DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice. Read online

  DANCE OR DIE

  A E Murphy

  Xela Knight

  Copyright © 2019 by

  A E Murphy & Xela Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Ashley Corrigan, for all you’ve done for me and my books.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  ENDING NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Have you read…?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By The Author

  “One, two, three, four, five,” she sings slowly on a whisper, pouring the gasoline-type liquid over the rug, “once I caught a fish alive.”

  The scent is foul, it makes her feel dizzy, but she continues pouring the translucent orange fluid over the blood-stained cream fur beneath her feet. She doesn’t stop until the letters of her name are perfectly formed, and then adds a little curl to the line that crosses the top of the T.

  “Six… seven...” She lights a match; the orange glow flickers across her features in the dark room. Glug, glug, glug can be heard as the gasoline spills from the canister that she simply dropped.

  “Eight… nine... ten.”

  Her breath leaves her on a shudder and her animal sitting by her feet whimpers impatiently, blood dripping from his mouth and onto her shoe.

  “This is now and that was then.”

  The match falls from between her fingers and she feels a strong whoosh of heat as the rug takes light in an instant.

  “This place is cute.”

  Cute.

  If I hear that word again, I might just make cute with my fist and plant it in her—

  “Oh lord, and that salon.” Carol, my personal social worker/babysitter clucks her tongue, her eyes sparkle with delight. “Although a small town like this, I doubt they’re very good.”

  “You’re too judgmental,” I remind her. “And extremely unprofessional.”

  But then again, she's on my uncle’s payroll. Of course she’s going to be unprofessional. He wants me under his thumb, not under the care of the state.

  I’m too much of a wild card.

  “And you’re a good-for-nothing little brat who doesn’t know how good she has it.” She says this in a sickly-sweet voice. If one didn’t understand American, one would think she was talking to me in such a loving manner.

  “Fuck you.” I cross my arms over my chest and lift my feet so they rest on her precious dashboard. She growls at me, but I don’t remove them this time. “Go find a bridge and drive off it.”

  “So aggressive.” She clicks the blinker on and turns the car down a long road that seems to go on forever. It’s suburbia hell. Trees line the sidewalks; their green leaves shadow the too wide road.

  Almost every house is the same size. This is fucking horrible.

  “Where the hell are you taking me?” I want her to turn around and laugh at this cruel joke she’s pulled.

  I wish I’d asked questions on the way. I wish I’d paid attention to the GPS.

  “Carol?”

  She pulls down another road which is basically the same as the road before except it isn’t never ending. It’s a cul-de-sac. Blossoms float through the air from the trees like confetti. It’s too pretty. I don’t like it.

  We’re in the wrong place.

  I press the button on the GPS and groan when I see that we’re supposed to stop at the house she’s now pulling into.

  There are so many flowers and ornaments and even a little fountain.

  The lawn is mowed.

  There’s a lawn in the front yard.

  There’s a front yard in front of the house.

  This… this is a house.

  I’ve not lived in a house for so long. So much space. No bars on the windows.

  “I don’t belong here,” I say as Carol pulls up behind a black SUV with tinted windows. “I’m not getting out of this car.”

  “You will get out of this car.” Carol seems far too sure of this. I’m wondering what she has up her sleeve. She suddenly looks really smug. She’s not attractive enough to be smug. It makes her pointy features crinkle at the edges. Her foundation has clogged those edges and crinkles.

  Gross.

  The dark red front door surrounded by a white frame and frosted glass panels doesn’t open. Instead the white door on the side of the building opens. The door behind the low fence where a large, slobbering, long-coated ginger dog now barks at us openly. It scrambles back down and to its owners who are exiting the house.

  Carol leaves the car and closes the door behind her. I remain defiant in my seat as she moves towards them and greets them with a handshake each.

  The woman is average height, her brown hair is clipped back from her face which is, dare I say, quite pretty considering the fact she must be in her forties.

  Ancient.

  She’s even wearing a fucking apron that looks to be spattered with flour and jam.

  Stepford wife. Definitely.

  The guy that has his hand on the small of her back is tense. His posture and body are rigid. His chest is huge, his arms too.

  Military. I don’t need to even speak to him to know it. The scar that cuts across his lip and the way he holds himself practically screams of army knowledge.

  His eyes flick to me in the car. They hover on mine curiously, piercing me with a watery blue stare.

  I don’t look away. Looking away is a sign of weakness. That’s why they’ve brought me here. To keep me under the watchful eye of yet another government puppet.

  Well, fuck them. I’m not crazy. I’m not…

  He seems to frown and his eyes shoot to the woman. They flicker back over to me briefly as the woman’s hands go to her mouth in shock.

  Lord knows what Carol is telling them. I kind of feel bad for them. They’re about to be fostering a monster.

  The man makes his way towards the car. His long legs close the distance in no time, and before I can adjust to the fact that he’s coming nearer, he taps on the window and pulls open the door.

  “She probably hasn’t taken her pills…” Carol is saying as the small-town air floods the car.

  “Traitor,” I mumble and stare at the guy as he leans into the car, his arm rests along the roof. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you thirsty?” he asks softly.

  “Are you asking me if I need a drink to take my medication with?” My eyes roll to the water bottle in the cup holder. “It’s warm but it’ll do.”

  “Actually, I asked because the bags under your eyes and sallow tone to your skin means you’re tired, dehydrated, and probably anemic.” />
  I snort and answer back sardonically, “Withdrawal symptoms probably. Did she tell you yet that I’m a junky?” She’s a lying cunt.

  “She might have mentioned it.” He steps back and holds on to the door. “We’re not so bad once you get to know us, and my wife, Lane, has baked a ton of treats for you.”

  My stomach growls at the thought of cake. I love cake. I haven’t had cake in so long. Especially not homemade cake. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever had homemade cake.

  “My name is Stanley.”

  “I’m…” I pinch my lips together. It’s been a while since I had to introduce myself. “My friends called me Scandal.”

  “Scandal?” He looks at Carol who is listening, no shock there.

  She nods and cringes. “You did read the file, right?”

  “Of course.” He looks repulsed but he doesn’t argue… for now. It’ll come eventually. If they keep me that long which they probably won’t. My uncle likes to keep me on the move. “Scandal it is for now.”

  For now… massive eye roll.

  “I’m so happy to meet you.” Lane grins and part of me thinks she means it. She pulls me in for a hug before I can stop her. I have to tighten my chest to stop myself from throwing her off me. I don’t like being smothered. Hugging isn’t something I’m used to but being smothered is. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Huh… she didn’t mention my lip, nose, and septum piercings. Surprising.

  “I’ll grab your things.” Stanley follows Carol to the trunk of the car and pulls out my suitcase. It is covered in colorful stickers that hold unspeakable words and quotes. This very suitcase has been with me for three years now. Depressingly, it’s the only friend I have. So when the handle snaps and the suitcase slams against the concrete driveway, I almost fall to my knees.

  “Uh-oh,” Carol whispers but I hear her. She’s waiting for me to have a fit. They’re all waiting for me to have a fucking fit.

  That’s right… a crazy-ass bitch fit.

  “I can fix it.” Lane pokes my wrist with her pinky finger. “I promise I can fix it.”

  “Don’t touch it,” I say as calmly as I can muster. The uncertainty in their gazes is good. “Just… I can fix it myself.” I hope. I look to Stanley who is staring at his wife. “Can I please just go to my room now?”

  “Of course, honey.” Lane steps to the side and leads me to the gate. I fucking hate pet names. “This is our dog, Curlyfry.”

  “Curlyfry?” I ask as the big beast of a dog pushes its wet nose into my hand. I pat his large head as Lane gives his coiled tail a gentle, playful tug. “Ah… now I get it.”

  “He’s a rescue dog. We’ve had him four years now.”

  “I’m not big on dogs,” I tell her and jump when he immediately lunges up me and tries to lick my face.

  “Don’t forget your medication,” Carol chimes in unnecessarily.

  I throw her a look that I wish could kill. “Bite me, fucktard.”

  “Told you so.” She says this to Stanley and my temper spikes.

  She notices me heading her way and her eyes widen. Fear evident. Though most of it is for show.

  “I’ll be going. If you need anything, just call.” She checks her watch and darts around her car. We all watch as she reverses out of the driveway, cutting across the lawn slightly in her haste.

  “She didn’t even say goodbye,” Lane murmurs to her husband. They both seem to be gauging my reaction. “She didn’t even wait to see her get settled.”

  “It’s okay, this isn’t my first rodeo,” I tell them and lift my heavy suitcase off the ground. Stanley tries to take it but I don’t let him. “Please just show me my cell so I can crash.”

  Their house is, for lack of a better word… cute. It’s a home full of many trinkets. They’ve clearly travelled far and wide.

  Photos line every single wall and surface, most of them are purely of them together and with friends and family.

  An absence of children, I note.

  Not even a photo of a foster child. Just their massive dog that breathes noisier than a bear.

  Maybe they don’t like holding on to things that eventually fly free.

  It’s as we walk down the hall, a hall I’ve never walked before, that dread finally sinks in.

  “How long am I here for?” Not that I have people to get back to outside of the asylum. Although I did have plans that would never happen. And I had a stash that is probably gone.

  “Until I say so.” Stanley pushes open the door to our left, revealing a room big enough for a double bed and a desk. I see a door opposite the bed that must be the closet.

  It’s clean, it’s clear, it's white and there are flowers on the paper that are also white, just a different shade.

  I don’t like it.

  The drapes are too thin. I can’t see through them but the sun sure can.

  Fuck my life.

  “What about my uncle?” I drop my suitcase onto the floor.

  “What about your uncle?” Lane counteracts my own question as she ushers the dog out of my room.

  “Are you on his payroll too?”

  Stanley stiffens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I’ll take that as a yes. “Nothing. Thank you for the room.”

  They linger for a moment longer before finally stepping back into the hall. “If you need anything, let us know.” Lane’s voice is forever soft. I bet despite her soft persona, she’s feisty as hell. She has to be to put up with such a domineering man. His strong presence and energy could probably fill the entire town, let alone this room.

  “We do have rules,” Stanley says. No bullshit, I like it.

  I roll my eyes. “Naturally.”

  “We will discuss them over dinner.”

  “What time?”

  “We’ll knock for you.”

  “I’m allowed to close my door?”

  “Christ…” Stanley mutters.

  I sit on the bed, it’s quite bouncy. A little softer than what I’m used to. “Aren’t you going to check my suitcase?”

  “You’re joking?”

  I shrug. Why would I joke about that? Most places I’ve been didn’t want me out of their sight. Not that I blame them. I’m an apple slice short of a pecan.

  “You did read my file, right?”

  He remains silent. He doesn’t seem like the man who wouldn’t study his next mission.

  “Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” Lane asks when the door has closed to nothing but a crack.

  “I’ll eat whatever is made. I don’t eat much though so…” I trail off and think of the last meal I had where I sat with people at a table. I hope they let me bring my food to my room but somehow I don’t think that’s likely.

  It’s been a while since I had my own space and a door that shuts by my own hand and not somebody else’s.

  I kick my suitcase to the corner of the room, catching the cream, hopefully faux-fur rug with it, forcing it along the wooden floor. I shake it out and put it back. Contrary to their beliefs, I’m not a total cunt. I’m not about to trash my own space. Just theirs.

  I’ll only be here for a few days anyway.

  These people are too clean-cut and fresh for the likes of me.

  But then what my uncle promised is tempting. Money, a new life, money… in return for good behavior while he fights to achieve his dream of becoming president. It’s only a few months, I figure I could do it. But then, do I really want anything else from him?

  Ugh.

  As I line my super old makeup on my new desk after hanging up my clothes that will probably get dumped in my suitcase a week from now, there’s a soft tapping noise.

  “Dinner is ready,” Stanley calls through the closed wooden door.

  Guess this means I won’t be eating in my room.

  No big deal.

  “Coming,” I reply and I hear his footsteps disappear down the hall followed by the padding paws of the oversized dog they rescued.

  I pull my
hood up over my center part that splits my white-blonde hair into two very long braids. I tuck those into the front of my jacket and zip it up, then poke my thumbs through the holes in the wrist cuffs.

  When I open the door, I peek into the hall and catch sight of Stanley’s large back turning towards the stairs at the end and the wagging tail of Curlyfry.

  Such an epic name.

  I follow quietly, my sock-clad feet padding noiselessly on the soft rug. After descending the stairs, I hang back until he’s in the kitchen and then enter. I move to the sink and wash my hands, then look around for my plate, finding it set on the round table, an empty seat either side of me to give me space. Both Lane and Stanley are already sitting together opposite me.

  The food looks amazing, it’s a roasted chicken leg with vegetables and potatoes. Nothing beats homemade food.

  “Thank you,” I mumble and take my seat.

  They both watch me like a monkey act at a circus show. Eyes guarded and bodies tense as though waiting for me to fling poop or my dinner at them.

  “Would you like to join us in saying grace?” Stanley asks, holding his hand across the table to me.

  I put mine under the table on my lap. “I’m not holding your hand.”

  He raises them defensively and with a soft tone he implores, “That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

  “You don’t believe in God?” Lane asks.

  “I don’t believe in anyone,” I mutter, wishing I could just eat and go.

  An awkward silence lapses and I know I’ve offended them. It’s something I’m good at.