Chapter 17

***Levi.***

Seated in the family box, watching Kenya, the girl that plagued my days and haunted my nights, dance profoundly.

Since that night she had been dessert, sleep eluded me. Visions of her, splayed, receptive to me, a torment. Her taste, her scent, still clung to my tongue.

I could still feel the texture of her skin beneath my fingers. Her hot wet sheath, tight. My cock suddenly gripped me at the thought. Pleasure tingling me.

She was passionate, desirable. Yet, untouched. A woman who had never basked in the canals of passion.

My delicate rose, ready for my plucking. Only I could pick and pluck her, as I desired.

I had battled, my self-preservation winning, when I didn't take her that night. God knows I ached, my arousal, rock hard. But I had resisted. Her confession, stunning.

Dropping her, not kissing her, had been agony. But I had chosen it, knowing she needed time. And passion was never rushed.

I desired to possess her, make her mine, forever. But I didn't want her frightened. I needed her utter acceptance. And I

could wait. Resilience and patience, my virtues. Precision, my tool.

When I canceled my prior engagements for tonight, Blake had thought me insane. His expression had said so, but he hadn't voiced it. I even pushed forward meetings; mega-million deals.

Now sitting and watching all Kenya's fluid movements, I wondered why I saw great pain that radiated through her. A contrast to the joy that should have radiated from her. She seemed forlorn, despite this being her debut.

She danced with such grief that it enraptured the entire audience. Captivating and filling their hearts with

such sorrow. My eyes swept across the faces below my box and I saw fascination. Yes, Kenya was a beautiful artiste tonight. Her interpretation of the

'Suffering Princess,' a complete success. But I feared the worst.

Shoving my worries aside, I allowed myself to watch her.

Jealousy inflamed me, as I watched the lead male dancer touch her body. Musing over the possibility of breaking every bone of his fingers. Kenya was mine.

***Kenya.***

Strolling into my dressing room, I shut the door. Enthusiastic claps from the audience still echoed in my ears, as I shakily reached for a glass of water. I was

agitated.

I hoped my family equally enjoyed the dance? Tonight was special to me.

*You meant to say, you hope Levi was pleased with your performance tonight.* My heart said.

But I refused to allow those words register. I only wanted to curl somewhere, cry. Levi's pity project, that is all I was.

*How could he have bought me a spot?* And Dave. Dave's words a stark confirmation.

I fought the nausea that threatened to wash over me. A knock came on the door and some of my fellow performers pushed in, bear-hugging me, as they

approached. Mike even had a bottle of champagne in his hands, pouring it in a glass for us all to share. But I didn't have a sip of the drink, only a kiss

to the cup, while they chattered excitedly. Quietly I slipped out of my clothes behind a screen door, while they continued talking. I slipped the jewelries

from Levi, into my bag, intending to return them back to him, once I had the courage.

A knock came to the door and everyone turned, as it opened. Billy poked his head in.

"Kenya? Where is Kenya?" He asked no one in particular.

"She's behind the screen door." I recognized Tad say. I came out of the screen door in that moment.

"Hey Kenya, Dave says to tell you that Mr Ruthford sent his man for you. Says the man is waiting for you in his office." Billy provided. A loud cheer went up

from my colleagues. All cheering and patting me.

"Go get your man, honey!" Andrea playfully said.

"His eyes never left Ken for one second!" Rory teased. Heat flooded me, but I managed to ignore them, grabbing my bag as I followed Billy.

Billy opened the door and let me in. Alone, I turned my focus to admiring Dave's enormous and manly office. Clean and plush, as usual, it smelled of cigarettes

and expensive leather. Mostly black and brown objects graced the office.

Hearing hushed sounds, I walked further into what seemed like an inner sitting room. I had never been here before. I slowed as I saw Mr Blake Dickson on the

phone, his back turned to me. Not wanting to interrupt his conversation, I quietly lingered.

"Were you able to clean up every trace concerning the death of that young man?" I heard Mr Blake Dickson say. I distractedly stood in the corner as he

continued. "So no one would trace the death of Hank and his cronies to Mr Ruthford?"

I stilled. Turning an ashen face to Blake's direction, I listened further. My eyes stared dead at him. My body shaking, while my feet stood rooted to the spot.

"That's better. No one should come to know what happened to Hank was anything less than a gang war gone wrong. Keep me updated." Then Blake turned

around and came face to face with a me. He stood, just barely giving much, as he stared at me. But I saw his hesitation. Then unable to help it, he spoke.

"How much did you hear?"

That seemed to shake me and I stepped back, staring at the man all garbed in a navy suit. Before he could speak another word, I clutched my bag and bolted

out of the room, not giving a backward glance to the man.

A few minutes later, I was in a cab heading to my house. Hot tears spilled from my eyes, as the enormity of those words, sank in. Dread, flooding me.

Inside the cab, the cold seeping into my bones, the heater on, I could only cry. Levi wasn't who he claimed to be. He was a villain in my story.