by Rye Hart
“I might just do that,” he grumbled, trying to quickly compose himself. “But for now, take Sasha's section. Only a few people over there, but they're big spenders – so be on your best behavior.”
Yeah, don't go off on them and tone down the sarcasm. That's what he really meant. We shared a look and I smiled sweetly at him, giving him my best angelic face – an act he clearly wasn't buying, given the sour look on his puss.
“Of course, Leon,” I said anyway. “When am I not?”
“Don't make me answer that.”
He turned and escaped to the back, and just in case Tommy wasn't getting his hands wet in the sink, I hurried off to the section I was assigned. Sasha had her hands full – the poor girl really didn't know how to work a crowd. Not even a small one. I often wondered why she was hired in the first place, but then she'd turn around and show off her D-cup breasts which rested on a tiny size two waist and the answer was more than obvious.
She didn't have to be smart, she just had to look good in the outfit and not fight with the customers. That should be easy enough, I supposed. But hell, even I couldn't handle that last bit half the time. Some of these pricks just need to be put in their places.
“Alright, girly, you're off the clock,” I said.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “A couple rich guys just sat down at that table near the corner. They're just so crude and disgusting. I can't stand them.”
My eyes drifted over toward where Sasha was pointing, and I recognized them instantly. I rolled my eyes and smiled.
“Yeah, I'm familiar with them,” I said. “The blonde guy isn't too bad though, honestly.”
“That's Malcolm Crane, right?”
I nodded. “He's less of an ass than his friend.”
Sasha shrugged. “If you say so. Personally, I think a person's choice of friends says a lot about them.”
Maybe she was right, I thought to myself. Or maybe, it was just an overly-simplistic generalization to make. Personally, I hated to think Malcolm was anything like Greg. In the few, brief interactions we'd had, he seemed to be a decent enough guy. But then, I also barely knew him. Anybody can appear to be decent enough within a small enough sample size.
“You better clock out before Leon throws a fit,” I said. “You know how he feels about overtime.”
Sasha walked off toward the timeclock in the back, leaving me to face the table alone. Greg grinned at me as I approached while Malcolm kept his head down, his eyes focused on the phone in his hand.
“Can't stay away for me, huh?” I teased. “Not even on a Monday evening. I'm flattered, boys.”
I stared at Malcolm, and only Malcolm, when I spoke. He finally looked up from his iPhone to meet my gaze. He flashed me a crooked little smile and there was a strange gleam in his eyes.
“You make it hard to stay away,” he said.
Greg looked at his friend, then back at me, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. For once, he seemed unsure of what to say. Hell, so was I. I didn't expect Malcolm to hit on me or say anything even remotely flirty. That was usually Greg's game.
“The usual for you guys?” I said, clearing my throat.
Malcolm gazed at me with a fierce intensity and I felt the heat creeping into my cheeks. Beneath his scrutiny, I knew I'd be turning a very unnatural shade of red if I didn't get out of there soon. The last thing I wanted them to think was that they intimidated me in any way. I was the tough and unflappable girl. The girl with the sharp with and even sharper tongue. That was my MO and I needed them to keep thinking that.
“Yes, the usual for me,” Malcolm said.
His deep, blue eyes were so intense, I felt like I was drowning in them. A girl could very easily get lost in eyes like that and never find her way out. I swallowed, my words getting stuck in my throat and my thoughts getting muddled in my brain.
Damn, he was having an effect on me.
“And I'll have the same as him,” Greg said.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, having forgotten that there was anyone else at the table for a second. I quickly composed myself as Malcolm averted his gaze, turning back to his phone.
“Girlfriend checking up on you,” I said, my mouth suddenly feeling parched.
“Nah, I'm actually – well, never mind.”
Greg cleared his throat and jumped in with a wicked little grin on his face. “Malcolm is single now. That's why we're coming here a little more often, if you hadn't noticed. He's trying to hook up with someone.”
Malcolm cringed and put his phone away. “I'm not trying to 'hook up' with anyone, Greg.”
“Then what are you doing on Tinder?”
“Tinder, huh?” I chuckled. “And here, I thought all the decently attractive, successful men had their own dating app out there, somewhere. Because God knows, you can't find anyone decent on Tinder.”
Greg butted in, flashing me a devious little smile. “Or maybe your standards are too high.”
I shrugged, giving Greg a dirty look. “Maybe so, but I'd rather have high standards than STD's,” I shot back at him. Something flickered within Greg's eyes. His teasing little smirk was suddenly replaced by a look that sent a cold chill sliding all the way down my spine. I stepped back from the table as his eyes darkened as he stared at me. He looked me up and down, undressing me with his eyes, a salacious expression on his face.
It wasn't that I wasn't used to men looking at me like that – it was one of the hazards of my job. But the way Greg was looking at me was different. His look, and the way he licked his lips, said that whether I liked it or not, he was picturing me naked and probably doing things I'd never do. At least, not with him. The expression on his face told me that to him, I was nothing but a set of tits and a vagina. A toy. Something for his amusement.
Clearly, I'd stepped out of line finally, or maybe Greg was just having a bad day. Either way, I didn't want to stick around and find out. I just wanted to be away from Greg.
“I'll get your drinks,” I said quickly.
I hurried away from their table, feeling Greg's eyes on me the entire time. I walked over to the bar and shuddered, taking a long breath and letting it out slowly as I tried to compose myself. Tommy stepped out of the back and poured himself a drink. “What's wrong, hot stuff?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, giving my order to one of the other bartenders.
“Sure as hell looks like something crawled up your ass.”
“I said, nothing is wrong, Tommy.”
My voice came out harsher than I'd intended. Even Tommy didn't deserve the full brunt of my anger and I felt bad immediately after the words passed my lips.
First my dad. Then Greg. Now Tommy. I'd had enough with men in general and considering the fact that I still had an entire shift to work, I needed to keep it together. I couldn't go off on anyone tonight. Not if I wanted to keep my job.
“Hey, I did you a favor,” Tommy said. “Don't forget that.”
“You said I didn't owe you anything for it,” I snapped, still unable to keep my temper in check, even knowing he didn't deserve it. “If I knew you'd hold it over my head, I'd have done the damn dishes myself.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you do owe me, Casey,” Tommy said and glared at me.
“I don't owe you shit,” I muttered, grabbing the drinks the other bartender had prepared.
I turned to walk away but felt a hand on my ass. I froze in place, drinks in hand, as Tommy's hand moved up my skirt, sliding up the back of my thigh and cupping my ass cheek in his hand. He leaned in close to me, the smell of vodka on his breath as he whispered into my ear.
“If you want to keep your job, you sure as shit owe me, Casey.”
My entire body trembled, tears welled in my eyes, and I risked dropping the drinks. Instead of dropping them though, I pulled away from Tommy's grasp, turned around quickly and threw them in his face.
“Don't you dare lay a hand on me again, asshole!”
Tears stained my cheeks as I flailed, lashing out
at Tommy. He held his hands out, doing his best to hold me back, but I scratched and beat at them. I kept struggling and fighting, even as he lifted me off the ground. He was carrying me into the back, but I continued fighting, my vision nearly going black with rage. Nothing else mattered in that moment except for getting the hell away from him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MALCOLM
Screams erupted near the bar, and I looked up to see Casey in the arms of a large guy as he tried to drag her into the back. She was fighting hard and screaming bloody murder. Greg stood up to get a better view, cackling with glee at all the commotion.
“Fuck, she went batshit crazy, didn't she?”
I didn't know what compelled me to move, but I jumped up and rushed out of the booth. The big guy shoved Casey backward. Hard. There was blood covering his shirt, and I couldn't tell who it belonged to.
“Don't you ever touch me again!” Casey screamed, finger pointed in the guy’s face.
“I can do whatever I damn well please,” the guy screamed back.
He lunged at Casey, his elbow clocking her in the side of the face. That was it. Seeing him hit her like that – I just lost it. I pushed my way through the crowd of onlookers, stepping between Casey and the guy before I even knew what I was doing. The guy flashed me a cocky, “what are you gonna do” kind of smile, so I reached back and punched the asshole square in the face. He stumbled backward, his hands over his face, blood seeping out from between his clenched fingers.
The big guy stared back at me with a look of utter shock on his face. He pulled his hands off his nose and looked at the blood coating them, the look of shock on his face deepening even further. It was like he couldn't believe I'd punched him. Judging by his size, I bet few people stood up to him like that and he wasn't used to it.
“She said to not touch her,” I growled.
“Do you know who I am, asshole?” he sneered, his face smeared with blood. “Do you know who my father is?”
“No, and I don't care,” I snapped back. “When a woman tells you to leave her alone – you listen.”
The man lunged toward me, murder in his eyes, but I was ready for him. As big as he was, I still had several inches – and a lot more muscle – than he did. When he swung his big meaty fist at me, I sidestepped it and grabbed hold of his arm, flipping it around and pinning it behind his back in one smooth motion.
My martial arts classes from back in the day apparently paid off because I looked like I knew what I was doing. I pressed down on the elbow, drawing a pained squeal from the guy. He struggled against my grip, and I was prepared to break the arm if needed, to keep him from going after me or Casey again.
“I think you should get your ass back behind the bar and leave us alone,” I said, my voice low and menacing. “Got it?”
A voice called out from the crowd, and the people around us parted quickly.
“Tommy!” he bellowed again.
It was Leon, the owner of the club and he looked pissed. Not that he had any real right to be.
“Mr. Crane, let go of my son before I call the police.”
His voice was calm. He knew he had me. I didn't want any public embarrassment for my family – not during such a crucial time. With one last quick twist of his arm and a satisfying grunt of pain from him, I let go of Tommy, pushing him away from me. He turned and started toward me again, because some guys never learn. His dad grabbed his arms and held him back this time.
“You two,” Leon shouted, pointing at me and Casey. “Get the hell out of my club, and don't come back.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “I'm not a fan of places who let their wait staff be abused anyway. And I'll make sure all my friends know what kind of a club you're running here, Leon.”
I turned to walk away and came face-to-face with Casey, who didn't look happy to see me. Her eyes were narrowed, and her jaw clenched. She looked every bit as pissed as Tommy had.
“You didn't have to save me, you know. I can handle myself.” She scowled at me, her eyes filled with utter contempt.
“I know,” I said.
Leon continued shouting. “You're done, Casey. Get out. Now”
Casey looked over my shoulder at Leon, and a panicked expression suddenly replaced the angry one. She stared, wide-eyed at the man and her eyes shimmered with tears. Her face blanched before my eyes and I could see the fear, bright and hot, in her expression.
“Please, Leon, it's not my fault,” she stammered. “Please, give me another chance.”
“No.”
Just one word. One word and it was more than clear that Casey, no matter how much she begged or pleaded, would not be getting her job back. She stood there, tall and defiant, her chin held high, but I noticed the trembling in her hands. I took her hand in mine, and for a second, she let me hold it.
“Come on, let's go,” I said softly to her. I leaned down, smelled the soft coconut scent of her hair and whispered into her ear. “It'll be better if we leave on our own.”
Security was already headed our way, pushing their way through a crowd not as willing to part for them as they had been for Leon. Casey turned her face toward me and yanked her hand from mine. There were tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away, a hard and defiant look on her face.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”
She was right. She could take care of herself. I knew I should leave before the guards got to us, but for some reason, I couldn't leave her there, standing there alone to face the music. I'd jumped into the middle of it. I'd made myself a part of the spectacle. The least I could do was stand there, take the heat, and see it through with her.
She flipped Leon off as the security guards approached. One of them took her by the arm, but she fought back – pulling her arm away from him, practically snarling at him.
“Get the fuck off me,” she hissed.
“Come with me, Casey,” he said, his voice firm. “You're out of here.”
I sighed. “Casey, come on. Let's just go.”
She didn't look at me, she just pushed her way past the two guards. I followed close behind her, with security on our heels. Casey pistoned out her fists, banging open the large double doors with such force that when they swung out, they almost hit the doorman on the other side who was moving to open them at the same time.
Once we were both out on the sidewalk outside the club, she took off down the street without a word or a backward glance at me. Greg's voice called from the doorway.
“Malcolm, what the hell, man?” he said. “I'm sure you can come back inside, now that she’s gone.”
“I'm not worried about it, Greg,” I said.
I kept my eyes on Casey as she stopped about twenty feet from me and slumped against the building. She squatted down and buried her face in her hands. Even from where I was standing, I could hear the loud sobs that came from her tiny body. She was shaking and crying and screaming, banging her fists against the wall.
When I walked over to her, I noticed her hands were bloody, but that didn't seem to faze her.
“What do you want?” she said, not bothering to look up at me. “I told you to leave me the fuck alone and I meant it.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Do I look okay?” she said.
Her eyes flashed up at me, an almost wild and crazed expression of near panic on her face. She shook her head, lowered her gaze, and went back to staring at the ground.
“I can't believe I did that,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Greg had joined us on the sidewalk, and was standing there, staring wide-eyed down at Casey. If she even realized he was there, she ignored him completely. “You really went crazy in there,” he said, a smirk on his face.
“Fuck off,” she said, not bothering to look up at him. “I'm not in the mood for your bullshit. You assholes cost me my job. So, walk away and leave me the fuck alone. Got it?”
When I didn't move, she looked at me, pure
disgust on her face. She pushed herself up off the wall, turned away from us, and continued walking. I took off and caught up to her, walking alongside her as she sped along the sidewalk.
She side-eyed me, the expression on her face one of open hostility. I had no doubt that if I gave her the chance, she'd throw a couple of punches at me.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to help.”
She laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. It was a harsh and brittle noise. It was a mocking, angry laugh. “You? Want to help me?” she sneered. “And I'm supposed to believe it, because – you helped me sneak away to the bathroom once?”
“No, because I'm not a dick like Greg.”
“Hey, man,” Greg said from behind me.
I didn't even realize he was following us. I looked over my shoulder and looked at him.
“Why don't you go back to the club, Greg?”
“Why don't you come with me, wingman?” he said. “There's plenty more hot ass in there.”
“Because – I don't feel much like clubbing anymore,” I said. “I want to make sure Casey gets home okay.”
“I can get home all by myself,” she snapped. “I've done it every single night for years. I don't need a chaperone or a babysitter, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, but you're bleeding and obviously hurt,” I said.
She stopped and looked at her hands, her eyes widening in surprise as if she just now realized they were bleeding. Casey rubbed at her knuckles as if suddenly realizing they were cut and bleeding had made them hurt. It was probably the adrenaline finally wearing off.
“Admit it, you like the crazy chicks,” Greg taunted.
Casey's eyes glazed over as she looked at me. There was so much pain in that one stare. I turned to Greg and shoved him back toward the club. He looked at me with wide eyes and a “what the fuck?” expression on his face.
“Leave. Now,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked, that shitty, condescending grin on his face. “Because you think you got a shot at fucking her?”
I didn't have to answer; my fist did the talking. I drew back and smashed it into his face – much like I'd done to Tommy earlier. Greg stumbled back, and I had to admit – feeling my fist smack into his nose felt good. Really good. Greg and I had been friends, once upon a time. But after seeing the way he'd acted in the club, and the things he said about Casey – I realized that we'd just become way too different to ever be friends again.