Stay A Little Longer (Kadia Club Nights Book 2)

by Nicole York

  She needed support, only Cole couldn’t get involved unless he saw the men cross the line with his own eyes.

  The jock had to be roughly six foot two and at least two hundred and sixty pounds. He had a bit of a belly on him but it was hard to tell because of his bomber-style football jacket. He was older than Cole had initially thought. Where Cole first assumed the guy was in his mid to late twenties, he could now see he was at least thirty-five.

  Thirty-five and still wearing your football jacket to nightclubs?

  The jock had a buzz cut, a hooded brow, and a big mouth. He was light skinned so the dark emerald ring on his right hand stood out.

  Who is this guy? Cole wondered. Did this guy play pro ball? What kind of ring was that?

  The other three men in his company also might have been ex-pro-ballers. More likely, Cole figured, they’d all played college ball together. They didn’t have their football jackets on or rings, so it was anyone’s guess. The big guy’s identity was probably wrapped up in his football career or past where the others had other things going for them.

  Manners didn’t seem to be it.

  The server arrived at their table and kept her distance as she asked them what she could get for them. Cole hung back, one elbow resting on the railing, and watched intently. The young woman wore what all the servers wore at Kadia: a skimpy black outfit that showed off her best assets. The men seemed to like this a little too much.

  One of them reached out to touch her ass.

  She stepped back and slapped his hand away. The jock’s eyes slid up to her face and his lips twisted in an angry snarl as she let him have a piece of her mind.

  Someone stepped up beside Cole.

  “Please tell me we have trouble,” Vance said, nodding ahead at the jocks and the server. “For a busy night, it’s been incredibly dull. And those boys? Well, they look like someone needs to knock their heads together. You know? Shake their brains loose from where they’ve suctioned to the inside of their skulls. Dumb bastards.”

  Cole nudged Vance in the ribs with his elbow. “Looks to me like we have reasonable cause to kick them out. One of them tried to touch our girl.”

  Vance rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “What are we waiting for then?”

  Cole shrugged. “I’m curious if they’ll take it further or if she can handle herself. It helps with their confidence if the girl can shut it down on her own. I always try to give her an opportunity if I’m close by to put a stop to it if it’s not going well.”

  “Did Marcus tell you to do that?”

  “No, but it’s a tactic used with rookie training officers on the police force. It’s effective.”

  Vance nodded. “I always forget you were a fucking cop, man.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  The jock got to his feet. The server, who looked tiny in front of him since she was only about five foot three—and that was in her high heels—took a few steps back and told him she was going to have to ask him to leave.

  He let out a booming bark of a laugh and held his belly as he threw his head back. When he got himself under control, he leaned forward and sneered in her face. “You and what army, bitch?”

  Vance was practically vibrating beside Cole. “Is that our cue, man?”

  Cole pushed away from the railing and moved quickly. People got out of his and Cole’s way and they reached the server within five or so seconds. She was still shrinking back from the jock and she backed right up into Cole. She whirled around and deflated with relief when she saw that backup had arrived.

  He gently guided her around beside him. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded but looked a little shaky. “I’m good. Thanks, Cole. These assholes need to go.”

  Cole nodded his agreement. “We’ll take care of it. Go sit down for a bit. Grab some water. Take a breather.”

  She put her hand on his wrist and squeezed as her eyes got glassy. “Thank you.”

  He knew a scared girl when he saw one.

  His anger began to pulse at his temples as he faced the four men, all of whom had gotten to their feet when he and Vance arrived.

  Cole fixed his gaze on the big jock, knowing he was the boss. “Time to go. Kadia has zero tolerance for touching servers and dancers or harassing any employees. You crossed a line.”

  The jock scoffed. He had a stiff upper lip that made him look like he was permanently sneering. “She liked it, champ. Don’t let her little act fool you. She’s been making eyes at me all fucking night.”

  Vance chuckled beside Cole.

  The jock’s eyes narrowed. “Something funny, asshole?”

  Vance rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, dude, I just find it hard to believe that out of all the blokes here tonight she took interest in you. Did you see her? She’s an absolute babe. That’s why she works here. And you? Well.” Vance snorted, gesturing at all of the jocks.

  A grin tugged at Cole’s lips.

  “Well what?” the jock hissed.

  Vance leaned over toward Cole. “Should we tell him how embarrassing it is that he’s wearing his old football jacket and still gets his hair cut the same way he probably did when he used to play? How long ago would that have been?”

  “By the looks of it?” Cole mused. “Decades.”

  They hadn’t spoken quietly. The jock and his friends heard every word and they were practically blowing smoke out of their ears.

  “I earned this fucking jacket,” the jock snarled.

  “In high school?” Vance snickered.

  “In college,” the jock barked.

  “So fifteen years ago?” Cole asked. “That’s a little sad, man. Talk about holding on to the past.”

  “Holding on to it?” Vance asked. “I think he ate it.”

  “That’s it.” The jock swept his arm down, knocking the table over. The glass top slid to the floor and shattered into thousands of tiny crystalline pieces, and the glasses on top scattered and broke as well, sending sharp and jagged fragments across the floor. The loud crash got everyone’s attention, and as soon as the dancers and servers on the second floor realized a fight was about to happen, they began moving the guests toward the staircase.

  The jock’s friends rolled up their sleeves. Two of them had dark skin that seemed to glow a rich indigo shade in the neon blue lights. The fourth man, a shorter stockier guy with an mobster-like look to him, cracked his knuckles and his neck before falling into line with his boys.

  Vance grinned beside Cole. “Oh hell yes. This is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

  Cole couldn’t deny he had an itch to fight, too. Since hooking up with Cameron, he hadn’t felt that burning need to go down to the underground-fighting club to get any of his anger out. All of his bruises had healed and he looked all shiny and new again.

  But a fight like this? He welcomed it.

  There was nothing better than breaking the noses of ignorant dickheads.

  “Get them, boys,” the jock snapped.

  The four of them spurred into action.

  Vance automatically took the two on the right while Cole handled the jock and the Italian. The shorter man came at him first in a flurry of punches and jabs. Cole slapped several down, took one to the shoulder, and dealt a blow of his own with the side of his hand to the right side of the man’s neck. The Italian stumbled and pitched forward. Cole let him fall and stepped past him to meet the attack from the jock.

  He was big, powerful, and slow moving.

  And he could throw a wicked fucking punch.

  The first punch sailed past Cole’s cheek. He barely managed to get out of the way and he felt wind as the blow went past him. He knew he couldn’t afford to get hit in the face by this guy. It might knock him right out. He could hit. Cole dodged another blow, this time ducking under the jock’s arm and coming up the inside to drive the heel of his hand right up into the big man’s nose.

  The jock wailed. Blood sprayed out of his nose. Cole’s hand ached where the man�
��s two front teeth had jabbed into his flesh. He kneed the jock in the gut, forcing him to double over. As the jock bowed to clutch his belly, Cole drove his elbow into the back of his neck, sending him sprawling on the floor, unconscious.

  The Italian came back at him in a wild assault. He landed several hits before Cole got his bearings, one to the jaw and one to the ear. Cole grimaced as his ears rang. His anger gathered until the pain in his ear was forgotten and his vision narrowed on his target. The Italian stayed light on his feet with his fists up. He clearly had some form of fight training.

  Cole waited.

  His opponent did not. He came in fast again, this time sending a sweeping kick toward the side of Cole’s knee. Furious that this guy would fight so dirty and try to break Cole’s fucking leg, Cole dodged. He abandoned all tactics and honed skills and instead opted to handle things the way Marcus would.

  With sheer grit and will.

  Cole went after the Italian. He took a couple more strikes but got a hold of the smaller man by the collar of his shirt. He wrenched him forward while winding back with his other hand and used the momentum he’d created to knock the man out cold with a well-placed punch to the cheek bone. He let go of the man’s shirt and he toppled to the floor beside the still unconscious jock.

  At the same time, Vance was finishing up with his two.

  When the fight was over, the two bodyguards stood with their arms slack at their sides trying to catch their breath.

  Vance started to laugh, and in turn, Cole grinned.

  “What took you so long?” Cole asked.

  Vance waved him off before wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I didn’t want it to end too quickly, you know?”

  Cole nodded. He did know.

  19

  Cameron

  Cameron stood in front of her gold-trimmed floor-length mirror in her bedroom. It was early morning, about half past seven, and after two weeks of working on the front lines canvassing women’s shelters, soup kitchens, and poverty-stricken areas, she was finally beginning to get used to being up before nine o’clock.

  Used to it but not enjoying it.

  The sun had not yet begun to creep over the trees in the front yard of the estate, so her bedroom was still dark. She’d turned on the lights, had her shower, and blow dried her hair, and now she was trying to decide what the hell she should wear.

  Clearly, something she was doing wasn’t working.

  The women still weren’t opening up to her. Nothing she said seemed to garner any trust from them and they all preferred to pretend she wasn’t there instead of make eye contact with her. She wondered if she intimidated them or if there was something about the way she was dressing that made her come across as untrustworthy.

  She knew people with no money had a hard time believing those who had money were good. She understood that. She knew there was a barrier between them.

  All she needed to do was find a way to take it down.

  Or better yet, blow it up.

  With a renewed sense of determination, Cameron went through her dresser drawers and closet. She found a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in ages and pulled them on. They were tighter than she remembered, probably because she’d been doing more training the last year and her ass was a little fuller than it used to be, but they started to stretch out the longer she wore them. She rummaged through her dresser to find a plain T-shirt but came up empty.

  “How can you not own a plain T-shirt?” she wondered aloud. Was she really that snobby and stuck up that she never bothered to purchase basic shirts? “Pauline would be so ashamed of you.”

  Instead of a T-shirt, she pulled on a tight black tank top. She tucked it into the jeans and threw a blazer over her shoulders. She put on a pair of low heels. They were simple and black with a pointed toe. She liked how they complemented the simple outfit.

  “It’s still too much,” she breathed as she studied herself.

  She needed to be approachable. She needed to be casual.

  Casual, she thought. How does one do casual?

  She shrugged out of the blazer and stepped out of the shoes. Cameron had never experienced what it was like to look in her closet and feel like she had nothing to wear. She’d heard other women complain about this her entire life—including Pauline, who was guilty of it on a near weekly basis. But not Cameron. She had more clothes than she knew what to do with and she loved getting dressed every day.

  However, she did not love getting dressed to go to the shelters.

  Finally, she had a brilliant idea.

  “Active wear,” she said hopefully.

  How many women did she see wandering the streets in leggings and casual pullover sweaters? She owned all those things. To be fair, she never thought she’d wear them out in public, and she’d bought them just for the gym, but at this point, she was willing to try anything.

  Cameron put on a pair of gray leggings and a white pullover. She paired the ensemble with a pair of white sneakers and a navy-blue shoulder bag. She made sure the designer label was turned inward so that when she wore it on her shoulder nobody would see the word “Birkin” written on the side. She’d have chosen a different bag, but she needed to bring a lot of stuff with her today: water bottle, notebook, laptop, wallet, lunch. Her Birkin was her ride or die bag, as it should be for the price. It had been a gift from her father two Christmases ago. After opening it on Christmas morning, Cameron’s mother had smacked her husband on the arm and told him there’d better be one under the tree for her, too.

  There had been.

  Mr. White took care of his women.

  Cameron considered going the extra mile and putting her hair up in a ponytail and threading it through the back of a baseball cap but decided against it. She left her hair down and didn’t style it after blow drying it. Instead, she roughed up the roots with dry shampoo, gave it a bit of hairspray for some body and texture, and left her bedroom feeling seriously underdressed.

  She passed her mother on the stairs.

  Margaret paused on the second step from the top. “Is that what you’re wearing to the shelter today, sweetheart?”

  Cameron reached the first floor and looked up at her mother. “Believe me, it’s not my first choice. Or my fiftieth choice, for that matter. But something I’m doing isn’t working and I’m willing to try anything at this point to get these women to talk to me. I think dressing down might help break down some barriers.”

  Margaret nodded with pursed lips. “You know, I think that’s a very good idea.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Good luck today, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to hearing all about your success tonight over dinner.”

  Cameron smiled.

  Her parents’ support meant more to her than anything in the world. Even though she was constantly intimidated by their success and felt like she could never amount to the staggering good they’d done, she never felt like they expected the same from her. They just wanted her to do her best at whatever it was she chose to throw herself into.

  And Cameron wanted that, too. For herself and for the women in New York who needed her help.

  Cameron called a cab company and asked for a car to come pick her up before she went into the kitchen to grab coffee and something to eat. As per usual, one of the kitchen staff was there to hand her a cup of perfect coffee. She helped herself to a banana, made a piece of toast with peanut butter, and took her breakfast and coffee into the breakfast nook, where her father sat on his laptop responding to emails.

  He glanced up at her as she sat down across from him. “Good morning,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby.”

  Wayne grinned and nodded at her plate. “You don’t usually eat before the gym. Does your coach have you trying something different?”

  “Oh, I’m not going to the gym.”

  Her father looked her up and down. “You’re not?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. This is what I’m wearin
g to the shelter. I’m hoping this will make me easier to talk to instead of the getups I’ve been wearing. I’ve been so obsessed with trying to get these women to take me seriously that I think I might have sabotaged myself. So I’m changing it up.”

  Wayne got a sly look in his eyes and he smiled. “You mean you’re recalibrating?”

  Cameron laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Dad! Will that line ever get old?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Not likely.”

  Cameron took a bite of her peanut-butter-smothered toast followed up by a bite of her banana. The flavors were glorious together. When she finished eating, she put her dishes away, kissed her father on the cheek, and told him she’d see him tonight. He wished her luck and called after her that he had a good feeling about today.

  Truth be told, so did she.

  The cab ride into the city from Irvington took over an hour that morning due to traffic. She paid the cab driver well when he dropped her off at the shelter she had on her list to visit, and he drove off, leaving her at the curb staring up at the building.

  It was in shambles.

  The shelter was named Annie’s Place. It was a non-profit organization that had been around for twenty-two years and was started by—surprise, surprise—a woman named Annie. After her daughter became addicted to drugs and started living on the street, Annie was exposed to the life some women lived in New York City. She lost her daughter to the drugs but she used her child’s spirit to help others who didn’t get the same chances as her daughter did.

  Annie wasn’t going to be at the shelter today but she’d told Cameron to come by anytime.

  The front door had iron bars on the glass, but it was broken anyway. Jagged pieces glinted in the sunlight as if winking at passersby on the street to stay away. The two windows on either side of the doors were boarded up and it looked like this place was deserted.