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

by L. J. Stock

  So I stayed away from them both as much as I could and threw myself into work. I tried to ignore the ragged state of Paris as she came into the club, and the bruises that she tried to hide. The only thing I could do was send Sapphire to her to make sure she was capable, which I understood made me appear heartless and uncaring, but there was nothing I could do for Paris if she wasn't willing to help herself.

  Before Easter could roll around, I was convinced Paris wasn’t going to survive the year. It went against everything I was to not step in and at least try and help her, but once again, Scott was the voice of reason - something he was quite frequently.

  “How the fuck you gonna save anyone when you’re dead, mate?”

  Scrubbing my face with my hands, I dragged them down my cheeks and peered over them as Scott kicked his legs onto my desk with a beer in his hand. He was as concerned as I was, but much more logical about the situation.

  “Little dramatic, ain’t it?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time they tried. They almost succeeded last time.”

  Picking up my beer and titling the neck toward him, I inclined my head. “Point to you.”

  “It ain’t a competition, E. I’m thinking with this head.” He pointed to his skull and smirked like the bastard he was.

  “Since when, you twat? Anyway, you know it ain’t like that, Scott. Paris is–“

  “Just a friend. A sister. It’s completely platonic…? So you keep saying, lad, but that ain’t the case with her mate, is it?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a swig of beer to avoid the sardonic look he was undoubtedly giving me.

  “Bullshit. You and I both know that Little Miss Reporter is her mate.”

  "Remind me to never tell you anything anymore. You use that shit against me.”

  “You’re such a bitch.”

  “You’re a fucker.”

  “You need to just bump into the lass and ask her out. This is getting kinda desperate, E.”

  By desperate, he meant my convenient run ins. For the last month, I’d suddenly found the need to shop at a supermarket that was completely out of my way. Most people didn’t think anything of it, but Scott knew. One warm beer and he had called me on it. I’d only seen her twice in that month, but for some fucking reason, the what-if kept me going back there. She was oblivious to my stares as she wandered around, her feet on the bar of the trolley as she propelled herself down the aisles, her long blonde hair falling in her face as she bent over to read labels.

  Christ, Scott was right. It was desperate, and I was turning into a fucking creepy stalker. I needed to get it together, find a lass I could distract myself with for a while, because the one nighters weren't doing shit for me anymore. I got my dick wet, sure, but it was a crutch to curb the cravings - a different kind of high that supplemented the one my whole being was after.

  It was only days later that Chloe strolled into my life. She was younger than I was, which was where the appeal was, I suppose, and she was the polar opposite of Blondie. Dark hair, dark eyes and confidence that would put a supermodel to shame. I was down the local with Scott and Deano when she strolled in, and she had our attention immediately. I only won the coin toss because the other two had a mouthful of beer. I almost wish I hadn’t, but hindsight was a bitch like that.

  I approached her with my usual swagger, both arms on the bar as I ordered another round in. I knew she was interested the moment she leaned in to get my attention. The thing with birds like Chloe was they knew - they knew they could have any lad in the place. Acting like I wasn’t interested meant I had her attention.

  “Hi.” Her tone was seductive, a purr but not quite, almost like she thought it was beneath her to try too hard.

  “Alright, love.” I still hadn’t looked at her as I drummed my fingers on the bar, waiting, and I could hear Dean and Scott chortling like a pair of bitches behind me.

  “Are you going to buy me a drink, or should I ask your friends?”

  Scratching my cheek where I hadn’t shaved, I turned to face her, only one elbow on the bar as I took her in slowly from head to toe like I’d only just noticed she had a banging body. “I think I can manage that, love. What’s your poison?”

  “Sex on the beach.”

  I pointed at the lad behind the bar, who was so focused on her tits he almost missed the order himself. He slid the beers over and scurried off to get her drink, ignoring Jerry, the old geezer at the bar, who was getting pissed off. Handing over the money, I gave the bird a nod, headed back to the corner we inhabited most week nights, and gave the boys a wink.

  “You’re a cocky bastard,” Scott said, grabbing his pint and sliding Dean’s to him. “So fucking sure of yourself. Bet you a tenner she stays there at the bar.”

  “Too fucking easy, mate. I already won that one.”

  Before he could question me, his gaze was on the hips that were swinging like a pendulum toward us, his eyes wide with wonder.

  The lass took it upon herself to sit at the table, her arse slipping into the seat next to mine as though she’d been invited. She put the glass on the table and turned in her seat, managing to get all three of us in her line of sight as she rested an elbow on the back of her chair.

  “I’m Chloe. I figured I best introduce myself as you left your manners at the door.”

  Sliding down in my faux leather number and spreading my legs further apart, I hid my smirk behind my pint as I necked half of it. She was good; I had to give it to her. There weren’t many women that would have the balls to just walk on up and plant themselves at a table with a few lads.

  “Dean,” my brother said with a nod, offering his hand and most charming smile.

  Chloe took the bait and half stood, her tits on full view down her gaping top as she leaned over to take Dean’s hand. The smile of victory on his face was classic. When she turned her charms on Scott, he almost choked on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken, forcing him to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and juggle his glass before offering her his hand.

  “Scott.”

  She smiled and took his fingers, giving them a flirtatious squeeze, eventually sitting and nudging my leg with her foot. “And you?”

  “Ethan, or E. Whatever the fuck you like really.”

  Chloe raised her eyebrows and aimed her look at the more receptive of the three of us - Dean. “Is he always like this or is it something I said? Did someone piss in his cornflakes this morning?”

  “He’s just playing hard to get, love,” Scott jumped in.

  “Don’t let him fool ya, lass. He’s a right playah.”

  “Is that right, Ethan?” she asked with a smirk on her lips. For the first time in my life, I was on the receiving end of my own moves. She was undressing me with her eyes in seconds flat, her tongue running over her bottom lip before she realised what she was doing and collected herself.

  “He hates the game, Chloe. He just wishes he could be more like his big brother.”

  “Fuck off, ya twat.”

  Flipping Dean my middle finger, I inclined my head to him, the smile I was wearing baiting him into a pissing competition.

  “He’s your brother?” she asked, ignoring Dean’s comment completely. Her body gravitated toward mine as I slid my arm over the back of her seat and smirked across the table at Dean. “How cute is that? What about Scott? Is he your brother, too?”

  “Christ no,” Scott said with a laugh. “I got enough on my plate with my own bro and sis. I’ve known this twat since we were in nappies though.”

  “A twat and a player. They’re so complimentary about you. I can see why you keep them around,” Chloe purred, her hand landing so close to my dick I felt myself getting hard. Her grin came easily, proving she was more than capable of holding her own with the three of us.

  Spending the evening with her, I learned she was funny, if not arrogant, cute, and a little naïve, and she had an annoying as fuck giggle. Even with all the good and bad, it didn’t stop me t
aking her home to the apartment.

  I actually entertained the thought of seeing her again when I woke up beside her the next morning, and though it more than proved I was a glutton for punishment, I did exactly that, and had one of my longest relationships to date.

  A whole week to be precise.

  I was incapable of anything longer than that. Though it wasn’t actually my fault. Chloe, despite having spent almost every evening with me, decided she couldn’t stand to be parted from me for one night and came to see me at work. Admittedly, I’d failed to mention to her what a flirt I was, but in point of fact, I was trying my hardest to be monogamous. She walked in the club as I was flirting with one of the girls and assumed the worst. She fucked one of the bouncers in the club, making sure it was caught on camera so we’d be even.

  Maybe it was my fault, maybe she was jumping to conclusions, but I wasn’t going to stand around being accused of cheating when I was merely flirting, and then watch her fuck some arsehole who called himself my friend, and on camera to boot. The short lived relationship ended after a nasty fight in my office, and it wasn’t on good terms. I was a misogynistic bastard who used my job to objectify women and get free fucks when I wanted them, and she was a vindictive, money grabbing whore with dependency issues. That I wasn’t made for a relationship was an understatement to say the least.

  I’m not sure why the date stands out in my mind. Then again, maybe the significance of it later on made it something more. I just know I had one of the girls covering a slower shift behind the bar, because every fucker and his dog had called in. Apparently, they didn’t want to work on Easter Sunday.

  I always thought I was a pretty fair boss, and I like to think that if they’d asked I would have considered their argument and seen what I could have done to help them out. However, all but one of the bar staff that called in, which meant I had to make the executive decision to just shut down for the rest of the day, and that would cost me money. None of the girls had a lick of experience behind the bar, other than Paris, and she had been absent for a few days, making me fear the worst. Scott was at his parents’ house having a roast, which left me, the poor lad run off his feet doing all the work, and the only other person to offer-a redhead who couldn’t decipher her arse from her elbow behind the bar. God love her for trying, but if she broke another bottle of sixty quid whiskey, she was going to spend a week on the poles paying off her fucking debt.

  “Ethan, phone for you. Wouldn’t say who it was.”

  I looked around the place with an aggravated sigh. The three punters sat around watching a house full of birds working the poles wasn’t cost effective. This might not have been the fault of the staff, but it gave me a target for my wrath.

  “Do me a favour, Lana. Tell everyone their drinks are on the house and send them on. I can’t afford to stay open today, let alone tonight, and if you keep dropping fucking bottles and I have to pay that idiot at the end of the bar time and a half, we’re going to be in the fucking red.”

  “There’s gratitude for you,” she said, popping her gum and chewing with her mouth open. It actually physically resembled a cow chewing cud.

  “Thanks for breaking two bottles of expensive alcohol. Happy?” I asked, pointing to the club floor. “Now go congratulate the punters on their free drinks, ask them to leave - politely for fuck’s sake - and tell the girls to go home.”

  Lana rolled her eyes and spun on her towering heels. I could hear her mocking me as she headed to the end of the bar and mumbled something to the lad wiping down the same spot he had been for the last ten minutes. With the rush over, his eyes lingered on the arses that were parading past him. He jumped the moment Lana said something, his eyes flickering to mine apologetically. I could have given the fucker a hard time over it, but I let it go. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him, or Lana, come to think of it.

  I was starting to think there was something fucking wrong with me. I was no longer finding joy in giving them a hard time. I normally lived for that shit. Heading back to where the bar phone sat on the mahogany top, I dropped into the stool, my feet popping up on the counter as I held the receiver to my ear. “Walker, how can I help?”

  The thump and ‘oh shit’ on the other end of the line were more than enough to pull my attention away from Lana’s arse swinging from side to side as she made her way around the club, popping her gum. I didn’t have time for some arsehole making a prank call, but with it being a bird, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and waited. “Hello?”

  “H-hello?” The nervous stutter almost gave me pause as she hacked down the phone like she was clearing fifty years of smoking phlegm out of her throat. “Hi. Sorry about that. My… pen slipped.”

  “Can I help you?” My response was short, granted, but I honestly like to think that I would have had more manners and patience if it hadn’t been for the anniversary of Christ’s resurrection suddenly making my staff temporarily religious and incompetent.

  “I’m hoping you can. I’m a friend of Paris’.”

  It was at exactly that moment the woman had my full and undivided attention, and it was for two reasons alone - Paris’ safety, and her introduction as her friend, raising the possibility that this was, in fact, my Blondie. It wasn’t necessarily in that order, either, being that I was an utter twat. It was only the fact that I suddenly recognised her voice from the interview with Scott that made me feel so much like a fucking stalker. I pulled myself back and focused on the task at hand. Paris and her safety. The words I said to Scott less than a week earlier about Paris’ chances of survival being minimal suddenly started replaying in my fucking head like a bad omen.

  “Paris? Is she okay?”

  “I… Paris isn’t okay. I’m sure, as her manager, you’ve seen the state of her health recently.”

  How the fuck could I have missed it? I’d had to pull her from the poles, she was so fucking mottled in bruises, and let’s face it, no one wanted a skeleton dancing for them. It wasn’t exactly complimentary, but I’d never been one to mince words if I didn’t have to. Hell, I think I told Paris something to that effect to her face at some point. “I have.”

  “Well…” Blondie drifted off for a moment as though she was trying to find the best way to word things. “I’m her friend, and she’s come to stay with me for a while. I’m going to make sure she gets better.”

  My smile was automatic and genuine, the moment she finished speaking. I knew how much Paris adored this woman, and from the email I shouldn’t have read, I could see that the woman talking to me loved her friend with just as much fervour. If there was anyone or anything that could save Paris from herself and Daggs, I was convinced Blondie was it.

  “And you are?”

  “On her side,” she said, almost inaudibly.

  Once again, I found myself surprised by the woman’s response. Unable to find anything more to say, I lifted my hand and scratched my unshaven cheek as I searched my brain for a response of any kind that wouldn’t make me sound like more of an uncaring twat than I already had. I’d never been one of those geezers who found himself speechless all that often, so twice in one conversation was pretty much a miracle at that point. “Good answer.”

  “Thanks for the approval. Although, it wasn’t said to appease you. It’s simply the truth.”

  “I never assumed it was said for my benefit. I was merely expecting a name rather than something so… profound.” I barked out, unable to hide my humour.

  “You don’t need to know my name.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “The less you know, the better it is for everyone.” My eyebrows raised at her tone of voice, and I found myself reaching for a bottle of Johnny Walker, the smile I was wearing still evident even though she was obviously pissed off about something.

  “I’m a curious creature.”

  “Yeah, well, look what that did to the cat, Mr. Walker.”

  Jesus, the way she said my name was like instant stimulation for my dick. I’d never know
n anything like it in my life, and considering the topic of conversation, I felt like a bastard. If Paris was going to get clean, it wasn’t going to be a good experience for either of them, yet here I was thinking with my crotch.

  “Maybe I just want to know for my own sanity.”

  “I can imagine you do. Is that so you can go running to Daggs and tell him that you found out where she is and who she is with, before anyone else gets the chance?” Her words washed over me like I was being doused in ice water. I pulled back and stared at the phone for a moment, feeling like she’d reached through the fucking thing and slapped me.

  “I don’t run to Daggs for anything, love. I can assure you of that.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. Then you really don’t have a reason to know my name. Just know that I'm her friend, that I’m looking after her, and that I’m phoning you to quit her job for her.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, okay,” I said, shaking my head and rubbing my palm over the top of it, before dropping my hand to the bottle and pouring myself a tall one. I wasn’t sure what was so hard for her to understand. If anything, my tone should have more than cleared up how I felt about Daggs, which, in turn, should have told her I was more than understanding about her need to keep Paris away from anything that could lead her back to that life.

  “You did just hear me say that Paris won’t be returning to work at your club, didn’t you? I’m not just talking about over the next few days or weeks. I mean forever, Mr. Walker. While I’m sure she appreciates everything you’ve done to help her keep a roof over her head for the last however many months, being in that environment just isn’t the right thing for her anymore.”

  “I agree.”

  “Oh.”

  “If I had your name, I would address you by it right about now, and maybe ask if I could take your number to keep in contact with you, just to make sure she’s well, given time. But seeing as I don’t…”