Alistair smiled. Whatever Aleks wanted, Aleks got. He should have known better than to worry about price. Aleks could buy and sell his company, a few dozen times over.
Alistair observed Aleks as he watched Belle and the other girls. It was then Alistair understood his expression. Aleks looked peaceful.
In all the years of knowing Aleks, he’d never looked so domesticated. And happy.
Alistair followed his gaze to the girls around the table. Jayla sat next to Belle, her quiet reserve and polite smile almost out of place in a conversation that looked animated, to say the least. What is she hiding?
Looking up in that moment, she caught his gaze. Her deep chocolate eyes glittered in the bright stage lights. Even from across the room, he swore he could see a slight blush creep from up her neck and into her cheeks. The color turning her olive skin an even more tempting color.
She so wants me, he smirked to himself, wishing it were true.
As if reading his thoughts, her eyes narrowed. Tilting her head, a sweet smile crept up her face, just before lifting her hand and … giving him the bird.
He laughed, in spite of himself. Don’t worry, Princess. Hard-to-get is my specialty.
Chapter Four
Fiddling with her gloves, Jayla finally gave up and stuffed them in her pocket before pulling her jacket tighter around her body. In the hours since she’d entered Madame Lily’s, the temperature had dropped dramatically, and the icy chill blew through the thin fabric of her jacket as if she hadn’t worn it at all.
But the excitement over her new job took some of the sting out of the wind. Save the shower, she hadn’t sung in ages, and being on stage, allowing herself to be free, to move as she wanted — it was exhilarating.
Belle had offered her the position as stage performer, which she accepted. Each night, she’d take part in group numbers; there’d also be delegated tasks such as helping on the main floor, serving, talking to guests, and manning “the bookstore” portion of the club, granting admittance to those who knew “the code” to get in.
But it was the solo numbers that had her the most excited … and worried. She’d blamed the endorphin high, and the pleading look of Belle’s face when she asked for her agreement. Belle promised Madame Lily’s was not a strip club; men wouldn’t be free to touch her — ever. The seriousness in Belle’s conviction set off a small warning for Jayla, wondering if Belle had battled demons of her own at one point.
She’d stayed with the girls for several hours after her audition, getting to know them. It was an odd experience. In the past, even at work, she had always shied away from making friends. She’d be cordial, but didn’t partake in conversations. But these girls, Jayla couldn’t seem to say no to. Especially Snow. Her energy just seemed … right. They’d exchanged phone numbers before Jayla left.
Jayla glanced down the alleyway at the end of the block. It wasn’t the route she took earlier, but as the first couple of snowflakes began to fall, it was worth the risk for the shortest path home. Rounding the corner, she quickened her pace. Halfway to the next block she stumble-stepped at the sound of her voice in the wind.
“Jayla! Wait up.” Turning, she watched Alistair running toward her. His face was reddened from the cold, his warm breaths visible.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned back to her path, leaving him to continue to chase after her. The fact he did, surprising.
His long legs easily closed the distance between them, reaching her in only a few more strides. She didn’t slow her steps.
“Hey,” he panted, rubbing his bare hands together for warmth.
Why did he rush after me?
Her heart skipped a beat, defenses immediately heightening at being chased, by a man, down an alley. “What do you want?” she asked, exaggerating the irritation in her voice.
“To apologize.”
She stopped in her tracks at the response.
Is this a trick? Thinking back, Jeffrey never apologized. For anything. Glancing down, she caught sight of the slightly raised ridge on the inside of her right wrist. She had been outside in the garden, walking into the kitchen to fill her watering can. The room was filled with black smoke and the smell of burning cheese. Jeffrey had started cooking a grilled cheese sandwich, which he’d forgotten when a phone call pulled him away. He walked into the kitchen just as she turned from the garbage, having thrown the offending stench on top of egg shells and coffee grinds from breakfast.
He’d screamed at her for failing to pay more attention to his needs. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the stupid garden, he wouldn’t have had to cook his own lunch. As punishment, he’d made her eat the sandwich out of the garbage can, but only after he’d pressed her wrist against the edge of the pan, burning her, so she’d never forget her mistake.
Breath shaking, Jayla forced herself out of the memory, choosing to focus on Alistair’s chocolate eyes. Deep, dark … and kind.
As if reading her thoughts, his eyes widened in earnest. “I’m sorry about this morning. About what I said to you on the street. Before your audition.”
Shocked at the statement, she stuttered a quick “Thanks.” The pitch of her voice made the word sound more like a question than an acceptance of his apology.
Looking down at her, his body turned fully, squaring to her. “Really, I apologize.” He held out his hand for her, asking, “Can we start over? I’m Alistair.”
The honesty in his expression was staggering. She took a breath to answer, when a crash broke the silence.
Half a dozen yards up the alley, a dumpster lid slammed onto its metal base. Two men moved out from behind it, both ragged and ominous.
Alistair’s hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her behind him. It was then she spotted the third man stalking up the alley behind them. Taking stock of the men, her heart began to race. Pushing the adrenaline aside, she focused on her breathing.
In the first few months after escaping Jeffrey, she’d enrolled in one of the self-defense courses offered at the women’s shelter. Once she had the basics down, she’d used videos on her phone to learn the rest, going as far as duct taping a body pillow around one of the columns in her apartment’s kitchen to use as a boxing bag. With every landed punch and sweeping kick, she vowed to never allow herself to become a victim again.
As the men crept closer, her anger surfaced. More men looking to take advantage, to harm her. When will it end?
The man behind her was tall, but slim, with a slow, uneven gait that hinted at an injury. With his height, he could grasp her easily, but she could tell he wouldn’t be able to match her speed.
Of the two men in front, one had a medium build, his eyes red and glazed — possibly high. The other was short and bald, with the beginnings of a pot belly. The glint of metal caught her attention as the taller of the two brandished a knife.
“Seems you lovebirds are a bit lost,” the man with the knife said, directing his statement toward Alistair. His knuckles strained against the blade, palm opening ever so slightly, like he was itching to use the weapon.
“We don’t want any trouble. We’ll just move along,” Alistair responded, shuffling back, pushing her closer to the alley wall.
Jayla turned her head, watching the man to her side look her up and down, licking his lips. Making a sound of disgust, she tilted her head. “Don’t even think about it, jackass.”
Alistair turned then, just noticing the man behind, when the men in front moved. The taller one came at Alistair from his right, the one with the knife waiting behind, as the other attempted to land a punch.
Jayla pushed off Alistair, stepping to her attacker. Easily ducking his flying fist, she turned, landing a blow to his ribs. Yelling in pain, he hunched over, giving her the opportunity to land a kick square to his nose. His head snapped back, blood pouring from the broken cartilage.
“You bitch!” he squeaked, his voice higher than before as he pinched the bridge, trying to quell the bleeding.
Smiling, she spun again, her foot slamming into his
knee, bending it backwards, dislocating it.
Collapsing to the ground, he grabbed the joint, howling in pain.
Spinning around, she noted one man on the ground, unconscious, legs splayed awkwardly over a pile of trash.
So, Alistair can hold his own. Good to know.
The man with the knife lunged forward, tip pointed to Alistair’s chest. He swung, slicing Alistair’s jacket.
Making her move, Jayla silently lunged, aiming her shoulder for his diaphragm. She heard the air leave his lungs as she connected exactly as she intended.
The attacker stumbled backwards into the wall, gasping for air. He looked up, a mixture of surprise and hatred, as he flipped the knife into his other hand, jabbing at Jayla’s side.
She jumped back not a second too soon. Alistair appeared from her side, grasping the man’s arm, twisting it behind and pulling. The man let out a string of curses, and Alistair pulled harder, sending the man to his knees. The knife fell from his fingertips and tumbled to the ground.
As the man’s gaze trailed up to her, a fresh rush of anger coursed through her. His eyes were the same shit-brown as Jeffrey’s. Unable to stop herself, she reeled back and threw a right hook, hitting him squarely between the eye socket and temple. He slumped forward, unconscious.
Her chest heaved from both adrenaline and excitement. She’d never had to use her training before — and felt a strange exhilaration from taking out not one, but two men.
Alistair let the man’s body drop to the ground, his eyes focused on her. Before she could say a word, his arms were around her, his fingers in her hair, pulling her to him.
Alistair searched her face, looking for any indication that she might be injured. “Are you okay?”
Now, out of danger, Alistair’s adrenaline morphed into pure lust for the woman standing in front of him. The woman who had spent the better part of the day mocking him, the same one who had surprised them all with her goddess-like sex appeal, had just taken down two assailants.
She was a paradox. A mystery he’d been drawn to from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. And now he knew why. Her quiet fury and quick wit — his kryptonite.
When he’d watched her graciously, albeit, nervously, accept praise from the others after her performance — eyes beaming over a muted smile — he’d begun to wonder about her. Then, when she had instinctively grasped onto his arm for protection from their attackers, his suspicions had been confirmed. For all intents and purposes, she appeared a natural submissive. With a serious wild side.
Is she a brat? His cock hardened at the thought. Her chestnut eyes, wide and searching, were almost an invitation to take her home. Her hair, soft against his fingertips; her lips, pink and plump, begging to be bitten.
He felt her tense ever so slightly when his gaze fixed on her mouth. Looking back into her eyes, he couldn’t read the emotion. Was it fear? Anger?
Resisting the urge to pull her closer and kiss her, he removed his hands, and reached into his pocket for his phone.
“Who are you calling?” she asked, near whispering. Looking up before dialing, he noticed her skin seemed to pale. Don’t go into shock, Princess.
“The police.”
Her hand darted forward, as if she wanted to grab his phone, and then pulled back. “Don’t! Please, don’t.”
Looking at her, his brow arched. “Why?”
One of the men on the ground groaned. Alistair took Jayla’s arm and moved her up the alley toward the street. Sensing her nervous energy, he took her hand. “We won’t get into any trouble. They attacked us, remember?”
Looking back down the alley, her frown deepened. “Can’t we just go, just leave—”
His phone rang, cutting her off. It was Peter.
“Give me two seconds.” He took a step back down the alley to get out of the wind.
The call lasted a brief moment, just long enough to relay the events of the last few minutes. Pressing the end button, his fingers shifted to dial 9-1-1 as he turned back to the street.
Jayla was gone.
Chapter Five
It had been two weeks since the day of the attack — and two weeks since she’d last seen Alistair. If only he hadn't called the police. They’d take statements, ask for her ID, put it into their system … it was too much of a risk of Jeffrey finding her. Even with her new name.
A chime interrupted her thoughts. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and read the text from Snow.
Snow: Morning sunshine! You doing okay?
Jayla: Yeah, thanks. I’m on my way to Madame Lily’s now.
Snow: I’m at the shelter for a bit. But I’ll be in as soon as I finish up.
Jayla smiled. In the short time since her audition, they had become fast friends, talking daily, meeting for coffee a few times. She’d even gone to Snow’s two nights ago, meeting with Belle and one of the other performers, Sirena, for pizza and a movie.
It had come as no surprise to Jayla that Snow volunteered her time at a local animal shelter, given her love for anything with fur — except, of course, clothing. Snow offered to set her up with some hours, and to help her find the perfect four-legged companion, but Jayla declined. She loved animals — they were incapable of lying and loved unconditionally — but she knew it would be cruel to take on that kind of responsibility. If she had to leave again, it would be easier just to leave people.
Snow: I’m stopping for coffee on my way in. Bring you something? Your regular hot chocolate?
Jayla’s smiled widened at Snow’s attention to detail. Jayla didn’t care much for coffee, but a good ol’ cup of hot cocoa — that was always on the table.
Jayla: You know me too well. Yes, please.
Snow: You got it! See you soon!
Jayla waited at the corner for the traffic light to change then crossed the street to the storefront that disguised the entrance to Madame Lily’s. The club was set to open at the end of the month. They had just a few short weeks left to prepare. According to Belle, there was still a lot to be done, but they were making progress. The bookstore and kitchen had been successfully completed, the chef — an older French man named Louie — finally hired, and with the delivery of the vanities, the backstage area had been crossed off the list. They still needed to stock the bar, arrange the booths on the main floor and in the VIP areas, and when everything else was done, complete a test lighting and sound run.
When Belle mentioned the company they’d hired to install the tables and booths called to say they needed an extra week to complete the job, Jayla volunteered to help out. One of her various under-the-table jobs had been helping a sweet older woman repurpose antique furniture. The job had acquainted her with dismantling pieces and fitting them back together, and she was confident she could arrange the booths. After the movie at Snow’s, Belle had given her a key to Madame Lily’s and Jayla had promised to get to work first thing Monday morning.
As she rounded the last corner, the memory of her first encounter with Alistair flashed through her mind.
Now you’re desperate to find out what I can do with my mouth?
She frowned at the fact the comment still, weeks later, sent a thrill through her. Over-confident prick, she lied to herself, trying to get him out of her head.
Since the attack, she hadn’t seen or asked about him, figuring it better to move past her little infatuation quickly.
It was better this way, anyway. He was a cocky jerk. An attractive cocky jerk.
A lot of men are attractive, Jayla.
Not to you, they’re not.
She groaned at her internal bickering. What was it about him she couldn’t get out of her head? Perhaps his teasing, bringing out her competitive side — she liked getting the last word with him, yet, found herself equally enjoying his ability to match wits with her.
Okay, so he’s got a quick tongue.
Don’t think about his tongue!
His eyes. Those are safe to think about. Although were they, really? Brown eyes were common, but
his — his shone with amusement, mischief. Intelligence. The looks he had given her in the alley — dark with intent, shining with lust — had sent her pulse racing.
Her boot caught on the lip of the curb, sending her tumbling forward. That’s what you get, she teased herself, forcing her mind away from Alistair as she walked up to the entrance of the club.
Unlocking the bookstore door, she glanced up and down the street before stepping inside. Quickly locking herself in, she pulled the shades, for extra protection against curious, unwanted, visitors.
Humming to herself, she walked the passageway to the lower level, and with the same key, let herself in to the main club area.
Why are the lights on?
Shrugging, figuring someone forgot to turn them off the night before, she locked the door behind her. Just as she was about to walk under scaffolding used to hang lighting, a figure flew into her line of sight.
Screaming, Jayla cocked her hand back, punching the figure, connecting with a jawbone.
“Fuck!” the man exclaimed, as Jayla’s back hit the club door. Dropping the keys, her ears rang with blood just as she realized — she knew that voice.
“What the shit?” she asked an upside-down Alistair, her hands to her chest as she noted his position. From the height of the scaffolding, he hung a few inches above her, his knees locked into position, forcing her to look up and into his gaze. Shaking his head, he rubbed the space her fist had connected with his jaw.
“Just thought I’d hang around a bit,” he responded gruffly, before lifting his arms to the platform, grasping tightly. With the short sleeves of his shirt, the motion put the striations of his muscles on full display as he flexed his forearms to pull himself up.
He’s doing that on purpose, she thought, rolling her eyes.
Looks good, though.
Unhooking his knees, he flipped forward, landing on the ground, just inches in front of her. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing the locks off his face. Jayla realized when she first met him, he wore the beanie the entire time — even during the scuffle with the two men. Now, she found herself even more attracted to him. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black, shorter on the sides and longer on top. The perfect length to grab onto.
Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2) Page 3