CHAPTERSIX
TRISTAN
The sweet voice speaking is like a siren’s pulling me from the depths of a sea filled with nothingness. I know the sweet voice and who it belongs to. There’s no sound as beautiful as hers, and I know this because I’ve dreamt about it plenty.
Not in the time I’d been with Dimitri, that was only for nightmares, but before . . . I’d dream about her. Hell, I’d watch her at Diamond Dancers when I had time, and I wasn’t taking care of business on my side of the building.
The building that holds Diamond Dancers also holds the brothel I managed, but unless you were allowed to know of it, then you weren’t to go in that portion. The club had three portions to it on the legit side. You have the strip club section where the dancers did your typical dances by stripping their clothes off, leaving clothes on to an extent. Then there’s the full nude area of the club. It’s smaller than the rest, more intimate, but classy all the same. And the largest area of the club is the burlesque dance stage area. It’s where my family keeps a table in the back reserved at all times for if anyone wants to be there. My brother Rémy runs the club portion and can normally be found sitting at that table, especially when his woman Corentina is up on the stage.
It’s also the same area of the club I would find this siren dancing on stage.
Poppy.
Shit, the woman was made to be a dancer. The way she can move her body, entrancing the audience. It’s why she’s one of the main dancers.
From the first time I saw her . . . I met her . . . I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the building. She’s sweet and funny. Not that I let her know it. Not really. I had a strict policy of not messing around with the women who worked for Diamond Dancers or the brothel. They were to be taken care of, not taken advantage of.
But what is she doing here now?
I force and fight my way out of the fog clogging my head from the medications the nurse gave me. Being medicated, as fun as it sounds, I’m sick of it. I’ve never liked the way they make me feel. My head gets all heavy, and I become sluggish. In my job within the family, I needed to be on my toes. Where Remy handled the legit part of things in Diamond Dancers, I took care of the other side of things. The women who worked for us came first in making sure they didn’t get hurt. Unlike our father, I refused to see them beaten and hurt.
So many times, before Delano DeLancy died, I saw him enjoying the sight of the girls working and being abused. If Félix hadn’t done the job of killing the old bastard, I’d have done it myself.
Now listening to Poppy speaking, my gut burns. Why does hearing her voice seem to have to potential to wake something inside me?
A memory of the first time I saw her pops in my mind, and I allow it to take hold as I relive it.
“Tristan, what do you think of the new dancer?” Rémy asks, taking a seat at the table reserved for us in the burlesque portion of the club. Each section has one meant for the DeLancy’s, but usually, we sit at this table. Rémy waves to the waitress, motioning for her to bring us a drink.
I watch the stage as the woman moves her body. “She’s good. I can see her becoming a headliner.”
“That’s what Madelaine wants her to be until the dancer she contracted can get here,” Rémy states, shrugs, and leans back against the booth.
I nod and watch the exquisite woman with a body meant for lavishing dance on stage. If I didn’t have a rule about fucking where I work, I’d surely take her to my office and spread her out for me to feast on.
“Her name’s Poppy.” Rémy grins, giving me that knowing look. There’s been plenty of women who work for us and get our dicks riled, but we all keep to the same rule.
“Right,” I mutter and check my watch. Shit. I’ve got a meeting with a client who wants to host a party and needs girls. “I’ve got to go.” I stand from the table and glance back to the stage where Poppy is dancing. I stare for a moment longer and stalk away, dropping my gaze from the dancer I know will haunt my thoughts for the remainder of the night.
Inwardly I shake my head, shoving the thoughts of watching her dance on that stage away. She’s here now, and the thought of her seeing me laying in a damn hospital bed pisses me off. The way she proclaims her feelings for me makes me livid.
Before everything happened, I’d have enjoyed hearing her telling me how she felt about me but not now. Not after all the shit I went through.
Dimitri was right about one thing. He killed me, and my family buried me. I’m no longer the same man I was. He made sure of it. Demeaning me to the point, I wish for nothing but death, and somehow, I didn’t even get to have that.
And Poppy, believing I’m asleep, has now decided to torture me more by telling me she loves me. Fuck that. I can’t hear anymore.
Slowly I open my eyes and glare at her though I take a split second to soak her in. Poppy is the most beautiful woman I know. That’s saying something since the women I’ve surrounded myself with in the brothel were pretty damn hot.
“You’re awake,” she gasps, eyes widening.
“Leave,” I croak, keeping my face from showing any expression.
“What?” She blinks, jerking her head back.
“Said leave.” I turn away from her, not wanting to see the anguish on her face. “Don’t come back. I don’t want to see you. Or anyone else. Just leave me the fuck alone, and you can tell my family that as well.”
“But . . .”
I don’t give her a chance to finish. I whip my head back toward her, ignoring the pain, and curl my lip. “Get the hell out of here and don’t come back,” I yell.
Poppy scrambles to her feet, eyes wide with fear or hurt. Either way, it guts me that she’s feeling it because of me. Poppy rushes out of the room, and the door slams closed behind her. I release a frustrated breath and look at the ceiling.
Unable to stop myself, I reach up and cover my eyes and rub them in anger. “Damnit.”
I drop my arms and shake my head in denial. Everything I was . . . all that I had is gone. I’m broken, and there’s no fixing me. Dimitri did a hell of a job when he decided to target me. He not only broke my body, but he destroyed my heart and soul, leaving me as nothing more than a walking corpse of the man I used to be.