Dark Cherries

by Eve Bradley

  “Penny Windsor, Gentlemen!” Shawn pushes me forward with a cool cut smile gilding his features.

  Their eyes hover on me. On my breasts, my belly, my legs, and finally, my face. The pressure of their black eyes nearly makes me nauseous. I don’t think I’ve ever had to plaster such a fake smile onto my lips, but I do it, trying to look genuine. I am Penny. I am Penny. Don’t fuck this up, Allie.

  “These are the Young Brothers,” Shawn extends an arm towards them, his other holding onto the curve of my lower back.

  His gentle touch calms me, which seems strange since I’d only met the man last night.

  “This is James,” Shawn motions to the thicker man, and then, “This is Daniel,” to the thinner.

  “So nice to meet you!” I say, pretending to be just fucking delighted.

  James reaches for my hand with an utterly devoid expression, and I offer it to him. He kisses my knuckles, and I resist the urge to pull back. It feels like he’s tonguing my fingers.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Windsor. Were your travels comfortable enough?” James asks me, peering into my eyes with a dead-man’s stare.

  “Y-yes. Oh yes. So wonderful, truly,” I market my thankfulness for comfort a little too much, but I’m trying to remember where I came from. Some rich place- New York! Penny just recently arrived? So it would seem. Apparently I have some catching up to do.

  Shawn goes out of my sight for a minute and I’m left standing in front of this bulky barbarian bastard. What kind of business is he in? I want to ask him how he got his scars, but I’m afraid he might go all joker on me. And yikes, no one wants that.

  “Good. It makes me happy to hear that Shawn takes care of his special ladies,” he says. “It’s a sign of good character.”

  “Oh, Shawn is amazing,” I say as if it’s obvious. “Yeah, yeah. He treats me like a…Princess.”

  Oof. Allie stop.

  “A man’s got to give his lady what she wants,” James winks a glossy eye and then turns back to his gathering. “Ain't that right, gents?”

  “Exactly what the lady wants,” Daniel, the brother, nods in agreement. “Funny how every woman has different things that…excite her.”

  “Different tastes,” James leans towards me and I smell the thick stink of alcohol on his breath. “If you know what I mean.”

  I feign a small smile and swivel to search for where Shawn went. But I don’t see him. I do find Alexi at the edge of the dancers. He’s blending in quite well. I almost don’t notice him, but he sticks out just enough because he’s not moving. He’s watching us, and my stomach sloshes with fear. I don’t know why, but the fact that he’s watching me sends icy slivers under my skin. Shawn said that tonight could be dangerous. Now I know…these Young Brothers are the danger.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I need to get a drink in my hand,” I giggle stupidly and stumble off towards where I think the bar should be.

  James lays a hand on my arm and I lurch away from him.

  “I was going to say, I look forward to speaking with you in detail later on.”

  I’m nodding frantically as if, I too, am excited for this. God I hate this so much. I hate men. But the worst part? It’s that James reminds me all too well of my stepdad. The sly sociopathic look, the dominating confidence…it all sends me back. And this is not something I can handle.

  “Here,” James stops me again with a loud voice. “My guy Rhett will escort you.”

  Rhett lifts off the black booth and jumps to a stand. His dark hair is swooped neatly still, just like it had been earlier. I want to run my fingers through the perfect waves. Now he wears ripped jeans and a black jacket. I’m not sure how he can pull off such a messy look so perfectly, but he can.

  “Hello. Penny Windsor,” I say, sticking my hand out.

  “Rhett Clark,” he introduces himself slickly, pumps my hand once, and shifts towards the glowing bar. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  I can feel the Young Brothers’ eyes on us. I try to breathe, I really do. Is Rhett with them? Does Shawn know? He has to know. I don’t take Shawn for someone who wouldn’t have orchestrated everything perfectly. But if the Young brothers are dangerous, why is Rhett posted up like their best bud?

  As we make our way to the bar, it shines with glow-in-the-dark lights. The counters are also laid out with the same illuminated domino pieces. We sit right in front of the tender. I let out the breath that had been building and burning in my chest.

  “What do you want?” Rhett bellows over the din.

  “Um,” I shrug, but then it comes to me. “A margarita!”

  Rhett frowns and shakes his head.

  “Martini, dry,” he orders. “And a Negroni for me.”

  “Ooh. Fancy,” I say, but he doesn’t smile.

  Well okay, Mr. Sour pants.

  “You clean up well,” he comments and then leans back against the bar, looking out at the group of men who keep flashing glances over at us. “You look a little miserable, but, hey. That can be fixed.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I tell him, a bristle of irritation running through me. “I’m just trying to make it through the night.”

  The bartender slides us our full frosty glasses and I grab mine quickly as if I’m parched.

  “This should help,” he looks down and hides a smile. “If you can keep it down.”

  “Is that a challenge I hear?” I tilt my head to study him, my lips parted as I tip the glass and start the flow of burning bitter alcohol down my throat. “Mm. The olives don’t do much for me.” I let the last of it tumble into my mouth.

  “Don’t be hasty, honey. You got all night,” he finally cracks and snickers a little.

  I slam my drink down and wave at the bartender whose brows raise in mild shock as he comes back to get me my refill.

  “I’m not your honey,” I smirk shrewdly. “But I am going to kick the miserable. Want to dance?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he slips me a thin smile. I notice his angular jawline when his head is tilted. It’s covered in dark stubble that looks like it would tickle my skin, and a ripple of unstable attraction cuts through me. He’s the kind of man who would wreck me, I think. My boyfriends were all assholes and players. Rhett reminds me of the type of guy that would give me butterflies then shred them when I find out later that he already has a girl.

  But I’m not getting attached. Not to any of them. They’re hot as hell, but the flames won’t melt me because I’m leaving as soon as the cash is in my hand.

  “Fine. I’ll find someone else,” I shrug as if it doesn’t matter.

  The bartender makes quick work of handing me another drink, and I down it as promptly as the first. Two drinks in me and I start feeling good, my inhibitions sliding down to my ankles. I sway with the music as we sit there together, but Rhett doesn’t look at me much.

  “So what’s your story?” I ask him, leaning a bit too close just to be sure he hears me. “What do you do?”

  “I do a lot of different things. I’m an entrepreneur,” he says. When he leans near me, I smell a woodsy fresh, polished cologne. “I deal in art, music, stocks…booze,” he gestures and glances at me to see if I’m interested.

  Oh, and I am. I’m very interested in everything these men say they do. At least Rhett gives me specific examples. Alexi was more than vague.

  “Like, you sell it? Or?” I ask, polishing off my second drink.

  “Sell it. Buy it. Trade it. Host auctions. My goal is to make money. I find buyers for a lot of different things,” he says. “It’s an easy job and the cash rolls in. I can drink and smoke everyday. It’s good.”

  “Every day?” I laugh a little too wildly, laying a hand on the black sleeve that is shielding his tanned bicep. “Ooh. I like the sound of that.”

  “Do you?” his eyes shift towards me again, and his smirk is damning to my stomach. “I didn’t think a little girl like you would have such an appetite for these things.”

 
“Are you kidding?” I giggle, slapping my hand down on his arm again and then pick up my third drink. “That’s how I handled everyday life on the streets. Fuck…you have no idea. I got my goods from so many stupid bastards. It’s sad…really…I mean, I don’t feel bad. But I guess I do a little. I knew men who, the second they got cash, they’d buy a bottle. Because I’m a girl they’d give me some. And no, before you think something weird…I didn’t fuck them.”

  Rhett’s brows raise a hair with each word I say and by the end, I feel like I’ve just vomited too much info.

  “Go ahead and judge, I don’t care,” I say and then lean back on the stool. I remind myself to cross my legs. This tiny dress is hard to get used to and the drafts remind me that there are lingering eyes upon me.

  “No. We all do what we have to do.”

  His words are perplexing. I guessed he’d be lounging back hating me and being disgusted. My skin tingles when he says it and I cross my arms.

  “If you think for one second that you’re the only one in this room who has done something stupid just to survive, you’d be really fucking self-centered,” he tells me and then twists himself around so that his elbows are resting on the bar. He fingers his glass, swirling the liquid around and then takes another long drink.

  “What would you know?” I laugh hatefully and slam down what remains of my drink.

  Stop, Allie. Just stop. It doesn’t matter. But doesn’t it? Because it really feels like it does.

  “I like to think I can relate to everyone. I think when it comes down to it, people aren’t as different or as alone as they like to think,” his voice is dry, but potent with meaning. “Another.”

  He fixes the last statement at the bartender, who’s giving him his, I think, fifth drink. Damn, the man can hold his liquor. So, not being a pussy, I raise my finger for one more as well.

  At least now I’ll be sufficiently drunk. Exactly how I like it.

  “You make me sound like I want to be alone,” I respond, words blending together.

  “When we’re lonely, we don’t have to be accountable to anyone. There’s freedom in being alone. But it’s also the worst state to be in. Come on, little miss. You’re not as stupid as you’re putting on. This is all a show. But right now, between you and me? You know I’m right. So…what’s your reason? Why do you want to be alone?”

  “Lonely is safe,” I snort out, grinding my nails into my palms.

  He doesn’t know me. Who does he think he is? Some asshole art dealer? Some player hanging with dangerous dudes in leather and scars? He’s nothing. He’s not my therapist. Fucking lunatic drinking too much spouting off some philosophical shit. Nope.

  “So what do you want to be safe from?” he drawls and I can tell the alcohol is hitting him too. It’s in the way his movements have now slowed a bit and how he leans a little bit closer to me, his dark chocolate eyes locking my own into an unavoidable connection.

  I tear my gaze away, out at the mass of dancing bodies and smile. I really smile. I grin. But it’s an “I hate you” grin. So, I hope he doesn’t think he’s charming me in any way shape or form. Because that would be a disaster on my end.

  “Tell you what. Let’s go dance,” he chuckles and grabs for my hand. “Give me your refined answer later.”

  “Yes! Please lord. God,” I jerk forward and he’s unprepared for me running and slipping towards the dance floor.

  The music is a fast and seductive, rhythmic pressure in my ears, and I begin to move and wave to Rhett, who stands on the outer edge of people.

  I’m dancing the only way I know how. I call it: salsa-loha. Because I just sway my hips and move my arms in whatever feels sexy. My younger sister and I would watch music videos for hours and try to copy the girls. I think more than anything, the best part of dancing is letting the music flow through you.

  I coax Rhett towards me with a “come-hither” finger, and he chuckles and then finds his way into the crowd. He’s tall, and I have his entire height at my back, no buffer between our bodies. We’re pressed awkwardly close. I shut my eyes to lose myself.

  I smell sweat and perfume. It’s an aromatic paradox, and I’m in such a haze I can almost forget that there’s a band of creepy-ass men waiting for me. My body is jiving up against Rhett’s, and the closeness-- my ass bumping against his legs and crotch-- is like something you know you shouldn’t be doing, but it feels too good to stop. The alcohol thuds in my veins and everything looks and feels like this is all some darkly enticing dream.

  Rhett turns me around and we dance like we couldn’t care less. I start laughing when he does a fancy little spin move and wobbles back towards me. I take this as his attempt to show off. Either that or I’m so drunk I believe shitty dance moves are expert. I’m doubled over in laughter, clinging to his arm. He holds me upright, and the warmth of his body triggers hot sensations to gather in my belly, and I shift my gaze to his. I don’t know why but I think I see pain there, written in the deeply shaded chocolate of his irises.

  But, over his shoulder, something catches my eye. It’s Shawn. He’s standing at the edge of the dancers with a bitter bemusement twisting his lips; like he owns me and him standing there is an order for me to come back to him.

  I can’t ignore him, so I stumble out of the swarm of dancers and amble towards him. I’m parted from the heat of Rhett’s inviting body and I arrive into cooler air, or maybe that’s just Shawn’s aura. He’s an ice prince with his frosty gaze and unyielding stance, and I look down at the floor. Did I fuck up somehow?

  “Where were you?” I whisper angrily.

  “Grabbing a few more girls. The second I saw them look at you I knew we’d need more distraction.”

  I raise my brows and then resign myself to silence.

  He takes me back to the giant curving black booth, and as Shawn said, there are now three beautiful, saucy ladies decorating the Young brothers’ arms. Shawn allows me to slide into the booth first so that I’m uncomfortably close to James. He doesn’t smell particularly bad, perhaps like cigars and brandy, but not as nauseating as I’d assumed. His beady black eyes pan over me, and I give him a brazen smile.

  I’m not as afraid as I was before. I have a good amount of alcohol in my veins and I don’t anticipate I’ll have to do much. Shawn will speak for me, as he’d said before.

  “How are you liking California, Penny?” he asks me, and I reach towards yet another drink as a bartender offers them in passing. I grip the stem of the martini and try to look mysterious.

  “It’s warm,” I say, looking off admiringly into the sea of dancers. “I’m not used to so much sun.”

  It’s true. When I arrived here in Cali after hitchhiking across the country, it took me a while to get used to the heat.

  “It’s the perfect excuse for women to dress in tiny bikinis, shorts, or my personal favorite, tiny dresses. I always say it’s a man’s paradise,” he leans forward, and a wheezing laugh laced with spittle hits me in the face.

  “How’d you and Shawn meet? He hasn’t regaled me of these tales and I must admit I’m very curious,” James says with a critical glint to his tone.

  My sight flashes to Shawn, and I begin to laugh.

  “Oh,” I continue to giggle. “That story is a great one.”

  “Do tell,” he says.

  “Penny didn’t like me at first,” Shawn starts to intervene, but James glares at him.

  “I asked the lady.” The tone is virulent and yet, calm. He’s trying to maintain peace, but I can tell he’s searching for something. I just don’t know what.

  “We met at a rooftop igloo bar,” I reveal to him, jumping for the first plausible thing that comes to mind. “It was Christmas, and my friends and I were out celebrating. There was a guy there that was being a complete ass…Shawn intervened, and the rest was history,” I tell him. “I don’t know…I think there’s something about a man that likes to protect women. I’m a sucker for them…”

  There’s a round of “awws” from the women a
t the table, and I give Shawn a fake coy slide of my eyes. James nods appreciatively. Shawn moves his thigh against mine, and his sharply sensual expression makes my female parts tremble. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I can’t turn off my biological reactions.

  “Honey!” one of the ladies slams her hand on the table. “Show him how much you appreciate him! Do you know how many women have tried to snatch him up?”

  I chuckle through an awkward cough and glance at Shawn again. He seems more than fucking amused.

  “She’s right, you know,” James whispers in my ear. “It takes a special woman to catch Mr. Van Doren’s eye. I’m curious, since you’re obviously a rarity, what have you done differently? What’s so special about you that my business partner desires you above all the other women in this club?”

  I gather up every ounce of flouncy dumb-blonde attitude I have and roll my eyes.

  “I have no idea,” I tell him. “But if I was aware of what I was doing, doesn’t that mean I’d be tricking him into liking me? Wouldn’t that make me a fake?”

  My heart is in my throat, and I can tell Shawn is trying to hear our private whispers because he’s leaning into me as if he would melt into my skin. His closeness is intoxicating, and I wish I could push him away. I don’t need to be plagued with arousal, especially not while I’m trying to maintain a serious conversation with drink clouding my head.

  “I guess that depends,” James sighs and sits back. “Are you?”

  I giggle again. Supidly. Foolishly. Excessively.

  “Mr. Young, I appreciate that you think I’m so unique. Honestly, I’m flattered that Shawn brought me out tonight. We’ve spent a lot of time in bed…I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to introduce me to all of his friends,” I smile gleefully and tweak the man’s lapel. “But if I’m honest…I have no idea why he wants me.”

  James seems intrigued, but I can’t be certain.

  “Then how do you plan to keep him, sweetheart? Men like him get bored easily,” he sniffs and takes a long sip of his caramel-colored drink.

  “Oh, no!” I say playfully. “Do you have any advice for me?”