The band started, the heavy vibrations of the drums humming through our bodies, and the crowd went wild. Pounding feet, banging heads, jumping, losing themselves. The band was doing a cover of Rob Zombie’s “Dragula,” and when the crowd cheered louder, I knew who was onstage, but I didn’t look.
I had to see Juliet see this for the first time. If she was grossed out, I’d whisk her away and apologize. If she liked it…. Well, I doubted she would. This show wasn’t for most.
“Wha …” She looked to me, the question in her eyes, but she hurriedly turned back to the stage.
I watched her, knowing what she was seeing.
She was watching a dark-haired woman, midthirties, who wasn’t in the band. She didn’t play an instrument, she didn’t sing, and she didn’t dance.
“Oh, my God.” Juliet’s eyebrows, pinched together, and that was when I saw it.
The realization of what was happening. Her eyes flared, and her head cocked to the side as she watched, completely interested.
And I closed my eyes and smiled, relief flooding me. She wasn’t scared.
Turning my body around, I stood up straight and gulped down half the bottle of water, before fixing my eyes on the woman onstage.
Her black corset shaped her waist, giving it a beautiful natural curve. The frilly black ruffled underwear brought everyone else’s attention to her behind when she walked across the stage, and the tall black top hat tipped lower in the front, covering eyes I knew were hazel. Her black hair hung in an abundance of curls down her back, and her black midcalf boots and the black pearls around her neck completed her goth-steampunk flair.
Her full lips were red, and her eye shadow was a deep purple, but these didn’t distract from the natural beauty she possessed—her high cheekbones, slanted eyes, and olive skin.
She was utterly beautiful, vibrant, and the life of this place. Everything and everyone revolved around her here.
Her head swayed, and her wrists rotated to the music. She smiled, sang along to the hard music, taunting the crowd to scream louder for her.
And behind her, the two stagehands, looking exactly as though they belonged here in their long dreads and black shorts, shirts, and boots, continued to grab the metal hooks hanging from the ceiling.
My eyes flashed to Juliet. Her eyes were full of amazement, and I could tell everything she was feeling just by her expressions.
Narrowed eyes? Confusion. Wide eyes? Whoa. Chin up with narrowed eyes? Interested.
Looking back up to the stage, I saw the woman smile at the crowd, holding up her arms and looking like a goddess. I couldn’t see her back, but I knew what was about to happen. I tipped my head back, a rush hitting my chest as the cables lifted her into the air.
“Jax?” Juliet said, sounding as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “She’s hanging. From hooks.”
A smile spread over my face, and I leaned down on the table again.
“It’s called body suspension. Weird, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah. But”—she tipped her head back, watching as the woman spun around in the air, her skin stretched where the four hooks held her—“she … she kind of looks …”
“What?” I pressed, urging her on.
“Like an angel. She kind of looks like a dark angel, doesn’t she?”
I glanced back up, remembering my first time seeing what she was seeing. The woman was suspended above the crowd, dark and menacing, but completely stunning in her power. She held the attention, the eyes, and the hearts of everyone in this room.
Nearly everyone.
“I didn’t know people did things like this,” Juliet said thoughtfully, “but she’s really beautiful.”
I looked back up, the purple, red, and white feathers in the woman’s hat contrasting with all the black in the room. “Her name is Storm Cruz,” I told Juliet. “She owns this club.”
Juliet’s gaze left the woman and turned to me. “You know her?” she asked.
I barely shook my head, looking way. “We’ve never met.”
“But you come here to watch her shows.”
“Here and other venues where she performs,” I admitted.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I looked up at the woman’s body swinging around and around above us, wishing just once that she’d look down at me.
My voice was a whisper when I spoke. “She’s my mother.”
Juliet was quiet, but I could tell she was waiting for me to say something. I punched the clutch and shifted into sixth gear, taking a deep breath.
“She was eighteen when she had me,” I started. “Despite her drug and alcohol use, I was born healthy. But she left me.” I ran my hand through my hair, thinking about me as a baby. Crying in the hospital. Helpless. The state probably wondering what to do with me.
“She abandoned me at the hospital. No birth certificate had been filed, so they didn’t know who my father was until he tracked me down a couple of years later.” And I wished he never had. “It still took him a while and a paternity test to get ahold of me, but she, on the other hand, never looked back.”
“You don’t know that, Jax. I’m sure she was messed up at the time,” Juliet said, trying to make me feel better.
But I didn’t feel bad. Not about losing a mother I never had. Or losing a father I hated. I guess I just wanted to be acknowledged.
“I don’t blame her,” I allowed. “Who knows what my father did to her, after all? She escaped. Did what she had to do. She’s happy, and successful, and living her life on her terms …” I trailed off and then added, “And she’s clean. Totally on top of her game right now. I was really happy to see her happy.”