Wannabe: An Against The Odds Novel

by Christa DeClue

  “Excuse me, but this is entrapment, Detective Dickface.” My mouth, which has always gotten me in trouble, starts running. “Let me go, and I won’t complain about you to your boss.”

  He just glares at me and shuts the door. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my anger, and I look to his partner, an older, silver fox-looking guy. Wait a minute, are all the St. Louis police detectives this good-looking?

  “You look like a reasonable man. Get Detective Dickface to let me go. I’m sure you have actual criminals to bust. Not nice, upstanding citizens, like myself,” I say to the back of GreyBeard McHotpants’ head.

  He turns his torso to face me. “We weren’t even going to stop, but Stone saw that man about to assault you. He was going to help, but sweetheart, our job is to bust prostitutes, among other things, and apparently, you qualify.”

  I scowl at him and then at Ryan as he folds his powerful body into the driver’s seat.

  “I hope you made enough tonight to bail yourself out of jail because if not, it’s going to be a long night,” Detective Stone mutters to me, and this time it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. But I’m not the type to look on the dark side of things, so I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror, and give him a big beauty queen smile.

  “If y’all were wondering, you’re both tens on the hotness scale. Like, mind-numbingly hot. It’s doing all kinds of things to me being in this car with you. Mainly thawing my ass out from the cold. I have the worst wedgie right now though because my thong is so far up my ass, I’m pretty sure my ancestors can taste it. Oooh, speaking of tasting things, before we go, can we stop by the new Starbucks on Main? I heard they have a unicorn peppermint mocha. Those drinks usually go straight to my ass, but with all the dancing I do, I think I’m allowed a vice other than dildo collecting, which is harder than it sounds. I have every size known to man,” I ramble to the two men, who are exchanging long looks, and I blink innocently at both of them.

  “Do you ever stop talking?” Greybeard says.

  “Sadly, no. So, about that Starbucks? Stoney had a couple of hundies on him, so I’m guessing it’ll be on him,” I state happily, all the while trying to get comfortable with my arms behind my back. This is the first time I’ve been arrested, but who knows, it could be a good thing. It’ll certainly be a good learning experience. Most people would be terrified, but now that I’ve had a few moments to let the idea sink in, I’m looking forward to it.

  “From y’all’s silence, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s a no to Starbucks, which is fair; it is pretty late for coffee. But can we talk about how awesome my mug shot is gonna be? I obviously am going to go viral for the prettiest mug shot, Claudia can suck it. My hair still looks okay, right, GreyBeard?” I say after a hot second of silence, causing both men to groan. I start shaking my hair out like a model—well, a model without the use of her arms. I peek at the men from beneath my lashes and they’re both facing forward, eyes glued out the windshield. They’re totally missing the beauty that is my ponytail whipping back and forth like liquid gold.

  They steadily ignore my questions, and it’s honestly so rude. If they’re going to be like this, it’s going to be a long night. If this is how being arrested is, I’m never getting arrested again. I sit there, silently pondering how I’m going to get out of this situation.

  “So, I have dildos in all colors. I even had a zebra-striped horse dildo. It’s the only one that scares me, but my last count was at eighty-five…”

  The chorus of male groans is enough to make a smirk appear on my face. If they’re really arresting me, I’m not going to be the only one who has a long night.

  Six Months Ago: Amber

  Zaydra gets up from her position beside me, and I tear my eyes away from the live feed of the boys. She heads into the kitchen, and I holler, “Where are you going, sweets?”

  I wait to hear her reply, but feel a hand close around my mouth, and a blade presses against my throat so hard that if I make one sound, it’ll slice me open. Icy terror filters into my blood when I see the reflection in the computer screen, of the handler from the Warehouse District. I want to scream out for Zaydra to run, but he pulls me away from the couch to the middle of the small living room, practically dragging me, to wait for Zaydra’s return. He doesn’t say anything, which makes me more afraid. It’s like I’m insignificant to him. I see Zaydra come back into view, carrying two glasses of water, and she stops cold at the sight of me. The glasses slip from her hands and shatter on the floor.

  “Hello, baby, I’m so glad you could join us. The crazy bitch here isn’t the one I’m looking for.” He pauses with his hand over my mouth. “Unless you’re both taking his dick, then maybe I do need both of you,” this psychopath says to Zaydra, talking about Collin.

  He licks my cheek, causing me to scream against his hand in helpless disgust. Zaydra moves closer to me, obviously calculating if she can overpower this sick bastard. But as she gets a little too close, he allows the blade to slice my skin, and I feel the searing pain then wetness trickle down my throat. Zaydra quickly backs up a few steps.

  “Go sit on the couch, baby, Amber and I are quite cozy like this. Tell me where the boys are. Go on, be a good girl and tell me,” he says, tightening his grip on my face to bruising. I’m completely immobile with the knife to my neck, and fear like I’ve never known is flooding me. For her…he’s here for her. Not for me, but for my best friend. I knew something felt off earlier.

  “They’re finishing arming up and walking to go into the Warehouse,” Zaydra chokes out to the handler. She’s looking at me with an apology and unshed tears in her eyes.

  “And what do you think they are going to find in there, Zay?” he asks her with a low laugh, then rips his hand off my mouth and angles my face to his. He kisses me roughly and I bite his lip as hard as I can. Zaydra makes a strangled noise, so I take the opportunity.

  “Run, Zaydra! Just, run—” I strangle on my words as he presses the knife deeper into my throat. I can feel more blood leak down my neck and stop struggling immediately. I don’t have a death wish.

  He leans down and whispers in my ear. “I’m going to kill you and take her. And your boyfriend is going to find your body. I hope you make peace with whatever God you pray to because it won’t be long.” At his words, I feel all the blood drain from my face. There is a roaring in my ears and I don’t hear what he says to her next. I just see her face as I beg her with my eyes to run.

  I see tears run silently down her face, and I realize my best friend won’t run and leave me. I can’t let her get taken though. I have to try to do something. I don’t want to die either. He then leans down again and whispers, “We’re going to take turns raping her, like those men did to your mother. But she’s dead now, isn’t she? Just like you’re about to be. Say goodbye to Zaydra, and say hi to Mama for me on the other side.”

  I feel a scream break free from me that comes from the depths of my soul. He spins me around and before I have a chance to do anything, he slashes me from neck to navel. The pain is so intense. I crumple to the floor, but I’m still conscious enough to hear Zaydra’s scream, and as I feel my blood leak from my body, all I can think is that I failed Ryan.

  He’s gonna be so mad…

  Chapter One: Present Day Ryan

  I’ve resorted to stalking her. She won’t talk to me, and she’s not on the corner anymore, failing to get any takers because of the detail of men I’ve put on her. I should feel bad at the loss of income I’ve caused her, but I don’t. The point is moot anyways because she’s not fucking there. I’ve tried to stop by her apartment, but the doorman won’t let me up; she’s put me on some sort of “do not admit entry” list.

  Collin won’t even help me, best friend or no, he tells me to just give her time. Fuck time. I’m just trying to see if she’s okay. Now, I’m outside the strip club where she works, on a Friday night, debating on whether or not to go in, just to fucking talk to her. I’m not sure I can handle seeing her in this element though.
I’ve avoided it thus far because when it comes to Amber, I have some caveman tendencies, even if she puts me in my place every single time.

  Deciding to go inside, I stalk across the darkened street to the Dark Angels building. I jerk open the door and I’m immediately greeted by a burly doorman. He takes a moment to size me up, deciding I look a little dangerous, and starts motioning to my waist.

  “You got any weapons on you?” he barks at me and I shake my head, having removed my service gun before exiting my car. He uses the metal detector wand on me and realizes I was telling the truth. He straightens and towers over me, which doesn’t happen often. “Twenty-dollar cover charge, my man.” I hand him a crisp bill from my wallet, and he grins at me wolfishly. “Enjoy your journey at Dark Angels. Try not to get possessed, or worse, obsessed.” He winks and opens the door into the first level of hell.

  Hell, or my version of it, showcases scantily clad and topless women, with Amber somewhere in the mix being gawked at by unworthy men. The interior is dark with pulsating music. There are four stages, three smaller and one large, and all of them are being used. None of the dancers are Amber though. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. There are some serious acrobatics going on and I’m momentarily mesmerized by the skill these women have. Their movements are so in tune with the music it’s like watching water flow over smooth rocks.

  The naked body doesn’t bother me anymore after my tours overseas and then being a beat cop before making detective. As I make my way to the bar to ask after Amber, several topless girls walk by giving me “fuck me” eyes, and it takes all of my training to keep my gaze above the neck. I give them a quick nod. Finally, I reach the bar and am greeted by a fairy princess. If a fairy princess wore leather and spikes and had red hair.

  “What can I get ya, sweet cheeks?” she asks me, wiping off the bar in front of the seat I’ve taken.

  “I’m looking to get a dance from a certain girl, who danced for me last time. Her name is Amber, is she here?” I ask her, hoping like hell Amber is her stage name too, so I don’t out myself as a stalker. She gives me a shrewd look, then purses her lips slightly, and I silently curse myself because I just know I blew it.

  “I haven’t seen you in here before. When did you say she danced for you last?” she asks me skeptically.

  “I didn’t, but she should know I’m coming. She told me to be here tonight when she danced for me last time,” I tell her innocently. She narrows her eyes on me and I’m praying I look nothing like the hardass detective I am during the day. I’m wearing a black Henley and dark jeans, trying to be inconspicuous.

  “You sure you don’t want another girl to dance for you? Haven and Tara are both eyeing you. They’re both built like porn stars.” The girl smacks her gum at me in a move incredibly reminiscent of Amber, while angling her head at the two nearly naked girls at the other end of the bar, looking at me like I’m fresh meat.

  “I’m sure, but Amber looks like a fallen angel. I don’t know why, but she just does it for me, Miss…?” I let my voice trail off, trying to figure out which one of her coworkers is a bulldog about her safety. Maybe I’ll send her flowers later this week, to thank her for watching over Amber so fiercely.

  “Briar. And Amber’s up on the main stage next, after she gets done talking to Kenny, the emcee. Her stage name is Honey, best remember that. Now, are you drinking something or not?” Briar says with a raised brow.

  I quickly ask for a water and she just huffs, but quickly slides me a bottled water. I pay and leave her a hefty tip, but she still looks at me suspiciously. I make my way to the sound box where the DJ and emcee—Kenny, apparently—wait. I get my first good look at Amber in months, and she looks skinnier, tired. My throat tightens at the weariness I spy in her expression. That, and she’s arguing with a man I’m guessing is Kenny. I creep closer and can finally hear what they’re saying.

  “No, Amber, you can’t dance under the name FrankenTitty. Matt would have my ass. You would scare all the customers away,” Kenny says to Amber.

  “Are you kidding me, Kenny? I could dance under the name Aardvark and these guys would still line the chairs to throw money. Guys never care what the name of the girl is. They just care that there are tits and ass,” she hisses at him. The anger clouds her face as he simply shakes his head at her.

  “Amber, stop making a fuss, you’re lucky Matt let you come back at all with those scars. Don’t push your luck by calling attention to them. Just use body makeup and try to make what little money you can,” Kenny says viciously. But before she can retort, I break my silence.

  “What the fuck did you just say to her?” I ask menacingly, practically right behind the scrawny prick. He whirls around and his eyes grow big at my height. This asshat is right at Amber’s height and likes to belittle women. I’m seeing red.

  “Stoney, what are you doing here, you stalker! Is Greybeard with you?” she snarls at me, searching the place, looking for my partner. She’s trying to look at everything but me, and I don’t blame her. The last time we spoke, we had a blow-out fight while she was in her hospital bed.

  “No, Titus isn’t here. I came to talk to you, and I heard this prick insulting you,” I tell her, then turn back to Kenny. “Is that how you speak to all women, Kenny, or is it just Amber you have the issue with? What’d she do, turn you down?” I ask lowly and take an intimidating step towards him. He glares at me with bravado.

  “Fuck no, I’ve never wanted this crazy bitch. Definitely not now that she’s sliced all to hell. I’m not into mutilated girls,” he says smugly, and before I know what I’m doing, my fist is in his face and he’s sprawled on the floor, holding his nose.

  “Come on, Stoney, what the hell? You can’t go around punching people. You’re a fucking cop,” Amber says, rolling her eyes at my antics, not bothered in the slightest by the words Kenny hurled at her. She steps over his prone form gracefully, and when I go to follow her, I’m greeted by big, burly door guy, who I’m assuming is also their security. He gestures behind him with his thumb to let me know I’ve been kicked out. Not wanting any more negative attention on Amber, I just lock gazes with her as she turns to face me.

  “Eventually you’re going to have to talk to me, Amber. I just want to talk,” I plead with her, swallowing my pride. She slowly shakes her head, her full, pink lips pursed in irritation.

  “There’s nothing to say. I don’t want anything to do with you, Detective Stone. Leave me alone. I’m trying to work here, I’m not soliciting, so you can kindly fuck off.” She trounces away on heels bigger than most men’s dicks, her body swaying in one of those tiny dresses she likes to wear. This one is neon yellow and is offsetting her tan skin. I inwardly groan at the hold she has over me.

  “Come on, buddy, time to leave. Cop or no, you assaulted that fuckface Kenny, and you’re harassing the girls. Get out, or I’ll bounce you out on your head,” Burly door guy says. I raise my hands in acquiescence and slowly make my way towards the front door. I’m feeling dejected and I hate that.

  He leads me all the way outside and shuts the door in my face, where I stand for several moments, looking at the blinking “Dark Angels” sign. I sigh heavily and finally walk away. I’m not one for fighting losing battles.

  Chapter Two: Amber

  My adrenaline is still rushing through my veins, and I want more than anything to take shots of liquor to numb the mental pain I’m in. Fuck Kenny and his words, and fuck Ryan for coming in here and throwing me off my game. This is my life; he can’t just show up anytime he wants.

  I’m at the bar resting my forehead on the bar itself when I hear a clink and then liquid being poured next to my head. I raise my head to see Briar looking at me with laser focus. She fills the shot glass with amber liquid and slides it towards me, then pours one for herself. She’s taking liberties, but no one tells Briar what to do and I’m so envious of that.

  “Who was Tall, Dark, and Dreamy? Why did he punch Kenny? You said he was a cop…I didn’t know cops
looked like him,” she says nonchalantly as she raises the glass towards me. I lift mine as well and clink hers, and we both bring the liquid to our lips. I shoot it and feel the pleasant burn of Johnny Walker down my throat. I almost choke though because Johnny Walker isn’t something you shoot. I give her a mock glare and she just smiles at me.

  “Why, Briar, baby? You afraid you’re going to have to compete for my affections now? Trust me, lovebug, if vaginas didn’t creep me out, you’d be my main bitch. Well, okay, my side bitch because we both know Zaydra is my main bitch.” I wink and she shakes her head at me.

  “Cut the bullshit, Amber. Your ditzy street shit doesn’t work on me, I know the real you. Tell me what’s up,” Briar says bluntly, and I wince.

  I open my mouth to tell her about Ryan when I hear my name being barked. I turn to see the owner, Matt, making a beeline for me with Kenny on his tail, who’s holding a bloody towel to his nose. I cringe slightly, momentarily having forgotten about the clusterfuck that just happened. I rise from the barstool and smooth my yellow dress, giving me time to slip back into my flirty persona.

  “Hey, Mattie, honey, why are you all shouty right now? I’m right here. You know I’m on the main stage next, where else would I be?” I say sweetly as he reaches me. He stands in front of me and crosses his arms. For a strip club owner, he’s not bad-looking. He’s got dark hair with kind eyes, and is my height with a thick, bulky build. His biceps are larger than my head, and I momentarily get lost in staring at them before blinking to bring the conversation back into focus.

  “Kenny says you had some customer punch him when you didn’t like his answer to your name change idea,” Matt says accusingly. I turn my glare on Kenny, who is looking at me with a smug face—well, a smug face with a broken nose. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him or to give him the finger, but as I said, I’m a classy lady.