It never failed how easy they were. The biggest fish in the city were rendered useless by a beautiful woman and made completely stupid by one who knew what she was doing.
She watched from the wings with Cage, his cologne burning her nose as waiters zoomed in and out of the kitchen doors with fresh wine bottles and dishes. He was on his phone, per usual, but she kept her eyes peeled – not on Tiff, but the men.
Tiffany had them at her feet but made them believe otherwise…she had taught her all the best moves - trailing her fingers down the lapels of their suit jackets as she laughed at their terrible jokes, eating slowly and licking her lips, casting her eyes downwards only to look up again. The lip bite was her own trick, but Jazzi hadn't seen her do that in a while. Not with these assholes.
Despite the heartbreak in her eyes only Jazzi could see, Tiffany was still the envy of every woman in the room, the one men coveted with their long gazes.
She was with client number four, a fundraiser gala at The Pierre Hotel. Among the overdone Greecian pillars and painted green foliage, Tiffany was the classiest part of the room. And they saw her as such - an object.
And sometimes, a lot of times, that was enough for them to decide and act.
"Boss wants to see you after this," Cage said in a bored tone.
Jazzi's jaw clenched as she watched the client hand Tiffany a glass of wine.
"Of course," she replied dryly.
"I think this one's betting five," Cage glanced over his sunglasses, slightly amused. "Give Phillip a little run for his money."
Jazzi's glare deepened.
It still didn't distract her from the way her skin crawled at Phillip's name…Garrison.
It was the way his eyes gleamed the same, cold and lifeless, his sickening smirk when he knew he'd won. She still felt disgusted with the memory of when they'd first met, both in their past lives and this one.
She'd known all along who owned the club. She'd known before she and the girls moved to New York. And though she felt she was trapped in a sick twisted nightmare, she made sure that she had been the one to find him first.
It was the one and only time the expression on his face had been truly priceless. His fiance, back from the dead. He looked so pale she thought he would faint. But he was too skilled at handling facades, too careful. He gave her that smile that made her blood run cold. Hello, darling.
He'd kept his distance from the club, both brothers did. It wasn't their scene. So as commanded, she met them early in the mornings at their Upper East Side penthouse, when the dancers were paid and gone and the club doors were locked. They usually gathered at the penthouse to play poker with their 'friends' - celebrities, politicians, city officials. She fed them enough information to keep them pleased.
But she couldn't keep Tiffany from him forever - he almost looked angry when he saw a photo of her for the first time from the security cameras… she anticipated him to accuse her, to be suspicious of her reasons for hiding her from him. But then that damned smile slowly spread across his face.
Still jealous, sweetheart?
She would've killed him then. But she had to wait.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the fake laughter bouncing around the room and the fumes of Cage's cologne.
"...they want to discuss new terms," Cage added after a moment.
Jazzi opened her eyes in time to meet Tiffany's gaze as her date led her across the room. She could see the numbness behind her blue eyes, and she felt responsible for every bit of it. Still, she was relieved to see she hadn't touched the wine in her glass. The girl was finally playing it safe.
She knew what 'discuss' meant. They were going to tell her what they wanted, and she was expected to deliver.
She had worked so hard to keep him from her, to keep both Tiffany and Phillip in the dark about each other. But now he was like a dog with a bone. He was obsessed with her. He peppered Jazzi with questions when they were alone - was Tiffany aware of who she really was? Where was she from? He swore up and down he didn't want her for much as his fingers trailed over Jazzi's hand…
But then he found out about Jack. He'd looked positively deadly.
That's when she saw the decision form in his mind, the moment that drenched her body in dread and anxiety: he was after revenge.
She had promised Tiffany's mother –
Promise me, Joselyn, promise you'll protect her.
Jazzi almost dropped her phone as she quickly checked the home camera app…Honey wasn't back yet.
She huffed a sigh – she hoped Honey would at least get Jack to call Martin. After all, it'd been her idea and Honey agreed.
She'd worked too hard just to have everything come tumbling down on top of them. If the girls were going down, so would the guys.
She wished she didn't have to be so unforgiving and dark - instincts gained from survival. They seemed to be traits she couldn't outrun, no matter the lifetime. She was tired…tired of the headaches she kept secret, the nightmares…the constant running from her own guilt. Seeing her every time she looked at Tiffany –
Some nights she cried until she couldn't, wishing she could talk to her just one more time…
Tiffany never said a word after the events and parties – Jazzi didn't force her to. They were still being watched and listened to…she was undoubtedly drained from putting up a constant front, from being touched and gawked at. Jazzi knew there was nothing she could do to change it. But she had a new fear as she checked the time. Cage was waiting for her downstairs.
Tiffany went straight to the shower when they returned to the hotel room, her gowns and clothes scattered around the lounge. Jazzi checked her phone again around one a.m. – Honey was back home.
Tiffany's tired voice reached her just as she was turning the doorknob. "Where are you going?"
Jazzi turned toward the bathroom and saw Tiffany's face in the mirror over the vanity. She looked so tired and thin.
"Checking in," she replied evenly.
Tiffany dropped her gaze and turned to the shower.
The driver closed the door behind Jazzi as she got in the back of the SUV with Cage. He didn't look up from his phone as the car pulled away from the hotel and drove into the late-night traffic towards the Upper East Side.
Cage led the way through the marble foyer to the private elevator that would take them to the top floor, his goon trailing behind her. They stepped off into another hallway, the front door ornate and threatening before them. There was music playing loudly, she could smell the cigars, and she could hear women laughing. Fools.
They were in the main living room, the view and the furniture grand enough for the cover page of Architectural Digest. Young women, rookies from the club, were drinking and chatting with the brothers' lackies. Jazzi pretended not to see them…she knew they would be drugged and dragged off like meat before morning (the goons' duty). She began to worry about her own level of numbness she had acquired, but she couldn't afford to dwell on it…
She kept her head where it needed to be: Tiffany.
Cigar smoke encircled their heads as they laughed from the couches, a young girl refilling their whiskey glasses. The front room was lined with leather couches and glass lamps on expensive mahogany tables. Cigar boxes, poker sets, Wall Street Journals, printouts of the latest stock market trends, an assortment of expensive drugs...
Jazzi stopped in front of them as if she were facing a firing squad.
Roger Wilks III lounged in a blue Armani suit, his blonde hair perfectly combed to the side. He was the family embarrassment but the family honestly didn't care; he may have been the popular kid that preferred partying and playing for the paparazzi over everything else, but when you're past a certain level of rich, you could literally get away with murder. And he wore it on his sleeve.
Sitting next to him, more reserved, observing, and calm, was his brother.
"Why so glum, sugar plum?" Roger laughed, the other men following suit. Roger waved his hand and they magically disappeared with their flashy dates. Their laughter disappeared behind closing doors.
Jazzi glanced at Phillip…Garrison. He was watching her, his lips lifted slightly as if amused. His gray suit jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gold cufflinks shining in the dim lamp light that cast a shadow over his face. His cold eyes made her feel naked.
She resented him more than ever before - only he could play into one of the wealthiest families in the country and feel he deserved it all.
Cage lit a cigarette and poured himself a drink at the glass liquor cabinet in the wall. "You were right – he went over five."
"Pales in comparison," Phillip purred.
The sound of his voice made her feel so many things. How could it still sound the same?
"Which brings us to the next point of business," Roger said smoothly, smirking at Jazzi. "We're upping the stakes a bit…playing for keeps."
Her eyes narrowed and she fought to hide the feeling of rising bile in her throat. She saw Cage watching her from over their heads.
"Will the others up their biddings then?" she asked evenly. Treat it like a business.
"No," Phillip answered, drawing her attention again. "They can for the other girls… but this new arrangement, with Tiffany, is just for me."
Jazzi said nothing. His smile grew.
"Will that be a problem?" Roger asked pointedly.
He knew how feisty and defiant Tiffany could be…
"Not at all," she said dully. "She'll do what she's told."
"She will for her sake," Phillip said as he stood and approached her, his eyes gleaming knowingly into hers. "...and her friends."
She exhaled slowly as he crossed to the window, twirling the chunk of ice in his whiskey glass.
"I figure…what, seven hundred will suffice for her absence?"
"It's a start," Roger teased as he kicked back, flicking his cigar. "She's still my best."
They laughed.
Roger directed his attention back to Jazzi.
"Recruit more girls from the club. Only the cream of the crop. The clients will need consolation prizes."
"I don't hire anything less," she replied. The lift of his eyebrows told her he was pleased.
Roger began speaking with Cage and she turned to the window where Phillip stood…his silhouette menacing against the city skyline as if he could do anything he wanted to it. She knew he could.
He kept his voice low as they both looked out through the window. "She still has no idea?"
Jazzi unclenched her jaw. "Correct."
He gave a short laugh before draining his whiskey. "Interesting. I'm eager...to jog her memory."
Jazzi felt enraged but cold all over as she pretended not to feel a thing as he lifted her hand to his lips.
She'd learned how to be numb - from her.
Thinking of her... She met his eyes reluctantly.
"First her…then those wretched street rats. Then you and I shall rule this city side by side."
"And your brother," she added evenly.
He chuckled, his dead eyes twinkling in a sickening way. "Of course...you don't miss a thing. So much more devious in this life…and even more stunning."
He leaned towards her, his lips grazing her cheek.
"And what about Tiffany?" she asked tightly.
His tone was matter-of-fact, "my living toy. Relax, darling – she won't separate us this time."
Jazzi rolled her eyes to the ceiling as he kissed her neck. He still believed she wanted him, thanks to her own acting skills. But she felt it slipping away, losing her grip on why she did it all…it was hard to stay focused through all the masks she kept as he licked her skin.
She kept her breathing even, waiting for the sweet moment when they would dismiss her.
When she returned to the hotel room, Tiffany was tossing in her sleep again. She brushed her hair with her fingers and rubbed her back. She murmured Jack's name and Jazzi's stomach churned.
What had she done? How could she have let this happen again –
Damned Newsies.
No, it wasn't their fault they were stuck in this sick game.
She could only afford to protect Tiffany, to ensure she made it out. But now…
She cursed to herself again as she checked her phone. Nothing.
She checked constantly over the next few days. She couldn't risk talking to the girls about it, so she avoided them even more than usual. She knew they probably resented her for – everything. It didn't compare to how she felt…but she kept her distance and kept Tiffany focused on her rehearsals. Which were finally beginning to show the signs of her exhaustion.
Almost a week had passed and no word from Martin, or anyone. She was beginning to feel antsy. Her own body was beginning to slack from constantly being in survival mode and pushing aside her emotions. It was easier to focus on Tiffany, but that wasn't fair to her either. The gala was approaching swiftly, and she began to feel panicked. They needed a plan.
She hated to think about the fear in the back of her mind, the haunting history she couldn't escape, the past that complicated things even further –
What did the guys know…and what would they tell Honey?
