by Apryl Baker
At the age of fifteen, my parents promised my hand to a made man of another family—the Chicago Outfit. I was told I would marry him on my eighteenth birthday and that he’d take my virginity as a gift from my parents. I was mortified by the duties expected of me, so mortified that I took matters into my own hands and gave my virginity to a not-so-nice boy in a dressing room after school when I was sixteen. Why? Because I wanted to do it on my own terms and I didn’t want to be in pain on my wedding night. I told my mother about it, hoping she’d praise me for being so clever—or to stop the wedding out of embarrassment at the very least. Instead, she slapped me back to the sixteenth century in a fit of tears. Turns out, it’s easy to tell if a girl is a virgin or not and I was in big trouble come my wedding night.
I thought about ending my life as my seventeenth birthday rushed by, but I decided against it since my “husband” was going to kill me anyway and then declare war on my father.
Thankfully, my husband-to-be was shot dead outside his strip club eight months before our wedding and it all went away. It was a fucking miracle. I thought I’d gotten away with it too, until I found out later that it was my father who killed my fiancé. He knew I wasn’t a virgin. He told me he knew what I’d done the moment I’d done it, thanks to Mom. I was overrun with guilt at the fact he allowed me to lie to his face and horrified that he let me live with the fear of the consequence of my actions…for years. As punishment for what I did, he cut me off from the world even more. For a long time, I couldn’t walk the drive to get the mail, but now, after incessant nagging on my behalf, I’m allowed out provided it’s under the supervision of a guard. I can’t come and go as I please, not until I’m married off and I’m someone else’s problem.
I’m getting a little too old for marriage…or so my mother’s friends keep pointing out whenever I attend their stupid brunches. Apparently, I’m embarrassing the family, but in all honesty, I don’t mind it. I hope I never marry.
Ditching my train of thought, I peer into Leo’s car. He watches me intently, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. His eyes are narrowed directly at me and I can’t help but smile at him. I have one hell of a night planned, Leo, and you can’t stop me.
I slip into my car and slide along the black leather seats until I’m sitting dead center. When I’m comfortable, my driver closes the door. In a few minutes, he pulls the car around the elegant, white stone water fountain in the center of our drive and slowly rolls toward the gigantic, wrought iron gate. As he drives, I text my friend Naomi that I’ll meet her inside the club in a little under an hour. First, I have to shake Leo. My father thinks I’m seeing a movie with my girlfriends. I showed him fake text messages about the meet up just to prove it too.
I slip out of my plain black flats and open my handbag. Reaching inside, I pull out my favorite pair of Gucci heels and stuff my flats in their place. Slipping into the heels feels like I’m soaking my feet in silk and fucking rainbows. I never want to take them off.
Sighing, I drop back against the leather, smoothing my palms down the length of my black coat. Tonight is going to go one of two ways. One, I get away from Leo, I have a good time, and Leo doesn’t say shit to my father about losing me for the second time. Or, Leo is going to freak out and tell my father immediately, who’ll put a call out and have just about everyone in Las Vegas on the lookout for me. Normally, I wouldn’t play with those odds, but I take solace in the fact this will be the second time Leo has lost me. He’d rather take his chances turning Vegas upside down looking for me than he would admitting another failure to my father.
It’s not long until James pulls the town car in front of the worn movie theatre. I wait patiently while he exits the car and then circles to open the door adjacent the sidewalk. When I get out into the crisp, night air, I glance around.
Nothing.
Excitement boils and bubbles inside me when I don’t see Leo’s car anywhere. Could it be? I start forward and turn away from the wide movie theatre doors, lifting my phone to my face. This turned out to be easier than I thought. James doesn’t say anything as I walk down the street toward the main part of town. He doesn’t get paid enough to say anything, and the extra pocket money I give him keeps him on my side, not my father’s.
“Those shoes are a little dramatic for a screening of King Arthur, don’t you think?”
I freeze mid-text, my eyes thinning to complete my scowl. Party pooper. Slowly, I turn around and there he is. The cock-blocker…or whatever the equivalent is to that in this situation. I bite my tongue at the sight of his smug expression and force an innocent smile.
“It’s Charlie Hunnam,” I point out, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not wearing flats. What if he’s here?”
“I doubt he’s here.” Leo rolls his dark, espresso eyes and stuffs his large hands into the pockets of his matching pressed slacks. “Where are your friends?”
I slip my phone into the pocket of my coat. “They’re already inside.”
He regards me curiously. In his stare, I can see him overthinking the situation, trying to predict every single one of my tricks, but there’s nothing he can do to stop me from meeting Naomi tonight.
Eventually, Leo steps to the side and gestures toward the theatre doors. “After you.”
I smile sweetly at him. “Thanks.”
As soon as I pass his peripheral, my smile melts into a glare.
Inside the theatre, Leo stands against a far wall while I buy my tickets. For added measure, I buy popcorn, a medium soda, and a bag of sour Skittles. For a moment, I wonder what his plan is, because if he comes into the actual cinema, it’s going to be harder for me to get away, and I didn’t pack running shoes. Thankfully, after he chats to the ushers, Leo stands right by the door and remains there as I saunter past. My father’s men are a lot of things, but stealthy isn’t one of them. Leo sticks out like a sore thumb in his fitted black suit and his angry stare.
I smile victoriously when he doesn’t follow me and I take a triumphant sip of my Coke before dumping it in the bin provided, along with my popcorn. I stuff my Skittles into my bag as I make my way along an aisle to the front of the room and out an emergency exit. As the door swings open and the bright lights of Vegas burn my retinas, I grin widely.
Sera: one.
Leo: zero.
Chapter Three
Ben
To be honest, I don’t go out much.
I sip at my Bourbon and Coke as three women dressed in skimpy, bright pink flamingo bikinis walk by. Unashamedly, I drag my stare all over them. I’ve been home a while, but I haven’t laid a finger on a woman. Not a single one.
When I was stationed in the Middle East, there were women in my platoon. Some of them had families and never crossed any lines, but the other girls there needed to unwind on occasion, like the men did. It was never sordid or dirty, just a couple of adults fooling around. It was a coping mechanism to help us through the weeks as they painfully ticked by.
Most of the women I’m seeing tonight are soft-bodied and curvaceous, unlike the female soldiers I was stationed with. Their bodies were beautiful, sure, but there’s something about a woman whose muscles and sharp edges are hidden under seemingly endless miles of soft, curvy flesh that just speaks to me. I like a damsel in distress. I like women who need my large, strong hands to open a jar or to throw them over my—
“Ben!” I whip my head to the left, to Chad, who’s the only one in the room I recognize. “Get your ass over here!”
He fraternizes in the middle of the club with a group of girls—young, young girls by the looks of it. I’m not picky when it comes to women. I’m attracted to all shapes, sizes, and colors, but age is definitely something I openly discriminate against. I’m thirty-two years old—turning thirty-three in a few months’ time. I don’t want a girl fresh out of high school or college. Who has time for that kind of drama at my age? The sex might be great, but I bet the conversation is terrible.
I wav
e him off and sip at my drink, letting it tickle the surface of my tongue for a few long seconds before I swallow. I should go home after I finish. I’m not in the mood. I’m tired as shit and I’m uncomfortable—not to mention I’m back to job searching tomorrow. Excusing himself from the gaggle of eager, young women, Chad squeezes his way through the sweaty masses toward me.
“You’re killing me here, Ben.” He exhales, dropping into the seat beside me.
I laugh. “You don’t need my help to get girls.”
“Sure, I do. I’m the funny, charismatic, skinny friend who breaks the ice, and you’re the brooding, beefy one every girl wants to blow, but they don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, so they get with me instead.” He swallows a mouthful of beer. “There’s a balance and you’re fucking it up.”
I roll my eyes. “Where’s David?”
“At the slot machines. Should be back any minute with the rest of the gang. He wants to hit the strip club soon, maybe take a few girls back to the hotel.” He glances sideways at me, scratching the back of his head. “For the fellas, obviously. Not for him…since he’s gettin’ married and all.”
I shrug. It isn’t any of my business what he does tonight—regardless of the fact it’s my cousin he’s marrying. I don’t have any stakes in their marriage, that’s for sure. I’m only here for the booze and to avoid going to the wedding. I hate weddings and the invasive questions people feel the need to ask me when I attend them. When is it your turn? Is there a special someone in your life? You’re not getting any younger, Ben. I take another gulp of my drink and swallow, clenching my teeth.
“I might head off when I finish my drink.”
Chad’s big, green eyes almost bug out of his skull. “Mate…” he shouts, his Australian accent coming in thick. “You can’t head off now. It’s still early. Half the clubs in Vegas haven’t even opened yet. Not to mention, you haven’t seen a single pair of tits.”
Tits? I snort. I stopped rating the awesomeness of my night based on how many pairs of tits I saw when I was mid-way through my twenties. These days, if I can leave a club with my dignity intact and both my shoes on my feet, I’m happy. Bonus points if I can squeeze in an episode of the British Top Gear before bed.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood.” He points a slender, nail-bitten index finger at me, gripping his cold beer at the neck with the same hand. “That’s your problem.”
I clench my glass. Yeah, that is my problem. I can’t relate. I want to. God knows my life would be a hell of a lot easier, but I just can’t. I know I need to sort out a decent, engaging job, one that doesn’t make me want to blow my fucking head off. The rest will come after that.
It has to.
Hopefully, over time, I’ll be able to relax a little more. Think less. An easy way to fix my problem would be to head back out for deployment, but I can’t do that to Mom. She thought I’d done enough for this country and it was her wish that I leave the military behind me and build a life, get married, and have children. Swept up in the moment—in the grief—I promised her I would, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.
“Ben! Chad! There you fuckers are!” David, the curly-haired atheist, approaches from the left of the bar with the rest of the guys in tow.
I don’t know what my cousin sees in him. Perhaps, if he wasn’t so Goddamn rich, she’d be marrying someone else this weekend, someone less…like him.
David and his friends are all dressed the same. In dark denim jeans and formal button up shirts, the sleeves rolled to their elbows, each of them cradling a drink in one hand and a girl in the other. Like a parade of douches. Surprisingly, my brother isn’t among them. It’s not like Dec to skip a party, especially that of a soon-to-be groom.
“Look who we found,” David cheers.
His thin smile falters when he sees me and he immediately releases the blonde, wrapped in a little black dress, from under his arm. Clearing his throat, he nudges her toward Chad and straightens out his shirt.
The blonde slips onto Chad’s lap without protest and he stares at me in disbelief, his eyebrows at his hairline.
“That’s Naomi,” David points out. “The others are Lydia, Chastity, Lilly, Megan, Sasha, Mia, and—”
“Sera!” The blonde on Chad’s lap launches onto her tall, red heels without a hiccup and rushes away, leaving Chad to pout like toddler who just dropped his ice cream.
He’s a sucker for a girl in a little black dress. When he bags one, he refers to it as his “unicorn.” God knows why. Every girl has a little black dress tucked away in the dark depths of her closet.
It’s almost sad, watching his wildest dreams come true, only for them to jump out of his lap seconds later. Almost sad. I chuckle to myself, finding delight in his disappointment.
In her absence, the group explodes into conversation about what to do next. The sugary giggles and rambunctious laughter is enough to put me off the rest of my drink. Fuck locking myself in a hotel room with these people. I set my drink on the arm of my chair and push myself to my feet. I don’t even know why I came here. Crowds make me anxious and the loud noises send chills down my spine. I move away from the group and none of them notice…except Chad, who dives after me like a fucking love-sick Chihuahua. If only he put this much effort in chasing his unicorn in the little black dress.
With a shove, he slips in front of me, cutting me off. “You’re not bailing on me.”
“I’m tired.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Take a pinger. You’ll be fine.”
I cut my eyes at him. I’m not taking drugs, and what the hell’s a pinger?
“There’s a fuckload of girls over there who want to have a good time and bang some sexy bachelors—”
“So—”
“You see the redhead?” He points over his shoulder. “With the red lipstick and the fake tits?”
I don’t look. “What about her?”
“She’s shopping for some nice blokes to…you know.”
Chad grins, exposing his white, mostly straight teeth. I watch him, confused as he sticks two straight fingers into a circle he made with his opposing thumb and index finger.
My lips quirk at the corners. “I don’t know what you’re doing.”
He throws his hands up, like I’m the idiot. “DP, mate. D-fucking-P.”
Sometimes, I feel like I’m friends with excitable college frat boys, not grown ass men. I’ve done my time. I took advantage of my college years and spent them wisely. Through that experience, I’ve learned what I like and what I don’t like. Sharing a woman with another man? Never again.
“So?”
He feigns insult. “So? Bro, that could be us.”
It’s not the first time Chad has begged me to partake in something like this, and it’s not the first time I’ve declined him.
Laughing, I push past him. “You’re a mess.”
“A mess? Ben?”
“I’m not sharing a girl with you, Chad.”
“Why not?” he demands, pushing through the crowd beside me. “It’s not a gay thing.”
I snort. “I’m not the sharing type.” I stop and turn toward him. “And there’s no way you could keep up with me. I’d only embarrass you.”
Chad throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “You’d embarrass me? Bud, I might be half the size of you, but my co—”
“What are you two talking about?” The blonde from before, Naomi, comes out of nowhere and sidles up next to Chad, wrapping her slender arms around his waist. Color me surprised. It seems she’s chosen him as her plaything for night. I wonder how he feels about that considering he just prepositioned me for a three way with a redhead.
“Comparing dick sizes, probably.”
I turn my head to the sexy, husky little voice that answered Naomi’s question on our behalf. I notice her dark copper eyes first, even in the dim lights of the club, and they’re striking against the glittering umber that rims both her irises. Her long, dar
k lashes, their curve perfectly exaggerated with the right amount of mascara, are the cherry on top of her naughty-but-nice look. The girl smirks at me, her plump lips separating enough for me to see a sliver of her white, white teeth. Something inside me tightens at the sight of her, at the sight of her mouth, and it ignites fire deep down in my dormant soul. Suddenly, staying doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“We were,” I state, “and I win.”
Pink kisses her cheeks and she looks away, letting her hair fall against the side of her face, working as a curtain between us. I want to push it away.
“Bullshit,” Chad protests, feeling the need to defend his junk. “I would out-dick you in length and girth any day.”
I laugh. I laugh because I’ve seen Chad’s dick, and while it’s not pathetic, it’s definitely not worth bragging about.
“Every guy believes his cock is worthy of the name Mjölnir, but they rarely come close to striking with all the might of Thor’s hammer.” The girl’s lips quirk as she opens her black coat, exposing a tight, white dress that clings to her tiny, curvaceous body and dips low between her generous bust. “Unless lightning shoots from the sky when you take your cock in your hand, or the earth trembles as thunder roars above you, no one cares what you carry between your legs.”
Ha. I quirk an eyebrow. Creative.
Folding her coat over her arm, she flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulders.
“I don’t have long. Who’s ready for drinks?”
“Actually,” Chad cuts in, “we’re leaving here to go to a strip joint or two, then probably back to our hotel.”
The girl, who I assume is the Sera that Naomi ran after earlier, looks at me. Really looks at me, as if she didn’t pick me for a stripper-loving kind of guy. I angle my head, trying to get a read on her. The vibes she throws my way are dramatically different than the ones I was feeling before Chad mentioned strippers.