by Nora Flite
I followed her eyes and spotted the he she meant. Costello was a sentinel, straight and solid where he hovered in the shadows beside the Deep Shots. I’d missed him initially because he’d been so still.
When his eyes flicked up, finding mine, I spun around and knocked a serving tray off the counter. “Ah—dammit,” I mumbled. Gina handed it to me before I could kneel and grab it. I had no clue how she moved so fast in heels taller than most beer kegs.
Her long, painted nails came my way, patting my forearm. “Poor thing! Did he scare you that badly?” Her gesture was sweet. It flustered me even more.
“Something like that.” Trying to explain would have been a wasted effort; I wasn’t sure what had happened in that dressing room myself.
Standing straight, Gina adjusted her silver bikini. It did little to hide her overflowing breasts, which we both knew the customers adored. “Anyway, I’m heading over there.”
“What, there?” I blurted, trying to look at the group of dangerous men without being obvious. “Why there?”
Her forehead creased. “It’s where the men are? Men who have this thing called money? You should consider getting some, it’s good for buying things.”
Clutching my tray, I whispered, “I get the impression those guys have more on their minds than boobs.”
Gina laughed loudly, doubling over. “Are they alive? Then they’ve got boobs on their minds.” Her blue eyes became gentle ponds. “Scotch, honey, baby doll, listen to me. Tonight is going to be great.” She gave me a dorky thumbs-up. “Forget about being groped earlier. Besides, he was pretty professional. It was over in a blink.”
Professional? Again I looked across the room at Costello. That’s the last word I’d use to describe how he was with me.
Thorne had joined his brother, and from a distance I found myself comparing the two.
No one would doubt the men were family, but they had plenty of contrasting features: frosty blue eyes versus dark inky pools, sun-kissed hair beside deep mountain coal, and that jagged scar next to the other’s laughing, unblemished face.
I wondered how he’d gotten it.
And how it might feel as I traced my fingers over it.
Hawthorne said something, clapping one of the Deep Shots on the shoulder while chuckling. The man was like a cattail waving without care in the wind, but Costello . . .
Costello was the wind.
It would sound insane if I said it out loud, but it was true. The man shifted and the world moved because of him. He was mostly subtle, a winter breeze, but I had no doubt he could become a storm if needed.
Or a tropical monsoon, I mused, helplessly recalling how he’d made me sweat. All he’d been doing was searching me, and even so he’d created a pull between us in just a few short seconds.
Gina approached the group with her hips swinging. The men cheered at the sight of her; she did a little twirl, draping herself across someone wearing a well-fitted navy-blue suit. She could smell money.
My fingers curled at my sides. I was doing my best not to reach out and stop her. But like my inaction was a high beam, Thorne spotted me by the bar. Not one of the Deep Shots had a free hand—every hand was either on a girl’s ass or gripping a beer—but he still waved me over.
I hesitated. This wasn’t about Costello; the tickle going up my spine to my neck hairs was warning me about these men. Mr. Blue Suit was whispering in Gina’s ear, but he was also sending looks my way.
Thorne’s knitted brow said, Get your ass over here and do your damn job.
He wasn’t my favorite tonight, that was for sure.
Bending over the bar, I started stacking my tray with random beers and a bottle or two of high-end whiskey. The bartender—Cindy, she went by tonight, but she’d been switching out name tags for a week now—glanced at me. “Wait, shouldn’t you take their orders first?”
Shouldering the heavy tray, I grinned. “Even if they wanted something else, they won’t care once I show up. If it burns going down, they’ll drink it.”
She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. I grabbed on to her amusement, using it to relax the tiny voice that kept screaming in my brain, Stay the fuck away from these guys!
My eyes tracked over to Gina. I’d followed her here when she’d decided to audition years ago; what kind of friend would I be if I left her alone with the very people my intuition was warning me about?
No. I wasn’t the type to abandon anyone.
Plus . . . maybe my gut was wrong.
It’d never been before.
But maybe.
“Hey, boys!” I chirped, stepping over the ropes and setting the tray of drinks down on the table in the middle of the group. “Looks like you could use some more liquid fun!”
“Finally,” Thorne growled in my ear. I ignored him and kept my smile solid.
“Oh-ho,” Blue Suit purred, sitting forward so suddenly he knocked Gina off him. She recovered, perching on the couch and pretending it hadn’t happened. “And who’s this pretty thing?”
My smile twitched. Thing? Nope. “Here you go.” I nudged the tray closer. “If you need anything else, just—”
The man snatched my wrist, keeping me where I was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Costello’s jaw tighten. Blue Suit kept on grinning, saying, “I asked who you were, sweet cheeks. I’m guessing you don’t know who I am, or you’d have answered.”
All eyes were on us. Gina was giving me her “Say the word, I’ll step in” stare. Patiently I smiled down at the guy holding me. My knees locked so he couldn’t yank me into his lap, like I suspected he was planning to. “Scotch. I’m Scotch. Now, you boys drink up and—”
He cut me off again. “I’m Darien. And I’m buying you for the night.”
Acid swam over my tongue, but I tried to keep it out of my voice. “Sorry. I’m not a dancer. One of these other girls would love to spend time with you, though.” I was positive they would, too. Now that I was closer, I could see those weren’t ones, but tens and twenties stuffed into the dancer’s thong. Darien was generous.
And an asshole.
He tightened his hold on me. “I want to play with you. Get it?”
That fucking tickle in my brain became a hammer. Bracing myself, I decided I was done being polite. He wanted to play? Fine. I had a favorite game called kick the dick in.
Costello’s shadow fell over us both. His voice was low and dark, and it went into my bones. “She isn’t for sale.”
Darien grimaced; the other men shifted uneasily. “Excuse me?”
Costello grabbed my shoulder, staring down at my captor; he could win a staring contest with a statue. Where Darien’s hand was a sucking whirlpool, his was a solid safety line. “She’s not here to entertain you.”
Static crackled between them. Thorne stepped forward, the bottle of whiskey from the tray in one hand, shot glasses in the other. “Why the fuck are we talking?” he asked. “Drinks are on me! Suck it down before I start charging, this shit is worth thirty bucks a shot!”
A guy with a red fauxhawk snatched a glass, bellowing, “To future good times!”
Someone else cried, “Deep Shots forever!”
“Tits forever!” Gina countered, jostling her own. That brought out more cheers.
Darien was a foot away from me. He wasn’t blinking or breathing, just looking deep into my eyes—maybe waiting for me to crack. I knew his kind, the sort used to getting their way. Between my own stubbornness and Costello’s blunt support, Darien wasn’t going to win.
I just kept smiling, especially when he let his hand drift away.
Costello’s fingers dug in—a silent way of saying I’d done a good job. That I was a badass. Or maybe I was reading too much into his presence. Either way, Gina had been right. Tonight was going to be great.
Then Darien turned his cool green eyes toward my best friend.
And my smile drifted away.
- CHAPTER THREE -
SCOTCH
Fifteen minutes had passed since G
ina had tugged Darien into the champagne room.
It wasn’t so much a room as a curtained-off booth on the upper level. If you looked straight up in the club, past the metal stripper pole extending from the bottom stage to the ceiling, you could kind of see it through the railings. Kind of.
I stared intently, wishing I’d suddenly gain X-ray vision so I could know what was going on in there.
“Are you okay?” Costello asked.
I gave him a quick glance. The couches had been abandoned; the men were all getting lap dances in various alcoves. Thorne was sitting at the bar; I saw him with his head close to a big, beefy member of the Deep Shots—Rush, I think someone had called him.
“Why aren’t you over there?” I asked, nodding at his brother. “Looks like important business talk.” What is Darien doing with Gina?
Costello didn’t turn away from me. That had me fidgeting, and if I wasn’t so worried about my friend, I would have enjoyed it. “I’m not missing anything,” he said.
My nod was slow. “So the important stuff isn’t being discussed yet.” His shoulders squared at my observation. “Celebrate first, then hash out the details later. Smart.”
Costello let his attention roam up to the champagne room above. “You’re worried about her.”
“No,” I said on impulse. “Okay. Slightly. I just get a bad feeling from that guy.”
He folded his arms; I saw them bulge through his leather jacket, the front of his shirt straining where the parted zipper didn’t hide it. Besides the scar that ran from his right eyebrow to his nose, was there anything imperfect about this man? “The guy has a bad attitude, that doesn’t make him a threat.”
“It’s just a feeling.” I rocked in place; my eyeballs were starting to throb like my sore legs. “Maybe you could assure me that I have no reason to worry about Darien.”
“I don’t know that man.”
My stomach shrank. “But you invited him here.” I waved at the couches, at the men getting lap dances in the corners. “Him and the other Deep Shots. I can’t imagine your family would do that without knowing who they were letting in!”
He was moving his head from side to side. “You’re presuming a lot about what me or my family has planned.”
I wasn’t sure if I should reveal the obvious, that there was clearly some kind of truce or working relationship forming between the Badds and the Deep Shots. I wasn’t stupid, but letting Costello think otherwise was probably better.
But I did need to know one thing. Carefully, I asked, “You really don’t know anything about Darien?”
His attention flashed upstairs. “Tonight was the first time I’d met him.”
My mind became a laser, cutting with pinpoint accuracy until all I could think about was how someone with an aura of danger was a mystery to me and Costello Badd.
Darien was an asshole.
What if he was something even worse?
“What are you doing?” Costello asked behind me. I didn’t answer. I kept going, climbing the stairs to the upper level one by one and finally two by two as the landing grew near. Something was wrong and I knew it.
And if not, I rationalized through my hot anxiety, I’ll just pretend I was going to ask if they needed some drinks in there. Yeah. That was a good lie that didn’t make me seem like a crazy person.
Marching toward the thick red curtain of the champagne room, I noted that the security guard who was supposed to keep an eye on this area wasn’t around. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to pay extra for the illusion of privacy.
I ran the rest of the way to the room. “Gina?” I asked, tapping the booth’s wooden side. No answer. Straining to listen, I heard rustling, then the heavy breathing of two people—no. Just one person. The other noise was the pitiful wheeze of someone struggling for air.
Throwing the curtain back, I stared down at a sight that made my insides twist like a sponge being drained of water. Darien was sitting on the large stuffed couch. His shirt was open; all his muscles writhed as they worked to keep Gina trapped on his lap with her face between his thighs.
She was turning a shade of purple that skin should never be.
The laser in my skull exploded. Everything blended red. Darien gawked at me, his eyes bulging with fury. Sweat stained his throat from the exertion of smothering my friend on his crotch. “What the hell are you doing in here?” he snapped at me.
On the tiny table beside me was a bottle of champagne in a bucket. It came complimentary with the room, but the two glasses were clean and dry; the bottle hadn’t been touched. Darien had been focused on his goal of getting Gina to suck him off. I knew she would have said no—and Darien did not like being told no.
He started to stand. I was faster, a ball of fury angry at herself for letting her friend down. Too blinded by despair to think her actions through.
I grabbed the champagne.
And I swung it into the side of his head.
“Fuck!” he grunted, pushing Gina off him as he jumped to his feet. Huffing, I let my arm hang at my side, watching Darien as he stumbled sideways. He was gripping the couch, facing away from me as he swayed.
I didn’t see any blood. Maybe I should have hit him harder.
On the floor, Gina whimpered. Instantly I dropped the bottle and crumpled beside her. “Gina! Gina, are you okay?” She wasn’t purple, but squash yellow isn’t a much nicer color. Gently I shook her, checking her breathing.
She needed help. Both of us did. I knew the quickest way to get some; inhaling, I prepared to scream. Darien whirled on me, his formerly discarded jacket in one hand and his pistol in the other. The safety clicked loudly over my terrified silence.
“You little bitch,” he chuckled. “Are you nuts?” Dropping his jacket—he didn’t need it now that he’d gotten to his gun—he gingerly touched his temple, where I’d smacked him with the bottle. It was swollen like a beehive. “You can’t attack someone like Darien Valentine and walk away.”
My eyes darted to the champagne bottle. He saw me look, clucking his tongue. He said, “Don’t.” Casually he waved his gun at Gina. “If she’d just given me a BJ, everything would have been fine. Though now that I think about it . . . you were the one I wanted to play with in the first place. Come here.”
On stiff legs I rose. “Don’t shoot me,” I whispered.
Darien’s eyes went thin while his mouth went wide. “Do as I say, and I won’t.”
My sneakers moved inch by inch toward him. I mouthed an Okay. There was no sound. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want Gina to die. In the fibers of my heart I knew that this man was going to kill us both, no matter what he said.
“Good girl,” he chuckled, reaching for me. “Don’t fight me. Don’t try and be a hero.”
It was good advice.
But being a hero happens to be my biggest flaw.
Shoving forward so fast that my calves cramped up, I jumped onto the pistol. Darien hadn’t expected that; men who get their way are always surprised when they don’t.
Gasping, I scrambled to push the muzzle away from me. I knew about guns, but even if I hadn’t, it’s common knowledge that where the bullets come out is the bad part.
“What—” he grunted, falling backward onto the floor with my weight. He was strong, but I was fighting for more than my life. I’m not sure if this man had ever had to feel such fear for another person . . . but I have.
I for sure fucking have.
My ears whined as I drew in air to scream. “Hel—”
Darien drove his knee into my stomach. I retched but didn’t let go of the gun, scratching his knuckles as I swung on top of him. We were close, inches apart, and his green eyes could have been the Grim Reaper’s. Baring his teeth, he rolled us over to try to mount me. I kept him rolling, shoving my feet into the couch to give me the momentum I needed to stay on top.
We bumped into the tiny table; the two champagne glasses shattered around us.
The hardness of the pistol dug into my chest. We
both felt it, and I didn’t know anymore what was up or down. Darien wore a terrible grin of triumph. We were both squeezing and pulling.
I’m going to actually die. The filthy tile floor of a strip club would be my deathbed. Anywhere would have been better, less dreadful. I didn’t want to picture my family reading about this in the newspapers, but I was, and it was in my head and all I could see.
Bang.
Pain kicked through my ribs, pressure creating an ache so immense I was ready to throw up. The reverberation rocketed through my molars; I’d been shot. It was over. What will happen to Gina? That was my singular thought.
In amazement I watched as Darien’s expression went from cruel joy to confusion. Why was my pain not getting worse?
“You . . . ,” he breathed. Wetness tickled me; it was warm. I was afraid to sit up, thinking the reality was too good to be true. I’m not a lucky person. This had to have been all those missed moments, those missed dice rolls of life, saved up.
Kneeling on top of Darien, I put my palm on my sticky belly. His blood, not mine. He stared at me while clutching at his side. “Oh fuck, you shot me.”
I threw my hands up in a panic, one of them gripping the gun. “I didn’t! You shot yourself!”
“Same difference,” he groaned.
Whatever relief I’d felt was snuffed out. This man, as awful as he was, was dying in front of me. “We need to stop the bleeding!”
His eyes shifted sluggishly over to Gina. “She . . . shoulda jusht. Shucked me off.” Darien was slurring; I slapped his cheek lightly. Then harder. He’d blacked out.
“Crap,” I said to the two unconscious people. The weapon in my hand was heavy; the blood on my shirt felt like ice. I had to think—do something, call for help, just . . .
Costello burst through the curtain, breathing heavily as he took in the scene. He fixed on me, then Darien, and finally poor Gina. Two people barely alive, with me in the middle of it all.
His blue eyes locked me in place. “What the hell have you done?” he asked.
What had I done? I’d saved my friend . . . I’d saved myself! I’d fought off a madman who wanted nothing good from anyone. I should have roared the facts at Costello.