by Mia Knight
“I tried, but it didn’t work so …” she said as she knocked on the back door, and Phil opened it, “I need my girls.”
Mickey hesitated, but she dragged him in with her. A group of women in different states of dress chatted idly, but when they caught sight of her, they screamed and rushed to her. Bare breasts, big hair, and perfumed skin suddenly surrounded her.
“What’s up, chickie?” Mercedes, the woman she shared a kiss with on stage, slapped her ass in welcome.
“Boy problems,” she said.
“Well, you came to the right place. Have a seat.” Cherry Bomb settled her on a seat in front of the vanity and scrubbed her face with a makeup wipe. “I’m going to make you look like a million dollars, and then we’ll dance.”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood,” Carmen said.
“We’ll get you in the mood,” she said. “I heard when you were on stage a couple of month’s back, the tips were insane.”
“They were,” Mercedes confirmed. “She’s still got it.”
A petite blonde with large eyes bustled forward. She got the nickname Baby Doll from the customers. It suited her, especially since she had the bubbly personality of a child.
“Hey, Carmen!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands together. “You want to double team a pole?”
“We’ll see, Baby Doll,” she said and cupped one of her bulging breasts. “You went bigger?”
Baby Doll beamed in her iridescent bikini. “Yup! And I got my nipples pierced. I swear, my tips doubled. Good thing too since my husband left. I have to take care of the kids on my own now.”
“You have two?”
“Four. I had twins on the last go.”
“Damn, girl.”
“I know, but I’m making it work. Now, tell me about this asshole.”
Carmen let them fuss over her while Mickey stood in the corner. He should have been ecstatic to be in the dressing room, but he looked tense and worried instead.
The girls decided to give her a goth vibe. One of the girls offered a cheap crucifix with red rhinestones, which she humbly accepted. Baby Doll slapped a Katy Perry blue wig on her head, and Cherry Bomb took care of her face. When the girls backed off so she could examine the results, she had to admit that her new vibe matched her dark mood. She had a heavy smoky eye with a dark lip and fake eyelashes that made her baby blues pop.
While the girls went on stage, she slipped into the club with Mickey at her side. It was busy as usual. The lights flashed, and the women danced as if their lives depended on it. Scantily dressed servers carried food on sizzling platters. Smoke, liquor, and lust permeated the air.
She found an empty table. A server fetched drinks while Mickey stood guard and cock-blocked anyone who tried to approach her. The server brought her a dirty martini and Mickey a bottle of water. She yanked Mickey down beside her since he was blocking her view.
She watched Cherry Bomb, Mercedes, and the others lay it all on the stage. They were on fire tonight. It seemed like a year ago that she writhed on stage without a care in the world. She hoped just walking into the crowd would perk her up, but it wasn’t working. She ordered another martini.
“What happened tonight?” Mickey asked.
“A reality check.”
“Marcus gave me your clutch and told me to get you home.”
“Fuck Marcus.” She watched a man lick Cherry Bomb’s feet. “Know your place,” she muttered in disgust.
She should have broken Khalid’s nose. At least he would bear her mark for a while and be embarrassed when people asked him what happened. Beat up by a whore. Ha! She had to be satisfied with the fact that he would waddle around for a couple of hours while his balls recovered from her hit. Served him right. She hoped every woman he propositioned gave him what he deserved. Marcus didn’t realize how much grief she saved him. If Khalid talked to all women like that, and Pyre Casinos was connected to them, women would flip. She entertained herself by imagining Janice’s reaction to a prick like Khalid.
I like things the way they are. She shifted uncomfortably as an invisible hand used her heart as a stress ball. She thought Marcus was safe, and that a good guy wouldn’t hurt her. Wrong. So fucking wrong. She’d never had the “let’s just be friends” talk with any man. That was her line.
She thought she had something good with him, but he didn’t feel the same … and that stung. Maybe she was just a piece of ass to him. So why the necklace? What kind of man bought a gift like that for a booty call? He gave her mixed signals, but what came out of his mouth was the real deal. He didn’t want to be in a relationship. He wanted to work till he died and never venture out of the desert. Fine.
Would he ask her to get out of the house? She should go on that trip to the beach. Why not? She glanced at her watch. It was midnight. She would arrive in the wee hours of the morning and watch the moonlight reflect on the ocean …
The hard stare from a man sitting several rows in front ruined her fantasy. He was turned in his seat and leering at her. She raised a brow. His eyes flicked to Mickey, and he rose. She tensed and was about to alert Mickey, but he walked out of the club. She shouldn’t have left her gun in the car …
“I need to go to the restroom.” Mickey rose to accompany her. She put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s never a line for the women’s bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
After she did her business, she glanced in the mirror. She was really feeling this goth look with the electric blue hair. Maybe that should be her next hair color. She went red after Marcus because he made her feel vibrant and alive. Now who was she going to remake herself into? What was her next phase?
She exited the bathroom and heard a faint scream that was quickly cut off. For a moment, she wondered if she was hearing things, but the faint echo of men’s raucous laughter sent a chill down her spine. She turned in the opposite direction of the club, walked down a dimly hallway, and turned the corner. In front of the janitor’s closet was a group of men. She could only see their backs because they were all watching something. Her skin prickled. She shoved her way through the crowd and was stopped by two men who grabbed her arms, but she now saw what they were watching.
Baby Doll was on her knees, being brutally mouth fucked by a man in a suit. Carmen registered that the man looked vaguely familiar before she lunged. The men holding her laughed and hauled her back. The rapist noticed the commotion and smiled at her.
“Carmen Pyre. Of course.” He shoved balls deep in Baby Doll’s mouth. She slapped his thighs in protest as she gagged. “Come to join the party?”
It was one of George Wotherton’s sick sons-in-law. She thought of screaming, but there was no way anyone would hear over the pulsing music. Baby Doll gagged, and her vision went red. The fucker pulled out, and Baby Doll puked on herself.
Carmen slammed her stiletto down. The man on her left screeched and released her. She turned to the other man and slammed her fist into his ear with as much force as she could. He howled and staggered back. Another man grabbed her shoulder. She grabbed his thumb and wrenched his wrist, so he folded in the perfect position for her to knee him in the face. He fell on his back, revealing a gun on his belt. She grabbed it and turned on the remaining men who put their hands up. There were no smiles or manly chuckles now.
She turned on Wotherton’s son-in-law who still had his dick out. Baby Doll curled up in a ball at his feet. He stood over like a hunter would over a kill, proud and cocky.
“What are you going to do with that?” he taunted.
She shot him in the leg. He dropped, and one of his men lunged for her, but she turned the gun on him.
“Back off!” she snapped.
“Are you fucking crazy?” The rapist sounded astounded. “Don’t you know who I am?”
Her control fractured. She stomped over to him and kicked him in the thigh over his wound. He screamed and curled into a ball.
“I am so fucking sick of you men telling me who you are!” She kicked him in the middle of his b
ack. He recoiled and tried to grab her foot. She kicked his hand and then ground her stiletto into his fleshy palm. He screamed and tried to dislodge her, but she wasn’t having it. She put all her weight on his hand and crouched so he could see her face. “Do you know who I am? I’m Carmen motherfucking Pyre. You think you’re the only one with money and connections, bitch? Unlike you, I don’t prey on the weak. I try to help people in my city. People like you should be annihilated like the weak pieces of shit that you are.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and turned the gun in that direction. The silent crowd immediately froze.
“You’re making a mistake,” he wheezed.
“I don’t think so. I’d kill your worthless father-in-law if I had the chance,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“When I tell Roman about this, he’ll kill you!”
“I don’t think so.”
“You may be his new fuck toy, but Roman can’t afford to lose allies. He’s drowning in enemies. Besides, you’re just Pyre’s leftovers.”
She placed the gun on his limp penis and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes bulge. “How long do you think you’ll survive if I blow your dick off?”
“He’ll bleed out from his thigh wound first.”
The placid tone cut through her rage. She swung her head around. Behind the rapist’s men was a well-dressed hulk leaning against the wall. He stood mostly in the shadow so she couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t been there when she arrived.
“Blowing his dick off would be like cutting off an ear or finger. Painful, but he’ll survive,” the stranger continued casually.
His mild tone knocked some sense into her. She was about to commit murder in a public place in front of witnesses. She wasn’t Angel, who could kill and get away with it. She tried to rein in her wrath and glanced at Baby Doll who huddled in the corner, her eyes flicking from Carmen to her rapist, to the watching crowd.
“Call the cops,” she said hoarsely.
“What for?” the man in the shadows asked.
“H-he was—” She couldn’t think past the haze. “Just do it! Call the cops.”
“Please don’t,” Baby Doll whispered as she used her soiled bikini top to mop up her face.
“Why?”
“I don’t need any trouble. I just want to go home.”
“Baby Doll, if you don’t press charges—”
“I don’t want to. I want to go home.” Baby Doll’s eyes welled up with tears. “I want my babies.”
Carmen turned back to the asshole who thought he got away with this. He didn’t see the blow coming. She used the butt of the gun and swung with all her might, catching him on the temple. He slumped to the ground.
“That could kill him,” said the man in the shadows.
“I’ll take my fucking chances.” She tried to help Baby Doll to her feet, but the woman backed away as if she were contaminated.
“I’m fine,” Baby Doll whispered.
Carmen held up the gun and the men parted to let Baby Doll pass, leaving her with George Wotherton’s unconscious son-in-law and a handful of witnesses.
“Get him the fuck out of here. If I see any of you in here again, I’ll consider it a challenge to find a creative way to end you,” she said.
The men glanced at each other before they edged forward. They picked up their wounded leader and retreated. She leaned against the wall as she trembled with rage.
“You move very well.”
She tightened her hold on the gun as the stranger spoke. She hadn’t realized he was still here. “What?”
“Your training is obvious.”
She tensed. “How much did you see?”
“Most of it. You’re quite impressive.”
“You watched? Why didn’t you help?” she demanded.
“Looks like you had it in hand.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did.”
“Show’s over. You can run along now.” So she could collapse. God, men fucking sucked. Baby Doll was so sweet. She didn’t deserve that. She needed to talk to Kiki, make sure the girls weren’t left alone when they were on the floor. Maybe they needed a guard over here …
“Do you take jujitsu?”
She turned her head to stare at the stranger. “Seriously?”
“I can’t help but be curious. That was some bloodthirsty rage you dished out.”
“He was forcing her.”
“And you’re a trained bodyguard?”
She let out a rusty laugh. After being put in her place by Marcus and almost screwing Angel, this was the icing on the cake. Beating the hell out of that fucking asshole felt good, but it wasn’t enough. If this guy hadn’t said anything, she would have pulled the trigger. Wotherton’s son-in-law would have been her third kill. She shook with the effort it took to stop from murdering him in cold blood.
“I’m from out of town. I heard this was the best place for action in the city. I don’t think I dressed right for this establishment.”
She glanced at him as he stepped into the light. At a glance, she pegged him as a middle-aged businessman. He wore a black pinstriped suit with his hair slicked back and a neatly trimmed thick beard.
“You’re overdressed,” she agreed.
He shifted in his suit as if it was too tight even though it fit him perfectly. “Some acquaintances of mine dress like this, and I thought I’d try it. It’s not comfortable.”
“You’re not a businessman?”
“No. I don’t know how they wear this every day.”
“What do you normally wear?”
“Much less.”
“You’re a nudist?” This mundane and slightly bizarre conversation was keeping her from losing her shit.
He threw back his head and laughed. She examined him more closely. He had a slick braid down his back. The beard made him appear older than he was. He was probably in his early or mid-thirties, and when one got past his size, he was quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. He could be a basketball player with his height, but his width made him a better fit for rugby or football. When he wiped his eyes, she noticed his black fingernail polish.
“You’re a rock star?”
He grinned. “You could say that.”
“What’s your name?”
“John.”
There was a slight hesitation before he answered, which told her he was lying, but that wasn’t unusual. Most men who frequented clubs lied through their teeth, but she continued anyway.
“What’s your last name?”
Another pause and then, “Smith.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a shit-eating grin spread over his lips. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was amused by his bad improv.
“Really? That’s the best you could come up with?” she asked.
He gave a halfhearted shrug. “Yeah.”
“Why the hell is Pocahontas on your mind in a gentlemen’s club?”
“I have no idea. I heard him call you Pyre. You’re related to Gavin?”
She tightened her grip on the gun. “Who wants to know?”
“I ran into him a few months ago. He left an impression.”
She tried to decipher what that meant. Friend? Enemy? She had no idea.
“Are you Angel Roman’s whore?”
“Excuse me?”
“He called you Angel’s fuck toy, which makes you his whore, right?” When her gun hand shifted he asked, “What else do you call a woman you fuck?”
She glared at him. “Lover, girlfriend, friend, wife.”
“Are you his wife?”
She bared her teeth. “Don’t push me, John.” Then she registered what he said. “You know Angel and Gavin?”
He didn’t look like he was from the underworld. He didn’t have the edge that Gavin and Angel had. He was huge, but he wore fucking nail polish and had the social awkwardness of a geeky weatherman.
“I ran into both of them. I was hoping they frequented
a place like this,” John said.
“Angel has. Gavin doesn’t.”
John nodded. “Right. He’s committed now.”
She relaxed a little. “Yes.”
“I really enjoyed that,” he said and gestured to the blood and puke on the floor. “Very entertaining.”
Before she could come up with a response, a figure turned the corner. She relaxed when she recognized Mickey. He had his gun out, and when he spotted John the behemoth, he raised it. John gave Mickey a friendly grin, which made him blink. John was definitely an odd one.
“That’s my cue,” she said and made sure she gave the giant a wide berth as she joined Mickey. “You have a great night, John.”
“I will. I enjoyed your fight,” he said and gave her a thumbs up.
She stared at him for a moment before she walked down the hallway with Mickey. She stopped in the bathroom to wash the blood off her hands, which were already bruised from beating up Khalid.
“What the hell happened?” Mickey hissed. “I’ve been going crazy, looking for you everywhere.”
“One of the girls was attacked by Wotherton’s son-in-law.”
Mickey cursed. “I saw them carry him out. I was hoping you had nothing to do with it.”
“I need to talk to Kiki.”
An hour later, she left Kiki with four security guards who would stop her from hunting down that worthless SOB. They’d taken away her weapons and extracted a promise from her to check on Baby Doll tomorrow. Fucking rich pricks thought every woman was fair game …
Carmen embraced the slap of cold air as they walked out the back door of the club. It was almost three in the morning. She debated whether to give Angel a heads-up. What if he sided with the Wothertons? She couldn’t handle another disappointment tonight. If Marcus heard about this, he would really think she was uncivilized. She was barbaric, vengeful, savage—all the emotions he was too refined to feel. She clung to anger because it was easier to handle.
“Let’s get you home,” Mickey said as they weaved between the cars.
She glanced at him over the top of a BMW. “I’m driving to California.”
Baby Doll getting mouth raped was the final straw. She needed to get out of town and regroup. She needed the sun, sand, and ocean.