ANightatTheCavern

by Anna Alexander

  Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could pretend that her self-esteem hadn’t taken a major hit. Dear Lord, please let this agony end soon.

  “Sorry about that,” Jorges said from the other side of her desk. “Some people just don’t understand personal space.”

  “It’s none of my business.” She staggered to a stand and held her notepad to her chest like a shield. “Well, anyway, it was nice to see you again, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm that he promptly dropped when she flinched as if his touch caused her pain. “When’s your lunch break? I want to see you again.”

  Acid churned in her belly and her lips quivered. This was one of those Band-Aid moments in life where you were faced with the choice of tortuously peeling away the uncomfortable object a millimeter at a time or ripping it off in one quick, painful tug.

  With her family staring at her from across the room as if she were an episode of bad reality television, she made her decision. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” He turned to follow where her unwilling gaze tracked the progress of the Swedish Bikini twins as they left the store. “Oh. Look, Miranda, I know what that must have looked like. It isn’t what you think, well, mostly, but I swear, I didn’t know one of them was engaged. I—uh—” He growled and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I just…just—”

  “Gave them what they needed,” she finished in a soft voice. “I know. You’re good at that.”

  The tears returned with a vengeance, but she refused to let them fall. “Thank you for checking up on me, and as you can see, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I still think Saturday was the best night of my life. Goodbye, Jorges.”

  Another word and the dam stunting her humiliation would crumble. With her head held high she forced her feet to march away in a strong, smooth rhythm.

  “Who’s that?” Megan asked.

  Miranda didn’t need to glance at her sister to know to whom she was referring.

  “Nobody,” she croaked then cleared her throat. “Now, where were we?”

  Chapter Six

  Nobody. Miranda had called him a nobody.

  Never before had he felt the need to apologize for who he was or how he lived, but with a single tear clinging to her thick mink eyelashes, Miranda had made him feel…dirty.

  No matter how many times he forced his mind to block out the hurt he’d seen on her beautiful face, his chest tightened and his skin crawled with the need to scour his body down to the bone.

  As he walked past the bar of The Cavern, he wondered if the club had always appeared so desperate. It was as if all this time he had been walking around with beer goggles on that made the dark and sad appear mysterious and sexy.

  Only a few days ago The Cavern was like his home, a place where he felt secure enough to be his true self. That was until Miranda saw beyond the clothes and stylish hair to the man beneath the flash.

  During their night together, they had connected on a level of friendship, if friendship was even possible to achieve while being buried deep inside her heat. But companionship had been there on a level he never felt before, even with Amaryllis. In Miranda’s arms he didn’t feel like he was “on”. He was allowed to be a man enjoying a woman who lit up all his buttons. The thought of not experiencing that connection again made him want to hide under the covers and never come out. A reaction so foreign, it scared the shit out of him.

  “Hey, Jorges. Wait up.”

  “This isn’t a good time, Ry,” he called out and kept walking.

  Ryan was a beast to bear even when his company was welcomed. With Miranda understandably assuming it was he who had slept with the cheating bride and her maid of honor when it had actually been Ryan, it took all his willpower not to turn around and punch the fucker in the face. The only thing that stayed his hand was the knowledge that the move was childish.

  When he had introduced those girls to Ryan, neither of them knew one of them was engaged, and of course Jorges didn’t know Miranda was part of his future. Rationally, yes, Ryan wasn’t to blame for his present sour mood, but Jorges could still hold a grudge until he was ready to face the truth and what it meant to truly feel regret.

  “Now is always a good time to have fun.” Ryan caught up with him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Meet my new friends.”

  Jorges turned around and fought a wince as he saw the lanky brunette on Ryan’s left arm and a voluptuous blonde on the right. The girls were dressed for a night of sex, and again the word desperate came to mind.

  It wasn’t his place to judge or condemn them, and it wasn’t their fault they were flirting on the edge of his self-pity, so with a plastic smile he gave them each a curt nod and drew upon his manners. “Good evening, ladies. You look…ravishing tonight.”

  “Svetlana and Isabelle are new in town.” Ryan smiled and drew them closer to his side. “I told them we’d welcome them in style.”

  “Sorry, Ryan. I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “Come on, Jorges.”

  “Ladies.” He took each of their free hands and dropped a gallant kiss onto the back. “I leave you in Ryan’s more than capable hands.”

  A twinge of guilt twisted his gut as he left Ryan to face a fate similar to his.

  When “the girl” walked into Ryan’s life, would he regret sampling so many women? Probably not. If Ryan knew the recriminations running though Jorges’ head, he’d smack him a good one along with a fevered lecture about living for yourself and not others.

  God, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Why was he stressing out so much over this? It wasn’t as if he had purposefully set out to hurt Miranda with his free-wheeling lifestyle. He never knew she existed. But she had been hurt. The pain was in the tremor of her voice and the disappointment that darkened her eyes. In one second he had gone from dream man to drunken mistake, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  The scent of sweat and perfume choked his throat, and if it wasn’t for the promise he had made to Amaryllis, he’d be anyplace but in this den of his misery. However, while he had agreed to watch the club, that didn’t mean he had to be in the club to do so.

  He marched up the staircase, nodding woodenly at the staff and regular clientele who greeted him as he passed. Amaryllis’ apartment on the upper floors had a security room fitted with monitors that scanned over the entire area that was perfect for locking himself away in for the next few days.

  From out of the main playroom a man stumbled into his path. The guy was huge, filling the tight hallway as he doubled over as if in agony.

  “Hey, man. Are you okay?” He rushed to the stranger’s side.

  Quicker than a blink, the man had him by the shirtfront and slammed up against the wall, holding him down with a meaty forearm across his neck. From his back pocket he pulled out a switchblade that slid open with a soft snick and lowered it out of viewing range. Jorges didn’t have to wait long to see where the wicked-looking blade went as the tip pressed into his side.

  “Where is Amaryllis?” the man growled in a voice so rough, Jorges’ vocal cords ached in unwanted sympathy.

  Shit. This must be the guy Amaryllis was running from. No wonder she kept such a tight lip about the potential danger. Wherever she had disappeared to, it must have worked for this asshole to still be looking for her. God, let him be as lucky.

  “Don’t know.” Hey, it was the truth.

  “Where. Is. She.”

  “I don’t know.” Fuck. The arm across his neck dug deeper, cutting of his air and making spots float in his vision.

  The man’s nostrils flared a second before flames erupted up Jorges’ torso as the blade sliced through muscle and the attacker’s black eyes flared with glee like a junky taking a hit of coke. “What do you know?”

  Beads of sweat irritated his skin as droplets fell into his eyes and blood rushed from the wound in a warm stream. If he looked down, he feared he’d s
ee his intestines hanging loose from his body and the thought made his entire being shake.

  Maybe if he gave up a little bit of information, the guy would let him go.

  “She told me an enemy of her father’s may be after her and she was going to lie low. She refused to tell me where she was going so that I couldn’t be used against her.”

  A grunt indicated the information was processed. “Smart girl. Did she leave on her own?”

  Dare he lie? “Yes.”

  The arm tightened. “Who did she go with?”

  Shit. Was this freak a human lie detector? “I don’t know.”

  The psycho lifted the blade and licked at the blood coating the metal with a stare as cold as death. “Do I need to repeat the question?”

  He was going to die. Right here. In the dark. Alone.

  Funny, he thought one’s life flashed before their eyes before they died, but not in his case. Instead of flashbacks from his past, all he saw was Miranda. Her shy smile, her throaty laughter, the way she bit her lip when in thought. To know he was never going to see her again gutted him as surely as the blade.

  No. Damn it! This couldn’t be it for him. For them.

  He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Forgive me, Amaryllis. May your bodyguard be stronger than I.

  “There was a man here the other night. Big. Dark. Like you. She might have gone with him.”

  The pressure against his neck eased a fraction and the man leaned forward until their noses touched. “If I were you, I would do all I could to contact Amaryllis. Tell her that an admirer is looking for her, and if she wants to see her dear friend again, she will meet me here, and bring her protector with her. If she refuses, then I will slaughter every person under this roof. Starting with you.”

  And like that, Jorges was free.

  Shouts rang out as the assailant bounded down the stairs. Jorges pushed his hand against his side, his stomach churning as a warm wetness bathed his palm. His knees gave out and he fell hard to the floor. He refused to look down even as he felt the blood gush from the wound with each heartbeat. No matter what, he had to stay conscious long enough to get a warning to Amaryllis. Footsteps pounded down the hall as security gave chase.

  “Jax,” Jorges cried as a familiar pair of boots ran by, then winced with the strain the small effort caused.

  “Holy shit, Jorges.” The bouncer dropped to one knee by his side. “What happened?”

  “The fucker stabbed me.” He stomach lurched again. “Oh God. Amaryllis.”

  Jax lifted his hand to speak into the mic wired through his cuff. “I need a medic to meet me in sickbay. STAT. Jorges has been knifed. Hang on, buddy. Here we go.” He scooped Jorges up under the legs.

  “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “Yeah?” Jax dropped him on his feet and snorted when he fell against the wall. “Let’s see you walk then, tough guy.”

  “Fuck you.” Whoa. Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick. Jorges stiffened his knees and slid his feet one painful inch at a time toward the sick room where they treated partygoers who had partied too hard.

  Okay, maybe he should have let the big man cart him around in his arms like a pussy, but the last thing he wanted was to draw attention and cause panic throughout the club. Rowdiness was expected. Stabbings were not the norm, even in a crowd as varied and large as the ones they gathered.

  By the time he made it to the first-aid room, his vision blurred and wavered like a drunk pirate’s and the contents of his stomach flirted with his uvula. The moment his shins hit the edge of the cot, he collapsed into a heap on the paper-covered mattress.

  Jasmina ran into the room dressed in all of her Dominatrix finery with two more bouncers on her heels. She headed straight to the sideboard and gathered a pair of gloves and scissors while shouting out orders for bandages that spoke of her experience as an ER doctor.

  “Fuck, Jorges,” she muttered as she cut his shirt open. “Who did you piss off? Move your hands so I can see better.”

  Yeah, and have his insides fall out onto the bed? No way. “Fucker that’s after Amaryllis. Shit. I have to warn her.”

  He risked moving his hand to reach for his phone and barely held back a scream as Jasmina took advantage of the opportunity and exposed his belly to the air. The sight of blood, his blood, covering his hands made the room spin again.

  No man ever wanted to believe himself a pussy, but fuck, he wanted to cry, barf and pass out, in no particular order. If it had only been Jasmina in the room, he might have done just that.

  The phone slipped from his grip and clattered onto the floor. Jasmina kept him pinned to the cot with a firm hand on his chest. “Stay still.”

  “I need my phone.”

  She held her hand out palm up. “Someone hand me some Demerol. The cut’s clean, but I gotta stitch you up. Your injury won’t kill you, unless you keep moving and make it worse. Jax, help me out.”

  “Got it.” He picked up Jorges’ phone with a gloved hand and wiped the plastic down. “Who am I calling?”

  “Under contacts.” Jorges relaxed into the mattress, relived to know death wasn’t kicking at his door and the message was being sent. “Under D. Supposed to be. A friend of Amaryllis’.”

  “Right.”

  “Ow.” He jumped when Jasmina stuck him with a needle. “What was that for?”

  “For the pain and to relax you so I can start sewing. You got lucky, my friend.”

  “Is that what you call this? Ohhhh.” The meds raced through his bloodstream, dulling his senses like mesh over a flower garden.

  “That’s right, take a little nap. Jax, can you get him home?”

  “No,” Jorges slurred. “He has ta warnnn Amr-lllllis,”

  “Done.” Jax slipped the cell into Jorges’ front pocket. “Her friend will get her the message. And I can take him home, Jasmina. Especially if we can take that sweet little Audi of his.”

  “He shouldn’t be alone tonight.” Jasmina tied off the end of the string and made her first suture. “Is there anyone who can stay with you? Anyone we can call?”

  Why did that question stab him in the heart? Almost all the contacts in his phone were business or club related, and the only living thing waiting for him at home were the plants he paid a cleaning service to water once a week. Except for Amaryllis, he had no one.

  As the pain medication sucked him under, he wished Miranda was there with him, cradling his head on her soft lap, stroking her fingers across his cheek as she cooed soothing sentiments in his ears.

  Grasping on to the fantasy, he murmured the words that for the first time made his heart ache as his eyelids grew heavy.

  I’m all alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Miranda twirled the stem of her empty champagne glass between her finger and thumb and watched the small crowd of wedding guests jump around on the dance floor as if they were receiving electric shocks to the feet. Was it the clothes or the venue that inspired so many people to dance as poorly as possible? Hmmm.

  Well, it wasn’t the music. No, the deejay was good, spinning tracks that reminded her of The Cavern. In the club the dancers absorbed the music into their soul, moving and pulsing as one with the beat as if dancing with a lover.

  Like Jorges had danced with her.

  God. A week later and the mere thought of him still had the power to make her so wet, she feared soaking through her clothes. It wasn’t fair, especially since he was probably at the club, right that very moment, sampling the flavor of the week. She had to stop thinking about him before she did something stupid, like run over there and beg for any scrap of his attention. How pathetic did that make her?

  “Have I told you how pathetic I think you are?” Roxanne flopped onto the banquet chair next to her, righting her glass before sloshing champagne over her blue silk dress.

  Was she psychic? “Several times already.”

  “This unbelievably gorgeous man asks you out, and you turn him down. Why? Why I ask? I’ll tell you why. Becaus
e you’re a chickenshit.”

  Yes. Yes she was.

  “Roxanne, you don’t get it. I’m not— I’m not—” She couldn’t even say it to herself.

  “What? Them?” She gestured to the other bridesmaids who were clustered around the groomsmen or admiring their reflections in the silverware. “A fantastic-plastic? Geez, Miranda, you’re so much more interesting than they are. You’re like Lara Croft to their Barbie. And we all know the boys jack off to Lara more.”

  “That’s a lovely image.”

  “But true. Seriously, girl, you need to see that man again. He must have had magic sperm or something because you have been glowing. I mean, you’ve always been pretty, but ever since last weekend there’s this light shining inside you, even though you’ve been moping around. How can you walk away from that? I’m telling you. Pathetic.” She paused in her rant to take a sip of champagne. “How big did you say his cock was?”

  “I didn’t.” It was impossible to suppress a grin, but she tried her damnedest. “And I’m not going to.”

  “You suck. I love you, but you suck.”

  “I love you too.”

  Miranda mentally counted to five, knowing Roxanne was not going to let the subject matter drop. When her friend opened her mouth to launch another argument, Miranda cut her off. “Hey, you know what would be great? Let’s ask the deejay if you can sing a song. I’ve got a twenty burning a hole in my pocket.”

  Roxanne crossed her arms under her breasts. “Now that’s just mean.”

  Miranda smiled and arched a brow.

  “Fine. I will stop calling you names.”

  “And?”

  “Stop talking about the hottest guy I have ever seen in my life. Gah, even his name is sexy. Jorges. Joooorgees. But you know,” she leaned closer, “I’m only picking on you out of extreme jealousy that you had your mouth all over him.”