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“You guys own a strip club?” I ask, my senses dulled to the fact I’ve just been through a portal to get here. I’ve dreamt of returning to Wonderland so many times, I stopped letting myself sleep for days on end. I didn’t want to be taunted, nor did I want to build up a false sense of belonging. Neither here nor in the real world was I ever accepted by those around me. But now I’m back, just like I wanted. I’m just wondering if this version of Wonderlust will want me.
“Not us, just me,” Cash smirks, holding out his arm for mine. I accept it, letting him lead me closer to the circus-style music rolling from the club’s exterior speakers. There’s nothing else for miles, just flat land coated in debris and I wonder why people would come so far out for a lap dance. But then I suppose the man on my arm is evidence enough.
“Tweed decided to announce his arrival by blowing the fucking doors off last night, and I see his handy men have been hard at work rebuilding it.” Cash’s eyes narrow on the heart-shaped doorway before tossing an angered look over his shoulder at Tweed. A walking lizard strolls around the corner, hammer and nails clutched in his hands.
“There you are!” he shouts, storming our way. “I can’t switch out the sign without my ladder. Where is it?!”
“You touch my sign, you’ll be banned from watching me dance for the rest of your miserable life,” Cash growls and for the first time, I see the underlying of a savage beast rise to the surface. “This ismyclub.”
Releasing my arm, keeping the tension trapped in his posture, Cash approaches the red plastic heart bordering the main glass doors and rips it straight out of the wall. Screws fly in all directions and I’m so stunned by the display of strength, I don’t even move as the heart topples over me, the spoke of the inner dip just catching the back of my blonde mane. The lizard goes crazy, running in circles, screaming about all his hard work until Tweed’s arm lashes out and grabs his throat.
“Bill, put the heart back on,” he demands, a dare in his eyes as his eyes penetrate Cash’s.
“No, Bill, put the original spade back and I’ll see you well compensated,” Cash snaps back, the lizard and me stuck in between their stare-off. It doesn’t seem of concern to anyone else how Bill takes the opportunity to grind against Tweed’s leg, his tail dipping between his legs to stroke the twin’s crotch. Tightening his grip on Bill’s neck, Tweed merely growls and in a flash of movement, Cash has shot forward to rescue the lizard from imminent death.
“Pussy,” Tweed chuckles, strolling inside without looking back. I follow as Cash barks orders at Bill, my curiosity getting the better of me. If there was any confusion on where Cash’s loyalty lies, one look around the inside of the club would clear that up really quick. Spades everywhere. From the shape of the stage, with a single silver pole at the tip that reaches the heightened ceiling, to the photo frames, whiskey glasses, mirror behind the bar and every inch in between. The color scheme is classic, black and white with splashes of silver in the extravagant chandeliers. The diamonds hanging from the various tiers are, you guessed it, cut into spades.
“So, just to give me a fair chance at catching up here,” I say, dropping onto a spade-shaped stool at the bar, “Wonderland is now called Wonderlust because…everyone is sex-crazed, possibly into blood play and you boys don’t get on anymore. Did I leave anything out?” Tweed hops over the bar, grabbing two bottles of vodka and places them in between us.
“Only everything of importance,” Tweed drawls back. Placing the neck of the bottle between his teeth, he bites down, crushing the glass in his mouth. Spitting the glass onto the floor, blood pours from his mouth as he drinks from the jagged edge of the bottle, contaminating the clear liquid with blood rivets. A darkness stirs inside me, the strange urge for him to tear chunks from my flesh and bathe in my blood bubbling from the center of my thighs. “Stop that,” Tweed growls, catching me out.
“Stop what?” I ask innocently. Tweed’s hand reaches out to grab the back of my hair, tugging my face upwards for my lips to part on a gasp. Leaning over the bar, Tweed waits for the blood swelling around his mouth to drip into mine.
“Thinking about what’s making your pussy smell so damn sweet. You might just get what you want and will quickly live to regret it.”
“You fucking bastard!” Cash roars, his body flying over the bar to slam Tweed back into the glass shelves. There’s an almighty crash and I look over to Bill who’s gaping at the destruction from the doorway. Poor dude must have to work here full time. While the twins continue to throw punches and yell weird obscenities at each other, I decide to go for a wander.
“Come on Stan,” I muse, breaking into a skip with the two books in either side of my cargo pockets weighing me down.
Venturing deeper into the club, I enter a hallway labelled ‘Fantasy Walk’ by a neon sign over the archway. The wallpaper is black and rough to the touch, like crocodile skin, between closed doors in all shapes and sizes. One as small as a thimble, another as huge as an elephant’s ass. Statues of the four card suits stand in a square at the end of the hall, facing each other on opposite sides and paired by either their red or black coloring.
Testing out the handle of a door shaped as a tree trunk, I find an enchanted forest beyond. Like an actual forest, no walls or limitations. The roar of a beast I vaguely recognize pierces my ear drums and I slam the door shut. Trying another in the shape of a curved wave, salty water rushes out and knocks me off my feet. I float the length of the hallway, swishing all the way back into the main club. The Tweddle’s are still in full fight mode, although they’ve managed to make their way across the room and flattened several tables in the process.
A staircase in the back corner peeks out from behind a black netted curtain, spiraling up to a second level with silver railings. Heading up, I marvel at the height of the pole across the club, imagining Cash in tiny pants climbing all the way to the top. The way his muscles would ripple, or how the pants would barely contain the monster leashed behind his tight waistband. Yum.
The top of the steps presents a pair of drapes, speckled with diamonds, and a concealed apartment tucked behind. Unlike the club downstairs, filled with sensual textures and opulent furnishings, the décor up here is like that of a boy who never grew up. Primary colors burst from every direction, the cupboards, cabinets and windowsills all rounded as if bubbling out of the structure themselves. A ceiling fan above appears to be a larger version of the tweedle hat I knew the boys to wear. Hanging upside down, its yellow propeller spinning a cool breeze across the living area. Playing cards have been flicked into the wall opposite a rounded sofa facing nothing but an empty fireplace.
Despite all the bright colors and whimsy, there’s a coldness here. A loneliness I resonate with. Removing Stan from his perch imbedded in my scalp, I place him in the fruit bowl on the kitchen side and sigh. We really made it buddy, just like I said we would. The drapes shift and Cash appears, a softness to his vibrant green eyes. His cashmere jumper is thick with blood, glistening in the low-level lighting.
“Where’s Tweed?” I ask, having no real concern that he can hold his own.
“Gone, for now. But he won’t stay away while you’re here,” Cash replies gravely. Something in his voice says I should be worried about that, but the coppery taste of his brother’s blood still lingers in the back of my throat and the low drumming of arousal knocks at my g-spot when I think on it for long enough.
“What happened between you two?” I wonder, running my finger over an empty shelf. The dust patterns suggest there were frames here that have been removed, and all that remains is a single, blue bowtie.
“That’s a story for another time,” Cash catches my hand and brushes off the dust. Walking backwards, he leads me into a room away from the main living area and adjoining kitchen. His bedroom. “Tonight, I’m more interested in your tale. When tasked with your retrieval, I’d expected to drag you away from a husband who didn’t deserve you. Not a mental asylum.”
“Correctional facility for convicts,” I correct him. Smiling and kissing the back of my hand, Cash peels off his blood-drenched clothes and strides into a bathroom. Scars litter his back, both fresh and healed, like that of a whip’s lash. Turns out this particular Tweedle has quite the fetish nature. The shower is on and I’m left searching through his drawers for something comfortable to sleep in. It’s been a really long night and as if conjured by my very mind, when I turn back to Cash’s bed, there’s a steaming cup of tea on the side table.
Cash showers quickly, returning in matching boxers and t-shirt to the ones I picked out and changed into. White with black spades, naturally. His eyes ignite to glowing orbs of green, the heat of his gaze searing my skin. I breathe too heavily, a violent twitch jerking at my neck and I swiftly slap myself out of it. Literally. Cash steps forward, cupping my reddened cheek with a curious furrow to his brow.
“Ignore me. My meds are wearing off,” I try to shift out of his hold. He doesn’t let me.
“No,” Cash’s voice drops an octave and my being sparks as if touching the end of a live wire. “It’s you remembering exactly who you were always supposed to be.” Goosebumps prickle my skin, my head too easily leaning into his hold. Nope, nah ah, I shake my head and push myself a step back using his chest. Taking the cup of tea in hand, I slide beneath his cover and rest against the leather headboard.
“So, you want to hear a bedtime story?” I swiftly change subject, dousing my own sexuality with a wash of ice cold, unwanted memories. Shifting my pile of discarded clothes at the base of the bed aside, Cash’s biceps shift as he crawls over me, sucking the air from my very lungs until dropping down to roll his head across my thighs. I part my legs, allowing his nape to rest on my crotch. “It’s filled with death and betrayal,” I warn, more because I’d rather not indulge my memories on wasted breath.
“As the best stories are,” Cash replies, wriggling to get comfortable. Hooking an ankle over the other and his fingers over his stomach, I sip my tea, feeling the drowsiness of a long-awaited return hitting me hard.
