Dear Diamond

by Walls, Stephie

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I held when I opened the door and didn’t see Hank on the stool. Trevor and I went back to grade school. We weren’t close, but we were friendly. He was on the phone and didn’t appear all that happy when he waved me through with nothing more than a nod of his head. I dreaded anyone being on the receiving end of a pissed off U21 member, but as long as it wasn’t me, they could fight their own battles.

  Smoke filled my lungs with each breath I took. I didn’t have a clue how people could stand to be cooped up in a hotbox of cancer just to look at tits and ass, nor did I understand why the city hadn’t outlawed cigarettes in clubs. Instead of watching, waiting, and wasting time, I didn’t land in one spot. There wasn’t much of a crowd on a Tuesday at ten o’clock, so it didn’t take long to check out the tables.

  Raid—a nickname he’d acquired after being caught in several of them—stopped me outside the hall to the private rooms. “Sorry, Ryker. You know the rules. Unless you’re with a girl, you don’t go back.”

  I knew the rule; I also didn’t care. I had zero desire to see anyone else in this club half naked, much less watch her rubbing her ass on some grimy geezer who should be at home with his wife. “No worries.” Playing it cool seemed a better option than forcing him out of the way and then daring him to lay a hand on me. “Diamond back there?”

  His face contorted with confusion. “Who’s that?”

  Shit. He hadn’t been here Friday, and apparently, she hadn’t been here since. “Blonde, new, young—too young.”

  “Haven’t met her. Sorry, man. I’d help if I could.” He resumed the stance he’d dropped and crossed his arms over his chest. Raid jerked his head back the direction I’d come. “Check at the bar. One of the girls should have the schedule.”

  I hadn’t asked when she worked again, although Raid clearly got the hint. If I weren’t more careful, people might actually believe I hung out here or had an interest in doing so. Getting caught up with one of these women was the equivalent of three to five in the federal pen. Every detail I reminded myself of should have driven the curiosity away; however, it only served to ignite the desperation to find her further. Even though, I’d yet to determine what the hell I’d say when I hunted her down. And she had become my prey.

  I clapped Raid on the shoulder and took his advice. With only a few customers at the bar, getting information wouldn’t be hard, but I’d have to pay for it. I could either do that buying a dance or with a hefty tip after ordering a drink. The second option outweighed the first hands down.

  When the bartender met my stare, her expression made me want to bathe with a toaster…plugged in. Her come-hither glance and the curl of her upper lip were less than enticing yet intended to be appealing.

  Before she could utter a word or attempt to seduce me, I ordered. “Macallan.” I didn’t think it was sanitary for her tits to touch the bar top but decided against mentioning it. DHEC certainly wouldn’t make a surprise visit, so my opinion meant nothing. “Please.”

  She returned with my drink, and I slipped her a twenty-dollar tip. It was steep, but I didn’t want to be here any longer than I absolutely had to. Feeding her a few bucks at a time would only prolong the agony. The bartender picked up the cash, and after she rang up the drink, she realized what she still had in her hand. Turning toward me, she stared quizzically. “What are you looking for?”

  “Just a little information.”

  She put the money in a jar next to the register and then gave me her attention. “Shoot.”

  There wasn’t any reason to mince words. “When’s Diamond back on stage?”

  The girl appeared disappointed as she moved down the length of the bar. She leaned over, grabbed a piece of paper, and returned. “Friday and Saturday.”

  “Full shifts?”

  Her tongue ran across her bottom lip, and she arched an overplucked brow. She had to be kidding if she thought I would give her more for that.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Nevaeh.”

  Figured. Heaven spelled backward explained the fire-engine-red bikini bottoms and the silly headband with horns. I wondered if she had a pitchfork that she used for a prop when she danced and if “Highway to Hell” was her top-paying performance number. “Nevaeh, that’s pretty.” It wasn’t.

  She held out her hand, palm up, waiting for me to grease it.

  I rolled my eyes and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. Another ten in her hand, and she closed her fingers around the paper.

  “Yes.”

  Ten bucks for three letters was highway robbery, but it got me what I wanted.

  * * *

  I hadn’t dressed up; I’d dressed to be noticed. By her. I hadn’t mistaken the way she’d held my stare when her attention could have roamed to any number of attractive guys at Chase’s bachelor party. Seven days had been six too many. I’d endured Club Swank more than any woman deserved, yet here I sat, waiting at the bar, again. For over an hour, I’d nursed my scotch and watched as one dancer after another paraded across the stage to the tune of another raunchy song, half-dressed. None of them held any appeal, nor did the company of any of the guys who hung out here. I tried my best to remain unnoticed, but in U21’s world, the best friend of Chase Silvano was almost as good as the man himself.

  Most of the dancers were keenly aware of my disinterest, and those who weren’t learned quickly. The ones I’d grown up with asked too many questions, and if Diamond didn’t make an appearance shortly, I’d chalk it up to the stars not aligning and go home. I didn’t make a play for women, especially not in a place like this.

  If the music hadn’t been so loud, Starr would have heard me groan when she sat on the barstool next to me. Or maybe she had and didn’t care—desperation did strange things to people.

  “Hey, handsome.” It wasn’t original, but neither was her metallic-yellow outfit that left nothing to the imagination.

  I raised my glass and lifted my chin. It was the closest thing she would get to a greeting. Yet somehow, it didn’t faze her that my attention hadn’t left the empty stage.

  Her small fingers grazed my forearm, and my eyes fell to the place she touched. I wasn’t special; all the girls did this kind of thing in hopes of landing some sap in a back room. Her eyes held mine when I glanced up, and I felt sorry for her. Her free hand twirled a strand of hair in what I guessed was meant to be a seductive gesture. “I can help you wash those troubles away.”

  Before I could reject Starr’s offer, the lights went out, signaling the arrival of another performer. Luckily for me, the second the stage illuminated, I caught sight of what I’d come for. Flashes brought her into focus. Each beat, every note highlighted glimpses of someone far more stunning than I’d remembered. Diamond was ferocious, yet dainty. Intense, but subtle. Everything about her was captivating, and her music choices were impeccable. “Whore” by In This Moment was a statement about why she was here—even I picked up on that. Had she been singing, I would have felt each word delivered to me as though it were just the two of us in the room and she was punching me in the gut.

  With so much to see, it was difficult to focus on one thing. Her toned thighs were exposed instead of covered in fishnets. I’d be damned if the silver, lace-up corset wasn’t sexier than the black one she’d worn last week, and the matching metallic combat boots gave her the tough appearance the lyrics depicted. She worked a sheer cover so seductively it became an extension of her arms. Darkness entombed her for a split second, just long enough for her to give her back to the audience, drop the scarf, and sharply turn her head over her shoulder. The chorus echoed and when the band screamed, “I could be your whore,” she locked eyes with me.

  She’d known precisely where I was in the audience.

  Anger radiated from her dark-blue eyes, squinted a hint. If looks could kill, she’d have pinned me to the bar with two daggers. I’d only thought the first song she’d danced to fit her perfectly. She bent at the waist, and her silver G-string cau
ght my attention, holding it on her tight ass.

  I lifted my glass to my lips, taking a deep drink, and I attempted to hide the effect she had on me. My throat constricted when I swallowed, and my heart pounded against my sternum. I hadn’t noticed my fists clenching and releasing with each man who approached the stage. My teeth ground together with every hand that tucked a bill into her panties, and when some punk reached up to grab her tit, I stood abruptly.

  I’d all but forgotten Starr even sat next to me until her nails dug into my skin where she still held my forearm. The glare I gave her must have warned her off because she released me. If Raid hadn’t been on the guy who’d managed to cop an unwelcomed feel, I would have. Yet Diamond never missed a beat. She was a crowd favorite, as I knew she would be. Every dick in Swank stood at attention while she gave the audience her all. I shouldn’t have been shocked, nothing in this place should surprise me, especially not a girl on stage taking off her top. If I could have roared and pounded my chest, I would have gone caveman just before I swept her away.

  Somehow, the idea of her fingers working their way through the ribbon that drew her corset together had me blinded. I desperately wanted her to take it off; I just didn’t want anyone else to see what she had covered. It wasn’t much. Hell, her ass and her pussy were barely hidden, but her breasts were personal. In the time it took me to recognize the absurdity of my feelings, the fabric fell to the stage. Diamond spun on the pole, sank to the ground in the most erotic split I’d ever witnessed, and in the process, wound me tight as a coil.

  Her eyes never left mine. I felt whatever grudge she held as if I’d had anything to do with it. Then it dawned on me. It was hatred that gleamed in her expression. The hardened gaze she cast my direction was exactly that. Most women who took that stage had shame written on their faces—at least when they first started. At some point, they had succumbed to the life they’d screwed themselves into. This girl was pissed the fuck off, and it appeared she associated me with that fury, which only meant one thing.

  She believed I was U21, and she clearly hated everything about it.

  It was possible I assumed far too much based on what I saw, but I’d learned a lot being locked up. The most important being to read people. The notion that eyes were the window to the soul wasn’t a misnomer; it was absolute truth. I’d studied more people than I cared to admit, most of which weren’t worthy of the air they breathed. Once a person figured out how to identify evil, innocence was easy, and rage was an emotion no one hid well. This girl was living and breathing that animosity. All in my direction.

  Her three minutes ended faster than I cared for them to. The music stopped, the crowd erupted, and she stood there in nothing other than a strip of fabric—that couldn’t legitimately be considered panties—and sinful boots. Seething, she looked into me. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who could see beyond appearances and into the heart of who someone was. Her eye makeup accentuated the piercing stare aimed solely at me. I had only hated my association with Chase Silvano one other time in my life, and that incident had landed me in prison.

  Money dripped from what little bit of her costume she still wore, the stage floor was littered with dollar bills, and then she was gone.

  My chest heaved, and I didn’t have to check my pulse to know my heart raced with a vengeance. The beat throbbed in my neck, ticking away a steady cadence. I could feel it in my fingers and my chest. And when I sat back down, it took effort to ignore Starr without barking. Instead, I turned to the bartender and ordered another glass of scotch. That was only her first dance of the night. I’d have to endure two more before she finished for the evening. My only saving grace, the only thing that kept me from getting ousted by one of the bouncers, was the fact that, once again, she hadn’t come out on the floor to solicit privates. A drug conviction would have been a walk in the park compared to the murder charge I’d face if one of these douchebags touched her.

  Sitting at the bar, thinking about the damage I’d do to someone to keep them away from her, my cock was hard as a fucking rock. I wasn’t certain if it was her naked image that aroused me or the thought of protecting her—both were ludicrous, but one of the two absolutely existed.

  The lyrics to her song bounced around in my head while I waited for her to retake the stage. Diamond made a statement, even if I didn’t know what she tried to say. If there were any truth to the song I’d just heard, I wondered what her secrets were and how she’d gotten tangled up with U21.

  Another drink did nothing to soothe the beast inside me, but thankfully, the vibe I put off kept Starr and the other girls away. Each dancer made rounds on the floor after they performed, picking up some random schmuck who’d grease their palm with a hundred bucks to have them grind their lap with no hope of anything further.

  Diamond’s second number left me more riled up than the first, and just like the two times previous that I’d watched her perform, I was ready to chew nails and kill anyone who dared cast a glance in her direction much less lay a finger on her. I’d had three drinks and didn’t need any more if I planned to drive home, but I’d be damned if I could sit around without a sedative to keep me from stomping onto the stage, throwing her over my shoulder, and marching her perky tits out of this hell hole.

  I raised my hand to get Nevaeh’s attention. She sauntered my direction with her plastic boobs on display. Before she reached me, she stopped, poured me another glass, and then slid it across the bar without so much as breaking her stride. The girl might look like an idiot with horns on top of her head, but she was smart enough to recognize I wasn’t someone she wanted to approach. Her gentle smile did nothing to ease my anxiety.

  I nursed the fourth scotch I’d ordered since arriving and prepared myself to exit the seat the second Diamond’s third number ended. There was no doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t meander into the crowd. And if history repeated itself, which I fully anticipated that it would, I’d have roughly one hundred and twenty seconds to get behind the curtain after the music quit and the lights went out. She’d bolt like lightning the moment she was done, not even bothering to change out of whatever skimpy outfit she left the stage in.

  There was no chance in hell I’d let her out the back door barely dressed and unescorted. She might think I was the devil incarnate, but I’d prove to her that hell hath no fury like a man bent on shielding a woman. She wasn’t mine, although clearly, no one had her back, or she wouldn’t be dancing for tips in a dive like Swank on U21’s clock. Regardless of whether she wanted my help, there was little she could do to prevent me from interfering at this point. Diamond was too young to be caught in the clutches of the gang. For once, my affiliation with Chase would prove beneficial. I held a mark, and I was prepared to call it.

  For a girl whose name I didn’t know.

  One who looked like she’d rather gut me with a spoon than smile in my direction.

  The same one who’d run me over without ever speaking a word.

  “Skin” by Rihanna filtered through the club, and I knew it was her final number before I even saw her. The other girls picked cliché shit. Diamond was the only dancer in Swank who chose songs that suited her stage presence, and each one ate at me a little more than the last. This girl would devour my soul before it was over, but I couldn’t wait for her to feast. It would likely be aggressive and filled with trouble, yet I couldn’t wait to get buried in her mess.

  I’d never crossed Jesse, and certainly not for snatch I hadn’t hit, but as I paid my tab at the bar, I prepared myself to take that stand—at whatever cost.

  And I had no doubt, the price would be high.

  4

  Nikki

  I’d seen him from backstage before my first number. I hadn’t expected him to stay rooted in the same spot through my last two dances, nor had I anticipated him staring me down. Two could play that game, and I had. I wasn’t afraid of him. He was the epitome of everything I hated in this neighborhood.

  The other girls talked about him. They all
wanted him, not that I could figure out why—I didn’t bother to ask, either. Maybe it was his connection to the Silvano family, perhaps it was the asshole effect women seemed to swoon over, or possibly even the bad-boy vibe that oozed from every tattoo over every inch of his perfectly sculpted body. Whatever it was, I wasn’t interested. He was the type of guy who ran the gang that landed me here to begin with. And anyone who had any connection to a drug lord wasn’t worth sharing air with.

  I stared out from behind the curtain, wondering why he sat at the bar alone yet never interacted with any of the girls. Not once had I seen him approach one of the other dancers; he hadn’t dropped a single dollar in a G-string, and he sure as hell hadn’t gone back to the VIP area for any personal attention.

  “He asked Nevaeh about you earlier this week.” Cinnamon stood close enough for me to smell the baby oil she’d smeared all over her skin. “Do you know him?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.” I waited for more information, but it never came. And when I turned to ask who he was, the redhead had disappeared.

  I refused to let him get to me. It was possible he’d been sent by Jesse—or someone else who had Ma’s name on their shit list—to make certain I did what I was supposed to do. These people must have thought I was a complete moron to try to renege on the agreement I’d made to bail out my mother. Crossing Union 21 equated to death, and I had zero interest in meeting my maker. Not today anyway.

  Ogling him wouldn’t make him go away, and I had no interest in confronting him regarding why he’d asked about me. So, I went back to my dressing station and began to reapply the heavy makeup that I hoped hid my identity. It might not actually do the trick, but I’d convinced myself that I was a different person when I caked it on. Nikki Wilson wasn’t the girl on that stage taking off her clothes for strangers; Diamond was. And Diamond was edgy, strong, a force to be reckoned with. She had gumption, determination. Her give-a-fuck didn’t even register. The second the first beat played through the speakers, Nikki became Diamond, and Diamond owned that stage.