Protect Me

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Protect Me Page 2

by Jennifer Culbreth


  By the time the doors had opened the butterflies in Abbi’s stomach had begun to dissipate. She began to feel more comfortable knowing that Judy and Ashley had her back; she had already served a few drinks and managed to not spill anything on anyone. With the music cranked up loud, the nightclub began to fill. Abbi was practically dancing behind the bar. The beat of the music seeping into her muscles and causing her to sway her hips and bounce along to the bass, as she served up drinks that had names she had never even heard of.

  By midnight the party was in full swing. Abbi grabbed the twenty dollar tip off the bar top left by the last customer, as Trent came back behind the bar.

  “I just wanted to make sure you ladies were doing ok.” Trent was practically yelling to be heard over the music.

  Abbi looked over at Judy who was also gyrating along with the music and then to Ashley who was dry humping a Jack Daniels bottle.

  “Yeah I think we are all good for now.” She laughed. You had to love that girl’s enthusiasm.

  “Great, just wanted to give you a heads up that we will have a high up in here in about twenty minutes. Some rapper that reserved two of the private booths and a bartender in the VIP Lounge. Make sure he is well taken care of.” Pausing he looked over at Ashley “Hell maybe send Ashley over to be there to handle their drinks.” He said joining her laugh.

  “Ok, I will let the girls know. Thanks for the heads up.” Abbi replied.

  Abbi made her way over to Ashley who was pouring a drink with the recently fondled whiskey bottle. Damn did she pour her drinks strong. The smell of whiskey floated over to Abbi’s nose. She watched as she splashed just a little bit of coke into the top of the glass. Sitting a lime wedge onto the side of the glass, she slid it across to the customer.

  “Damn girl, I could get drunk from just smelling that.” Abbi said scrunching up her nose.

  “The drunker they get, the better they tip! That’s my motto.”

  Abbi made a mental note as she watched Ashley take a fifty dollar tip and slide it into her back pocket. “Trent said we were going to have some rapper coming in, in a few minutes; said he reserved two of the back booths and a bartender. You wanna take that one?”

  “I think it’s time that you started swimming the breast stroke sister.” She said with an evil grin “I tell you what, how about you take the booths and let’s see who can make the most in tips tonight.”

  “Oh no Ashley, I think you’d probably handle that whole thing better than I could. I can already feel the dry heaves coming on.” She wiped her palms against the small scrap of shorts she had on.

  “I tell you what, if you take it and you beat me at tip out tonight, I will give you my black patent leather peep toes. Manolo Blahnik’s. If that doesn’t turn you on I don’t know what will!”

  “Ahh shit, are we placing bets over here because I think I could beat both of you skanks out. Especially when shoes are at stake” Judy said bumping her hip into Abbi. “Really, you got this girl. Remember it’s the same no matter what bar you’re behind.”

  “Ugh you two are gonna be the death of me.” Abbi put her hands on her hips and leaned over towards the floor. Just a second, to breath, to panic, to cry, she wasn’t sure. She just knew she needed a second.

  “You are such the drama queen!” The two girls giggled as Judy smacked Abbi on the ass. Hard.

  “Ow! Ok ok! I will go.” She stood back up smiling.

  “Oh, hell! Country is coming over to the dark side!” Judy high fived Ashley as Abbi turned to grab a stack of glasses.

  She muscled her way through the back of the crowd. It was hard moving people out of your way politely when you had your hands full, and the music was so loud you could barely hear your own voice coming out of your mouth. She managed to only have to seriously elbow one or two people by the time she made it to the booths. Mentally she made a note to tell Trent that he needed to rope off an area for them to walk in between the bar and the booths in the back. She didn’t want to constantly feel like a battering ram just to be able to get to a different section of the club. Which was still much larger than any place she could have worked in back home. Hell it was bigger than most people’s houses.

  The private area in the back of the club was very luxe. Three white leather couches that wrapped around very modern tables almost glowed in the swirl of the lights from overhead. Set up against black walls, there were very modern abstract art pieces that hung just above the middle seat of the couch. To the left and right of the couches were tall high top tables. Cut outs in the center of the tables held empty black buckets. Hanging above them, crystal chandeliers threw sparkles of light throughout the room. Abbi imagined that it would probably cost quite a bit of money to reserve one of these booths. But there were a lot of people in this city with a lot of money to throw around.

  She chose to set the space up farthest to the back of the private area. Tucked into a small corner was the bartender’s area. A small mini fridge contained an assortment of chilled juices and champagne for the guests to have at their table. Along with small round trays of hors ‘devours. She saw the order come across the touch screen computer sitting on the top of the counter. Let’s see if she could get this thing to work without kicking it like she wanted to do earlier. This whole idea of technology in every aspect of her life and job was new to her. She found the order on the screen and pulled it up successfully. Grey Goose vodka, tonic water, and orange juice. How original.

  She made her way over to the mini fridge filling clear glass containers with the requested beverages. She filled a bucket with ice and carried it along with her to the table; careful not to drop anything with her hands full. She placed the containers and bottles of vodka into the bucket on the table before filling it the rest of the way with ice. She carried over two trays; one with a variety of cheeses and the other with a variety of olives. She made sure the pillows were straightened and that the floors were cleaned before heading back to the counter in the back corner to begin hanging the velvet ropes along the outside of the seating area.

  Just as she finished getting the private area roped off, she could see Trent making his way through the crowd leading what looked to be a dark skinned man, a few scantily clad women with brightly colored dresses on, not to mention heels that she would probably have already fallen in, along with two body guards towards the back booths. So much for hoping this was a nameless wonder, anyone needing bodyguards to go out must be pretty famous.

  Stepping back towards the corner she gave herself the mental pep talk. All right Abbi, you got this. Just walk up to them like you own the place. How on earth did Judy and Ashley talk her into this? As he made his way up to the booths Trent looked at Abbi with a high brow, clearly expecting to see Ashley setting up the tables. His quizzical look turning into a smile before his eyes traveled down towards her legs. She tried her best to push the self-conscious thoughts out of her head as she felt the blush spread across her body.

  “Dirty Deuce this is Abbi, she’ll be your personal bartender for the evening. If you need anything at all just let her know. Enjoy your experience at Mist.” Trent gave Abbi a wink before he turned and headed back into the crowd.

  Fumbling her hand towards the man “Hi, I’m Abbi. Can I get you anything Mr. Deuce, um Deuces, uh, Mr. Dirty?” She tried to keep a straight look on her face, but really, the guy’s name was Dirty Deuce.

  “Girl, where you from?” he acknowledged her as he passed her hand, moving towards the booth towards the back.

  “I am from Georgia originally.” Oh hell here come the butterflies, please don’t let her puke on anyone tonight. So much for being cool, now she was borderline pissed off and more nervous than when she got here this morning. Keep your cool Abbi, keep your cool, the mantra repeated in her head.

  In his best attempt at a southern accent “Well Geor-ge-yuh, you ma’am could get me and my lady friends here a few drinks. That is if you don’t mind… ma’am.” The two ladies on his arms giggled, along with the two smug ass bod
yguards exchanging glances with one another to the side.

  “It would be my pleasure.” Smartass, Abbi gritted her teeth as she made her way closer to the couches, grabbing the bottle of Grey Goose and popping it open. After pouring a few drinks and a few shots, she turned to head back to the bar up front.

  “Wait a minute girl, get over here and take a shot with us.”

  Abbi wasn’t really sure what the protocol was on this, and almost positive that he was just mocking her at this point she walked back over towards the table. God only knows, she honestly didn’t want to offend anyone on her first night. But her southern temper was beginning to build up inside of her.

  “Um, I am sorry sir. I am pretty sure I can’t drink while I am working.”

  “You just let me handle your boss man over there.” He said pointing in the direction Trent had left in, as he pushed the shot glass towards the edge of the table.

  Why the hell did he have to drink vodka? It was like drinking rubbing alcohol, not that she made a habit of that but it sure as hell smelled like it. Let it be Jack or Crown and she would be in without question, but vodka was never her drink of choice.

  Abbi shot him a smug look; ok two can play this game. “I tell you what Mr. Dirty.” She annunciated the name clearly. “I’ll take a shot with you, but ladies choice.”

  “Ah-ight’, pick your poison.”

  “We will be shooting whiskey. I hope you wore your big boy pants.” Abbi could see the smirk on his face as she turned to make her way back to the bar. As she walked out of the velvet ropes she could feel eyes burning into the backs of her legs. Stopping she turned around to meet the dark eyes of one of the body guards, who had a grin on his face that was quickly turning into a laugh. What the hell was his problem? She narrowed her eyes to him. Who knows maybe he thought her tight shorts were cutting off the oxygen to her brain, even she had to admit that she did look like a fool back there. Not that it was any of his concern though. Turning back she marched towards the front bar.

  “Hey Judy I need a bottle of whiskey and some shot glasses!” Abbi yelled over the bar.

  “They done drove you to drinking already haven’t they?”

  “Ha! The rapper is actually pretty cool; his stuck up body guards however, are something else.”

  Chapter Two

  Damn this phone if it didn’t stop ringing. Slamming the weight on his bicep machine down in frustration, Ryan made his way over to the other side of the weight room. Seeing Jace, his number two’s name on the screen, he knew it would be work related; grudgingly he pressed the answer button.

  “Dixon.” Ryan said trying to hold back his frustration.

  “Hey boss man, I just got off the phone with Aaron. Looks like somehow he got double booked tonight. He flew out this morning for a gig down state, but apparently there was a detail here in town with, uh, hold on what was his name? Yeah he goes by Dirty Deuce; some rapper that hired two bodies to escort him to a new nightclub in downtown LA. How do you want me to handle it?”

  Ryan knew off the top of his head that he didn’t have anyone else available for the night. All of his other local agents had been sent out for other personal protection jobs.

  “Call his manager and tell him it’s covered, and emphasize that it won’t happen again.” Not able to hide the irritation in his voice now. “Also text me the address of pick up, and email me his detailed information. Guess I’ll be dusting off my suit. Again.”

  “Ten-four Sir. I will get you the information now.”

  Ryan ended the call and plopped down on the bench. Looking up into the mirrored wall in front of him he wrung the towel through his hands. Damn he was getting too old to be covering for these guys. This was twice in the last month that one of his agents had been double booked. He didn’t mind taking on a job every once in a while, but since he had come out of the sand box called Afghanistan, he preferred the CEO roll of his company more than the hands on one.

  Ryan Dixon had served in the Military for fifteen years, a Silver Star recipient Army Ranger, before an injury while serving a tour overseas forced him into an early retirement. He had taken advantage of the education the government had provided, getting a bachelor’s degree in homeland security and going on to get a Master’s in business. Once he had transitioned into the civilian sector, he uprooted from his home in South Carolina and traveled to Los Angeles in hopes of starting his own company. It hadn’t proved to be an easy task, but taking on a challenge was a part of Ryan’s demeanor. Over the past five years his personal protection services company had taken off, and he now operated a Multi-Million dollar company based out of his Los Angeles office. Though as tonight proved, he didn’t get to where he was without getting his hands dirty.

  When he had first opened his office, they operated in one of the suites of a small office building. His company consisted of a receptionist desk and three offices. Jace had been a longtime friend he had served with overseas, who got out of the military a few years before Ryan. He was who originally turned Ryan on to the idea of a bodyguard service. They both had the security background and Ryan had a very large savings that he had accrued over the years. He threw everything he had into the company and prayed it would pull through in the end. And it had. By chance he was offered a job for a high profile recording artist, when the original security detail that was booked fell through. The rest was history. Their main offices now took up the fifty-fourth floor of a large gray stone skyscraper in the financial district. They also had offices in Miami as well as New York and were now expanding outside of the United States.

  He made his way out of the gym and down the hallway to his bedroom. Throwing the towel in the hamper he heard the ping from his phone that meant he had gotten the information he needed on the client. Starting towards the bathroom, he brought the information up and started reading while he twisted the large copper handle of the shower. Testing the water with one hand as he scanned through the text. This looked like it was going to be a routine night. He would be working with Troy one of his best agents, a former Marine, who approached the job as all business, though at times he had been known to drop a joke. He stood over six feet tall and looked like a brick wall. At times he felt as though Troy was waiting for an attack, nervously scanning the room and always waiting for a few seconds before taking the client any further. Ryan knew how it was though, having spent copious amounts of time in a war zone himself. Some nervous ticks became unrecognized habits and they weren’t anything that anyone wanted to talk about.

  After showering he walked into the closet just outside of the bathroom door. There were two huge walk in closets on either side of the room. Ryan’s closet was neatly hung with a variety of suits mostly in black and grey. His dress and tennis shoes lined shelves that took up the first half of the wall to the right. Then there were drawers set back into the rest of the wall that contained the necessities, and at the end an assortment of ties draped across small metal arms that protruded from the wall. The farthest half of the left wall held drawers filled with his gym clothes. This was a complete difference to the closet that sat empty on the opposite side of his large four poster bed. When he first bought the house Ryan had played around with the idea of turning that additional space into storage for his collection of guns and ammo, though he always found himself pushing it off.

  The master bedroom was spacious. On the wall to the left of the closet there stood a large cedar chest of drawers. Atop it sat an elaborate mirror outlined in scrolling black steel, facing towards the bed and the wall of windows directly across from it. Ryan’s bed was made of the same cedar, with matching side tables. Symmetrically placed lamps sat on top of both. A brown leather chaise lounge tucked back into the corner next to the window. Heavy white canvas curtains with dark metal eyelets draped down each side of the oversized windows, pulled back with thick curtain ties to showcase the stunning view of the LA skyline. Lights from the buildings and traffic from the city twinkled from one end of the window to the other, bouncing off the c
ream colored walls.

  Wandering his way around the closet, Ryan took the towel from his waist and threw it into the hamper. He pulled on some boxers and socks before putting on a plain black t-shirt and then grabbing his body armor. Some agents preferred not to wear it because it made them look bulky, however Ryan didn’t joke around about safety. He had been shot at enough times. Made of a highly durable Kevlar, his vest was very breathable and it was practically invisible under his suit. He chose a solid black dress shirt to go with his charcoal gray suit. Sliding on his black dress shoes and finishing off with a black tie.

  After reading through the detailed information on Reginald Johnson aka Dirty Deuce, originally from Houston Texas, who would probably be in the NBA right now if he hadn’t had a knee injury resulting in the loss of his scholarship, Ryan headed downstairs. He went through the foyer into a hallway on the right leading to the staff quarters and the garage entrance. He grabbed his keys that hung inside a small cabinet to the left of the door leading out. He hopped into his black Toyota 4Runner and headed towards his office to collect Troy.

  After trading in his vehicle for one of the company’s Land Rovers, he met up with Troy and together they went to collect the individuals in their party for the evening. As they walked up to the club Ryan adjusted his earpiece. Scanning the line that drew out of the building and down the block, nothing looked out of place. It all seemed the norm for most of the night scene here in LA.

  “Troy you copy?” Ryan asked, testing his mic.

  “Ten-four Sir.”

  “Cover the rear. I will be up front. The VIP Lounge is in the back of the club.”

  “Roger that.”

  Ryan made his way into the door past the large bouncer dressed in all black. Curse words aimed in his direction from the line of people who had been waiting too long to get into the club. As Ryan made it a few steps into the door he was greeted by a man in a white dress shirt and slacks. Ryan sized him up as the man walked over to him smiling. Pretty Boy.

 

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