by Carnal, MJ
The neon sign flashed in my line of vision. I gripped my cheap fake leather purse tighter against my shoulder and winced as my world caved in around me.
Hiring Dancers! Next to the sign was another. Topless! Dollar Jell-O shots after 11:00!
Each word was like a punch to the gut. Slowly, I forced one foot to follow the other until I reached the blacked-out door.
With trembling fingers I clenched the knob and twisted.
Low heady music played in the background, but the place was empty of customers. The man behind the bar was cleaning glasses and watching something ahead of him. I turned to follow his gaze as three women started dancing in synchronization on the stage. I should have turned around and ran, but he saw me.
"Can I help you?"
"Um…" It was on the tip of my tongue to say no, but as I backed up into what I thought was a wall, strong hands gripped the sides of my arms.
"What have we here?"
I turned and gasped. The man was ugly as sin. A long scar ran from his eyebrow all the way across his face, the flesh was pulled tight but at the wrong angle making his face looked like a mismatched quilt.
"I, uh, saw the ad." I pointed to the door, careful to avert my eyes from his scary face. "For dancers."
"You have any experience?" he asked in a gravelly voice as he winked at the bartender. Heat invaded my face. I was so embarrassed, so ashamed. Tears threatened.
"No, but I'm a quick learner," I finally said, our gazes meeting again.
The man's smile turned hungry. "I bet you are, beautiful."
"You know—" I gave a half hearted laugh and started to sidestep him. "—maybe I'm wrong, maybe I should just leave, you know, yeah that's a good idea I'll—"
"Three hundred dollars," he whispered, his hand moved to my arm.
I stopped.
"My girls make three hundred a night on a bad night, five if it's good. We're one of the only topless bars that offers cheap booze."
Great, so I'd have cheap drunks to look forward to along with losing my morals.
"So?" He tilted his head. "What do you say?"
I closed my eyes, briefly apologizing to my mom, to Axton, to everyone in my life who'd ever believed in me and told me I was going to make something of myself one day.
I waved goodbye to the straight-A student who just wanted to see a palm tree, and when I opened my eyes I shook hands with the devil and whispered, "When do I start?"
A person will do anything to survive… anything.
CHAPTER THREE
Amy
Three hours of "training" and I was ready for my debut. The training consisted of girls teaching me all the things I should be careful of when dancing. Never let a man pull you into a dark corner — unless he pays. No sex — unless he pays. No touching—unless he pays. When I told them I thought it was just dancing, they laughed at me.
Apparently money really did talk and the girls were willing to do anything to make more of it. I was surprised to find out that a few of them were pretty well off, making more than what someone would start out working full-time with a degree, but that didn't make me feel any better.
It was what I was doing.
Dancing, basically naked, in front of people, and earning money for it. Earning money for my skinny, barely fed body.
I was fit, only because I was forced to walk everywhere.
I was tan because walking meant I was outside all the time.
And I was skinny because oatmeal and Top Ramen were the only two things I had in my apartment at any given time.
The last chocolate cake I had was for my sixteenth birthday. Funny, my twenty-second birthday had been yesterday.
The day I'd gotten fired.
The same day I'd finally given up.
No cake. No candles. No Axton. I closed my eyes against the painful memories.
"What's your wish?" Axton whispered, holding the cake up so I could blow out the single candle he'd put there. "Tell me."
"I want a palm tree."
He laughed. "In Chicago?"
"No silly, in Florida, or Texas, or California, just… somewhere warm. I want a palm tree in my yard."
His expression grew serious. "And if I can't let you go?"
My heart sped up. "Then you'll have to find a way to bring me the warmth here…"
He moved an inch closer to me, his mouth so close to mine I could almost taste him, then he lifted the cake and whispered, "Blow."
It was hard enough breathing let alone blowing out a single candle, but I did it.
He set the cake down and pulled me in for a hug. "I won't let you go. So I guess I better figure out a way to keep you warm, huh?"
"You let me know when you have the answer," I mumbled against his chest.
"On your eighteenth birthday," he vowed. "I'll tell you then… it will give you something to look forward to."
Silly that on my eighteenth birthday I sat outside the foster home I was in and waited for him. As if he'd suddenly come back to life and come rescue me.
I cried for him that day.
I cried for me.
"New girl!" Someone clapped in front of my face. "Time to get dressed!"
With a sigh, I stood and followed her into a tiny dressing room where girls were piling on layers of makeup and hairspray like it mattered what they looked like when all the men were just there to get drunk and horny.
"Here." She tossed something black at me and moved in front of a mirror to fluff her hair.
I lifted up the measly scrap of fabric and nearly choked. "What is this?"
"It's a type of leotard." She shrugged, still not taking her eyes off the mirror. "It barely covers the girls, but gets the guys wild because it still leaves a bit to the imagination. You're lucky the manager doesn't make you go out there topless, everyone else had to when they started."
"Oh." I clutched the leotard tighter. "So where do I change?"
The girls all stopped what they were doing, shared a look, and burst out laughing. The one named Sherry winked. "You ain't got nothing we haven't seen before, kid. Now strip."
Strip.
My new job title.
With a gulp, I slowly began doing just that, hands shaking the whole time.
CHAPTER FOUR
Axton
My damn palms were sweaty as I drove to the location Sergio had given me. I hadn't been out for years.
Years.
I'd been a ghost, just like my brother, not really existing. Living on one of the large family ranches. We had more money than we knew what to do with, and I was more than happy to sit there and finish my PhD, not that I'd probably ever be able to use it, all things considered. My last name was either like being a celebrity in Chicago or a death dealer. It wasn't rare to see someone drop my credit card with trembling hands or freaking bow. Yes, a teen actually bowed to me at the gas station and then asked if it was all true.
And I wanted to say was, "yeah let me show you my gun."
Instead I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.
I'd only gone to prison for a few months. The feds couldn't tack anything to me or most of my family.
But my father? They had loads of shit on him and a few other lucky ones. So while I was set free to live out my miserable existence, they still rotted behind bars.
I had my brother back now and an empty mansion.
And guns, lets not forget the guns, and other weaponry and enough fancy cars to make a sixteen-year-old boy shit himself.
But what was that life without some sort of meaning?
I'd trained since boyhood to be part of the Family. To do what was right. To protect Family — blood. But in the end my own blood had betrayed me, a deal with the De Langes gone bad. My father was trying to impress the boss and ended up blowing our covers to Hell.
I tapped the steering wheel of the Mercedes again.
One more mile.
Alabama, of all the places for Amy to end up in, why the hell had she chosen Florence, Alabama
?
I pulled into the parking lot and checked the address on my navigation. It said I was at the right spot, but Sergio had said she was a waitress.
I checked the address again.
At a strip club?
Pissed off all over again at my brother, I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. The music made me sick. I had never been a guy for strip clubs, they seemed cheap… like the type of thing men went to when they weren't confident enough to actually ask a girl out or take her on a nice date.
Disgusted, I opened the door and winced. The smell of smoke filled the air, burning my nostrils. The place was packed.
I searched anxiously for Amy, all I needed to do was grab her, stuff her in the car if need be, and then hightail it out of Hell. I needed to bring her back where she belonged, right the wrong, and hopefully not scare her to death considering she thought I was dead.
The lights lowered as dancers exited the stage.
Still no Amy.
I started making my way towards a security guard who was standing on the far side of the room nearest the stage, when a booming voice sounded over the speakers.
"Tonight we have a special treat for you!" The voice made my ears hurt. A drunken group of college guys pushed in front of me and ran to the stage with dollar bills. Swear my finger twitched on the gun in the back of my pants. But I refrained — barely.
"Hey," I said loudly to the security guard. "I'm looking for a girl."
"Keep moving." He glared.
I could take him, I knew this, he probably knew this, but he didn't move, or even make eye contact, instead his head was leaning forward so he could see the stage.
"She's young," the voice continued. "And so innocent."
More hoots from the crowd.
"She needs money for college! And who are we to keep her from getting her education?" More cheers. "Please welcome Amy—"
I pushed past the security guard. When he tried to grab me, I turned on my heel and elbowed him in the throat, possibly breaking something — ask me if I cared.
I ran down the hall and nearly collided with a man holding a microphone. "Listen you bitch, I already announced you. You have to go on."
"No." Her voice was weak. "I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't. Please don't make me do it!"
He slapped her.
And I snapped.
With a curse I lunged for him, slamming his body against the wall; the microphone dropped out of his hand.
"Who are you?" he spat, fighting against me.
With a grin, I answered, "The angel of death." And knocked him out with a right hook breaking a few teeth in the process as blood poured from his nose and mouth.
When I turned around to see if Amy was all right, she was immobile, her face ashen. She swayed forward.
I caught her just before she hit the ground, lifted her over my shoulder, and walked as fast as I could out of that hell hole.
****
Hands shaking with rage, I buckled her in the front seat, careful not to look at her body as I gently placed her legs inside the car. Anger slammed through me, clouding my vision as I belted her into the front seat. My hands shook so badly it took me three tries to finally latch the buckle—a fourth try would have had me ripping the damn thing from the car and saying to hell with it. I couldn't control the damn shaking, couldn't control the anger that I'd kept at bay for five years. Anger that Sergio had forced me to do the unthinkable, anger that my family had told me that the De Langes would never find out. And of course there was also the anger that it was my fault she was in this position in the first place.
I shut the door and then promptly kicked the tire until my foot hurt. When that didn't make me feel better I got in the car and started the engine. It would be a hell of a long drive back to Chicago, especially with me threatening to go all Hulk at any second, but we had a few stops to make first. I had no one to blame but myself, it had been my bright idea not to fly. I thought it would give me time to think about things.
But my decision to "find myself" had almost ended up in disaster. What if I had arrived five minutes later? What if she had gone on stage? What if he had hit her again?
My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel. I drove towards her small apartment, the only other address Sergio had given me, and parked in front of it.
She still hadn't woken up.
When I whispered her name, she didn't budge.
Panicked, I called Sergio.
When he didn't answer… I begrudgingly called the boss, Nixon.
"What?" he barked into the phone. "Any trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle," I said tersely. "But, she passed out."
"So wake her up."
"She won't wake up." Did whispering her name count as trying to wake her?
A long pause, then, "Did you hurt her? I swear if you hurt her I'm going to—"
"No!" I yelled. "What the hell, Nixon! I'm your cousin! I wouldn't touch her." Not in that way. My eyes roamed her body. I hated myself in that moment, hated that when I thought about touching her, my entire core heated like someone had tried to set me on fire but forgotten to blow out the flame. It burned, and burned, and burned. I was consumed with the need to touch her.
"Ax?"
"Sorry." I nervously glanced in her direction, flexing my free hand acros the steering wheel. "How long before I take her to the hospital?"
"She probably passed out from shock, man. Give her time, alright? Try to wake her up, make sure she gets some food and water. If she's not breathing, that's when you call the hospital. If she turns blue or if she starts saying she sees dead people or some shit like that. But until then, just take care of her."
"Right."
"You can handle this, Ax. This is what we do."
"Rescue young girls?"
Nixon laughed. He actually laughed. My mouth dropped open in shock. Sergio had said things were different. The Nixon I remembered from childhood was too haunted to laugh, too pissed at the world to remember to smile. "It's a new game, man. New players. The mafia isn't want it used to be, the Family isn't run by old guys with something to prove. All that's left is us… the kids… the product of a shitty upbringing, and change is coming."
"Apparently," I said under my breath.
"Heard that."
"I'll call if I need anything."
"Call Campisi, he deserves a little interruption from his honeymoon."
"He's on his honeymoon?"
"I'd rather not discuss him and my sister."
"Noted."
"Any difficulties, text me or call him. I mean it."
"Um, thanks."
"Any time."
I hung up and stared at my phone for a few seconds before I heard Amy moan.
Slowly, she raised her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. "My cheek hurts."
My racing pulse slowed, time slowed.
She turned to me and gasped again. "It is you." Tears pooled in her eyes. "How?"
My heart pounded as the pooled tears spilled over her cheeks, cascading down perfect smooth skin. I reached out to touch her but she slapped my hand away.
"How!" she yelled then pushed against my chest. I reached for her but she just kept pushing and fighting me. "I don't understand!"
"Yeah." I licked my lips and gripped her wrists. "Me either, but you just passed out. Can you calm down a bit? I need to make sure you're alright and I can't do that with you hitting me."
Strength left her body; and she slumped in her seat. More tears fell, and my heart broke all over again as she wiped them away. Then her fingers touched the red mark on her face, and she winced.
I grimaced. "How's your cheek?"
"It hurts." She huffed. I damn near had to sit on my hands to keep myself from reaching out to wipe away the rest of her tears. The angry bruise begged for a loving touch—but I had a sickening feeling that was the last thing she would think when my fingers grazed the spot. "Really bad. He was wearing a few rings on that hand."
"I'll kill him," I said softly. "But let me at least feed you first."
"You're serious aren't you?"
"I never joke about whose life I take," I answered honestly. "And if we keep talking about him, you won't get food because I'll be too pissed to wait."
"Don't." She swallowed. "Don't kill him, that isn't you."
"But you never knew me to begin with," I said sadly. "Did you?"
Her face fell as her lower lip quivered. Damn it.
"I guess not." She folded her arms across her chest — making it that much harder not to stare — and looked out the window. "So, I just got fired I'm thinking. Tomorrow I'll be on the streets. Thanks for the save…" She reached for the door handle.
"Not so fast." I moved my hand across hers. "We're only here to grab what you need and then we're going back."
She didn't turn to face me; instead her entire body went rigid as she repeated in a breathless voice, "Back?"
"To Chicago."
Her head fell against the window. "And if I want to stay?"
"Why would you want to stay here when I already have a home for you there? Palm tree and all."
"You remember."
"I never forgot."
"It's not the same, Ax." Her frail body looked so beat up, so worn, so defeated. I hated seeing her like that. She turned and glanced at me, her green eyes flashing. "It's not the same."
"You're right." I cupped her face. "This time you won't be cold."
Her eyes drew together in confusion.
I leaned forward and brushed my mouth against hers. "Because I'll be the one keeping you warm."
CHAPTER FIVE
Amy
I wanted his lips more than I wanted my next breath, but how long before those lips were taken away? How long before my heart would get ripped from my chest a second time? I almost didn't survive the first — I knew I wouldn't live through the second.
With a jerk I pulled back and slapped him across the face. "How dare you!"
Ax swore and hit the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I shouldn't have assumed—"
"Assumed, what?" I yelled. "That I wouldn't be completely pissed off? That I wouldn't be shattered!" My voice wavered. "Totally wrecked forever because I've been mourning the loss of my best friend for five damn years only to find out he's very much alive and suddenly wanting to play the white knight?" My body started to shake. "I died that day!"