my bag as a knock sounds at the door.
"Hold your fucking horses, Tesra," Grimmjow barks loudly before turning back to see me braiding the long ends of my wig. "What now?!"
"Adjustments," I answer shortly, and tie off the first braid as another knock sounds.
"Fuckin' hell," I hear him mutter under his breath as I bite back a smile and remove the chains wrapped around my fishnet clad thighs and the studded suspenders and skirt.
Then I unceremoniously rip a few big holes in them, revelling Grimmjow's wide eyed stare (probably because I'm bent over in nothing but black booty shorts and a bustier). "Forgive me, Honey," I whisper as I pull out her electric pink tee shirt emblazoned with Yoshi and use a pair of wig scissors to cut off the bottom and the sleeves, then slice a ridiculously low neckline straight down the front.
"Now!" I can hear Nnoitra's roar shaking through the walls.
"Alright, that's enough," Grimmjow says, grabbing me by the upper arm to spin me around again.
With unceremonious abandon, his lips crash down on mine in the mother of all kisses. His tongue delves into my mouth and I swear my knees are going fucking weak. I dig my nails into his biceps to keep myself upright and swallow his growl at the sensation.
Holy Fucking… YES!
Too soon, it's over and he's stepped back, and I'm left a breathless quivering mass of want but he just smirks. It highlights the lipstick smear on the side of his mouth, the only evidence that he just broke my soul in a single kiss.
"Now," he says, running a thumb along my lower lip to clean up my own smeared make up, "they'll think they know our excuse for taking longer."
Without dropping the smug grin from his face, Grimmjow reaches around me and grabs my new playlist and instructions for the DJ. "See you out there," he purrs, dropping another small peck on my still tingling lips before turning on his heel out the door.
I paw through my bag with shaking hands and manage to find my concealer before following him out to the ominously silent club, but I barely notice it. I only see the bright blue head leaned over the DJ booth, talking with supple lips before he glances out the side of his eye with me.
Thank god for layers of makeup because I know I am blushing like a schoolgirl.
Shit. I hate Tuesdays.