Ethan Walker's Road To Wonderland (Road To Wonderland #3)

by L. J. Stock

  “Come on, you wanker,” Scott said with a chuckle, the sound of him guzzling the bevvie almost deafening. We’d probably had a few too many, but even that didn’t excuse the giggle Dean let off behind us. Scott and I both turned to look at him, earning ourselves his middle fingers and a fuck off for our efforts. We’d been down the local celebrating the first step in the new business. I wasn’t sure whose idea it had been to go, but there we were.

  I found the place a week after I got the inheritance in my account. It had been burning a hole in there. I’d been smart about it, done some research on the best areas - close enough to the other clubs to draw a crowd, but far enough away to be a stand alone attraction for nightlife. There were so many rules and regulations. Nowhere close to a school or residential area. Nowhere they could complain about the noise. Somewhere that would pass the inspections and house more than twenty fucking punters.

  When I saw the place in foreclosure, I checked all criteria and made an executive decision. I managed to buy it with enough left over for a major overhaul and renovation. A lad I knew drew up a couple of plans, and I hired the construction crew and it would be underway by morning.

  It was the last night we could admire the empty warehouse as it was, before it started taking shape as my dream.

  Our dream.

  There was no way in hell I could jump headfirst into this without Scott and Dean involved in some way. As fucked up as it sounded, the lads were my moral compass, which was more than likely the reason that beer was my go-to and sex was a void filler. It was a twatish way of life really, but it was better than the alternative of giving into the itch and injecting everything I owned directly into my veins.

  Shaking my head to clear the negative thoughts, I gave my full attention to my brothers and took a mouthful of my beer. The sex would have to wait.

  “Both of you, shut the fuck up and savour the fucking moment,” I whispered, feeling around the exposed brick for the light switch. When I finally found it, I flipped it and blinked into the too bright light, covering my eyes.

  “What a shit ‘ole,” Dean said, dropping his beers on an old machine and stumbling further into the space. He turned slowly, spreading his arms and laughing. “Ain’t no wonder ya got the shit cheap.”

  “No vision. That’s your problem, Deano.” Scott snickered, tipping the neck of his beer in Dean’s direction. “You gotta look past the shit to see the potential, lad.”

  “Thank you!” I slapped Scott on the chest with the back of my hand and nodded in agreement. This bare to the bones warehouse that hadn’t been loved at all was now in my name. I owned it all, and it was about to get a new lease of life. “Dean always was short sighted. Did you see the lass he fucked last night.”

  “Fuck off, E.”

  Scott and I started laughing like teenagers, leaning against the brick as Dean kicked about some insulation like a football. Draining my bottle, I dropped it on another surface and pushed off the wall to run headlong into him, my foot slipping between his and knocking the insulation into play before booting it into an imaginary goal. I raised my arms and spun to face him, pointing both hands at him as I grinned. “In your face, lad. I still got it.”

  “‘Ave ya fuck.”

  “I–”

  “Both of you, just shut it. E, you ever gonna show us the plans?”

  “Gimme five. The architect left them in the construction cabin in the back alley,” I said, pulling out yet another set of keys and stumbling over a pile of discarded wood. “I’ll be right back. Dean, don’t touch nothing.”

  I was laughing to myself as I pushed through the sticky locks of the back delivery doors. They’d angled it so the doors were facing the main street. It was almost eight at night, still light out, and as I squeezed between the cabin and the brick of what was to be Club Crystal, I saw her.

  Blondie.

  I think I’d have known her anywhere. She was wearing a different Foos shirt, but it was just as well-washed and worn as the first. As preoccupied as she was, she almost fell over her own two feet, her left hand tucking her hair behind her ear as she shot a glance around to see if anyone had seen her. I’d seen her, but she hadn’t spotted me, and I realised I didn’t want her to. She was alone and completely candid. She’d just come out of a jewellers, smiling like the cat that got the cream, her eyes alight as she stared down at a piece of paper in her hands.

  She was just as beautiful as the first time I’d seen her, and though I was losing an opportunity to actually introduce myself, I stayed where I was. I was drunk and didn’t want to fuck it up, which I inevitably would. One moment with her and that smile, and I would have introduced myself and charmed my way into her knickers. The temptation was too much, and I was still a fuck up. A girl like that I wasn’t sure I deserved, so I watched her walk away, my eyes on her sublime arse before she slipped into a car and pulled away from the curb.

  It was a fleeting moment in time with someone who had no idea I was there, and yet it stayed with me all night. That smile on her lips, the light in her eyes, it had all been there, but the longer I spent time showing the lads the in and outs of the club, my memory of it changed. By the time I got home and lay in bed, I stared at the ceiling, analyzing things I wasn’t even sure I actually saw. Had there been a lingering sadness there, or had I imagined it? Had I projected my own pathetic ailments onto her to give us something in common?

  I threw myself into work once the construction of the club started. As much as I wanted to be a part of it, I realised that I needed to actually hire dancers and get licenses. The to-do list was becoming endless, but I thrived on it. There was always something to keep us busy. Scott and I were a powerhouse together. We got things done, and if I’d managed to get Dean away from the garage, I liked to think we would have been a triple threat. The kid had a good head on his shoulders. He just hadn’t seen the part of our father that I had, and he was happy where he was at, especially as Dad had promised to hand the place over to him when he decided to retire.

  I just hoped there was something to hand over when that day came. From what I'd heard, Dad's debts were falling into the wrong hands, and the only things of worth he had anymore were the house and the garage. As much as I wanted to help Dean, it wasn't my problem, and I wasn't a welcome solution.

  I may not have needed the fighting for drug money, but it was still a good place to blow off steam, and Albert had become a mentor of sorts. Not to mention, it was nice to have an uncomplicated fuck occasionally. Donna had no illusions of who I was or what I needed. She never wanted strings and she knew what she was doing. After a rush of adrenaline from the fight, she could bring me right down again.

  They were always surprised when I showed up. There was no rhyme or reason for my appearances, but I would watch Albert perk right up and his smile grow a little bit brighter. Donna told me once that it was because there was always a better purse when I was involved. I was Al’s undefeated champ, which brought in contenders who all wanted to be the one to knock me off my pedestal.

  It was just before new year that my only outlet for frustrations was finally taken from me. One of the dancers I hired had been thrown out by another lass named Sapphire, who had adopted us. The dancer, Tina, was axed for doing drugs. It was a zero tolerance rule that we’d put together for the club. It was Scott’s idea mostly, but one Sapphire and I had backed one hundred percent. Sapphire had a resume that was a wet dream, including Vegas, so she knew her shit and she was good at it. That she got to keep her clothes on was a huge selling point for her, and she agreed to do auditions and the hiring and firing with the girls. When she found Tina with some coke in her bra, she ejected her without thought and came down on me for not double checking about the hire to begin with. She was right, of course, but Tina had sucked dick like a vacuum, and that was the head I’d been thinking with. I felt like shit about the whole thing and went to Albert’s.

  Only to find Tommy sniffing around like a rabid dog.

  I stuck to the shadows, my h
ood up and head down, hanging behind the desk and asking Donna questions about how often he was there. The chance to face him in the ring was almost tempting, but I knew his type. I knew how he would rig it, and I knew nothing good could come from facing him or his boss again. I knew damn well that any interaction I'd had with Paris that night was considered a betrayal because she was Daggs' girl, but that I had slept with her meant I had a large target on my back. Even with all that shit hanging over my head, that wasn’t to say I wasn’t interested in what happened to Paris.

  After seeing Blondie a couple of months earlier, I’d checked in on Paris, only to find her just as involved in the drugs, and Daggs, as she had been. She wasn’t my problem, not really, but some pull to her mate made my conscience nag at the back of my brain, and I knew I’d be checking on her more often.

  There went the safety net of Albert and his underground ring, however, and if I was going to stay alive, I needed to find a new way to release my aggression. So instead, I went to the gym and took it out on the bags. I figured Albert knew where to find me if he needed me for anything.

  In March 2005, Club Crystal officially opened its doors for business. My name was on the property, licenses, and the business proper, but Scott was a partner. He opted for forty percent and we agreed on ten for Deano - a privately owned business spread out between the three of us. It was something we’d bullshitted about as kids but was now an actual reality for us.

  “Hey, boss?”

  I loved the sound of that title. I never actually asked any of the girls to call me that, but they had given it to me as a moniker. Whether they’d forgotten my name or not, I couldn’t have given a shit. All I knew was they used it. Constantly. For the first week, Scott and I got lucky every fucking night. There had been no coercion, no flirting, and most of the time, I’d been in my office working when a knock at the door would open a can of worms I had happily been a part of. Having a girl on her knees under the desk was a huge power trip.

  “Yeah?” I called out, which was obviously an invitation to enter. She teetered in on towering heels, a tiny piece of material she’d been calling a skirt and a bra. Cocking a hip to the side, she gave me a seductive smile.

  “Mr. Jenkins sent me up. A reporter or something. Said her boss had spoken to someone.”

  “I forgot about that. Thanks... ”

  “Olivia, but my dance name is Faith.”

  “Thanks, Faith. Tell him to meet me in the changing rooms, would you?”

  “Absolutely, boss.”

  She sashayed out, her hips sliding from side to side like they were on rails. She gave me her best smile over her shoulder before disappearing through the door and pulling it closed behind her. The moment she was out of sight, my head was back to business as my hand rearranged my trousers. I had to get a grip. The last thing I needed was to go down there looking like a sex starved, hormonal teenage boy. I was a businessman, and I needed to act like one.

  Scott was exactly where I’d asked him to be when I finally had everything I needed. He was distracted by one of the dancers until he noticed me, his smile broad and easy as I approached.

  “You want me to do the interview?”

  “It’s a lot to ask,” I admitted, patting his shoulder and squeezing. “But you have such a pretty face and all that charm.”

  “And I don’t have a psycho drug dealer trying to kill me.”

  “There’s that, too.”

  “Fine, but you can hang close behind the bar. Help me out if I get stuck.”

  “Big fucking baby.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell them our lasses like to break the rules…”

  My eyeroll was immediate. It was an empty threat, and a pointless one, too. I’d have made sure I was close anyway, but this was Scott. We never did things the easy way. Turning him so he was facing the door, I gave him a small shove back out onto the club floor. It was still early so it was relatively quiet, and the music’s decibels weren’t designed to deafen you. Scott shrugged me off the moment we came around the bar, mainly because I was stopped in my tracks.

  The reporter was none other than Blondie herself.

  There was no Foos shirt today. Instead, she wore trousers and a sensible blouse that hid all of her beautiful curves. Her normally unruly hair was pulled back in a relaxed ponytail, a pen sticking out from where the elastic band held it in place. Even with these slightly grown up choices, she was captivating. I moved as close as I could, grabbing a beer before slipping into the shadows.

  When Scott approached her, she was squinting in the dim light at a notepad. She knew the moment he approached, her hand moving to tuck some wayward strands of hair behind her ears before she looked up and held out a hand. “Mr. Umm… Walters, I presume?”

  “You presume wrong, love,” Scott replied in his you can’t resist my charm voice. The fucker. “Scott Jenkins. Partner.”

  “In life or business?” she asked, retrieving her hand, and reaching for the pen in her hair. She was good, and as Scott almost choked to find his voice, I saw the little smile of victory turn her lips up at the side.

  “Just business. You are?”

  “Miss Moffit. No jokes, please. I’ve probably heard them all before.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down, the pink of her cheeks radiating like a solar flare. “Sorry, this isn’t my normal gig, I'm doing a favour for a friend.”

  She was, in a word, adorable. It wasn’t a sentiment I tended to use, ever, but for this woman, it fit. She was awkward in her own skin, shifting around as though she couldn’t get comfortable. Behind all that quiet embarrassment was a quick-witted and smart woman, who had an answer for everything. It was barely ten minutes into the interview when I could see Scott beginning to be just as charmed by her as I was. Her questions were almost quick fire, as though she needed to get it over and done with.

  I was barely listening to what they were saying. As I sipped my beer in my darkened corner, I was lost in her expressions and her rare, but beautiful, smile. I hadn’t thought about her much since I saw her months earlier, but having her so close, the sadness I was convinced I’d seen before was definitely there. It was her constant companion. She moved around it and with it in a perfectly synchronized dance, her eyes flickering to the side when she needed a second. It was in that moment I envied her the strength she had. For all intents and purposes, she’d seen the darkest parts of the world, the same as I had, but rather than wallowing and losing herself to the sadness, she accepted it. She drew strength from it, whereas I’d allowed it to break me.

  “Hey, boss?”

  The sudden interruption had not only Scott turning, but Blondie also. I was out of my chair with my hand on the small of Delilah’s back, guiding her away from the interview before Blondie could so much as get a look at me. I still wasn’t ready to meet her, even when I had her so close. Every time I looked at her, all I felt was… ashamed. As though I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. In my experience, putting someone on a pedestal like that only ever led to disaster.

  “What do you need, Del?”

  “We’ve got a grabby punter, and Al and the other boys are dealing with shit in the back alley. Some underage twats trying to sneak in, or something.”

  I assured her I would take care of it and did, ejecting the group of lads from the club and ignoring their empty threats. The club, in theory, was a fantastic and very lucrative idea. Unfortunately, you put half-naked women on a pole around liquored-up dickheads, and they thought they had some divine right to feel the girls up.

  By the time I got back, the interview was over, and Blondie was pushing her notepad into an oversized bag that was sat on the stool next to her.

  “That went well, yeah?” Scott asked, his arms spread wide as he gripped the edge of the table. He was flexing his biceps and giving a small smile that, when I interpreted what it was saying, made a quiet growl slip past my lips. Thankfully, they’d turned the music up so it was lost in the bass.

  “As well as can be ex
pected. Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Call me Scott, love.” He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the table. “I’d love to take you out for a drink sometime.”

  If she’d said yes, I was afraid I would have smacked my best mate from childhood into oblivion, but by some divine miracle, she was immune to him. Her polite smile grew as she looked up at him through her long lashes, her finger hitting the card and sliding it right back toward him.

  “Never going to happen, Scott.”

  With that, she tightened her ponytail, picked up her bag, narrowed her eyes at the nearest pole, and marched out without so much as a glance over her shoulder. I was so invested in watching her leave, I didn’t hear Scott saunter up beside me, and nearly went through the fucking roof when he slapped my shoulder with the back of his hand.

  “Fabulous, tight arse, mate, but she’s a hundred percent carpet muncher,” he said, flicking his tongue and smirking. “Might have to see about turning her straight.”

  “She’s off limits.”

  “The fuck you talking about?”

  “Off. Limits. Scott.”

  “E…”

  I turned on him. All it needed was one look and his jaw snapped shut and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. One of the problems of having someone who knew you better than you knew yourself was that they picked up on the smallest shit and knew there was a mountain of crap sitting behind it.

  “So, who is she, mate?”

  “Remember the night we followed Liam?” I asked, turning to him as the door slapped shut from her exit.

  “Foos girl?” Scott started to laugh and threw his hands up in surrender. “Why the fuck was I the one being interviewed then?”

  It was a good question. One I wasn’t sure of the answer to myself.

  There was nothing more satisfying to me than running my own business. Scott and I both had a good head for it, and we worked well together. It was a well-oiled machine. The only time I ever actually broke a rule was when I hired Paris, and it was only because she was still on the shit. She came to me asking for help, and I couldn’t say no. So she worked closely with Sapphire and kept her distance from me. She knew that I couldn’t be involved in her life, or the connections she had to the men who’d attempted to kill me. I think it was my way of trying to save her, but I wasn’t a knight on a white horse. I had too many problems of my own to even think about it.