by Lory Wendy
High Stakes
Lory Wendy
Copyright © 2018 by Lory Wendy
Cover design by The Cover Collection
Editing by Virginia and Jenny of HOT TREE EDITING
Editing by Ellie McLove of GRAY INK
Formatting by Classic Interior Design
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
To Be Continued…
About the Author
High Stakes
Julian is dark and dangerous yet so captivating, Selena can’t resist him.
Unhappy with her life, Selena Monroe longs for something more exciting and intriguing. However, she can't possibly get away from the guilty grip her sister has on her. When Selena encounters the mysterious and handsome Julian Caine, everything changes—and not all for the better.
Attempting to resist the sexy and seemingly sinister man is harder than Selena ever imagined. The more she fights her desire for him, the deeper she becomes entangled in his dark and sordid life. When Selena learns the severity of her sister’s lies and the connection she has to Julian, it's up to her to fight her passion for a man she shouldn't have or battle her sister over the truth. But, one thing is for certain: she can't have both.
HIGH STAKES is Book 1 in a Contemporary Romance Duet.
Chapter One
I can see everything from this corner of the bar.
The guy walking in has his head held high and business suit pressed and tailored to perfection. His shoulders are squared, and his swagger is cocky. Meanwhile, his hand trembles as he slides a wedding band off his third finger and into the suit’s breast pocket.
Toward the back, a guy sits rigidly on a rusty folding chair. His eyes are closed, head thrown back, and the muscles in his arms ripple and fight against the rules to not touch the girl “dancing” on his lap. Nearby, his friend breaks more rules by catching the whole thing on a cell phone. The bouncer near them says nothing, so neither will I.
To my right, an old man has a wrinkled hand shoved down his pants. I cringe and look away, ignoring the disgust churning in my stomach.
Not my section, not my problem.
Then in the middle of the room stands the main attraction for the lame regulars who camp out in this shithole. Men, old enough to be grandfathers, ogle and drool, and a few hurl out nasty comments but never see what I do. That, or they don’t care. Because what I see isn’t a strong woman on stage oozing sex and confidence, but a barely legal girl standing with stiff arms and legs wrapped tight around a pole, dancing off-beat to a horrible song.
Her doe-eyed fear and innocence hypnotize me into a harsh wave of sympathy.
My heart breaks for her.
But just as quickly, my compassion hardens. Soon, like many before her, she’ll be in a back room selling herself and her soul to the highest bidder.
Everyone’s been there. Shit, I’m still there.
“Yo, miss? Hey! Excuse me!”
And in my direct line of sight, a customer waves money in the air to grab my attention. Why people do that, I’ll never understand. As if their dollar is a bone and I’m the dog who’ll come running.
Smile through it. Just get through it, I tell myself.
“What can I do for you, honey?” I ask.
He licks his dark, chapped lips and leans in. It’s always the same shit, just a different customer. And today I’m not in the mood for it.
“That’s not on the menu.” I lift a hand to stop him.
Undeterred, he wraps his sweaty palm around my wrist and pulls me forward. My foot slips, and I miss landing face first into his crotch by barely an inch. My hands dart out, and I grab onto his thighs to steady myself.
He laughs. “How much would it cost for you to stay just like that?”
I can remember a time when I would have recoiled at a comment like that, but today I say, “Trust me, sweetheart, you couldn’t afford me,” while trying, and failing, to pull myself away.
“Are you sure about that, Selena?” he asks, staring at my chest and name badge. “That’s a sexy name. I'm Dave.”
“Let go,” I hiss, trying to pull away from his tight grip. I glance over my shoulder, ready to send out an SOS, but the bouncer has his gaze focused everywhere but here. Useless, as usual. It’s cool, though. I got this.
“You got a man, Selena?”
Taking a breath, I turn back to “Dave.” Fake smile in place, I whisper, “I actually don’t.” I lick my lips, mocking him. “But I do have a dick.”
His repulsed look as he drops my hand and rears back so hard the chair rocks, both annoys and amuses me.
Well, my work here is done.
I stomp off, sighing, and the usual thoughts of when will this be over? echo in my brain. The bouncers don’t give a shit, management’s cheap as hell, and more importantly, working at a place I hate because of a debt that’s not mine, isn’t how I saw my life turning out.
Another person flailing their arm in the air catches my attention, and as usual, a dollar bill pressed in their hand.
Zoning out, I saunter over to him, my fake smile back in place. “What can I get you, honey?”
“Hey, Salsa?” my boss shouts from behind me. “There’s a guy in section two asking for wings. Handle that, will you?”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes at the nickname, but also breathe a large sigh of relief he didn’t ask to see me in his office. Being alone with Stretch isn’t something I can stomach today.
Wing guy in section two is… old.
Not elderly.
Old as in hardened. Aged. Like the years, or life in general, haven’t been good to him.
My approach is slow, hesitant for reasons my mind hasn’t explained to the quick thumping of my heart.
I steel myself. Showing any fear or hesitation is a rookie move. The clients smell it; feed off it. “Ready to order?”
He stares back at me but says nothing. Instead of being annoyed or brushing off his silence, my stomach recoils. Something about this guy makes my skin crawl. I glance over my shoulder, and as usual, there is not one bouncer in sight.
For the love…
“Wings, right?” I hedge when he doesn’t speak. “Or would you like a menu?”
“Your special will be fine,” he finally answers, looking me up and down.
Our special is wings, but who am I to argue? Desperate to get away from him, I run off toward the back to our kitchen.
“Is he gone?” a soft, girly voice whispers next to me.
It’s the young girl who’d been dancing on stage earlier, trembling with fear in her eyes.
“You’ll have to be more specific, hon.”
“The guy with
the flowery open shirt. Umm… bad tan?” She looks over her shoulder again.
“You know he can’t come back here, right?”
“Oh.” She exhales. Her body slumps over. “Good. Good.”
Not really. “He can’t come back here,” I repeat. “But you can’t hide here all night either.”
“Oh. True.” She sticks the side of her thumb in her mouth, a nervous tick if I’ve ever seen one.
“Hey, if you don’t want to dance with him, you can just tell him no, you know.” The concept is simple, but something the new girls don’t always grasp the notion of.
“Can I?” Her eyes widen.
“Of course. You might beat yourself up later for losing the tip, but it’s your prerogative.” Ringing the bell by the kitchen door, I shout, “Where are my wings?”
“Hey, umm, thanks.” She fidgets with her bikini top but doesn’t scram. Poor thing. She’s too new to know I’m the last person you should attempt small talk with around here. “This is my first day.”
Obviously. I nod and bang on the door with the side of my fist. “My wings, asshat!”
“Do you ever dance?”
“No.”
“You’re, like, really pretty, though.” She smiles and leans in closer as if to get a better look.
I take a step back and, despite myself, smile at her in return, or at her braces, I should say. “How old are you?”
“I’m legal,” she rushes out.
“Right.”
The small, flimsy door swings open and our cook for the day hands me wings before slamming it shut again, sending flakes from the already cracked paint falling to the ground.
“I have to go back up soon,” the new girl whispers. Her nerves are written all over her face, voice, and posture.
“You’ll do great,” I cheer. “You did good before, too. Have a drink and relax. You’re one of the prettiest girls we’ve had here. You’ll be a pro in no time, and soon, guys will be coming here just to see you.”
“You really think so?” She beams, straightening her shoulders.
Nope. I don’t. But “all the world’s a stage,” right? Everyone has their part to play. I’m not oblivious to that. So, with my working smile plastered on my face, I nod and say, “I swear.”
The end of the night doesn’t come fast enough, but with the prospect of a few days off, and a wad of money tucked in my pants, there’s a genuine smile on my face.
“Bye, Selena,” a couple of the girls mumble as I make my way out.
Too exhausted to bother finding my voice, I nod my farewell, gasping when the frigid Colorado air bites through the thick fabric and pierces my skin. I pull my coat’s hood tighter, making a beeline to the end of the parking lot.
Movement near my car catches my attention and my heart races at the familiar but out-of-place figure hovering around.
Confused and anxious, I rush to his side. “What are you doing here? Where’s Blaire? What’s wrong?”
“Why isn’t anyone walking you to your car?” he asks, glaring with disgusted blue eyes.
“Rocky!” I grab his arm, barely able to get my hand around his large bicep. “What happened?”
“Oh.” He snaps his attention to me and shrugs. “Nothing, just wanted to talk to you about something. I can’t believe you work here.”
I skip right past relief and straight to annoyed. I do not have time for this. “You just saw me yesterday. Yet you had to come here to talk, and at…” I lift my bare wrist, staring at a non-existent watch.
“It’s important.” Rocky steps closer, closing the gap between us. “And private. I couldn’t ask you this at your house.”
“Are you proposing to Blaire?” Because coming here with a weird sense of obligation to ask me for my sister’s hand in marriage would be both admirable and completely fucking ridiculous. I have as much say in my older sister’s life decisions as my parents’ ashes do. And even if I did have pull, there are better times to have these kinds of talks. Like… not at three o’clock in the morning.
He shakes his head and chuckles but says nothing else.
I like Rocky. He’s funny, always nice to me, and manages to make my batshit-crazy sister happy. But right now, he’s testing my patience. I’m exhausted, my feet hurt, and he’s blocking my car door—my only hope for salvation from the weather.
“Well?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting. He has until the next gust of wind to spit it out.
Puffing out his cheeks, Rocky blows out a loud breath. He sticks his hands in his pockets and leans his hip against my hood. “I have an offer for you.”
“This isn't going to be some Indecent Proposal type shit, is it? Really, Rocky, I'd hate to kick your ass.” Or die trying. He’s a tall dude, as far as averagely tall dudes go, but also pretty built. He could kill me with his pinky, of this I’m sure, but my threat isn’t an empty one. Blaire and I have been through enough without having her boyfriend hit on me. Dear God, please, please don't let him be hitting on me.
“No.” He rolls his eyes, unfazed. “Definitely not. But, I have an idea that'll make you and your sister happy. You’ll get your way. She gets her way. And I get to go back to fucking my happy girlfriend.”
What the fuck? I gape at him. Disgusted and… just no. “That’s way too much information. Yet, none at all.”
Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he hands me a small card.
The gold on both sides shimmers, but there’s nothing but a flower and numbers on it. “What’s this?”
“It’s my business card.”
“For…?”
“There’s an event coming up that I need to hire a few more girls for.”
“Girls for what?” The challenge in my voice heightens. His answer can take this from normal to creepy really quick, and again, I’m not up for it.
He looks away, chuckling. “I'm not crazy enough to ask my girlfriend’s little sister to dance at my club.”
Last I checked, he was a bouncer slash amateur boxing trainer who also flipped cars or some shit like that. In fact, he sounded like a loser when Blaire first told me about him. But now, with the way he’s talking, you would think he’s some big shot. “Your club?”
He waves me off. “You know what I mean. So, you in?”
“No, I have no idea what you mean. And I’m not in on anything. You haven’t actually asked me anything.”
“Bye, Selena!” Another girl waves as more dancers come out for the night.
With what I’m sure isn’t a discreet thumbs up, I wave back to her. Who knows what Rocky hovering around looks like from her point of view?
“So?” He tilts his head to the side.
I’m already fed up.
“So what, man? I have no idea what you want.”
“I want you to work for me for one night. That’s all. Just one favor that’ll benefit us both.”
“How’s that?”
He hesitates one second too long, looking over as a girl walks up to a random car and leans in to talk. We both know what it’s about and quickly turn toward each other.
“I don’t like that you work here.” He looks back at the car then back at me as if to prove a point. “And I don’t like why you work here.”
“You know why I work here?” I gasp, my voice coming out smaller than I’d intended.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, unsure what to say or how to feel about Rocky knowing about my deal with Blaire and Stretch. I guess if he doesn’t know the full extent of things, it’s not that bad, but it doesn’t explain why he’s here talking to me about it. “So what are you asking me?” I press, more nervous now than skeptical.
“Come through for one night. You’ll make a couple grand. Me and your sister even things out. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
The offer is an amazing one but also suspect and out of the blue, which tells me it’s anything but. And making a couple of grand in one night? Fuck, we can really use that money right now, but, what
do they say? If it’s too good to be true, it is. “Yeah, no thanks. Sounds like some hooker shit.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He crosses his arms over his chest, hunching his shoulders. “Fuck, it’s cold.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I say, teeth chattering, toes numb.
He laughs dryly, a sign he’s no longer offended by my sarcasm—as opposed to when we first met, it seemed like he took offense to every other word I said.
“Does Blaire know about this?” I ask, when really what I want to ask is, Did Blaire put you up to this?
Looking away toward his car, Rocky shrugs. “Maybe.”
My hesitation has an explanation. I’m pretty sure anyone else in my situation would jump at this chance, but more than the spite of not wanting to give in to Blaire, I almost don’t want to give in to Rocky, either. We’ve all been victim to shady offers before, and I can’t afford to fall into another trap.
“What do you have to lose?” he pushes.
“My fingers for one.” At his cocked eyebrow, I add, “Because of frostbite? Never mind.” The truth is, I have absolutely nothing to lose. Nothing can be worse than working here, but I’ll be damned if I admit that to him. Six months ago, I'd be all over this, but the whole thing reeks of Blaire.
With a nod and pursed lips, Rocky takes a step back and reaches for my car door at the same time I do. “Get in before you get sick.”
“Umm, yeah, okay. Thanks, Dad.”
“Text that number.” He points to the card still in my hand. “I’ll text you the club info.”