Page 10 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

The curtains rise, the music starts, and the dancers take the stage.

It takes me a minute to spot my stepsister among the sea of carbon copy ballerinas despite her height.

However, one other stands out. The tiny redhead captivates as she moves across the stage.

The petite dancer in purple moves with effortless elegance across the stage.

The longer I watch, the more awareness trickles in.

I recognize that fairy. Which means Casey knows her, but somehow she slipped under my radar.

I lean in my seat and watch, wondering for the first time in my life why I always found ballet so boring.

When the intermission arrives, I force myself to make small talk with my brother and the rest who’ve come to show Casey their support, but it only lasts a second before I excuse myself for a quick moment of quiet. I need a pick-me-up.

The intermission is over by the time I return to the theater. Ignoring the glare from Graham, I take my seat and continue to watch the performance as the orchestra plays Tchaikovsky.

When it ends, I try to duck out unnoticed, even though I’m curious as hell about Poppy. Especially after seeing her in 7th Circle last night.

Fuck. Last night. I recognized her behind that mask almost immediately.

The tiny server from the restaurant left an impression that lingered through the next day.

When she appeared at Dominic’s side as the newest staff member, my curiosity increased.

Why is she working so much? I mean, aside from the obvious.

And how did she end up working at The 7th Circle?

Of course, it was more than curiosity. It was also lust. The girl is hot. Possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And the confidence she exudes is a massive turn-on.

As was made clear by the explosive kiss and dry humping in the locker room after the fight.

That was a fuckup. Against club rules. But I was amped from the fight, and her tiny, tight body on my lap was too much to resist. Not that I tried.

But if she’s here, dancing in the same ballet as Casey, it’s possible they’re friends, which should make her off limits. If Casey has made a friend that isn’t somehow attached to a family member, then I don’t want to put that relationship in danger with my shit.

Of course, my attempts to sneak out don’t work. My brother grabs my arm and drags me backstage with him. “You can at least say hello before you run off to wherever you’re trying to go,” Graham hisses under his breath.

We stand around for a few minutes with Casey’s dad, Liam, her Uncle Henry, and their girlfriends, who are Casey’s best friends.

My brother’s glare never stops until Casey emerges.

In typical Casey fashion, she’s wearing a bright red flowing wool skirt and yellow sweater with ankle boots, making her lanky ass almost as tall as me.

Grinning widely, she throws herself at Graham, and he’s quick to wrap her up.

And on cue, he forgets the rest of us are here as he plants his lips on hers.

It makes me nauseous, but happy for them.

“You were amazing, Sunflower,” he tells her.

He’s not wrong. Even I can appreciate her talent and skill. It’s just not the type of thing I would willingly subject myself to if not for her.

And the tiny dancer that kept me captivated meant I saw the entire performance for a change.

She makes her rounds of hugs, and her family and friends congratulate her, then she gets to me. “I’m so glad you came,” she squeals as she throws herself at me. “Thank you,” she sniffs.

She pulls back, her mouth twisting to the side as she searches my face. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she sighs and shakes her head. A heavy breath escapes me, too—an annoyed one. “Spit it out, Case.”

Her cheeks turn to cherries. “Will you be there for the party? Please.”

My left eye twitches. I rake my fingers through my hair, wishing it could rip the request out of my brain.

Copper explodes in my mouth as I bite back the venom-laced fury blistering my tongue.

Lashes sweep against my cheeks as my eyes squeeze shut, and I remind myself it’s not her fault.

Or his . And turning her down when she looks like that is almost impossible. Shattering her hope kills me.

I promised her months ago I would try, and I have.

But the consequences of trying meant I’ve had to deal with another festering resentment.

It’s not his fault has been my mantra for a while.

But the anger grows every time I’m in the same room as him.

The urge to run far and fast from the reminder of how badly I fucked up rears its head, followed by the need to bury all the emotions that come with it.

Even the times I make it through an entire afternoon don’t leave me unscathed.

Those are usually the days when the nightmares are the hardest, and the shame and guilt threaten to tear me in two.

And none of that is the worst part.

Suddenly, that itch I had last night returns full force.

But like I said. There’s not much I won’t do for my little sister. “I’ll be there, Case. At least for a minute.”

“Yay,” she hugs me again, then claps. “Thank you!”

I nod, ready to move on. “You did well out there.” I jerk my head toward the stage.

“She wasn’t good. She was spectacular.” A half-pint with hazel eyes appears out of nowhere dressed in a thick, beige cable-knit sweater, heavy leggings the same color clinging to her spectacular body, and boots a few shades darker than the rest of her attire.

She rakes her fingers through a mass of wild copper waves that hang over her shoulders, her lips stretched, revealing an insane smile and the cutest dimple in both cheeks.

And the curiosity—and attraction—return, slamming into me like a hurricane.

“You’re either stupid or blind if you saw anything but perfection,” she finishes, smirking at me.

I tilt my head, brow quirking, as I take in the mouthy redhead. I shake her hand, making heavy eye contact. Hard enough, she quirks a brow, challenging me.

The confidence in her smirk tells me she knows exactly who I am.

But I wonder if she knows I know her, too.

Knows that I remember the taste of her breath, the dig of her nails, the way she almost came apart on my lap.

“I’m neither. Unfortunately, what I am is unsophisticated.

My idea of fun has never been watching a fluff of pink dance to the dull rendering of Tchaikovsky.

” Even though I enjoyed every second of watching her.

She eyes me up and down as she clucks her tongue. “Let me guess. You prefer your dancers on a pole?”

“Or my lap.” Her cheeks turn to cherries at the subtle reminder of last night, but she recovers quickly.

“Jagger.” Casey slaps my chest, her cheeks turning pink. “Behave yourself.”

“He doesn’t bother me. I’m used to asshole men that believe the only worthwhile dance is one they can get off to.” She winks, and my smirk turns into a full grin because she doesn’t realize I know her secret.

I let my eyes wander over her, appreciating her small curves and tight body. “What can I say? All my tastes lead to my dick. I bet you’d look great on my lap,” I taunt once more, wondering if she’ll take the bait.

As the innuendos continue, a thought crosses my mind.

If she works The 7th Circle, does that mean she works the top floor of the club as well?

If she does, why haven’t I seen her before?

Unless she is one of the ones…I shake that thought off quickly because, for some reason, the thought of her there makes the violent urges I had moments ago grow stronger.

She grins as she walks forward, getting on her toes to get closer to my ear. And being the gentleman I am, I bend my knees to close the distance between my six-three frame and her barely five-feet. I can be a gentleman if I want. “You’ll never know, now will you?”

I laugh, resisting the urge to tell her I already do. And strangely, I want to know more about the tiny enigma wrapped in enough layers for an Arctic expedition. Even though Casey’s friends are firmly off-limits.

She turns to Casey, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the matinee, okay? I’ve got to run.”

Casey nods and tells her goodbye, then we watch her disappear in a rush, and I want to know where she’s going.

I pretend to check my watch as if I have somewhere I need to be.

If I hurry, I can catch up with her. Or follow her.

Probably the latter. “I’ve got to head out too,” I tell them, ignoring Graham’s scowl.

“You did good, Case.” I hug her and nod to my brother as if I don’t see the daggers he’s shooting at me, then turn and walk toward the exit.

I’ve got a mystery to chase, walking away in boots and wild copper hair .