Granted by the Beast

by Hamilton, Rebecca; Kressley, Conner;

  “Doesn’t much matter what it does for you. Still poses a threat to the women in our town.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, ticking my head to the side. “Well, buddy, let me tell you. I’ve lived in scarier places than New Haven.” I had to hold back a giggle at the thought. Big Bad New Haven. Yeah. This single murder was the most action they’d had in decades. “I’ve lived in the city, Dalton. I’ve worked the graveyard shift for a year and a half. Had pervs glaring at me with every step down the runway—”

  “This is making me feel better, Char,” he said, his mouth setting into a grim line.

  “My point is, this ‘small town gird your loins’ nonsense isn’t going to change the way I sleep at night.” I huffed. “Now this might not be the best job in the world, and Lord knows Abram is far from the best boss,” I said, thinking of his cold attitude and barking nature, “but the pay is good, and it gives me something to do besides take up space at your sister’s house.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, spreading his hands. “I get it, and I totally respect your decision. Now get back to that part where you were calling me cute.”

  I chuckled out loud, surprising myself. “I didn’t call you cute. I said what you were doing was sort of cute. Sort of.”

  “Potatoes, tomatoes, Char. Don’t run from your feelings.” He smiled and rested his chin flat against his hands, which were folded on the table. Suddenly he looked like a puppy—cute, harmless, and ready to show submission.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I told him, noticing the way his bright eyes got wider, rounder, and even more adorable.

  “You didn’t mind it when we were kids,” he teased.

  “It didn’t have the same effect back then.” I nearly choked on my words. I was determined not to let him affect me. At least not until I knew where these feelings were leading us. “Look, I don’t like to talk about this, but it’s been a rough year for me. Losing my mother, losing my job—it took a toll on me. And while your sister has been better to me than I have any right to expect, coming back here hasn’t been the best thing in the world for me, either. Everyone’s moved on around here. Their lives are different…fuller. I have to find something to do with myself. This might not be the place I want to be forever, but it looks like the place I’m going to have to be for a while. And I can’t just keep mooching off your sister.”

  “You could always move in with me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m sure I could find something to keep you busy.”

  “Slow your roll, Puppy Dog.” I leaned back, resting my arm on the back of my chair. “Usually, a guy takes me to dinner before inviting me to move in.”

  “Deal!” Dalton said, snapping his head upward. “I’ll pick you up Friday night at seven.”

  “Hey, wait a minute!” I said, sitting forward again. “That wasn’t—”

  “Too late. I already accepted.” He finished off the last of his coffee. “And I don’t like to be disappointed.”

  “Fine,” I mumbled, following him to the door, “but—”

  Before I could finish my thought, he turned toward me, putting us inches apart. The tension rendered whatever I was about to say pointless. My breath caught in my chest. I couldn’t deny my attraction, even if whatever was happening between us felt…wrong. Would I ever be able to see him as something other than my best friend’s little brother?

  “There’s something about you, Char, hiding right under the surface,” he said quietly into the silence between us. “I’m not sure how I missed it before.”

  I could say the same for you, I thought, blushing uncontrollably.

  His arm reached past me, bringing his face a hair’s breadth from mine. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. He was going to kiss me, and I so wasn’t ready for that.

  My hands shot up to stop him. “Dalton, wait!”

  He pulled his arm back, coat now in hand where it wasn’t before. “Just had to grab my jacket, Char.” He winked. “See you soon.”

  Then he left, and I stood at the door for a good ten minutes waiting for my heart to stop beating so wildly in my chest.

  In the two weeks I had been working at Abram’s club, I had made several changes. I switched out the lighting (who wanted fluorescent tube lights in a club, anyway?), I canceled his furniture shipment and changed it out for something a little hipper (which wasn’t hard considering he had ordered wicker), and I even convinced him not to put mirrors on the ceiling (since, you know, it wasn’t the seventies). But the most important change I had implemented since coming here was definitely when I convinced Abram to change the name.

  It wasn’t easy. Things never were with Abram. Even when he was there, which wasn’t nearly as frequently as you would expect from an owner, he was stubborn as an ox and completely closed off to the idea of change. Luckily for him, I could be just as stubborn, and I didn’t have the taste of somebody’s grandfather.

  “I named it the Cellar because it’s in a damn cellar! How much more explanation does it need?” he’d said when I’d confronted him about his choice of name for his establishment.

  I’d combated that quite easily: “A cellar is dark and dank, you idiot! Who wants to go there? You might as well name it The Cesspool!”

  We settled on ‘The Castle” since it was old and majestic-sounding enough to suit Abram and because, well, it was better than The Cesspool. I mean, The Cellar. Either way.

  As I passed the club sign, I gave it a little wink, seeing it as proof not only of my effectiveness here, but also of how misplaced Dalton’s fears had been.

  ‘That kind of girl’, my big, gorgeous ass.

  Descending the staircase (much more gracefully this time than the first time), I was surprised to see Abram locking the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “We only have three hours until opening. We need to be inside.”

  “You’re late,” he growled at me, which I absolutely expected at this point.

  “Pfft, twenty minutes. I had a date. Besides, I figured you’d be—”

  “It’s almost dark!” He spun toward me. The stubble on his face was fuller now, almost too full given that, just yesterday, he was nearly clean shaven.

  “Newsflash,” I said, “nightclubs are open at night.”

  Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen Abram around here in the evenings, much less at night. Certainly he couldn’t keep that up, though. We were about to open. He had to be here for that.

  “Where are you going anyway?” I asked.

  “I have to attend to some business,” he answered, gaze firmly directed toward the pavement.

  It was then that I noticed how labored his breathing was. He practically huffed at me. And the look seeping out through his eyes spoke of either pain or anger. Maybe both.

  “This is your business, Abram,” I said, planting my fists on my hips. “We open the doors in just a few hours. You have to be here.”

  “I have other things to consider.” He clutched at his gut, folding into himself just a little.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, inching forward instinctively. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “You have a job, Ms. Bellamy.” He grunted again, obviously hurting. “I expect you to be on time, and I expect you to do what’s required of you.” He moaned, bowling over.

  “Jesus, Abram, let me call somebody.”

  He threw a hand in front of him, stopping me in my tracks. “If you want to help, you can get the hell away from me and do your damn job!”

  His teeth ground together, and his muscles clenched, flexing under his tight-fitting black jacket.

  I inched backward, eyeing him up and down. Sweat poured off every exposed inch of his body as he sat hunched-over on the pavement.

  “Are you stupid?!” He growled. “Get inside! Now!”

  Normally, if a man spoke to me like that, I would introduce his crotch to my Louboutins. But something was going on here, and I didn’t have a full picture of what it was.

  So i
nstead of flipping out all over this hardheaded douchebag, I just glared at him and said, “I know what my job is. You don’t have to be such a beast about it.”

  He got up slowly, tensing his muscles as if he was afraid his insides were going to come pouring out. Turning from me, he began up the stairwell. “Ms. Bellamy, you have no idea.”

  Chapter 5

  The next few hours flew by quicker than I had hoped. In my mind, I would have plenty of time to get everything in order before The Castle’s grand opening. In reality, though, I probably looked more like a Milan noob on a greased runway.

  There was just so much to do, and until the trail bartenders and wait staff got here, I was the only one to do it. And whose fault was that?

  So, while I bustled about, arranging and rearranging the chairs, tables, and centerpieces, I couldn’t help but curse Abram under my breath. He should have been here. Hell, he should be the one doing most of the heavy lifting. This was, after all, his nightclub. Shouldn’t he be at least a little concerned about how the place looked once the floodgates opened?

  Still, he had been sick. He was practically bowling over in pain when he left, all gritted teeth and clenched muscles. I should have called the ambulance. For all I knew, the brute could be lying in a ditch somewhere. But the idiot had a head like Monday morning. You just couldn’t get through it.

  So, sensitive and caring woman that I was, I found my irritation with him tinged with a little concern.

  That really pissed me off.

  Once I was absolutely sure (for the third time) that the contemporary decor was all centered and the ‘feel’ of the room was perfect, I moved my attention to more utilitarian matters. There was a huge cooler behind the bar, and it needed to be filled before thirsty customers arrived. I had always found getting people drunk was more about timing and less about actual desire. Nobody liked to wait for their ‘whatever on the rocks,’ and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the hostess/manager/woman who did everything because the damn boss couldn’t be bothered to.

  Sure, I could have waited for the new bouncer to get here and help. God knew he was probably going to be bored to tears tonight. New Haven wasn’t the type of place to support a line past the velvet rope. But I was too type A for that. So I kicked off my giant heels and made haste toward that troublesome ice machine.

  I was three trips into what was certainly going to be double digit treks when a noise from inside the room across the hall stopped me in my tracks. It was loud but nondescript, like white static or distant rainfall. I hadn’t been outside for a few hours now, and the downstairs of the club didn’t have many windows. The sky had been clear last I’d checked, but if it was raining now, it sounded as though Abram had left a window open.

  I set the ice bucket down and stepped into the hall, and as I neared the other room, the strange red symbol painted on the door began to take shape. Still, I couldn’t tell what it was. I grabbed the handle and turned, but the door was locked.

  Maybe I should call Abram. Whatever was in that room would no doubt be ruined if it was raining as hard as it sounded. Then again, he had been a super dick to me earlier…

  You know what? Let it pour.

  Maybe that would teach him to be a little more responsible with his club.

  By my seventh trip, the noise quieted, so at least the rain was dying down. But there was another layer to the sound now. A melodic whisper…a song…as if someone was singing on the other side of the door.

  Well, that didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew, I was the only person in the club. Abram must have left a CD playing. I pressed my ear against the door to get a better listen as the song continued.

  It was…hmmm…I had to be hearing that wrong. It sounded like it was whispering my name.

  I bristled and pulled my head away.

  “Hello?” I rested just my palms against the door now. “Hello? Is someone—”

  The door flared with heat, and I jerked backward as the metal burned my hands.

  What the hell!

  The song got louder, whispering my name over and over again.

  “Real funny, Abram!” I said, hoping that it was a joke. I knew better, though. Abram wasn’t the joking type. And besides which, he wasn’t even here.

  A knock on the door startled me so much that I shuddered.

  “Charisse,” a voice sounded from the alleyway outside, and I jumped again, then caught my breath.

  Get a hold of yourself, girl! It’s just the bartender.

  I flipped open my phone and checked the time. Almost seven. The club would open in just over an hour. I needed to get back to work.

  I gave the weird door one last look before sprinting down the hall to let the bartender in. She stood waiting for me with a big smile on her face, dry to the bone and not a puddle in sight.

  An hour later, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I didn’t see New Haven as the sort of place to have much of a market for a night club. A bar, sure. A backwoods pool hall, definitely. But the sort of quasi-refined establishment I had in mind, not so much.

  As such, I didn’t allow myself to entertain the possibility of The Castle filling up. Half-full would be a good night, I told myself. So you can imagine my surprise when not only did the place fill to capacity, but a line formed outside the door.

  I guess the bouncer won’t be so bored after all.

  Things moved quickly after that, and despite myself, a sense of pride started to build inside of me. I had done this. This place was popular, in part, because of all the hard work I had put into it in the last few weeks.

  It sure as hell wasn’t Abram’s doing.

  I thought about calling him. After all, it was his pockets that the thirsty crowd was lining tonight. And despite how infuriated I was with him, I wanted to make sure he was okay. And what was more, I kind of just wanted to talk to him.

  No, that can’t be right.

  My specific role changed a bit as the night progressed. I hadn’t really expected the influx of people, and Abram’s wallet hadn’t exactly been open during all of our planning, so I had hired accordingly. In other words, we were wildly understaffed. So as the hours passed, I went from proud manager, to equally proud hostess, all the way to down to haggard (but still proud) waitress.

  I had just spilled three vodka tonics all over my white blouse when I heard the first words in hours that weren’t commands or drink orders.

  “Lulu, I thought you said she ran the place,” came a familiar voice. “From here she just looks like a barmaid who’s showing too much cleavage.”

  I quickly found the source. Ester sat at a nearby table beside Lulu, eyeing me up and down like a cat staring at a goldfish she deemed too small to worry about.

  God, why couldn’t it have been a drink order?

  “Char, your shirt…” Lulu mumbled, her gaze landing on me. There was a soda water in her hand, and the look on her face was a mix of shock and discomfort.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s ruined.” I bent down and picked up the spilled glasses. “And it was Prada,” I said, cutting my eyes over to Ester. “Very expensive.”

  “Well, now it’s see through,” Ester announced, grinning and taking a sip of her drink. Looking back at Lulu, she muttered, “I told you she wasn’t wearing a bra.”

  Of course I wasn’t wearing a bra. Bras weren’t exactly designed for open-backed tops. But how would she know?

  I followed her gaze down to my breasts only to find that the vodka tonics had bled through the fabric, exposing—well, everything I had that was exposable.

  My face ran hot as I realized everyone was staring at me.

  “Damn it!” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I didn’t expect you to be so modest.” Ester pursed her lips. “I guess models are only comfortable showing skin when they have Photoshop to correct those little imperfections.”

  “Ester!” Lulu said, her gaze shooting daggers at her new friend.

  “What?” she asked
, motioning to my unintended display. “So they’re not perfect? I’m not judging her or anything.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said through clenched teeth. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted off, arms still crossed to salvage what dignity I had left.

  This was so not how I wanted the night to go. Not only had I exposed myself in front of basically the entire town, but I had made a fool of myself in a place I was supposed to run. This officially could not get any worse.

  “Char?” Dalton’s voice boomed in my ear like a firing squad cocking their guns. He had just walked in and (if there was a God in heaven) maybe he hadn’t seen everything I had to offer.

  “I can’t right now,” I said, trying my best to move away from him.

  The place was crowded, though, and the guys here didn’t seem as though they wanted to help a buxom (and basically topless) woman run away.

  “I just wanted to say hey,” he said, weaving through the crowd with irksome ease.

  “Hey,” I said, over my shoulder, still moving, still intent on getting out of this with at least a little of my self-respect intact.

  “Well, I mean, and to say congrats.” He was close now—so close I could feel his breath on my neck.

  He swung in front of me, stopping me where I stood. My shirt dripped onto the floor, I stunk of alcohol, and worst of all, every inch of breast that wasn’t covered by my hands, might as well have had a blinking arrow pointing to it.

  I sighed, accepting defeat. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, wow,” he said. His gaze lingered where everyone else’s had, but to his credit, he forced his attention upward to my face. “That’s a lot of—”

  “Yes, it is,” I answered. “And there are a lot of people here, so if you don’t mind—”

  “Right!” Dalton said. “On it.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over my chest. “There we go,” he said, looking at me again. “I wanted to tell you congratulations on the opening.” He grinned. “Though, if I’m being honest, I sorta want to congratulate you on other things now.”