Dear Diamond

by Walls, Stephie

  Dear Diamond

  Stephie Walls

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephie Walls

  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.

  M…In a world filled with rhinestones, shine like a diamond.

  1

  Ryker

  Club Swank was anything but. It wasn’t in the best area of town; the clientele was sketchy, and the girls all had secrets—most of which included drugs, money, and sex. The owner was a known ringleader for a local gang, and the place looked like bangers ran it. I hated to even step foot inside. As soon as I opened the door, I’d be accosted by smoke, lousy music, and women who’d hang on me in an effort to make a few measly bucks. It wasn’t my scene.

  I pulled on the heavy wooden handle, and as soon as I did, a cloud billowed out like Puff the Magic Dragon welcomed me, and pink-neon lights illuminated the abundance of black tables and chairs. Once I stepped inside, the same bouncer who’d been there for years greeted me.

  “Ryker. My man. I wondered if you were going to show.” Hank was a solid guy. Great as security. He looked the part—muscle-bound, thick neck, and a crew cut. His deep voice created the auditory intimidation needed to keep drunk customers in line. And he kept the place in check…as much as one could when dealing with hags left over by the Union 21 members they’d crossed and the losers who’d landed the girls here to begin with.

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him in. We’d known each other since we were kids. Grew up in the same crummy neighborhood the club owned real estate in. “Had to work late. Where’s Chase?”

  He pointed toward the middle of the room. There, under a disco ball, stood my best friend. Feet shoulder width apart, arms at his side, head tossed back, and a girl dressed in what I believed was supposed to be a white, bridal bikini kneeled in front of him, giving him head. I didn’t have a clue why Tessa wanted to marry his ass. That wasn’t true. I knew exactly why—she wanted to be legally tied to the future boss of Union 21, even if his reign was years away.

  It wasn’t my style, but girls got off on that bad-boy shit. Somehow, they missed the memo that gang members went to jail, they got shot, and they broke the law. Hardly a life any woman should want to be a part of, but on the west side of Dacon, Illinois, marrying a Silvano was the equivalent of tying the knot with royalty. And Chase Silvano was second in line to that throne. Once he married, his grandfather, Jesse, would step aside to allow his father, Joey, to takeover. It would only be a matter of time before Chase had his turn.

  I didn’t bother Chase or the girl—who wasn’t his fiancée—at his feet. Instead, I found a seat off to the side and ordered Macallan on the rocks. The evening was still young, and this bachelor party had just gotten started. Swank wasn’t a whore house, but on nights like tonight, when the club was closed to the public and only occupied by Union 21 members—and me—the rules and the laws went out the window. Guys snorted blow off chicks’ abs, the bartender poured liquor on dancers for Chase’s friends to lick and suck off, and the music blared another tacky-ass song while some entertainer took her three minutes on the stage.

  Neither the girls nor the dances here were terribly original, but they were still women who took their clothes off regardless of whether or not I put money in their garters. And I was a man with a dick and two working eyes. While I wasn’t interested in touching any of them, Jesse made sure they stayed in dancing condition, or they got moved to alternate employment to work off their debt. Cinnamon currently worked the pole, and if I didn’t know her situation, that red bikini she’d come out in would have caught my attention.

  “Ryker.” Chase averted my attention from the topless woman doing the splits in a G-string. “Why are you sitting over here?” His words were slightly slurred, and the glazed gleam in his eyes told me he was more than just drunk, although I had no idea what else he was on.

  It wasn’t like I was in a corner. There were people all around. I just wasn’t in the thick of women who’d been instructed to ensure Chase and his friends had a good time. “You were a little preoccupied when I got here.” I jerked my head toward the girl in the veil. Her white bikini was nowhere to be found. “You having fun?”

  He sank into the chair beside me and slowly spun it with his foot as though he needed to check the place out before committing to an answer. “Yes.”

  A chuckle rolled past my lips. “Glad to hear it, man. You want a drink?” He didn’t need one based on the glassy sheen in his eyes, but I wasn’t his mama. “Scotch?”

  Chase stopped the chair, leaned forward, and then stared me straight in the eye. I waited for something profound. All I got was a stiff nod, and then he flounced back against the leather. The crowd followed the man of the hour, and before long, the group that had occupied the space center stage, now lingered off to the right, and I was in the heart of it. I hadn’t hung out with these guys much after high school. When I went in, they stayed out, and once I got a smell of freedom, I did my best to distance myself from the crowd. All except Chase. We’d been friends since we were kids, and I couldn’t shake him if I tried. We’d gone into the federal penitentiary together, and we had come out the same way.

  “Shots.” Cherry lifted a tray over our heads and made her way to the table we circled. “Jägerbombs.”

  I’d just picked up a glass and raised my hand to toast the groom when the lights went out. Music played in the pitch-black room, and the second the bass drum pounded a beat, pinpricks of light circled the walls and ceiling. The Pretty Reckless song “Make Me Wanna Die” came through the speakers, and the moment a spotlight hit the girl on stage, everything else in the room ceased to exist. She was every bit as fierce as Taylor Momsen, only younger with edgy brown hair and a thin frame. Whoever the chick was, she drew every eye her way.

  She wasn’t old enough to have the moves or the confidence she stomped onto that stage with. I’d practically memorized that video when it had come out—and lived on the fantasies for four years behind bars—and this girl had done the same. Her perfect C-cups bounced under the fitted lace of her black corset. As her slender fingers worked their way down, taking the zipper with them, my eyes followed past her black thong to her creamy-white thighs. I took in every inch of her fishnet stockings and her fuck-me patent leather heels. The Taylor lookalike owned the attention of every man and woman in the club, and she knew it. Her expression matched every lyric that echoed off the walls, and I wondered if she could sing half as well as she danced.

  She met my stare, yet she didn’t shy away like most women did. Her navy irises pinned me to my chair, and anger winked at me from behind hooded lids. Everything about her was perfect for the song and the floor; even her eye makeup was on point. Black on black on black would have been overkill for any other dancer at Swank. Plain and simple, they couldn’t have pulled it off. She didn’t just pull it off—she jerked my dick with it.

  There was something there, although it wasn’t lust—not on her part. Her body felt the music, her legs, her arms. The sway of her hips. And holy fuck was she flexible. But she never looked away. Not one time did she lose focus—on me. Beneath the charisma and the arrogance, there was determination, and that was foreign to this place which meant she was new. And I’d bet money she was barely legal. But she moved like sex with a grudge, and I needed to know who she had to avenge.

  As suddenly as she had appeared, the lights went out, and the music stopped. When the typical neon pink illuminated the club again, she was gone, as was every trace that she’d ever been before me. I stood to check the sides of the stage, and then I glanced aroun
d the room, but she hadn’t come to the floor. I didn’t get it. New girls loved the floor. They made a hell of a lot more money down here, selling lap dances to the regulars who wanted fresh meat, than they did on the stage having ones stuffed in their panties or thrown at them. This girl had ghosted the place. I wondered if maybe she’d gone to change to do another number, but when I glanced at the clock, I realized it wasn’t likely.

  I pushed out of the people huddled together. They’d all resumed partying. I, however, needed more information about the girl and why she was being exploited. I chose to label it concern versus unrequited hedonistic hunger. “Cherry.” The waitress had gotten halfway back to the bar and hadn’t heard me. “Cherry!”

  She swung her bottle-red hair over her shoulder to face me. “What’s up, sugar?”

  “Who’s the new girl?”

  “Diamond.”

  Interesting. Typically, Jesse gave the girls their stage names, and there was always a reason. Cherry had hair to match the alias, even if it came from a box at Walmart. Cinnamon had a landing strip the exact shade, coupled with a spicy persona. Candy because she was sweet, and she played that role. Raven looked like a female version of the crow. Every girl was easy to spot. But Diamond didn’t suit. “Seriously?”

  Cherry shrugged. “Jesse saw something in her. Who knows.”

  “Is she dancing again tonight?” I sounded desperate, and I partly was. I just wasn’t certain why. Other than the way she had captured my attention, stilled my heart, and aroused my curiosity, she held no interest. She was far too young, even if she were eighteen, which I doubted.

  She handed her tray to the bartender to load up more shots. “Nope. It’s her first night. One dance and done. I’m sure she’ll be back this week.”

  Shit. If she only had one number, she’d likely already changed.

  “Thanks, Cherry.”

  With as little fanfare as I could muster, I climbed the steps to the stage, making sure to stay clear of Coco during her number. The black curtain draped from floor to ceiling in a half moon around the sides and back of the dance floor, and I didn’t think I’d ever find an opening to get through. There were only a couple of girls still dressing for their final performances of the evening. None of them even flinched when they saw me, in fact, they pretty much ignored me.

  I couldn’t remember the girl’s name who now stared at me with wonder. At one point, she’d probably been pretty. Drugs and the streets in this neighborhood took a toll on youth and aged women faster than normal. When she spun her stool to face me, the star tattooed between her bare breasts gave her away.

  “Starr, did you see which way Diamond went?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and her smile faded. She didn’t bother with words; instead, she pointed to the exit. It took me three steps to reach the door and another one to actually get through it once it was open. There wasn’t much activity in the dimly lit parking lot behind Club Swank. With all of Union 21’s peddlers inside, sales weren’t happening on the sidewalks. The streets were quiet except for my heavy boots on the gravel. Just as I got beyond the piece of shit Ford that sat next to the building, I saw the black Lexus. And then Diamond.

  She’d wrapped a jacket around herself, but she still wore the fishnets and the heels. My dick twitched as her hair whipped around her cheeks in the wind, and she lifted her hand to move it. Then, her eyes caught mine just like they had on stage, and she held on for a beat longer than comfortable. Yet before I could determine what it was I’d seen or what she might have tried to communicate, she got into the back of a Lexus that belonged to Union 21.

  2

  Nikki

  Fury was easier to manage than fear, and that was the emotion I’d clung to while I took off my clothes for the likes of a bunch of losers who thought running the streets was more productive than lucrative jobs. I’d do what I had to in order to keep my mom safe, even if it meant sacrificing my dignity to people who didn’t matter. They couldn’t touch me on the stage, so that was where I’d stayed. And as soon as I’d finished, I hadn’t bothered to get dressed.

  While I waited for Sam on the corner, I pulled the zipper on my corset, securing my breasts back in a cage one size too small. The wind picked up, and my hair tangled with the breeze. It dawned on me that to any passerby, I appeared to be working the street. The last thing I needed was to get propositioned for sex. I dug a pair of black shorts from my bag, slipped them over my stockings, and slid my arms through my black, leather jacket. It wasn’t much, but at least I wouldn’t be arrested if a cop came by before my ride showed.

  The back door to Club Swank slammed against the brick building, startling me. My heart raced from the sudden adrenaline rush, but it didn’t settle, even after I saw who’d caused the commotion. I’d never seen him, even though I was familiar with all his friends, which meant he was U21 just like the rest of the deadbeats inside. Although, there was something different that I couldn’t put my finger on. I’d noticed him before I went on, and he hadn’t interacted with the other girls. He hadn’t put a single dollar in anyone’s lingerie. He hadn’t so much as paid the least bit of attention to anyone other than Chase Silvano. Everything about him screamed Union member. Aside from his face, ink covered every inch of visible flesh—stunning ink, but ink all the same. The huge gauges in his ears would normally turn me off, yet somehow, they suited him. And who the hell thought a nose ring could make a man look so broody. Every nuance hardened him. Add to it the T-shirt that hugged his biceps and caressed his pecs, the jeans I imagined that hung in the perfect spot to highlight the V God gave well-built men, the flat-studded belt, and black Doc Martens, and he was sin amped up on testosterone.

  And then my eyes met his.

  He didn’t see through me; he saw me. His dark eyes clung to mine like he could read my secrets. But instead of extorting them the way U21 was famous for, it was as if he tried to cloak them from across the way. Shield me from exposure. Protect me from the thugs. He hadn’t moved then, and he didn’t move now. The man held my stare across the parking lot, and then Sam pulled up in the same black Lexus he’d dropped me off in. Only this time, the back door to the sedan opened, and my mother sat inside.

  The right side of her face was puffy and tinted an irritated shade of pink. Dried blood clung to her nostril. She’d pissed off someone, and while I couldn’t be certain of exactly who, even I could hit an elephant with a dart on that guess. I didn’t bother to look back when I slid in next to my mom. Sam didn’t wait for me to pull the door closed, either. He took off, and the gravitational pull of the sharp left turn shut it on its own.

  “Ma, what happened to your face?”

  Sam’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and dared my mother to answer honestly.

  She waved me off. “You know me. I’m just clumsy. I’m fine.” Clearly, she wasn’t. Studying her face, her nose leaned slightly left where it had always been straight. She’d been hit…hard.

  I hated seeing her like this, but she had known what she was getting into when she decided slinging dope would be more profitable than her job at the call center. And just like every other woman on U21’s payroll, she’d fallen victim to the pull of her product. It began with a line here and there to keep up with the late-night hours, then she skimmed off customers without their knowledge, and when she started turning up short with Sam, trouble began. And that left us in our current predicament.

  Sam turned north when he should have gone south. He wasn’t navigating the streets to our apartment, although he hadn’t mentioned any other stops on the agenda. It was late; I was tired and overly emotional. “Where are we going?” My eyelids fluttered, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and agitation.

  “Seems your ma hasn’t learned her lesson. So Jesse wants to speak to both of yous.” Sam wasn’t Italian, nor was he a Yankee. He was as white as snow, and I was fairly certain he’d grown up in Nebraska. Aside from the blond hair and light-blue eyes, he was about as stereotypical as one could get. He fit the par
t of a gang enforcer well—meathead who wore fitted, black T-shirts and tight, black jeans. I assumed the addition of the black sports coat was due to seeing his boss since he never wore one on the streets.

  I let out an audible sigh. “Seriously, Ma? What the hell?” When I turned, her chin nearly touched her chest in shame. She was an addict who couldn’t control herself. Unfortunately, she was also an addict who didn’t want help—not yet, anyway. “I can’t believe you’re adding to the bill.”

  “I’d do it if I could.” That was fucked up. Neither of us should be stripping to pay off a drug debt.

  I rubbed my temples and tried not to lose my cool. “How about just quit stealing shit that doesn’t belong to you.”

  Sam’s fake Northern-English-Italian-wannabe brogue came tumbling into the back. “You should listen to your daughter before you find yourself swimming with the fishes.”

  He couldn’t see my eyes when I rolled them, but I doubted that even his dumb ass missed my tone. “Didn’t you grow up in the Midwest? Who the hell talks like that?”

  “Nikki!” My mother’s sudden burst of energy irritated me. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” She had to be joking.

  “I’m well aware, Ma. I have to wonder why you’re worried about me talking to him a certain way when you’re stealing from his boss. Jesus. Talk about irony.”

  The car stopped outside an industrial-looking building. I’d walked by this place a hundred times on my way to work at the restaurant. During the day, it appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. At night, it bustled with activity. Lights illuminated the windows, cars—mostly black Lexuses—lined the parking lot, and men in slacks and sports coats were easy to spot. I wondered what the hell they did at night dressed like that on cell phones, then I thought better of it. Whatever it was, I was sure their activity was illegal, and I wanted no part of it.