by Aubrey Cara
“The girl’s here, boss.”
“I can see that,” the man says without looking up.
Time ticks by as we stand sentinel-like while the man works. Cologne Casanova’s hand is starting to get sweaty on my arm. “You know you can let go of me anytime now.” I yank at his grip. And he yanks back, causing me to teeter on my feet. The black ankle boots I’ve worn are sky high and starting to pinch my toes.
The jerk sneers at me and tightens his hold. I fight a huff as I pull and scratch at the fingers digging into my arm. The asshole is bruising me.
The creaking sound of the office chair has us looking up from our struggle. Our altercation has drawn the boss’s attention.
“You may go,” the boss says dismissively to the jerk strangling my arm. I fight a gag at the trail of Eau du Unfortunate cowboy Casanova leaves in his wake. From the corner of my eye I catch his sneer he shoots my way before exiting the room but I’m still held in thrall by “the boss”.
Now that I can see him full on he’s even more overwhelming than when he’d been hunched over his desk. His features are much harsher than they first appeared. A scar splits his left cheek from just below his eye almost to his jaw line. He looks as if he’d once been ridiculously movie star handsome in his youth, but life had hardened any softness that had ever been there. I know what the life of a card shark and perpetual gambler entails. I’ve seen firsthand how it can harden a person and rob them of their vitality. I can’t imagine what this man has seen or done as a drug boss, or how he came to be in the position he is. I can only see the stark result of his life.
His eyes are cold and calculating as they trail up and down my body. I fight everything in me not to fidget or show any kind of weakness in front of this man.
“Well, howdy there, Ms. Dawson.” His cultured accent makes a mockery of the common southern greeting and lets me know he is not from around here. His smile displays even, white teeth, but combined with the gleam in his eyes it reminds me of a crocodile. “So, you’re the girl who’s been causing all the trouble.”
“No.” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I’m already flustered and I’m trying to find my cool resolve, but it’s deserted me. All I can think is I haven’t done jack or caused a lick of trouble. “My brother owes you money. I’m here to pay.”
With that his eyebrows go up. “Oh, are you? I was led to believe you didn’t have the money.” Setting down his pen, he pushes back his chair and stands, coming out from around his desk in a measured, leisurely fashion.
“Well, not right now. But I can get it.”
He nods his head as if he finds that to be reasonable but is in doubt of the possibility. I’m also kind of doubtful. Not saying a word he circles around me, taking my measure. When his fingers gently skim down my arm I startle and curse myself when I catch his smile.
“No need to be jumpy, Ms. Dawson.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I try to make it my business to know the names of everyone who owes me money,” he says, his breath puffing against the back of my neck and I fight the urge to flinch and step away from him. “When they don’t pay, I discover the names of their family and loved ones.”
It takes a second for his words to register. When they do a shiver of dread spikes through me at the implication of his words.
Stupid, of course he knows who I am. I’m Candice Dawson. The girl with a perpetual target on her back thanks to the men in my family.
Suddenly he’s in front of me tilting my face up to his, much like Hank had earlier. Thinking of Hank causes a spike of nonsensical guilt to flash through me. If he knew I was here, putting myself in this situation he’d be so disappointed. But what does it matter? It’s not as if he even likes me.
“Hey, attention on me Ms. Dawson,” he says snapping his fingers in front of my face. “There you are,” he says as I look up into his face. He’s smiling, but his eyes are cold. Where Hank is fire this man is ice. “You’re a very beautiful girl, Candice Dawson.”
“Thank you,” I say hesitantly. His compliment is nothing I haven’t heard, but the way he says it seems to be leading somewhere I’m not entirely comfortable with.
“Whenever you’re with me, all your attention should be on me. That’s lesson number one. I’m a reasonable man,” he says and I doubt it. “But I don’t like to share my toys.”
Toys? “Wha-what do you mean?” I ask, my knees feeling weak.
“I don’t think you’re a stupid girl. Are you stupid, Ms. Dawson?
“No.”
“Then you understand my offer?”
I understand it and a part of me had even hoped for it. Part of me had thought it would be easy. It wasn’t as if I enjoyed sex. It had always been more enjoyable for my partner than myself. I thought I could do this, but not now, with this man in front of me. He skims the back of his fingers down my front, assessing me. He’s evaluating his inventory. I’m insane to have come here, to think I could prostitute myself.
“I’m not afraid to work off my debt.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t see it as work, dear. I can be generous. Things, they could be good between you and I,” he says running his thumb over my bottom lip.
The fact is I’m a little tempted to give in and be this man’s plaything. Me in exchange for three grand. At least now I know my worth. My mind just keeps niggling back to Hank and the look on his face if he ever found out I sold myself. The thought of disappointing him gives me a sick feeling I don’t understand. I’m nothing to him, and he’s nothing to me. I wish I could get the bastard out of my head. “I can dance,” I blurt like I don’t know exactly what he’s offering.
His hand stops its exploration and his relaxed stance goes hard. “I don’t think you understand my offer. I don’t make this kind of deal with just anyone, Ms. Dawson, nor will I ever make it to you again. Think long and hard before you decide, but decide soon. I do not like to be kept waiting.”
I nod once, unsure if he’s done with me. When he says nothing more I ask, “Am I free to go now?”
He looks me over, “You’re free to go.” I’m at the door when he says, “Oh, and Ms. Dawson, if you’re set on dancing off your brother’s debt, know that you’ll have to pass an inspection. A thorough inspection. I don’t let just anyone work at my club. Is that understood?”
I nod again wondering what the hell he means by inspection and he steps into my space until I have to crane my neck to look up to him. “That’s yes sir, or if you’re so inclined, yes Daddy. Most of the girls here call me daddy.”
What’s with all the beastly men in my life calling themselves daddy? When it’s clear he’s not letting me leave until I properly address him I say, “Yes, sir.” Even that sticks in my throat and comes out like I’m spitting.
He raises a brow. “No need to be spiteful, Ms. Dawson. One doesn’t want to be appear ungrateful,” he says snatching me by the hair at the top of my head and lifting me up on my tippy toes, which is saying a lot since I’m in heels. My scalp stings and my head is bent back. All I see are cold, grey eyes. “You aren’t ungrateful, are you, my dear?”
“N-n-no, sir. No, sir,” is all I can choke out, but this time it comes out with the adequate amount of respect he desires. Or maybe it’s my fear that pleases him because I find myself released.
“Good, see to it that you remember that. I’d hate to have to remind you, dear.” He opens the door for me as I stand there, ice filling my veins. “After you,” he says with the kind of smile the cat wears when toying with a mouse. Nickelback’s Something InYour Mouth is blasting from the speakers, but it’s background noise to the buzzing in my head. Women are dancing, serving drinks. There’s a woman wearing nothing but a black g-string and spur bedazzled cowboy boots spinning on the pole like an expert. I see it as if from a distance as I walk on wooden legs to the door.
I think I might pass out and I really wish I had a cigarette. The night’s cool air swirls around me as I push through the doors to
the parking lot. Cowboy Casanova is standing to one side of the door seeming to be heading back inside. He looks me over and says, “Looks like Dom’s gonna work you over good, huh pretty girl?”
I’m momentarily confused, but I realize he’s talking about his boss, soon to be our boss. His name is Dom. I tuck that information away as I just shake my head turning in the direction of my jeep, his laughter echoing behind me as he goes inside. There’s a group of guys heading my way and they make a few remarks that don’t penetrate my haze, but the bouncer on the walkway leading up to the club nods at me. I’m not sure what this means. I take it as “I got your back,” and hope to hell it wasn’t “Yes, you’re about to be gang raped,” as I stumble out to my vehicle.
I don’t have a fancy key fob for my old Renegade and my keys rattle in my hand as I unlock my door and climb in. I turn the ignition and the engine cranks in a sound of grinding gears, then nothing. The lights on my dashboard come on then sputter off. I turn it again, once, twice. Three times.
Great. Just great. I’ve suspected my engine’s been leaking oil for over two weeks now, but I haven’t had the money to get it fixed. Usually I keep extra oil in the back but I’d forgotten to stop by the gas station on my way home because the guys were coming over. Dammit!
Pulling out my phone I scroll through my short list of contacts. A few family members who never answer their phones—and may or may not be in Texas—co-workers from the bar—who I’ve never been friends with outside of work, and would probably kill me for calling them at one-thirty in the morning—Cody…and Hank. I stare at Hank’s highlighted name for a lifetime before I suck it up and hit send.
CHAPTER NINE
HANK
I’m half asleep when my phone rings. Hearing her voice sends panic rushing through me. Hearing her location makes me want to put my fist through a wall, and now I’m wide fucking awake.
A strip club. She’s at a fucking strip club. And not just any strip club. No, she has to be at the strip club owned by the bastard every law agency in America is after. Dom Serino, real name Maxwell Huntington, is wanted for everything from selling flesh on the black market to running drugs. Murder charges…well, there have been a few, but nothing sticks. He’s slippery as fuck and has gotten out of charges every time the law has circled in on him. Mostly because anyone that can testify against him disappears along with any substantial evidence.
Of course she’d have to go to his club.
Pulling into the crowded parking lot of Sugar Daddy’s Gentlemen’s Club, I’m seething. She doesn’t even have the sense to wait inside her jeep. I spot her barely-there skirt first and have to count backwards from twenty before I get out of my vehicle.
Her long legs are on full display, her tiny gold skirt barely hiding her ass. Her slinky little black top is showing off so much midriff I wouldn’t be surprised if one of her tits falls out the bottom and starts playing peekaboo. She’s standing outside her Renegade looking vulnerable as hell. She might as well be holding a “fresh bait” sign. She’s like a victim waiting to happen.
I’ve rescued girls and brought back bodies of girls just like her. Young and carefree until they’re picked up and sold. They were no longer young or carefree by the time we pulled them out of a hellhole in South America and put them on a plane home. They were broken, haunted. More so even than my mother when she was near her end. And here the fuck is Candi…
“Why the hell aren’t you waiting for me inside your car?” I’m not even out of my 4Runner before I’m jumping down her throat. But I have to do something so I don’t ring her neck.
“Well, I—”
“Here’s a better question, you want to tell me why you’re at a strip club in the middle of the night dressed like a cheap whore?”
She wheels back like I’ve slapped her and steels her spine. “I didn’t think looking like an expensive whore would score me much business round here.”
I’ve never wanted to throw a woman over the hood of my car and spank the sass out of her more than I do the second the words are out of her mouth.
“You want to be treated like a whore? Fine. Get in the car.” I grab her arm and drag her over to the passenger side of my 4Runner as she pulls at my grip.
“I’m sorry. Hank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“Too little too late, princess. Get in the car,” I say as I wrench open the door. She crawls in and I barely wait for her to be seated before I’m buckling her seatbelt. It’s then I feel eyes on me. I glance over and that’s all it takes to notice the man in fine black dress clothes staring at us with too much interest.
His body language is casual as he leans up against a front pillar, smoke in one hand, the other leisurely tucked in his pants pocket. His face is hard as fuck and I’m guessing the scar running down his face isn’t from a tree climbing accident when he was a kid. And his stare—his stare is squarely on us.
“Friend of yours?”
Candi shrugs, not meeting my gaze. “He’s my new boss.”
I’m not even touching the implication to that little fucking statement. I’m not supposed to be here drawing attention to myself. I’m supposed to be some dick that has just come home to Texas, under the radar, and here I am on this guy’s doorstep, like a flaming bag of dog doo. And from the way this guy is watching us he’d like to be more than Candi’s new boss. Shit.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth creak like they’re going to break. Part of me wants to haul her out of the car and spank her right here, right now with her ass hanging out the passenger door so the fucker watching us knows who I am. I’m the bastard who owns this girl.
I know it’s primal caveman monkey shit that’s coursing through me right now. It’s the same part of me that has me fisting her hair at the back of her neck and pulling her head back. My mouth is on hers in an instant. Her nails dig into my chest and I’m not sure if she’s pushing me away or pulling me closer. The kiss is as hard and demanding as I’m feeling right now. It’s not a nice kiss. Our teeth scrape and tongues wage a war I’m not about to let her win.
I nip her lip hard and she pulls back against my hold, looking injured. Her twin pools of blue are on me. She’s wearing the same scared and befuddled look she had that first night at the party. And just like that I’m hard as a rock. Cursing under my breath I slam the door so hard I see her jump.
A quick glance as I stomp over to my driver’s side door shows me “her new boss”—whatever the hell that means—grinning from ear to ear as he steps on his cigarette butt and turns to go inside. I have a feeling I just acted exactly how that fucker predicted and it pisses me off. There is something about this girl that gets under my skin.
I’m in the truck driving to a place I know she’s going to hate before I even realize what I’m planning.
“Where are we going?”
I get morbid satisfaction from her concerned tone.
I let my eyes trail over her body, pointedly stopping at her tits and little skirt before looking back at the road and answering. “You want to play big girl games, you’re going to get big girl punishments.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see.” I’m a sadistic fuck because I can practically see her nervous pulse pounding and it cheers me the hell up. I tweak her nose and shoot her a wink before turning my attention back to the road, a huge grin splitting my face, but not before I catch her huff of indignation.
“Hank,” she says pleadingly. “I just want to go home.”
Not going to happen. “You were home. But you clearly decided you wanted to go out tonight.”
“I had to go out. I didn’t have a choice.” By the look on her face I know she regrets saying it the second the words are out of her mouth.
“Really? Do tell.” I pause as if waiting for a reply, but I know I’m not going to get one. “Yeah, that’s what I thought…you know anytime you want to share what the hell is going on with you, I’m all ears.”
I wait for her to say somethin
g, but she’s as quiet as the proverbial church mouse as she sits there wringing her hands together in a way that tells me she’s back to being nervous.
From the second I heard her voice on the other end of my phone tonight, I knew, we both knew she was in trouble. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. My little princess is about to get a punishment she won’t soon forget.
CANDI
Hank is pulling a Jekyll and Hyde and all I can think is I don’t look like a cheap whore. If anything I look like an expensive whore. I know for a fact my going rate is three thousand dollars. Although, I doubt Dom’s offer was for one night. Depending on the hours and length of time he expects me to perform my rate might drop drastically below minimum wage, so I guess that would qualify me as a cheap whore.
Not that I’m going to take up Dom on his offer. A sickening chill sweeps through me recalling his overly minty breath on my face as he bent me back by the hair on top of my head. I fight the urge to reach up and touch the spot. It’s still sore.
I thought Hank was scary but he’s scary in a way I didn’t even know would appeal to me. His smile is unnerving me, and I know whatever he’s planning is on my list of least likely things I would ever voluntarily do, but for some reason I trust him. Dom on the other hand, is scary in a he’ll-slit-my-throat-while-smiling-at-me way.
My gut clenches as I realize I may have unwittingly put Hank in danger by having him come pick me up. He’s now on Dom’s radar, located three degrees from Dylan Dawson, the idiot amateur drug dealer who’s going to get us all killed.
It would have been fine had Hank let me jump in his truck like I’d planned to do. We’d drive away and no one would be the wiser, but Dom had come out to have a cigarette. I’m pretty sure he’d heard that I was still outside and came to see who was going to come get me. That or he just wanted to unnerve me. Which worked.
When I saw Hank pull into the parking lot I’d nearly cried with relief when I should have been high tailing it to his passenger side door and hopping in before he could say “howdy.” Then I could say Hank was my boss from the bar if Dom asked.