Rouge: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Tattered Curtain Series)

Lacey

“Welcome to Rouge!” Tolie’s rich voice echoes over the music blasting from the speakers, giving the illusion that he’s everywhere in the large venue.

The entryway opens up to cabaret-style seating with people grouped at tables in front of a stage. When it’s not Halloween, the space is gorgeously decorated in rich reds and silver accents, drapery, and tableware. Its opulent design is perfect for my family and the Garde when they throw benefits and balls. But now, the entire room has been transformed to look like the fire and brimstone of the underworld, complete with the gaping mouth of hell stage right.

We’ve arrived in the middle of the first act. A chorus line of women dance a slow, erotic version of the cancan, another homage to the original Moulin Rouge cabaret that was known for the frenetic dance in the 1890s. Their glitzy fallen angel costumes have wildly colored feathers peppered in their Victoria’s Secret-style black wings, and their midnight skirts flutter to their waists as they extend their thigh-high-covered legs in the air in a sensual port d’armes.

The move requires them to turn on one leg with the other pointed to the ceiling, and their rotation is smooth even while they stretch to stroke their hands from their heeled ankles down to their thighs. Their core strength has to be stellar, especially considering they’re able to hold their standing splits for as long as it takes the bouncer to lead us to our table.

Our seats are at the front and just right of center. As we pass through the audience, it’s clear we’re not the only Halloween bachelorette party in the room. The brides are easy to spot since we’re all wearing white amid groups of women dressed in themed costumes. Of course my little party—a runaway bride, a vampire, and a chaste black dress masquerading as a nun costume—has no cohesion. Granted, it was barely a party to begin with, but hopefully the show will get us in the spirit.

When the dancers finish, Tolie suddenly appears from behind spooky, gray tattered curtains at the corner of the stage in a cloud of smoke. His spiked purple hair stands out against his black tuxedo, but an orange feather boa wrapped around his neck adds another pop of color to his emcee ensemble. As he smiles, his theatrical fake mustache curls from cheek to cheek across his olive skin.

“We may be in a drought, but it’s always raining men in Rouge! And on this Devil’s Night, be prepared to face…” He flings his arms out wide as the curtains open with a whipping sound. “Your demons!”

Wild, high-pitched cheers and screams explode around me, and I clap with the rest of the room when six huge men appear in black hooded capes that cover them head to toe. The music halts abruptly, quieting the women just enough to get us all to stop losing our shit over the clothed men. But when a new song begins, all bets are off. The exciting hip-hop beat has me squirming to dance, and I fist my hands in my lap to stop myself, so I can relax and enjoy the show before it’s my cue.

The men move in unison as they glide across the floor to the edge of the stage. There, they wait for the bass beat to drop before lifting their black-masked heads and simultaneously stripping off their capes, revealing their muscular chests, oiled-up abs, and swollen arms. They still have their capes in their hands as they do stunts like backflips, back handsprings, and spirals in the air, making the fabric fly until each dancer discards it near the closed curtains.

While the dancers perform at the front of the stage, taking up the audience’s visuals, my gaze catches the movement behind them. Stagehands sprint out with chairs and set them up in a line before disappearing. As soon as the last one vanishes, each dancer makes their way to a chair, some crawling backward on their knees, undulating against the floor, while others pelvic thrust toward the crowd.

Once they sit, the six demon-masked men execute their sensual stripteases. Even behind their masks, their eyes engage the audience, and the noise from the thirsty crowd makes my ears ring.

“Hot, right?” Roxy yells drunkenly over the blaring speakers and shrieking women and I nod in return.

“Kinda mad at myself that I’ve never watched a show before!”

“Of course you haven’t! The Keeper’s precious flower at a male revue?! The scandal!” She gasps in mock horror before laughing. “Let’s live it up before you’re stuck having a nepo baby and bored out of your goddamn mind for the rest of your life.”

Roxy lifts her shot with a sloppy smile, totally unaware that her last statement churns the alcohol in my stomach. The girl’s a socialite who flocks to a nightclub like a moth to a bug zapper, but she can’t hold her liquor to save her life. It doesn’t bode well that she’s already ordered a tray of shots for the table even though we’ve only been here for half a song. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maeve’s head drooping to her chest. The two of them may be passed out before I even take the stage.

So much for me being the drunkest one tonight.

I’m glad I didn’t pregame while we got ready like Roxy did. The alcohol is affecting me, but so far, it’s only buzzing through my system, giving me the courage to perform for the first time since I graduated.

Roxy takes the shot without me and knocks the glass back onto the table. She grabs another one from the tray and shoves it in my hand.

“Enjoy tonight while you can, betch. If the rumors about the Baron are true, it might be one of your lasht.”

Her drunken, slurred speech almost makes her hard to understand, but her warning is crystal clear. Blood quickly drains from my face, making me light-headed and I empty the shot in one gulp. The fruity concoction isn’t nearly as strong as the liquor Roxy had in the limo, but it does the trick. When I slam my glass back onto the table like she did, Roxy’s smile turns sad.

“Ish too bad it didn’t go the other way.” The words roll from her mouth like she’s trying to find them with her tongue. “The one with Kian might’ve turned out alright-y.”

“Yeah, well that wasn’t necessarily up to me, now was it?”

Even if he wanted me—if I wanted him—it doesn’t matter now. He wouldn’t be able to save my father.

I don’t tell her that though. Instead, I forgo another shot of liquor and sip my champagne. I never planned on getting shit-faced tonight, but I might if she keeps talking this way.

“True. True. But tonight can be up to youuu! Who knowsh? Maybe you’ll get laid if you play your cards right!”

My gaze cuts to Maeve to see if she heard Roxy, but my future sister-in-law’s chin has officially made a bed on her chest and her eyes are shut. I think I’m in the clear, thank God.

The Garde has a misogynistic policy that the women remain “pure” before our wedding night, so we don’t “ruin our beauty and worth.” Literally, that’s how my mom phrased it when she warned me against boys at age twelve. It’s a disgusting double standard instituted by men who make millions off of strip clubs and don’t even know that a tampon can “take our virginity” just as easily as a dick can. I rebelled as soon as I got to college.

That first night, Roxy covered for me with our bodyguards while I led the hottest tourist I could find into a bar bathroom. To date, it was the best sex I’ve ever had, not because it was romantic—it was far from it, and it wasn’t even all that good—but it was my decision. My first big ‘fuck you’ to the Garde. If the Baron finds out I’ve slept with other people, though, it could screw everything up. Thankfully, Roxy’s hidden agenda worked and Maeve is already out like a light.

The tension in my chest eases and my nerves light up at the realization that I’m actually getting to perform one last time. Roxy’s screams of excitement fuel me and I turn back toward the stage to see her tossing dollar bills everywhere, yet somehow still missing the men.

Before long, I find myself grinning from ear to ear, letting go while I watch the performers dance and gyrate. They’re more acrobats than exotic dancers, almost like watching one of my favorite Cirque du Soleil shows, but I’m not surprised.

Vegas performers are the best of the best. They have to be since the competition is so cutthroat. I catch myself studying their moves instead of ogling their physiques. That is, until they rip off the rest of their demon costumes, leaving only their revealing black speedos.

Of course, that makes the crowd go nuts and we momentarily drown out the music. Once we’ve quieted down a fraction, the tempo changes, prompting the men to suddenly line up in a row again and freeze at attention. Their positioning hides whatever is behind the curtain as it opens wide. The throbbing, deep bass music takes on an ominous tone and drives my pulse faster.

“And now…” Tolie’s voice echoes over the sound system again and my veins thrum as I realize it’s almost my cue. “The devil himself!”

The demons kneel in unison, revealing a giant of a man in an all-red cape. The devil in question raises his red scepter at the applause and sets it back down. With his horned mask taking over the top half of his face, the only defining feature we can see is his short, messy brown hair, a hard, scruffy chin, and grim lips set in a serious line. When he lifts his head, his intense gaze, hooded by the spotlight, is dark and focused. A hunter searching for his prey.

He stalks slowly toward the front of the stage in the same hypnotic cadence of the song blaring over the speakers, “Play with Fire” by Sam Tinnesz. The crowd’s fervor is at an all-time high, and the devil grins like he can’t help himself. With the way the women are cheering him on, those simple movements are all he needs to get a rise out of them.

Tolie warned me that the new guy needs more experience before he can be included in a real number. It’s one of the reasons why my friend is letting me perform the amateur act. The new guy will get stage experience without the pressure of learning a routine and apparently crowds love when a secretly skilled audience member surprises them by taking over a segment. All the devil has to do is stand and look pretty while I have my way with him.

“The devil waits for no man… or woman,” Tolie announces. “But on Devil’s Night, and every night here at Rouge, the ladies always come first. And tonight, he’s picking one of you!”

The women shriek with anticipation, and the devil lifts the scepter in his hand to command us. The room snaps into rapt attention and I shift to the edge of my seat, holding my breath. He strides across the stage, his body powerful yet graceful. Even though he’s new to dance, his movement makes me wonder if he’s trained in something else. Fighting, maybe? A lot of them are coached to be light on their feet. Either way, he’s got promise and it’ll be fun to see how good his reflexes are.

Tolie’s voice echoes over the speaker again, but I don’t see him at his podium, so he must be announcing from backstage now.

“Everyone knows the devil is bad but did you know… he’s always loved a good girl?”

Roxy and I snicker at his cheesy line and I swear the devil scowls. The audience is eating it up, though, and “oohs” and “aahs” flutter around the room.

“He’s been searching the realms to find the one who will sate his insatiable lust. The one he can… pleasure in this life and beyond. And lucky him, he has the pick of the crop, doesn’t he, ladies? Now which one of you beautiful women shall it be?”

Once again, all the women around me lose their damn minds, including Roxy.

“Silence!” the devil’s deep voice thunders through his headset microphone and straight to my clit.

Holy shit.

He travels away from my side of the stage, using his red scepter to point at each table, and my heart sinks at the fear that Tolie forgot to tell him the plan. But before I give up hope, he stops outside the mouth of hell decorating stage right, turns on his heel, and prowls back to me.

Every step closer, my muscles threaten to leap out of my skin, desperate to climb up and join him. I expect him to talk up the crowd like Tolie did, ham it up a little, but he’s silent and the audience twitters with nervous energy.

When he finally gets center stage, feet away, he front flips onto the ground, making his cape whip in the air and shocking the hell out of me. The move elicits thrilled squeals from the tables around ours, everyone no doubt hoping he’ll choose them. But when he straightens again, his broad shoulders roll back and I catch a glimpse of his sculpted, tanned abs as he lifts his scepter to point. At me.

Finally.

“You,” he commands. “You are my chosen one. You are the one I claim.”

My lower belly flips at the dark promise in his words.

“Me?” I know this was planned, but it somehow feels like a dream.

“Yes, you.”

I vaguely register a mixture of disappointed groans and encouraging cheers. Roxy stands and claps, egging me on, while Maeve shakes awake. She lunges for my hand, but the devil reaches for me at the same time—

As soon as he touches me, electric sparks zap up my fingers like I’ve been shocked. I can’t help gasping as I instinctively clutch his calloused palm.

He moves the microphone away from his lips and leans in to speak so only I can hear. “We’re going to have some fun.”

There’s something almost… sinister in the devil’s smirk, but before I can question it, alcohol and nerves take over, reminding me that I need to put on my final performance.

Tomorrow I’ll don the mask the Garde has designed for women like me. One that smiles and nods in support of a man I hate while he fulfills all of his dreams at the casualty of my own. I’ll wear this bitter acceptance for the rest of my life and I’ll never be able to rip it off. But tonight I can play a part that’s all up to me.

It’s a gift to know when you’re doing something you love for the last time. I’m going to soak it up for all it’s worth.

I press my hand against my thunderous heartbeat to try to calm the hell down. His eyes roam over me before flicking back up to meet my gaze. This exchange of glances lasts longer than I’d expect during a set like this, but the pause no doubt teases the hungry audience more. It’s definitely doing it for me and my skin is on fire for his touch.

My heart skips at the way he looks straight into my soul. His hair has a red tint under the spotlight and his almost familiar hazel gaze shines. His hand grips mine tighter, making me feel like we’re the only two in the room—

“Lay-she!” Maeve slurs drunkenly while tugging at the tulle of my dress. “You can’t! What about my brother?”

She’s been half-asleep since we entered the building, so it’s just my luck that she’d wake up now. The liquor has hit me too—in the best way—destroying all inhibitions, but the thought of performing has me sobering slightly. My unused muscles are already springing to life and it’s all I can do not to swat her hand away and leap up onstage.

Roxy rolls her eyes dramatically and pries Maeve’s hands off me. “Ish a bashelorette night! Let her have shome fun. Take a nap if you don’t want to wash.”

Maeve pouts and tugs her phone from her pocket to start a text, but the devil growls into the microphone.

“Did we forget to mention putting away all phones?”

Roxy grabs the device from Maeve’s hand and stuffs it in her purse.

“Hey!”

“Devil told me to.” Roxy smirks as Maeve crosses her arms and slouches in her chair. Roxy turns back to me and shoos me. “Go. Have shome fun while you shtill can.”

My eyes widen, reality crashing in. This might very well be my last night of freedom. Tomorrow I sign my marriage license and my life and body away with it. If tonight’s going to be the last night I can live my life the way I want to, I’m going to fucking live it.

“Get on stage. Get on stage.” The room begins to chant, not that I need the encouragement now.

“You’ve heard the people. Do you dare disobey them?” The devil’s voice is like warm velvet. “Do you dare disobey me?”

The intensity in his gaze makes my core heat. I can practically feel all the liquor in my system evaporate in exchange for lust and adrenaline. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be doing this, but the other part knows if I don’t have this one final dance, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I glance behind me one last time. Roxy waves her hand like she’s fanning herself and winks at me. Maeve is losing her battle with sleep again, the Valium and the alcohol concluding their tango inside of her with a lights-out performance.

My pulse eases in my chest, knowing that the Baron’s snitch has checked out, and I decide to give myself over to the moment.

I turn around again and face the devil. The stage presence I cultivated at Bordeaux melts over me and I step within inches of his lips so I can speak into his microphone.

“No, Devil. I would never disobey you.”

His hazel eyes widen before a dark sensuality takes over their golden hue. The carnal smile that spreads over his lips makes me shiver with need.

“Come then, my bride.”