“Over here,” Mitch led Peter past the bar and down a narrow, dimly-lit hallway that led around the back of the bar. Peter might have missed it, but it certainly didn’t escape Mitch’s keen eyes. Maybe Mitch wasn’t as distracted by gorgeous lingerie-clad women as Peter was.
Peter followed his older brother, and the pair tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. If there was one thing that the brothers were good at, it was flying under the radar. Despite their larger size, they excelled at fading into the background, being utterly forgettable. They sauntered down the hallway, strangely its only occupants.
“This has to lead to an office, don’t you think?” Mitch asked.
“I would say so,” Peter agreed. “The lack of other people, patrons, down this way is a good sign of that.”
They turned a corner and came to face two large men standing outside of a closed door. Security, no doubt.
“Can I help you?” one of them growled.
“We’re just looking for the men’s room,” Peter offered.
“This look like a shitter to you?”
Peter bit back a snide retort.
“Thanks for the clarification,” Mitch said. “Where is it?”
“Down by the stage,” the brute pointed back the way the brothers had come.
“Thanks, guy,” Peter flashed a good-natured smile.
“What’s behind that door?” Mitch asked, taking the lead and leaning close to the security guards. “Some kind of special VIP experience?” he raised an eyebrow.
One of the men rolled his eyes, while the other raised his meaty hand to bar Mitch’s advance and answered with a simple “No.”
Not deterred, Peter joined in. “These girls here do anything like that? A little extra side work for tips?”
Neither man responded.
“I mean,” Mitch smiled conspiratorially. “My friend and I sure are enjoying the show. Is there any chance we’d be able to pay to spend some time with any of the ladies?” Mitch looked at Peter, and then back at the guards. “Especially that redhead with the great rack that just got off the stage?”
Peter felt a strong urge to actually strike out and hit Mitch. But he tamped it down. Setting his jaw, he played along with his brother, the letch.
“And I know something else she can get off, am I right, gentlemen?” Mitch finished with a wink. It worked. The men on the door both actually laughed with him.
“No, sorry man,” he answered. “Nothing like that goes on here.”
“That’s a pity,” Peter mumbled as he elbowed Mitch in the arm and walked back down the hallway. When they were out of eyesight of the security men, Peter shot a dangerous glare at his brother. “You’re an asshole.”
“No, I’m working,” Mitch corrected. They stopped and stood inside another dark hallway that branched off from the main. “I don’t know if you missed that while you were ogling a dancer.”
“Don’t bring Erica into this,” Peter warned.
“She’s already in this. I need you to have a level head here. Or are you already too clouded to remain on this case? Should I just send your ass back home?”
Before Peter could respond, they heard the guarded door open at the end of the hallway, chancing a peek, Peter leaned around the corner in time to see Dylan O’Connell leave the room. He was talking to someone and Peter was absolutely stunned to see that it was Erica. She looked unhappy and uncomfortable, but nevertheless, there she was, leaving the office of the man they were investigating. “Well, fuck me,” he whispered.
She started down the hall, her head was lowered, and Peter pulled back quickly. He and Mitch stayed pinned to the wall as Erica passed, not looking up or seeing them. Peter noticed her arms folded across her chest and her stooped shoulders. He knew that there was something wrong with her.
When they knew that she was long gone, Peter consulted his watch. He and Mitch had been gone for about ten minutes and it sounded like the crowd were all taking their seats for the show to continue. “We’d better get back to the table.”
“Yeah,” Mitch agreed. “We’ve got to get those drinks.”
Peter looked down the hallway at the corner where he’d lost sight of Erica. “I’ll meet you back at the table.”
“Right, and stick me with the bill. Where are you going?”
“I’m going after her. It looked like that meeting had her shook up a bit. I’m going to see if she’ll give me anything.” When Mitch raised an eyebrow at him, Peter elaborated. “Any information,” he finished, his expression deadpan.
Peter needed to find Erica, and he wasn’t even sure where she’d gone. He needed to see her, talk to her, and put his hands on her. Mitch was right, this woman was clouding his judgement. He shouldn’t have let his brother’s comments get under his skin. Mitch was only playing a part, trying to glean some information from the men. But the minute he’d brought up Erica, Peter felt his blood boil.
It was inexplicable. Why did he find it so goddamn impossible to focus on the job when he thought of her? Had it been so long since he’d gotten laid that he just latched on to her for that one incredible night? He inhaled and caught a whiff of her already-familiar perfume. Up ahead, he saw a cloud of fire-red hair as she turned the corner. Erica. She didn’t see him; however, as she pulled her coat over her shoulders and walked out a door which led to the alley behind the club.
Peter followed and found Erica standing outside, a few feet from the open door, against the brick wall of the exterior of the club. She was drinking greedily from a water bottle. He watched the delicate muscles in her throat work as she swallowed the water, and all he wanted at that moment was to drag his teeth over her skin.
She didn’t see him as he strolled up to her. “You know, it’s not exactly safe for you to be out here alone in this part of town, especially in that outfit,” he told her, and she jumped, startled. He leaned against the wall next to her. It was true, she wasn’t safe. From the way the streetlight created a rosy halo in her hair to the way droplets of water clung to the glitter on her lips, she was in serious danger. From him.
“So you came,” she smiled seductively, leaning against the wall, facing straight ahead, but he could tell, even in the darkness that her eyes were on him, trying to make it look like she wasn’t scoping him out from the corner of her eye. Cute.
He smiled at her double-entendre. She had a way with words. “Well, I was pretty close there for a second,” he said with a wink.
She smiled. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I did.”
“You know the show’s still going on, right?” she asked him, hooking a thumb over her shoulder toward the building. “There are more performances happening right now, very talented dancers, and you’re missing them.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I saw what I came here to see.”
She turned to him fully, resting her shoulder on the rough brick. “And what did you think?” she asked him, flashing a sultry smile.
Peter looked at her and thought long about his response. Erica’s green eyes were looking right into him.
What did I think?
Peter could have played it cool. Downplayed his arousal, the way she’d turned him on. But he was tired with games, and the lies. He lied for a living, and he’d already lied to Erica ab out so many things. So for once, he went with honesty. He turned to her and leaned in until their faces were so close he could feel her breath. His voice lowered to a whisper. “It felt like you were dancing only for me. And when I was watching you, I was so turned on that I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.”
Her mouth opened, and she looked down briefly. He watched as her breasts rose as she took a deep breath.
“You’re incredible. I could only think about you, your body,” he leaned in so he was only a breath away from her mouth. “Being inside of you again.”
Erica blinked, and her breathing slowed almost immediately. The colour rising on her cheeks, and he grinned, quite pleased that he had that kind of effect o
n her.
Clearing her throat delicately, she flashed him a satisfied grin. Suddenly casual, she asked him “So, how have you been?”
He chuckled at how well she had composed herself. So she wants to play like this, does she? Peter could play indifferent, as well. He straightened. “I’ve been pretty good. You?”
“Same.”
After a couple of beats of silence, he turned his head to look at her. “I’d like to see you again, Erica.”
“You’re seeing me now, Peter.””
“Stop being coy,” he demanded, lust making his voice rougher than he had intended. He quickly softened when he saw her widened eyes. “Let me take you out sometime. Perhaps an actual date? Not just drinks at a bar followed by a night of ridiculously hot sex.”
She laughed and the soft trill flowed over his body.
“Dinner?” He proposed, reaching out to touch her cheek.
She closed her eyes and briefly leaned into his touch. “That sounds great. You can probably guess that I won’t turn down a meal,” she laughed, rubbing a hand over her stomach.
Peter frowned at her self-deprecation. Whether she realized it or not, she was stunning, and he would make her believe it as well. She shifted and the trench coat parted, revealing her round breasts, heaving with each deep breath she took; still covered by the red satin of her corset pulling them together, pushing them up to magnificent effect.
That red corset.
He cleared his throat. He became conscious of the wire that was planted once again at his waistband. He had to focus on the job. He took a deep, ragged breath in an attempt to regain control over his hormones, and pulled his eyes back to watch her face. He couldn’t very well watch her non-verbal cues if he couldn’t keep his eyes off her chest.
“So, do you perform out of this club very often?” He dropped his hand, and stepped back a little. As easily as that, he switched the topic, ignoring the palpable sexual tension between them that bounced and ricocheted off the walls in the narrow alley. It was a tactic that he often used in interrogation, to confuse a perp. Throw them off balance and let them reveal too much. But he didn’t want to think of Erica as a perp.
Erica thought about her answer, furrowing her brow. “Yeah, I guess we do, now that I think about it. We’ve done a bunch of shows here, actually. The owner is a fan of burlesque, so he always gives us a good rate on the facility rental.”
Dylan O’Connell. “The owner. You ever meet him?”
“Yeah, just a couple of times. Irish guy.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. How Peter wished he could take it between his own, and nip her softly until she moaned. “He’s a regular at the café, as well.”
There were more questions to ask her. About the club. About O’Connell. He should have been trying to establish a connection, or a lack thereof between her, Brewed Moon, and O’Connell. But instead, he brought his palm to his forehead, and exhaled roughly. He couldn’t ignore the pounding in his chest, any more than he could the throbbing erection in his jeans.
“Oh, what the hell,” he muttered to himself. He’d gotten his quota of information for the night. I’ve done a good night’s work, he lied to himself. He leaned in and put his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. His mouth crashed on to hers and without waiting for her acquiescence, his tongue pushed past her lips, demanding acceptance. Erica’s desperate moan and the way she clung to his shoulders, made him lose all control. He pushed her back into the rough brick wall, and pressed his midsection against her. But instead of relieving the need, her body against his only made him more desperate. He needed to get closer to her and the barrier of their clothing only provided frustration.
He knew that his team would be listening to their pants and moans later, but he didn’t care. He wanted her too much. With one hand, he reached for his belt, unlooping the leather and unbuttoning his jeans. He needed her right there and then, the wire and the fact that they were in an alley, in public, be damned.
Her own nimble fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and she quickly unbuttoned them as she kissed him with desperation; skimming her fingernails in hot little trails over the skin of his chest that she had exposed.
He was so consumed by her that he barely heard the laughter and conversation of some women nearby. The noise got closer and closer before they realized that two women were fast approaching. They broke apart, straightening, before the two women turned the corner and looked at them curiously, before bursting into giggles yet again.
Peter cleared his throat again to dispel his arousal, in a vain attempt to speak normally. He dragged the back of his hand across his lips, and laughed when he saw the red glitter of her lipstick smeared across it. “So dinner, tomorrow night?”
She nodded.
“I’ve got your number.”
“You gonna call me?”
He nodded. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Alright. I should get back inside. I’ve still got a group number later,” she pushed away from the wall.
Peter was the first to the door and he held it open for her. Despite the fact that he and Erica had been close to doing their own group number against a brick wall in an alley, Peter couldn’t wait to see her perform again. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Peter awoke with a jolt, bolting upright in his bed. He’d had the nightmare again. It had been months since the last one, and he thought he had managed to exorcise the memories of that night. But no, it was as if she were still in the room with him; her screams still rang out and filled his head. Covering his ears with his palms hadn’t silenced them, but he knew nothing would. Peter fought to regain control of his accelerated heartbeat and his breathing, forcing himself to slowly inhale and exhale before he hyperventilated, with hopes of ejecting the scent of blood and death from his nostrils. He shivered and the sheen of cold sweat that covered his body made the sheets cling to him, tangling around his limbs.
With the exception of the yellow lines of light from the streetlamp in the parking lot, which poured in through the slats of the blinds, his bedroom was dark. He knew he was alone in the room, but he could feel her presence as if she were beside him, in his bed, bleeding, suffering, waiting for him to come rescue her, until she took her last breath. He clamped his eyes shut, to picture anything else but her wretched figure. But he couldn’t. He saw her every day, and he would have to live with it. Because she couldn’t. She was dead. Because of him.
Peter checked the bedside clock. 3:03. He sighed, knowing from experience that he would never get back to sleep. He never could after dreaming about her. He extricated himself from the hold of his sweat-dampened sheets, pulled on a t-shirt and some old shorts and grabbed his sneakers. He pulled out his phone and queued-up some hip-hop with a loud, pounding, driving beat and slipped in the earbuds. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well get some exercise, and running was his only option so late at night.
He opened the lobby door of his apartment building and he breathed in the cool, late night air. The fog had cleared and he looked up in the sky and saw that the stars were still visible. With one deep breath, he dragged clean air into his body, filling his lungs, and he took his first stride.
Chapter 8
Erica stretched, reaching down and forward until she placed both palms on the floor in front of her. Not bad, she thought with a smirk. Erica was in the best shape of her life in fact, and she had burlesque to thank for it. For so long she had struggled with her weight and body image while she played the role of the chubby friend. Junk food was her weakness and for a long time she had let her cravings control her life.
Her high school years were difficult as she tried everything to lose weight - fad diets, not eating, smoking. Every terribly unhealthy habit one could develop, she'd done it, and regretted it every time. No matter how hard she tried, she would never lose weight until she actually got healthy and started to love herself. She started hitting the gym regularly and eating a balanced diet of healthy food and only treated herself to her fa
vorite salty and sweet snacks on “cheat days.” Eventually she began to see the extra weight drop off. Her waist slimmed and her arms and legs became more toned as she developed muscle in places she’d never seen it before. She’d felt better and her self-confidence improved when she realized that because of her body type, she would never wear a size two dress and that was completely okay. The way she’d seen it, Erica had had one choice: she had to love the body she was in, and fully embrace her curves.
But Erica’s life changed more than five years previous. She and Layla had seen a poster advertising a burlesque show happening in town, and curious they went to check it out. The dancers represented every body type she’d ever seen – curvy and bodacious, skinny, athletic, and some transgendered performers. They were all so different, but every one of them was beautiful and they shared the stage as confident women who owned their bodies, flaunted the junk in their trunks, and showcased their talents and their assets for everyone in the crowd. Erica was inspired and after the show, she and Layla tracked down the leader of the dance troupe, who told Erica that she had a body made for burlesque. It was the first time that another person had said something so positive about her body. Inspired, they both signed up for classes. Burlesque not only proved to be an excellent way for Erica to stay in shape, she had a blast doing it.
Feeling incredible, Erica finished stretching, she stood and looked around the dance studio. Because the troupe didn’t have a space to call their own, they had to rent out rehearsal and meeting space at a local studio. It wasn’t cheap – most of the proceeds from their shows and many fundraising activities went to studio rental. And it wasn’t easy to coordinate everyone’s schedules, but they did what they could.
It was Erica’s dream to one day open her own dance studio, where she could provide a space for her friends and colleagues to dance. She would charge people a monthly fee and provide time for people to drop in and dance whenever they wanted to. She would also teach classes and provide workshops. She got excited just thinking about the studio, until reality set in, normally at that peak of excitement, when she thought about the money. Or the lack of money, that is. She didn’t have it. Sure, she’d managed to save a small amount from working at the café, but nowhere near the capital she would need to make her dream come true. The offer from Dylan O’Connell would surely help her out financially, even though the man made her skin crawl.
Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1) Page 9