Liquid Courage

by K. S. Adkins

  For days, I’ve dreamt of this woman. Her expressive features, wild curly hair and bright eyes.

  I’ve spent hours fantasizing about how I’d fuck her.

  The way she would cling to me, begging for only what I could give her.

  I had never been this way over a woman and it was as maddening as it was thrilling.

  For the first time ever, I felt alive.

  Mercy wasn’t even out of the car when my partner Roger says, “So that’s the PI.”

  “It is.”

  “You made her sound larger than life so naturally, I thought she’d be bigger.”

  “Size is deceiving.”

  “No shit,” he says rubbing his shoulder. “I still have nightmares about her.”

  Her being his ex-wife who, after finding out he was seeing another woman, managed to stab him. I never got involved in it but, I found it amusing that the woman who had been openly cheating on her husband got pissed off and violent when he did the same. Only difference was, Roger wasn’t trying to hurt his ex-wife. Roger just wanted to be happy. And luckily, he now was. His current wife was everything his ex-wife wasn’t. However, to this day, he still won’t speak her name.

  “I’m going to greet her at the door,” I say, standing and wiping my hands on a towel.

  “Dion,” he laughs at my demeanor. “No one is going to steal her.”

  “No, but they’ll look,” I defend. “And I don’t want them looking.” She was mine.

  “You invited a beautiful woman into a gentleman’s club, asshole,” he laughs again. “If you didn’t want them to look, you should have set this shit up at Starbuck’s.”

  “I want her to know who I am, up front, no surprises.”

  “She’s a fucking PI,” he reminds me. “I guarantee you she did her due diligence before ever responding to your email.” Which I, of course, expected. Though I paid a lot of money over the years making sure there wasn’t much to find. The less the world knew about me, the better.

  “I might have left my full name out,” I admit as I watch her put on gloss in her car mirror. A mirror, that from here, looked to be hanging on by a miracle and a lot of duct tape.

  “No surprises, huh?” he says crossing his arms. “Look, you’re my best friend and we make a nice living together but I have to tell you, half-truths with any female is going to blow up in your face. Half-truths with a private investigator is going to get you stabbed. And take it from me, it hurts.”

  “I need a drink,” I sigh. Mercy was onto something with the liquid courage motto.

  “You need to just come out and ask her to put you out of your misery.”

  “Shut up,” I groan. “She’s heading in, I have to go.”

  “Dion.”

  “Yeah?”

  “In all these years, I have seen a lot of looks cross your face. This is the first time I’ve seen anticipation. That female is the cause of it and when I see my shot, I’m hugging her.”

  “Thanks, man,” I smile and then I hauled ass down the steps. Acting casual, I round the corner and was leaning against the bar when she walked inside. For just a moment, I watched her keen eyes take in the room before her. And I couldn’t help but wonder what she thought about it. When she started grinning, the knot in my stomach loosened up and I acknowledged her. She wasn’t repulsed. This was a good start.

  “Mercy.”

  It took perhaps a split second for recognition to hit and then she threw her head back and laughed. Walking straight to me, she looks up and says, “I take it you’re the Fox I’m here to see.”

  “Dion Fox,” I say pulling her to my side so I could touch her, keep her close. Fuck, to finally be touching her at all…Slow down. Breathe. Don’t scare her and for the love of God, stop fucking sweating.

  “I have to say, the triple X on the name was marketing genius.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I smile warmly hoping to hide the need to kiss her.

  “If anyone can appreciate a good play on names it’s me,” she says unaware that she was leaning into me. Quickly, I inhaled, committing her scent to memory as a lykae would its mate. Not only did I need to slow down, I needed to stop reading. Jesus, I’m losing my shit.

  “Okay so, I’m here.”

  “You are,” I say, so fucking pleased I can hardly stand it.

  “Dion,” she nearly whispers. “Why am I here?”

  “We’ll talk,” I announce taking her tiny hand in mine. “After your tour.”

  Not once did she grimace or shy away when I explained the den. In fact, I had her full attention when I explained why I bought it. And I told her the truth. I hadn’t bought it to have sex at my command. I bought it because the concept made money, period. That after losing my parents, I needed to invest my inheritance so I didn’t blow through it. I even explained how Roger and I came to be partners.

  I further reiterated this was not my personal playground but my livelihood. I even introduced her to employees as we passed them so she could begin to feel comfortable inside these walls. Considering I planned to have her spend as much time here as possible, I found this to be important. And to be honest, I wasn’t around enough to remember their names so this helped me too.

  Mercy, being the curious creature that she is, asked dozens of questions.

  She never faltered or avoided eye contact with anyone. In fact, she introduced herself to every single person she passed offering them a smile and a firm handshake. She didn’t judge or act if she were superior.

  Mercy was simply being who she was and I was in awe of it. Especially when she said to me, “I remember what this place used to be. So, I hope you take quiet moments to appreciate what you’ve accomplished here. The den is fantastic. I’m impressed, Dion.”

  No one. Not even my best friend has ever said, be proud of what you’ve done.

  Then again, not many people found transitioning a borderline brothel into a respectable all male establishment a sound career choice either.

  Actually, I made it a point never to bring it up in company due to the reactions it caused.

  Since taking over, I have had only one nearly-semi-serious relationship to speak of. When I decided it was time to explain to her exactly what I did for a living; she hadn’t handled it well.

  At all.

  If memory serves, she told me I was going to hell while crossing herself and she had never even stepped foot inside the door. But that was nearly four years ago and yet there were days that it felt like a lifetime.

  It was important to me that the woman I wanted to share my life with had full disclosure. Because if problems arose as a result, I would be better equipped to handle it and so would she.

  “My office is in here,” I say ushering her inside for privacy. Closing the door, I watch her run her fingers over my desk, lamp and chair. I kid you not, I felt it in my balls.

  “So, this is where the magic happens?”

  God, I needed to be inside of her like I needed air. “Some of it,” I manage to say. “The staff takes care of the rest.”

  Sitting on the sofa, she rests her hands on her lap and says, “In your email you said your problem is confidential and only to be spoke of in person.”

  “I did, yes.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Why did you leave police work?”

  “Detective work,” she corrects. “And, I left because the department is very much about following the rules.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not.”

  “I believe my partner is sharing trade secrets,” I lie my ass off.

  “Uh huh and you want me to look into who he may be sharing them with?” she asks skeptically.

  “We’ve discussed opening a second location. Since then, two other establishments have set to open with similar themes.”

  “Is there a risk of these establishments doing a better job than you?”

  “Of course not,” I defend because those places don’t actually exist and even if they had
, couldn’t touch what we had here. “But if he is doing what I suspect he’s doing, I need to be certain so I can stop it.”

  “Okay,” she says crossing her perfect legs. “My fee for this is normally –”

  “I’ll pay you eight thousand dollars for your time,” I cut her off. “Here’s the file for you to reference.”

  “Well aren’t we prepared,” she mumbles taking it.

  “I’m going to need results quickly and discreetly.”

  “I’ll need a way to –”

  “Here’s my card that has all my numbers.”

  “Okay so –”

  “I need yours.”

  “What?”

  “Your number.”

  Rattling it off, I store it in my phone and then focus back on her. At the moment, she was wearing the cutest look of confusion and I wanted to give in but I couldn’t. “I’ll have your payment wired to you within the hour. Is there paperwork I need to sign?”

  “I’ll email it to you this evening,” she says standing and doing the same, I lead her to the door with my hand at the small of her back. “Dion?”

  “Yes, Mercy,” I say caging her in and was not disappointed in her intake of breath.

  “I can’t accept eight thousand dollars.”

  God, this woman was meant for me. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

  “Seriously it’s too –”

  Licking the seam of her lip shuts her right up. Instantly, my body responded but I forced myself to stand down. Taking her skin between my teeth, I suck and when she moans, I release her. “Mercy, you need the money.”

  “Excuse me?” she asks still dazed. I know this because she’s staring at my mouth like it’s the holy grail.

  “You’re a functioning alcoholic with a gambling problem, remember?” I remind her. “You’re horrible with money.”

  Chuckling under her breath, she ducks out from under me and says, “I’ll see you in forty-eight hours, Mr. Fox.”

  “You’re that sure of your talents?”

  Winking at me she leaves me with, “Never question my talents,” and a rock hard dick.

  As mentioned, I saw Dion exactly forty-eight hours later.

  Not only was I competitive, I wasn’t able to shake his face from my thoughts no matter what I did.

  And dammit, I wanted to impress him.

  However, after wiring me the money as promised, he sent me on another job.

  Then another and another.

  So, for the last two weeks I’ve been solely on retainer for Dion Fox.

  Initially I was skeptical of his motives thinking it was cute the lengths he’d go to because he wanted to see me, get to know me.

  And now? Oh, what I know is that he’s full of shit.

  The man has single handedly managed to monopolize all of my time by giving me jobs a toddler could solve.

  He also insisted he pay handsomely for my time hoping I’d be too about the cash to notice I was being led by the nose. But after what just happened, I’m positive he either thinks this is funny or he’s a grade A prick who thinks I’m a joke. Let the record show, I don’t like being made fun of.

  I’ve been in and out of the den so much that security just waves me through. The employees know me on a first name basis and on the plus side, I’ve passed around a lot of business cards.

  Turns out, gentlemen’s clubs have been a market I hadn’t cornered.

  But that’s not why I’m here today. Today, I get answers, or possibly kick his ass. I haven’t decided which way I’ll go.

  Rounding the corner to the hallway that takes me to his office, I ask the bouncer, “Is he in?”

  “Door’s open, Miss Mercy,” he nods showing me through.

  I didn’t knock or announce myself. Instead, I stormed inside like I owned the place. I mean, why not? It’s what he’s done to me since we met. And that kiss…you don’t kiss a woman like that to shut her up and then not shut her up all the time. Which, was the crux of the problem. He hasn’t shut me up a second time and I’ve been a horny mess ever since. It pissed me off because I was totally kissable! I liked it when his body caged mine in. As if he wanted to tackle me but was biding his time. So yes, I wanted to kiss, cuddle, and screw the man’s brains out and what does he do? Keeps it strictly business. The fucker.

  “We need to talk,” I say in lieu of hello.

  “Just in time, I was about to pour a drink. Would you like one?”

  “No, I mean, yes,” I groan at my weakness. Between him and the alcohol, I was such a sure thing. “Make it a double.”

  Shrugging off his suit jacket, I watch him reach for the bottle, careful not to whimper. He was just so…ugh. Male. Those shoulders, that coat, his freshly cut hair… I was weak, dammit!

  “I didn’t expect to see you today,” he says with what sounded like happiness in his voice.

  “I didn’t expect you to keep up the act either,” I counter, trying really hard to ignore my tingling nipples.

  “What act?” he asks handing me my drink, which I wasted no time slamming.

  “We’re going to play this game,” I mumble to myself, yet he hears me and chuckles. “No amount of counterfeit evidence was going to convince me that Roger, your best friend since fifth grade, was selling you out. A man that hugs a woman he doesn’t know isn’t capable of it. Kind of like your accountant, who wasn’t skimming. But I forgave you for that because his ideas really saved me this season. Johanna wasn’t making pornos for side cash either. And can I just say the fact that you even have to put that in your employee’s contract is weird.”

  “Anything else?” he asks stifling a laugh.

  “Oh good, I amuse you,” I say slamming my second drink back and pouring another. “While I could go on about the wild goose chase you sent me on, this morning was going too far.”

  “So, you’re saying Tre is innocent?” he smirks and his crooked smile nearly does me in.

  “You’re the devil,” I accuse. “That poor man has four girlfriends and six kids, Dion. He is incapable of dishonesty so much so that his girlfriends not only know about each other but are best friends. No bullshit, they have matching tattoos and everything! I’ve never seen anything like it…”

  “I suppose that benefits the kids,” he says biting his lip.

  “He makes a nun look dirty,” I say and that’s when he busts out laughing. “Oh, you laugh,” I admonish him. “But he broke so easily. I barely leaned on him and he started to cry. Cry! That sin stains your soul, Dion! And do you know how guilt looks on me?” I squawk. “I can’t handle man tears!”

  Covering his mouth was pointless because he was laughing so loud no amount of shielding was going to help.

  When he sobers a bit he confesses, “Tre is seasoned in theatre.”

  “You dick!” I squeal and then think on what I knew of Tre. Mainly that he was in the wrong line of work. “Man, he was so believable…”

  “He’s very good,” he agrees with a smug grin.

  “Okay, no,” I say putting a hand up. “The bullshit ends now. Why did you waste my time and your money like that?”

  “I wanted you to know my world,” he explains. “I didn’t see it as wasting time. I saw it as being proactive.”

  “To what end?”

  “To making you mine.”

  “This is the part where I tell you I don’t date clients.” Even though I really want to date this one.

  “Good.”

  “Okay, then that’s settled,” I say oddly disappointed.

  Refilling my glass, he blurts, “You’re fired.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “One more time.”

  “I said, you’re fired.”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time but I don’t know why you’d fire me.”

  “You don’t date clients, I’m no longer your client. Now, I’m free to make you mine.”

  Slamming that glass back too, I stare at him in confusion/shock/arousal. This is why liquid courage is important, peo
ple. It helps you say the shit you normally wouldn’t say and not care in the slightest. And no, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t flat out drunk yet. It’s the fact that it’s in my system. Once you ingest it, it counts.

  “So, when you say, make me yours, you mean –”

  “My woman,” he says simply.

  “That’s what I thought you meant,” I mumble going for the bottle.

  “Is this a problem?”

  “Nah,” I slur a bit. Jesus, what kind of booze is this? It’s strooooong. I never get whammied this fast. I’m a career drinker for fuck’s sake. “No problem other than maybe asking for what you want instead of demanding it.”

  “I just did.”

  “Just did what?”

  “Asked for it,” he says narrowing his eyes at me. “You should slow down on that whiskey, it’s 180 proof.”

  “Ah, that explains that.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “A little lot,” I give my best shit eating grin. “Can we back up please? Slowly and enunciating all the words, tell me again.” Because I needed to hear it again, bad.

  “I’m making you mine, Mercy,” he says pulling me to him. “I want you working for me exclusively –”

  “In other words, under your thumb.”

  “I prefer the term nearby.”

  “You do know I was a cop, right?”

  “Yes,” he grins making it clear he’s not listening to me.

  “Even made detective.”

  “Which is very impressive, Mercy.”

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “That was really nice to hear and I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says leaning in to kiss me. The moment our lips touched, I was a goner. When his hands cupped my face I’m pretty sure I mewled. “How drunk are you?”

  “Pleasantly,” I nearly groan. “Still me with a side of horny, panties optional.”

  “Stay the night,” he urges me right as my phone rang.

  Reaching into my pocket, I check the screen and explain, “I’m sorry but I have to take it.” Nodding but not releasing me, I answer, “Pita, what’s wrong?”

  “Where are you?”