Chapter 40: Piece of My Heart
Olivia shifted on her feet, her heart beating a mile a minute. She studied all the lights and shadows on the street, looking between her living room curtains. Her chest would tighten every time headlights would shine on the pavement, and a car drove by. But there was only one car that was important, a large pick-up truck with a certain federal agent in it.
Alcide had finally accepted the truce - closing the case in exchange for cutting Debbie off. Olivia knew they were not in charge of all the V out on streets, but in this part of the state, they controlled pretty much all of it. It wasn't a flawless promise either - Debbie could very well just buy the stuff online from them unless of course, she got her hacker to bug her computer And there was no way of warning or telling Alcide about any of it without blatantly incriminating herself or letting him know the operation online even existed.
But what if this whole fucking thing was a trap? The only way of getting a decent read of Alcide's head would be by touching him. Great. The drumming in her chest continued. Finally, the long-awaited pick-up parked across Miss Fortenberry's house, her next-door neighbor. The agent was out of uniform, he was wearing jeans and a tight navy blue Henley shirt with the buttons undone and the sleeves folded over his perfectly ripped forearms.
Liv smoothed out the skirt of her dress and fluffed her hair one more time as if that would make a difference. She prayed that Eric wouldn't make an appearance. It wouldn't bode well for anyone. The front gate creaked outside, and a few seconds later there was a knock on the door. Olivia took a full breath and opened the door to let the agent inside.
"Alcide," she nodded.
That was enough for him to come inside. It had been a long while since she didn't have to say an invitation out loud. Without a word or much eye contact, the agent walked three steps into her home. She closed the door, sealing them inside. She had already closed all curtains and turned on the radio in the kitchen to drown out any noise from the eavesdropping ears of whoever watched the house at night. Again, really hoping it wasn't Eric.
"You're not bullshitting me, right?" It wasn't until he spoke that she noticed how distressed he was.
In his mind, it was all dark and stormy clouds, a lot of anger and desperation. It was strange seeing him this way, but it only solidified what she already knew: she'd have to touch him to get the raw truth from him. Especially after having sex with Alcide, judgment alone couldn't be trusted. She had no idea how normal people did this.
"Would you like to sit?" She tried not to smile.
"Olivia, just tell me-"
"I'm not bullshitting you. Now sit." She motioned to the living room.
The two of them sat at opposite ends of her velvet blue sofa, his knee was within reach. That would suffice. He looked like he was about to start vibrating. But first things first:
"Are you wearing a wire?"
"What?" He jerked his head as if his mind had been elsewhere entirely. "No."
"I'm afraid I'm gonna need some proof," she arched her brows. It wasn't horny Olivia talking either. When the agent didn't move, she pressed again. "It's not like I haven't already seen everything I wanted to see, Alcide."
Well, if the DEA didn't know they had slept together, they knew now. Giving her the side-eye, he got up and pulled his shirt up all the way to his armpits and turned 360 degrees - no wire, just amazing abs and defined back muscles. That view would never get old. He pulled his shirt back down and sat on the couch, radiating annoyance.
"Just fucking tell me how you're gonna do it."
She chuckled. "I plead the fifth."
"Olivia," he said sternly. "I'm being fucking serious. Debbie is not gonna get mind-fucked by a vamp is she?"
"Mind fucked?"
His stormy dark eyes met hers. "You've seen Portia Bellefleur lately?"
Ah. That still tasted sour in her mouth. Since Alcide worked so closely with Glenn Costa he got to see the other, more unfortunate side of the story.
"No, she won't be glamoured," more than she probably already has. "Plus, it doesn't work that way."
"What do you mean?"
"Glamouring is a forgetting spell. It doesn't work very well for mind control in the long term. Vampires, for better or worse, can't make us do anything we don't already want to do."
"So a vamp can't make Debbie not want to take drugs anymore?"
"Only if that's what her heart desires, which I'm guessing…" it's not. "Is a grey area," she softened the blow.
Alcide let out a big sigh and ran his fingers through his messy curls, sinking back into the couch. He looked at the ceiling, his eyes were so lost and so far away, it was as if she had a complete stranger on her couch. This was not the confident, strong, and kind man in the relentless pursuit of justice she had always seen. Olivia reached for his thigh. His body was warmer than she remembered, it was almost uncomfortable to touch.
You have no other choice, Alcide. Jackson and Trahan aren't closing the case because of a lack of evidence. You can't fail Debbie, you made a vow. And Glenn's right, she at least knows who I am-
Woah, woah, woah! Olivia immediately retracted her hand. She wasn't sure who Jackson was, other than she got the impression he was one of his superiors. But Trahan? He was the Shreveport Chief of Police. The case was already closed?!
That meant two things: Truman was keeping his word. And Alcide was the one bullshitting her. The case was out of his hands. Alcide had nothing, other than the ability to be an attractive nuisance. For once, Olivia held all the cards.
Alcide turned his head, looking at her with big puppy eyes. He had lied to her, but for whatever reason, that didn't anger or upset her. Alcide loved Debbie since he was a boy. She was his person, his soulmate, a love predicted in the stars, blessed by shamans, something the werewolf community regarded preciously. Liv could only imagine what that would be like, but she respected he was doing whatever it took to save her. Even if that meant lying to her, and to some extent, lying to Eric Northman.
Looking at this (still very hot) shell of a man, Olivia decided that getting the DEA to go away peacefully and permanently was all she wanted, and there was nothing else Alcide Herveaux needed to give her. Liv would accept the lie, and she would find a way to help Debbie because it was the right thing to do. The cruel way Eric used Pelt never sat right with her, and Olivia was willing to take some risks in order to uncross some lines. Negating a percent or two of all the fucked up shit they'd done maybe would tip the scales a little. You know, just in case heaven is real she'd like to do one last good thing if she were to die on Friday.
It would, however, be a tough sell on Eric. But there was something about this frail man sitting on the couch that seemed to make the risk worth it. She was sure she could sell it, she would worry about the cost later.
"Hypothetically speaking, I know someone who knows someone could be persuaded of blacklisting a specific buyer, indefinitely and no questions asked."
"Right. So this means that there is someone in charge of all the vampire blood in the black market. All the vamp drainers who went missing or showed up dead weren't victims of their occupation. It was Eric getting rid of the competition."
The DEA side of Alcide never slept. Olivia wasn't entirely sure how Eric managed that side of the business, but if the men he kept in the basement were any indication, Alcide was correct.
"This hypothetical person doesn't control all of it, but most definitely in the channels Debbie currently uses. Or so I've heard, hypothetically."
"And in exchange, all I have to do is close the case?"
Even though you have no choice? "Yes. Not pass it to someone else elsewhere, actually drop it in the shredder."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His messy hair covered his face. Dark clouds rolled and crashed inside his soul with loud thunder. Alcide wanted so badly to do the right thing, that it physically pained him to ask his enemy - the very thing he swore to destroy - to help him. But he was out of moves and had to protect his losses.
"It was you, wasn't it?" He spoke to her coffee table. She didn't have to touch him again to find out what he meant. When he turned to face her, he looked at her with an Eric-like intensity. He was accusing her of being the puppet master behind her superiors. He was right on the money tonight.
"You're giving me far too much credit. I'm just an accountant, Alcide." She lied.
He let out a stiff laugh. "But you always seem to get what you want, don't you?"
"Usually," she shrugged, lying again.
He shook his head silently, emotions flashing bluntly on his face. Disappointment, guilt, shame. Alcide was tethering on changing his mind.
"When will I know it's done?"
"You know," his tone changed. "How do you sleep at night?"
She was washed with anger. Alcide called her, came to her house, lied to her face, and even still Olivia was willing to risk her own good grace's with Eric to help him and he had the gall to insult her. See, this is why Olivia isn't nice to people.
"Well, I'm not a self-righteous asshole, so I sleep very well thank you."
Unceremoniously, he got up and Olivia followed suit. Tensions were never higher.
"You work for a literal drug-dealing mafia of vampires who tortures and kills people in the basement of your workplace and I am the self-righteous asshole?"
It wasn't great that Alcide knew about these specifics. "You arrest people for petty charges and risk their lives and whole families just to get them to snitch on people."
He scoffed. "People who sell drugs on the streets are hardly petty criminals. They take advantage of sick people and put others at risk. Don't know if you watch the news but like a third of people who take V end up in the hospital or in a jail cell for extremely aggressive behavior-"
"And you don't think they know that?"
"They certainly don't seem to care."
"No, you don't care, Alcide. You don't care that welfare doesn't cover the cost of living. You don't care that people can't afford heat in the winter, or health care for themselves and their loved ones. You don't care that for some, breaking the law put in place by the rich is the only way to live."
"Oh cut the shit Olivia," he snarled. "Don't come at me with this classist and elitist excuse when you're the biggest hypocrite of them all. Rich little Jersey girl who went to private schools, ballet academies, and then Princeton, and now you literally exploit people's sob stories for your own gain." Okay, fuck you. "So forgive me for having faith in the justice system, and thinking criminals should pay for their crimes and trying to keep communities safe."
Olivia's blood boiled in rage. She grew up in Newark, and not the nice parts either. Her dad worked full days and boxed every weekend in unsanctioned matches to pay for school, her ballet, her food, and her clothes. He literally bled for her. She only paid for Princeton because of his life insurance payout, and she received a partial scholarship for her grief and anger-filled entrance essay titled 'What I wish I could have said in my father's eulogy'.
So yeah, fuck you Alcide. "If you can sleep at night believing the justice system works after your meeting with Jackson and Trahan, I'm sure you can sleep through anything."
A long silence followed where neither blinked, moved, or breathed. Maybe she shouldn't have said that, but honestly this asshole had to be taken down 13 pegs and be reminded who was in charge here. Without another word, Alcide made his way out, looking ten times more uncomfortable than when he walked in. She opened the door for him with gusto.
"When can I expect the file to be closed?" Her voice was cold.
"Tomorrow at noon," he whipped his head back with one more question. "Does Eric always get what he wants with you?"
It came out of nowhere, and the question hit her so hard she may as well have gotten a concussion. Involuntarily, she thought of all that Eric wanted. Quiet, stability, simplicity. Sure parts of him enjoyed the power he had too. Or at least he handled his position with a natural grace, despite claiming he never wanted any of it. He also wanted Olivia. All of her. She knew exactly what Eric would ask in exchange for Debbie's freedom.
"Goodbye, Alcide," and she slammed the door shut before she changed her damn mind.
He never saw her walk-in more of a hurry. She didn't even knock and wait out on the porch like she usually did. Eric also wasn't expecting to see her earlier than 11, her regular arrival at Fangtasia, so having her strut across the foyer of his home 30 minutes after sunset and burst through his study caught him by surprise. It was the only thing louder than Chet Baker playing on his record player.
"We need to talk," Olivia said at once.
And after all that drama, she just stated the obvious.
"What do you want?" Eric gently closed his laptop, hiding the fact he was creating pathways to send and receive money to Anthony Grey without Olivia knowing.
She took a moment to breathe, and Eric allowed it since it gave him a moment to appreciate her legs. Olivia wore her usual black outfit, this time a short black skirt and black tights, and a black short sleeve blouse tucked in, with little heels and dainty jewelry.
"I have a proposal to make." She said it in a very business official tone.
He hoped it involved said legs. "I'm listening."
"You blacklist Debbie Pelt from ever buying, getting, or receiving vampire blood-"
Immediate no. "In exchange?"
"I will owe you a favor," she said simply.
His fangs ached in his gums. "Good, I'll take half a pint."
Olivia took a step back. "Not that."
Eric was getting quite tired of this dance. There was something she wasn't telling him, but what? He stood up and approached her slowly, hands in pockets. "You've asked me to give up Debbie Pelt before, and if memory serves me correctly, it was for getting the DEA case closed which neither Alcide nor I agreed to do. What's changed?"
Still, Eric thought of all the favors he could ask. What he came up with was a far more enticing deal than getting the federal law enforcement agency off his balls, believe it or not. The look on her face gave it up.
"He came to see you."
The thought filled him with something dark.
"I am asking you to let her go because it's the right thing to do."
Olivia was truly adorable when she was full of shit. "You're asking or is Alcide Herveaux asking because he has found himself suddenly out of a job and has nothing to lose other than his junkie girlfriend?"
She said nothing in response. Her silence said all he needed to know. She was quite telling tonight. "Do you have feelings for the wolf?"
She frowned. "Not at all actually."
"Then why do you care?"
"I'm trying to right some of our wrongs here, Eric, come on. What do you want?" She was becoming impatient. "20 questions, truth or dare, want me to clean your house in lingerie-"
Despite making a real effort to not smile, he couldn't help it. "A dance."
She slightly slumped her shoulders. "We've danced before, you sure that's what you want?"
Olivia stepped forward, facing him, and moved straight into first position. She straightened her spine and lifted her arms. One of her hands gently landed on his left shoulder, and the other took his right palm. Her soft breasts pushed against his chest, he could feel her heart beating. Let's Get Lost by Chet Baker was playing now. Holding her like this, he never wanted to tear someone apart so badly.
"Ready?" Her beautiful brown eyes looked up at him.
But this is not what he had planned at all. See, Pamela had told him about something very curious he had found in her house once. "A pole dance."
She looked at him wide-eyed. Surprising his accountant would never get boring. When she tried to pull away, his arms wouldn't let her go.
"I, uh, I don't really dance like that-"
"Don't you have a pole in your spare bedroom?"
Olivia was suddenly flustered, which was new to him. "I do, but-"
"Pam will put you on first tonight."
Her heart was beating faster now. "Put me where?"
He smiled fully. "On stage."
"At Fangtasia?"
"Oh yes. That, or I bite you right here, right now."
He brought the hand in his palm closer to his face and brushed his lips tenderly against the inside of her wrist. He felt her shudder head to toe in his embrace. It all came down to that, really. Eric wanted her to be his so badly, that he would make every option, every way, and every reality in which she wasn't his a terrible one. Her blood was pulsing strongly just under his lower lip.
"And you'll cut Debbie Pelt off?" She said holding back anger and taking back her lovely wrist.
"As long as she's in Area 5, she will not be getting V from anybody."
"Okay. Fine, if that's what you want, you get a dance. One song."
"Fine."
She freed herself from him, but only because he let her. "Fine."
Olivia spun on her heels and walked out with as much poise as she walked in. "Olivia," he called out.
"You know I always get what I want, right?"
Her big brown eyes now looked at him angrily. "Yeah, but so do I."
She was out of her fucking mind. It felt surreal walking up the stairs behind the bar and taking the first door on the left instead of the second right. The rectangular room had lockers lining the shorter wall, and two longer ones were long vanities, complete with a high counter, mirrors, lights, and stools. At the very end was the door to the bathroom, and in the very center stood a pole for warm-ups. A very different room from the office she shared with Eric
Tara and Dawn were the only ones here, their backs to the door, getting ready at their vanities. Dawn's hair was pinned up in curls, and she was curling hair extensions that lay on the table. Tara was working on her smokey eye, and the duo was laughing and giggling. They paid her no mind until Olivia sat down on the vanity line opposite to them. The girls went dead quiet and stared through the mirror.
Olivia was not happy. Maybe Eric thought her debuting as a stripper to be humiliating enough to make her give in and let him bite her. She knew what he was doing, she wasn't dumb. But she didn't think of stripping or pole dancing to be humiliating at all.
Olivia learned pole dancing from a retired stripper in a studio in Brooklyn, and despite it being rebranded as a 'sport' and becoming popular with middle-class white women everywhere, Olivia always honored where it came from. It came from here, from strippers. And there was nothing wrong with being a stripper. They were entertainers just like any other.
Still, there was a creepy stigma around it. About six months after she started, Jaimie let it slip at an office Christmas party and every man in her department suddenly saw her and thought of her differently. So Olivia didn't really share this hobby with anyone - she didn't have to. Dancing was her passion. It felt like freedom, it was the only time she didn't think. And most importantly, it was the only circumstance where she didn't hear other people's thoughts without having to hold up her mental wall. Everything just went quiet. Once she figured that out when she was little, her dad bent over backward to pay for ballet and any dancing lessons he could possibly afford. As the only other telepath in her life, he knew how important the chase for silence was.
It was her special thing, and now she would have to do it in front of all her coworkers, and patrons of the bar. And also, the way she danced was not in any way anything like Dawn or Tara or any of the girls who learned from Yvetta. There were many styles of pole dancing, from Russian to your sexy exotic (Yvetta knew both, extremely well), to artistic which is what Olivia liked the most. She was going up there and probably embarrassing herself, but hey it's what Eric wanted. It was better than his other option.
"Girl, ain't they paying you enough?" Tara spoke up, turning around. Dawn laughed at her joke.
Olivia, who didn't even know what to do first, just stared at her bag. She couldn't tell them the truth, obviously, so she lied. "I lost a bet."
She finally plugged her hair straightener to let it heat up and shook the contents of her make-up bag onto the counter.
"What are you wearin'?" Dawn asked as she started to clip in her hair.
What she usually wore. "Black shorts and a sports bra."
"Uh, no, Miss Pam will tear you a new one if you walk there wearing a sports bra, girl."
Olivia died inside a little. She had completely forgotten Pamela was the house mom, which meant she had to approve every outfit. She would also regret letting Pam give her a stripper makeover, she knew that much. Dawn hopped off the barstool and walked over to her locker, pulling out a small lavender bundle of velvet fabric. "Here, I wore this on opening night, it's clean. Pam doesn't let us repeat outfits in the same week, but we can trade though since we all look so different."
"Men are really clueless, they don't notice," Tara said, applying fake lashes carefully.
She had no idea why Dawn was being so kind, but she was incredibly grateful. "Thank you so much, I'll wash it and give it back to you tomorrow."
Olivia started putting on makeup, somewhat copying how Dawn looked. She had rich brown hair, green eyes, and perfect eyebrows, teeth, and nose. She had a certain Megan Fox air about her. After Yvette and Felicity, Dawn was the biggest winner in tips, and you could see why by her face alone.
Crystal walked in the room wearing a full pink juicy couture sweatsuit and earbuds blaring hip hop. It took her a moment to notice Olivia was sitting there at all.
"Oh shit, you dance now?"
"Just tonight. Am I in your spot?"
"Don't worry about it," she shrugged and sat right next to her. From her not-human mind, she could pick up only fuzzy thoughts, but she didn't seem bothered.
Being a telepath, it was naturally difficult for Olivia to make friends. She had a small group of girls from the ballet academy, some friends from high school, and a good few from college. But ever since moving to Louisiana, she only focused on her work and the Queen and never bothered making new friendships. They don't tell you this, but it's incredibly difficult to meet people and make friends after college. But here she was, somehow part of this cool gang of strippers.
"Oh you got really fancy makeup," Crystal was eyeing her Chanel compacts. It was a purchase in Dallas made on the Northman credit card. "What the hell are you being a stripper for?"
"She lost a bet," Tara repeated.
"Go on! To who?!"
"Eric." The room went dead quiet, and the room buzzed with questions in their minds.
"Girl, that's a dangerous game you be playin'," Tara warned her.
She could not be more right. Keeping face, and the mood in the room light, she shrugged. "Last time we bet something, I got his Corvette," she lied.
"That's your car?" Tara asked, raising her brows. "Damn, Yvetta gon' be pissed. She was tryin' to hustle the owner of that car all last weekend. She hunted and prowled that floor all night."
"How come?"
"Flashier the car, bigger the spender."
"Work smarter, not harder girl," Crystal said, spreading foundation all over her face. "So, is this your first time? Did you pick a song yet? Oh, and don't worry about the pole too much, it's like a skinny stiff dance partner, that's all."
"Trust me, the pole is the least scary part," Olivia assured her.
"Did you pick a name yet?! I'm Jessie, Dawn is Jade, Tara is Destiny."
Dawn weighed in. "Crystal had to pick a normal name 'cause she's got a stripper name already."
"But Jessie is cute!"
Being around these girls made her less nervous. Olivia finished getting ready and put on her velvet two-piece bikini, which fit like a glove. The bottom was high cut and high waisted, and the top was a high neck halter with cutouts in the dead center all the way down the waistband, giving full cleavage. She had the pre-stage nerves as she warmed up in the middle of the room. Shoulders first, lats, then abs, then legs. Neck stretch and hip stretches, and at least three layers of hand-grip cream.
Pam strutted into the room, headset in place and clipboard on hand. "Alright freaks, it's opening time."
All the girls were in the final touches of getting ready (though no one had stretched yet), and everyone stiffened a little at the sight of their boss, who came in wearing a borderline dominatrix black latex outfit. Pamela eyed Olivia head to toe.
"Ah, what a delight, who told you lavender was my favorite color darlin'?" She had those hungry eyes again.
"Very funny. I'm only doing one song."
"Oh yes, Eric told me. Really fucked the stage rotation numbers, but now I'm starting to see it may be worth it after all." Her eyes were still on her body. Suddenly she snapped back up. "Alright, let's go. You hoes stay at the bar until Olivia is done. Then Crystal you take pole 1, Tara takes pole 3 and Dawn you go straight to VIP 1. Felicity should arrive in an hour, then it's back to the regular rotation. Olivia put on shoes and let's go."
She looked at her bare feet standing over the glitter-covered carpet. She didn't own stripper shoes, and honestly didn't even think of it when she was packing her bag at home. Tara picked up on Olivia's fatal flaw and handed her a pair of 10 inch clear heels.
"These are sweaty ass shoes, don't thank me yet."
Olivia nodded and put them on. She was used to walking on high heels but there were High Heels. It was like fucking Bambi on ice as she walked down the stairs slowly following Pamela, who was also wearing heels, so now they were the same height. It felt illegal. The club was red as usual. Red and gold lights, patrons were already filling up the club, and it was especially full of vampires. Her heart was beating louder than the music. Her internal alarm was telling her No! No fucking way! Holy fuck, run!
Except she couldn't, not in these shoes. How was she even supposed to dance like this?! Pole dancing was hard enough, and now she was supposed to pole dance too?! No wonder these girls did mostly floor work on their ass and knees!
Pamela said something next to her, but her brain was scanning for the exits.
"What?!"
"What song, and what's your name? The DJ needs to call you something before you step on."
Suddenly the stage stairs looked like Everest. Poor Terry stood by it, staring at her both confused and astonished. "Uh, you pick the name. For song..." her brain seemed abruptly forget every single cool song she ever heard. So she chose something slow and cheesy, easy to dance to. "That one song by Chris Isaak."
Pamela walked to the DJ booth next to the bar and whispered something in his ear. Olivia looked up and Eric was already waiting on his throne above it all. He looked at nothing but her. Once the current rock song ended (the music here really was all over the place), the DJ announced the very famous guitar riff of Chris Isaak's song Wicked Game.
"Ladies and gentlemen, starting the evening with a little treat. Welcome to the stage - Ophelia."
Aaaah, seriously? There goes an alias she can never use again. As fast as she could (which was very slow) she stepped up onto the stage. There is the strange thing that happens when you perform, that everything melts and blurs and only you exist. It had been years since she participated in a recital or competition, but it happened every time, and it happened now. Everything disappears, everything but the music goes silent. When she touched the center pole, it was locked in place which made sense, considering the girls were not the most skilled yet.
She did a simple knee hook spin that landed her softly on the floor, so she could unlock the pole into free spin. Opening her legs into a wide straddle (this is why you stretch), she fiddled with the lock bottom on the base and unlocked the pole. She brought her legs over and crouched down as dainty as she could and undid the straps of her shoes. There was a 0% chance she could dance with these things on and not break her ankles. She put the heels to the side then body waved herself up.
Finally, she pulled herself up and her feet no longer touched the ground. Her body flowed in the air, she let go of everything. All the faces of the crowd disappeared. All but one.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
He had never seen anything like it. Eric didn't even know humans could do or move like this, let alone have the strength and control alone needed to do what Olivia was doing right now. It was borderline jaw-dropping. He couldn't look away, he couldn't blink, he couldn't miss a single second of what he was witnessing. To be honest, no one could. Not a single person said anything, as the whole club watched in silence.
No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you
Never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with something so beautiful. He could tell Olivia was a natural dancer from the second he saw her cross the old Fangtasia club floor. They had also danced together in that unforgettable and high regrettable ball, but this, this was something completely different. She was in complete control - of herself, of the speed at which she spun, of his eyes. It was plain physics, he knew that - when Olivia made herself small she spun faster, and when she blossomed away from the pole everything (maybe the whole universe) slowed down.
What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, make me dream of you
Eric was in awe as she twirled like a ballerina in a music box, as she flipped upside down as if gravity simply didn't exist. She climbed higher and higher, completely unafraid, flying in her own way. Olivia had told him she didn't "dance like that" when he asked her to dance tonight, and she had been right. None of the other dancers moved like this. It was as if her whole body felt the music.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
At any given night, at any given strip club, the dancers were here for the enjoyment of the patrons. But right now, Eric found himself watching as if he were worshipping at an altar, her movements bound him like a fairy spell.
No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you
Way too soon, the song was over and the lights returned back to their usual red. Everyone blinked and shifted in place as if waking up from a daydream, but every vampire in the place stayed still like a statue, watching closely. Olivia did a soft bow, grabbed her shoes as the crowd applauded and some patrons tossed money at the stage - and they tipped nowhere near enough, he could tell right now.
The music returned, and the DJ announced the next dancer, and everything went back to normal as if nothing had happened at all. But to Eric, everything had happened. Had she picked the music? Because it was oddly fitting. And where had she gone? Eric made his way down and across the club, ignoring the stunned faces and hungry eyes. He disappeared out behind the bar before anyone could have intercepted him with questions about his newest dancer.
Eric followed her scent, which dangerously filled the whole club now. He had never been so hungry in his entire life. She was in the change room, drying her glistening sweaty body with a towel. Her smell was intoxicating, it was hard to concentrate on anything.
"When I said one song, I meant it, I can't dance for more than 3 minutes," she was out of breath, stretching her shoulders across her chest. "Well, did you like it?" She asked curiously. "You're not saying anything."
Where to begin?
"I hated it," he said honestly. "I hated every fucking second of it," she looked both disappointed and surprised. "It was simply torture just watching you from far away and not being able to have you."
For the first time, he had left her speechless. Her big eyes just watched him as emotions flew across her face. He walked closer with caution, afraid of what he himself might do.
"You smell like freedom, Olivia. Like honey and golden sunshine in a bottle. The three minutes you were out there were enough to fill this whole club with your scent. Throw in the outfit and the performance, and they will come for you."
"Aren't you supposed to protect me?"
"I am, and I always will. But the edict of protection is just a piece of paper to half of these people. They respect me and what's mine, far more."
"I'm willing to take my chances," she said as she grabbed a dark grey hoodie and stuck her arms in it, zipping the goods out of sight.
She was so fucking stubborn.
"If all I wanted was your blood I could take it right here and now and there wouldn't be a thing you could do to stop me. I mean, who are you gonna go crying to? Sophie-Anne?" She quietly gulped. She knew he was right. "But instead I am asking you... To be mine."
"Being yours means something different to me than it probably means to you."
"What does it mean then? It's clearly not about sex."
"It means that I failed at my job, Eric! That I failed at taking care of myself, that I needed someone to rescue me, and I just… Can't afford that, I can't afford needing anyone, not ever-"
"You were willing to be hers," he accused her.
"That was different-"
He grew hostile. "Different how?"
"I fell in love with her."
His chest ached again. He always suspected it, but hearing it firsthand was something else entirely. Eric had never understood the appeal of Sophie-Anne LeClerq, and he was clearly alone in that regard. She was as beautiful as she was cold; she sat alone in her High Castle and very seldom ever came out. She ruled from a perfect little snowglobe, built an alternate reality for herself, and filled it with pretty things. He could see how Olivia would fit in it, and he could understand why someone would fall in love with a fantasy.
But he lived out here, in the dark and painful real world.
"I'm terrible at being someone's, Eric. I never seem to meet people's expectations, and they always end up disappointed, and I end up hurt. That's what happened with Sophie-Anne, and she shipped me off here. Where are you gonna send me when you find out who I really am?"
But I already know. And she was perfect just the way she was. Olivia was just afraid he wouldn't think so.
Saved by the bell, Pamela strutted in the room, clipboard in hand. "Well, well, well, I'm starting to see the fuss people are makin' about you," Pamela ate her with her eyes. "There are about six gentlemen wanting to buy a lap dance from you, and two who requested you at their champagne room."
Olivia shook her head. "No thank you, I retired two minutes ago."
Pamela looked at him sternly. "Eric?"
He was running out of excuses to keep Olivia away from other vampires, and Pamela knew this. Maybe that was the real reason Sophie-Anne sent her here. Owning Olivia was like holding onto a nuclear warhead. You became suddenly interesting to everyone. But it didn't make him want her any less.
He had stopped the clock on Olivia's head by laundering money through Grey's accounts. But now the clock was running out for him. It would just be a matter of time before someone powerful came to town or someone who recognized the scent of the fae. Would it be risking too much to let them come?
"Tell them I bought her for the whole night."
Pamela raised her eyebrows after giving Olivia a mischievous look. She then spun on her heels and walked back downstairs. They were alone again. Olivia stood with arms crossed in the oversized Princeton hoodie, only her thighs and feet were bare. He approached her slowly. He may never have had her in vampire terms, but the way she looked at him, so vulnerable - it felt like she was slipping through his fingers. For a woman so pragmatic, he wished Olivia didn't have this small little caveat about blood bonds. But he understood her, as Eric felt somewhat the same way. He remembered kissing her, and the way her body touched his - with so much longing and yearning. Olivia cared about him, she was just too afraid of what that meant.
"Just say you don't want to fall in love with me," he whispered, moving a piece of her messy half-curled hair into place.
Her lips became a fine line, her eyes never looked so beautifully brown.
"Say it," he asked again. "Say there is nothing I could possibly do to earn you and that you were just stringing me along this whole time."
"Stop-" her tiny voice broke, as she turned away, facing the mirror. But he stood right behind her, just watching her detach herself from the hard truth she was facing.
"Tell me again that you could never care for someone like me," he pressed harder. She had to admit it. He needed it. "It's easier if you say it out loud, for both of us."
"I can't love you, Eric," Olivia said with a deep breath, putting up her bravest face to the mirror. The face he had seen her put on a hundred times. But the truth was in the heartbeats.
"Good," he nodded as he stepped away, pleased. "Now keep practicing. You suck at lying."
A.N:
I have no words. No words. Just feelings. Wait until the next fucking chapter y'all (should come next week). You are NOT ready!
Also, as a pole dancer myself, I will leave you a majestic performance that inspired this chapter. Just look up Pole dance-Taemikim on Youtube.
As always, leave me a hello below
xoxoxo