Avery

by Addison Jane

  “Marc,” Glitch answered casually as though his focus was elsewhere.

  “You need to move the product now,” I ordered, trying to keep my voice steady and calm despite the fact I wanted to scream. “The police are on their way to you now.”

  Silence.

  “How do you know?” he questioned cautiously, but I could tell he was already moving, his breath speeding up.

  I swallowed the lump I’d been managing to contain in my throat, fighting to keep it from cracking open as I said three little words I knew were about to bring a whole new level of destruction to my family.

  Shit was about to happen.

  I was about to make a choice.

  “My dad snitched.” Glitch’s rain of curse words felt like blows to my stomach. I heard his pain, his panic, and I knew there was one thing that I could do for both. One thing I owed them. “I’m going to try to buy you some time.”

  His loud roar of orders came to a sudden pause, and he sucked in a deep breath. “Marcus,” he said very quietly, very seriously. “You do what you think you have to do. Whatever is in your gut. I will have your back.”

  That was my green light.

  I hung up, sweat pouring down the sides of my face as I stepped back, finally allowing my aim to fall, my father rolling his eyes and falling back into his old armchair again. “What’s done is done,” he murmured, reaching for a cigarette.

  My hands shook as I jabbed some more numbers into the keypad and pressed it to my ear once again. “What is your emergency?”

  “I’m about to commit a murder.” My father paused, the smoke hanging limply from his lips. “The man is a police informant, and if you don’t want him dead and all your witness statements and proof to die with him, I suggest you send every available officer in the area.”

  “Sir, just think ab—”

  I quickly rattled off the address of the house. “Every available officer, or he dies.”

  It was a lie.

  My finger was already curling around the trigger.

  Hitting the end call button, I looked down at my father’s disappointed gaze.

  One I’d seen so many times over the past seventeen years that it finally didn’t hurt. He may have been my blood, but my real family was at the club. And I was about to prove to them just how much I believed that.

  And prove to myself that I was not my fucking father.

  “Jesus,” Avery whispered under her breath, her mouth hanging open.

  She reached across the small picnic table we were sitting at, her fingertips brushing lightly across the back of my clenched fists. “I knew he had a problem, but I thought it always came back to drinking,” I tried to explain, my leg jumping under the table. “I blamed the alcohol for the reason I’d raised my sister on my own. And for the times he beat me for just speaking. Or the couple of times he almost killed me when I made him look bad by asking our president, Glitch, for help because we had no food in the house…”

  “And the whole time, he had this addiction you weren’t even aware of,” Avery finished for me when I paused, fighting to say those exact words. And not just that, but a few seconds later, I watched the final pieces of the puzzle fall together. “It’s why you’re scared of what will happen with Holly.”

  Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “I know firsthand what people with addictions will do to feed their habits.” It was why I was so fiercely against addicts. I goddamn hated them because addicts couldn’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves as far as I was concerned.

  My mother wouldn’t give them up even though she knew I’d be born in pain.

  My father couldn’t give them up even though he knew his entire fucking family could have gone down because of him.

  A dull ache began to throb in my chest, and I rubbed at it with my palm. “I don’t want to see you caught up in that fucking web.”

  Avery licked at her lips, pressing them together and wiggling her nose. It was kind of fucking cute watching as these thoughts processed through her pretty little head. Maybe she was getting it. Perhaps she was seeing the reason I was the way I am, because if it were in my ability to keep the people I loved safe, you could sure as hell bet I was going to do whatever I fucking needed to in order to do that.

  Whether it made people angry or not.

  “It’s why you don’t drink, too, right?”

  Letting out a gentle hum under my breath, I nodded. “It’s why I don’t do a lot of things. Drink, smoke, take painkillers.”

  “Even painkillers?” she asked in awe, her mouth falling open. “What happens when you have a headache or you hurt yourself?”

  “I grit my teeth and bear it because the alternative in my mind could be so much fucking worse. It’s a choice I made a long time ago,” I explained, strumming my fingers on the top of the picnic table. “It comes from both sides of my family. Mom and Dad were both addicts. It runs in my fucking blood like an accelerant just waiting for a match.”

  “You’re stronger than that.”

  I laughed. “Am I, though? It’s a part of me. How do you argue with DNA?”

  She shook her head, her brow pulling together in a heavy frown before she seemed to shake it off and pull her gaze back to mine with a gentle smile. “I’m impressed, honestly.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” I threw back, cringing for a second at the sharpness of my tone before explaining, “I shot my dad… killed him… because he turned his back on the club. And you know what I got for it? Rewarded. I earned my fucking patch. How fucked up is that?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Do I need to act more shocked? Is that what you’re waiting for?”

  Honestly, yes.

  She shrugged. “Maybe I see things differently. You say you killed your dad… I hear you put the club first. You put your sister first. You put your family first. And take this from someone who has never had anyone do that for her…” she paused like she was fighting something—a smile, maybe, “… it’s kinda sexy.”

  As if this fucking woman could shock me more. Any other woman wouldn’t fucking dare—all too scared to say anything that could upset me. But Avery, Jesus. Where the hell did she come from?

  “I thought last night it was fuck you.”

  She snorted, getting to her feet and climbing out of the confines of the picnic table. “It’s still fuck you.” I jumped up, grabbing her arm and tugging her back against my chest before she could escape, my fingers threading into her hair. She smirked up at me, her teeth pulling on her bottom lip. “Today’s fuck you just means something a little different.”

  “Mmm?” I hummed, pulling the strands tightly and enjoying the soft gasp from her lips. “And what’s different about it?”

  I talked a big game about addiction.

  How I never gave in.

  How I managed to keep away from it.

  But when it came to Avery, I had to wonder whether I was really as strong as I thought I was because I was finding it harder and harder to let go.

  “Why don’t you take me home, and I’ll show you?”

  AVERY

  My fingers traced the line of the book I was reading.

  It was fucking pointless.

  I’d read the same sentence over eight times, and I still had no fucking idea what it was trying to say. “Goddamn,” I cursed, slamming it shut and pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “Take a break.”

  I didn’t even have to look up, his stern order something I’d become accustomed to ignoring. “You’re like four staff members short tonight,” I informed him while filling another three glasses of beer and putting them on Angel’s tray for when she got back from delivering the last round. “I leave now, and people are going to be waiting God only knows how long for their drinks.”

  “And if you don’t study, you’re going to fail that fucking test tomorrow,” Shotgun growled, bracing his hands on the bar and leaning in. “So, get me a drink, then go take a break for an hour and study.”

&
nbsp; Reasons why I shouldn’t tell him these things. Exhibit A right there.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” Izzy chirped happily as she skipped back behind the bar, a little too much pep in her step for me. “We’re having this competition to make a new signature cocktail for Dynasty. I want you to try it. Tell me what you think.”

  I smirked, my hand already reaching for a glass, scooping some ice into it before filling it with Coke and sliding it across the bar in front of him. All while he was still looking at Izzy’s turned back with a cocked eyebrow. He looked down at the drink before turning his attention to me. “Thanks, baby,” he rasped with a nod, taking the glass and walking back to a table at the edge of the bar to join Shake, Ripley, and Tyler. My interest was piqued at seeing Ty sitting at the table with them. His usual job at Empire always consisted of watching the floor.

  “I was getting him a drink.” I looked up to find Izzy, her hand on her hip and her eyes narrowed. “What the hell, Avery?”

  I laughed, grabbing a cloth and wiping at the bar. “Shotgun doesn’t drink, babe,” I told her straight up. “You give him alcohol in a drink without him knowing, and he drinks it, you’re going to be fired. Or worse.”

  Her face dropped, her eyes flickering between the club president and me as if she was wondering whether she should run over there and begin to plead for her life.

  These girls had to learn sometime.

  I laughed softly to myself as I slammed my book shut and snatched it off the counter, making a quick escape from behind the bar and into the back room where we kept supplies. People would come and go, but at least it would give me some peace, just enough to get my head around this one chapter.

  I cleared off a small table, pulling up a tiny stool and opening the pages again.

  I tugged my highlighter from my pocket, ready to attack—

  “Why the hell does no one answer their phone these days!” Meyah flung the door open, cursing like a sailor under her breath as she stepped inside the tiny supply room. “I swear…”

  “Problem?” I questioned, wrenching the cap of my highlighter off with my teeth.

  She jumped a little, her hand on her heart. “Jesus, sorry, Ave. I didn’t know you were in here,” she apologized, sucking in a deep breath and running her fingers through her hair. “Both my dancers called in sick. I have a crowd of people out there and no dancers on stage.”

  Empire wasn’t technically classed as a strip club, though there were always girls on the stage dancing at certain times of the night—more often than not with a pole. The girls never got naked, but they did take their clothes off, so call it what you will, I guess.

  The VIP area upstairs offered more private shows where the girls could be tipped.

  Downstairs, the girls were simply paid extra for their time.

  It had become almost part of the club’s aesthetic. Something they were known for and that drew in customers, so having them not there wasn’t great for business. I chewed on my pen cap for a second, trying to stop myself from saying anything, but in the end, I couldn’t help it. “You having trouble finding someone?”

  “Understatement,” she groaned, reaching for the sparkly outfit that was tossed over her shoulder, shaking it in the air. “If I can’t find someone in like five minutes, I’m going to be getting up there myself.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. And when Juliet asks what happened to her mom, I’ll say, ‘Mommy thought she could get on stage and wiggle her booty, so Daddy killed her.’”

  Her nose crinkled. “Yeah, it didn’t go so great last time I tried.”

  Getting to my feet and shaking my head. “It’s fine,” I told her, reaching for the ponytail holder that was keeping my hair pulled back from my face and yanking it lose. I held my hand out for the outfit she was still gripping onto like a lifeline. It was a skin-tight silver mini dress covered in tassels and a shit ton of glitter to fancy it up. “I’ll do it.”

  She paused, her brow pulling together for a second. “Um…”

  “No, um,” I ordered, knowing she was overthinking things, just watching her mind tick over. “You need a dancer… I so happen to dance.”

  Yes, I should be studying.

  No, it really wasn’t my problem.

  But it wasn’t in me not to try and help when there was a problem that I could easily solve. I didn’t get on stage very often anymore. Not that I didn’t offer, but I had this sneaking suspicion that a certain someone who owned this place had informed Meyah to stop putting my name on the performance list.

  Joke’s on him, I guess.

  She pursed her lips, still not answering for a few seconds, but finally throwing her hands in the air. “Dammit! I’m desperate, and you’re hot,” she announced, tossing the sparkly outfit at me. “If anyone asks, I objected to this wholeheartedly.”

  Meyah turned her back, pressing her hand against the door as I stripped off my denim shorts and the black Empire t-shirt I had tied in a knot to the side. I had to wiggle my entire body into the outfit while Meyah turned back, and we both tugged at the hem.

  It covered almost half of my ass cheeks.

  No imagination needed.

  Meyah reached into her back pocket, whipping out a can of glitter body spray and barely giving me enough time to suck in a breath before she coated me in the shit. I coughed and choked, waving my hand in front of my face, searching for air without sparkles to inhale. I quickly kicked off my Converse, opting to go barefoot tonight. “All right, you play my song. I’ll be up on stage getting this shit going,” I told her, quickly scooting out the door with Meyah quick on my heels.

  I ducked and dived through the busy crowd, my skin already beginning to get sticky and hot because of the writhing bodies around me. The opening bass to my favorite song started playing a few moments later, just as I made it to the stairs on the left side of the stage.

  Dancing was something I loved.

  Music like a part of my soul.

  It wasn’t often you’d find me without headphones in my ears. It eased my thoughts, helped me to keep out of my own head. I needed it because if I got stuck inside my own mind with my fucked-up thoughts—well, it took a lot to drag me out before I let them swallow me whole.

  My hips swayed, the attention of the crowd turning toward me as I walked to the center. The roar that rose above the slow-building music was like a shot of adrenaline into my veins.

  My body moved, allowing the rhythm to take over, my hips hitting every single beat. I looked over the crowd, a smile on my face, unable to ignore the fact that I actually enjoyed this. Maybe not the exhibitionist part of it, but the freedom, the excitement, the way it made my heart race, my skin tingle—the way it made me feel a little bit alive.

  My eyes caught something at the edge of the crowd, the double doors that lead out to the back rooms opened suddenly, Shotgun and Shake walking out together, Shotgun carrying something in his hands.

  My fingers curled around the poll on the stage as his eyes met mine for a second.

  Then looked away.

  But before I could take a breath, thinking Meyah and I had gotten away with it, his entire body paused, and he tossed whatever he was carrying to Shake. Shake, whose smirk was growing wider, his mouth moving though I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Shotgun turned on his heel, his eyes meeting mine again as he stomped down the side of the dance floor.

  My hips were still moving on their own, but with less vigor because I couldn’t help but watch him walk toward me, the promise of something in his eyes. Something that should have made me nervous, but that I was growing to fucking love.

  He took the stairs of the stage two at a time, not even acknowledging the crowd below us as he came straight at me, pausing for a second only to dip his shoulder and press it into my stomach before lifting me off the floor.

  “Shotgun!” I cried out, a mixture of horror and laughter as he tossed me over his shoulder, so I was hanging down his back. A loud resounding slap came down a
cross my bare ass, the crowd below us gasping collectively before a deafening roar of approval filled the room.

  Hoots and hollers serenaded us as Shotgun carried me down the opposite side of the stage, ignoring my protests until we reached the bottom of the stairs that lead to the VIP room. He dropped me back onto my feet, his hands holding my waist as I swayed, trying to find my balance again after being fucking upside down.

  “Was that necessary?” I protested, though I was so fucking turned on at that point I was about ready to ask him to throw me back over his shoulder and carry me out the back.

  “Who the hell told you it would be a good idea to get on stage?” Shake asked, leaning against the banister with a smirk.

  I grinned. “Your old lady.”

  The way his face changed had me let out a soft giggle, though it quickly trailed off when Shotgun reached up and tugged at my bottom lip with his thumb, dipping his mouth close to my ear. “You’re fucking lucky we have something else to do right now, and I don’t have time to show you what that little stunt just cost you.”

  The lump of nerves in my throat made it hard to swallow. “What do we have to do?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He turned me, his hands at my hips, directing me up the stairs with Shake right beside us. I still couldn’t make out exactly what he was holding in his hands, but my tummy was twisting and turning with nerves.

  Ripley was standing at the top with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Nice try, twinkle toes,” he smirked, shaking his head. “When are you girls going to learn, man?”

  Learn what?

  Shotgun stepped up beside me, and Ripley’s eyes moved to him, the grin on his face exploding into full-blown laughter. “You bastards trying to upstage us now? I mean, the glitter is a nice touch. It really compliments your eyes.” My hand went to my mouth when I finally got a look at Shotgun’s club cut. The side he’d thrown me over was now coated in a layer of body glitter that sparkled perfectly in Empire’s lighting.

  Huntsman stepped up beside Ripley, his eyebrow raised at the other club president.