Claimed: The Decadence Club

by Alyssa Clark

  I didn’t let the blade frighten me, not even after he took a menacing step forward. Instead, I eyed him harder and trying to figure out the best possible angle to take him out. He had a decent stance, legs spread wide with his knife hand held back and the other ready to block any sort of punch. Like I’d be dumb enough to throw one.

  “Well,” I heaved a sigh like this wasn’t something I wanted to do, “if you insist.”

  I lower my stance, deciding that if I couldn’t see an obvious weakness, I’d just go for the middle. A plan devised, I lunged at him like any good linebacker would. I made sure after I collided with him to use my momentum to make him hit the asphalt, and that I had a good grasp on the upper arm that ended with a knife.

  There was a yell, and I couldn’t tell if it was from him or me, I was too intent on managing all of this without getting stabbed. But it was a struggle. The guy’s had some strength in him that I didn’t judge right off the bat. It was clear that he’d probably never came at someone before, I was betting he’d never been in a fight.

  Then he managed a sucker punch, catching me in the jaw and making me see stars. For a brief beat, I decided I was probably wrong about that, too. I had to shake it from my head, and I tasted blood. Mother fucker. I used my free hand to give him a better-aimed punch, showing him how it should be done, and I got a grunt for my efforts.

  Now, to take care of the knife.

  I wrapped my hand around the bed of his elbow, and I smacked his arm down against the pavement. He didn’t release it immediately, so the next two slams I gave his arm contain a bit more force. I felt a give, and the man under me blurted another yell, it was definitely pained. Something broke, but I took the time to make sure that this fucker wasn’t going anywhere. I gave him another sharp punch to the temple, and the man beneath me went still.

  Blood pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything over it. I stayed planted on his stomach, and I waited.

  A hand landed on my shoulder, and I jerked away from it, turning to see Kenneth. He didn’t look bothered by me pulling away.

  “Angela called the cops.” He put his hand on my shoulder and tugged me back as if to pull me off him. “That’s enough, the guy’s out.”

  I didn’t think I was in a daze, I thought I was pretty clear, but when he pulled me back, I felt disoriented. He must’ve hit me harder then I thought because when I managed to my feet, I was wavering.

  “You okay?” Kenneth asked.

  “Think he clocked me good.” I shook my head as I tried to get my bearings. “Fucker had a knife. Find the knife, so I can call self-defense.”

  “You okay?” he repeated, keeping a hand on me as he looked around the area. “I don’t want to step away from you if you’re going to keel over.”

  I spat out the taste of blood that lingered and brought a hand to my jaw. “I’m not gonna,” I assured him as I started to probe my teeth with my tongue and fingers. If he knocked a tooth loose, I was going to take the opportunity to stomp some fucking sense into this dipshit.

  I heard the door open again, and I glanced back to see Angela stalking out. Tabitha was at the door, too, but she didn't move to come check on me. Her eyes looked huge even from here. I almost wanted to wave her over, but the fact that this asshat had been poking around the parking lot was reason enough for me to not.

  “This the asshole?” I called out to Tabitha.

  She nodded without stepping out of the doorway. I got the feeling she was just as worried as I was about the prick sitting up and spotting her. Like he’d be able to get around me or something.

  “What asshole?” Angela demanded as she came to me, her eyes were alight with a mix of concern and anger. “What the hell is going on?”

  “This fucker,” I snapped at her as I pointed at to the prone figure on the ground, “was out here sniffing around the cars. I caught him, and he pulled out a knife.”

  “That’s a good story for the police,” she didn’t contain her sarcasm, she just crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. “Now the real story please.”

  It felt like she saw right the fuck through me and that irked me in a way I didn’t like. “This fucker is Tabitha’s ex. She has a restraining order on him. He gave her a call the other day and had the joy of speaking to me. Then he fucking showed up tonight.” Honestly, I couldn’t figure out why the jackass had to do something so stupid.

  “She has a restraining order against him?” She turned to give Tabitha a look, and I could see the way she cowered back in the doorway, it must’ve been angry.

  I growled, “She didn’t ask for him to show up.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Angela agreed with me. “But who told her to be here? She isn’t in my employment, and she wasn’t making a display as she did on opening night. Why is she here?”

  “Not that it matters,” I snapped, glaring, “but she takes me home. I’m fucking glad this happened here instead of this asshole coming to my apartment, and the situation could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

  “It could have been a whole lot worse,” Angela sounded distracted, and when I glanced at her, I could see her typing at her phone. “But it probably would have been a better idea to call the police when you saw him in the parking lot instead of handling it yourself. Especially with you having priors.”

  “I didn’t think.” It felt like that was what she was trying to wheedle out of me. So I gave in, I hadn’t been thinking. It could have been handled several different ways that were I wouldn’t have an aching jaw. It made me feel like a jackass, and I started to question if this was a repeat of what had landed me in jail the first time around. “Fuck I need to call Suzanne,” I drug my hand through my hair.

  I’d dug myself into a hole and for what? I glanced back at Tabitha, where she lingered in the doorway. Was she back there because of the guy on the ground? Or because of me?

  For some fucking reason, the prospect of me frightening her hurt.

  I’d fucked up hard.

  14

  The cops came and took fucking forever to get there. By then the asshole had come to and made a show of groaning in pain when they came to ask questions.

  “He broke my fucking arm!” he wailed until they agreed to call an ambulance.

  The cops asked their questions, looking for witnesses. So far the only witness was Kenneth, and he’d only caught the tail end of it. But still, they took his statement.

  They found the knife and the wire hanger he had been using to try to get into the car. The car that happened to belong to Tabitha. She also gave a statement and let them know that there was a restraining order against him.

  “Well this is pretty cut and dry,” one of the officers said to me. “Mr. Randall Morton was caught trying to break into a car, and you stopped him, He pulled a knife and came at you. That right?”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice that his partner was in the car, typing at the computer that sat between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. It didn’t take him long before he got out of the car and motioned the other guy back to him.

  This is where shit would get messy. They’d pulled up my record and questioned the truth behind my story. The fact that there weren’t any real witnesses made it worse.

  I watched as officer number one came back to the parking lot with a serious expression, his hands on his belt. “Mr. Davis, we’re going to need you to come down to the station with us so we can relay your story to the captain. I understand how it looks, but because Mr. Morton doesn’t have any sort of a record even with the restraining order, we’re going to have to make a more formal statement.”

  “I hardly see how that’s necessary,” Angela spoke up and even went as far as to position herself between me and the cop. Like she would be able to do anything. I doubted she weighed one-thirty wet. “You’ve got his statement here. Why does he need to go with you? He’s on my time clock, this happened on my property. He’s not leaving.”

  “Clock me out,” I grunted and stepped aro
und her. “One thing you don’t do, Boss. You don’t cause trouble with the men in blue.” I jerked a thumb towards the cop. “Just give my P.O. a holler, so she knows what’s going on.”

  “We’ll give her a call when we get down there,” the cop reassured me, his expression had relaxed when he realized I wasn’t going to be an issue.

  “I’m calling a lawyer,” Angela barked from behind me. “What precinct are you taking him to so his lawyer will be there to meet him?”

  “Twenty-first,” he answered her politely, though he still looked uncomfortable with the air of authority the woman waved around. I doubt there was a man that would be comfortable with how she took control of a situation and I doubted he would understand why she was like that.

  He led the way to the car, and I had the relief of not getting cuffed. There was still the kick of nerves by riding in the back of a squad car. I buckled up and fought to sit comfortably on the hard vinyl seats… it was impossible. It only added to the length of the ride which added to my stress only causing me to sweat more. The jacket I wore as a part of my ‘uniform’ only made shit worse.

  Angela better not complain about having to have this cleaned.

  I rubbed my brow, once again grateful for not being cuffed. “I hate to be that asshole,” I said to the two cops sitting up front. “How much longer is the ride?”

  The cop in the passenger seat laughed a little. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through, brother. Sorry. We should’ve given you the option to drive yourself.” He didn’t know I didn’t have a car. “We got ten more minutes. Mrs. Cawfield will be meeting us up there.”

  “She’s gonna be pissed she had to get out of bed at this hour,” I assured them. “You’re gonna get to hear her give me an ear full.”

  “I’ve not dealt with Cawfield,” the driver spoke up. “I’ve heard a few people say she’s more like a disappointed mother than anything else.”

  “I’m guessing your mom never beat your ass as a kid.”

  That got a laugh from both of them. “Well, at least she won’t be able to do that.”

  I didn’t normally have this many women in my life. Granted, there was only a handful. But it felt like each one of them was trying to shape me into someone, make me different from how I used to be. I couldn’t fathom why.

  I couldn’t remember the poor fuck I used to be. So much happened that whatever sort of asshole I was before getting arrested was forgotten in a wave of frustration and despair. Was I going to have to face all that shit again? And for what? Tabitha?

  They pulled up right out front of the precinct and took the time to help me out. I was walked into the station, and I was barely noticed in favor of everyone paying attention to their own shit. There was a bench to one side that had more than a few women cuffed to it, all in varying states of undress.

  One blew me a kiss for my troubles, a little redhead that had her tits pushed up to the point it looked like they might bounce out of her top at any moment.

  Hookers.

  I didn’t bother giving her anything back. Instead I gave my attention back to the cops as they led me to what I assumed was an interview room. It was a bare cinderblock room with one mirror, a table that looked like it was bolted to the floor, and two chairs.

  “Take a seat, we’ll send your lawyer in when he gets here,” cop number two gestured me in.

  I probably could’ve caught their names, but I decided that paying that kind of attention would be too much. I went into the room without any trouble, and I sat down in one of the little metal chairs to wait out what was planned for me. Would they figure something out to arrest me for? Did they really have something on me?

  Maybe I should have held back. It wasn’t necessary that I break the guy’s arm. I could have figured out another way to disarm him without going that far. I leaned forward and pressed my face against the cool metal table. It would have been so much easier if I just called the cops from the beginning.

  Why’d I elect to handle shit myself?

  It felt like hours, being in that room by myself, before there was a knock at the door and then a squeek as it opened. I sat up a little to see a man in a rumpled suit slip inside. He had blonde hair and peach fuzz on his face, he looked beat. “Hey.” He offered me a hand. “Matt Clarke,” he said when I took his hand.

  “Easton Davis,” I said by way of greeting. I couldn’t tell if he was a detective or not. They wouldn’t question me after Angela talking about sending a lawyer in, would they?

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” he set his briefcase on the table as he stood over me. “Took Angela a few tries to wake me up. But I’m here to act as your attorney, Mr. Allen Franklin will probably come in, too. That’ll depend on whether or not they intend to charge you with anything.”

  “I don’t have any money,” which was technically a lie. I did have a bit of money, I’d been squandering my paychecks away because I wanted the punishment of being stupid to stick. I didn’t want to repeat my past mistakes.

  Obviously, that plan hadn’t worked.

  “That’s not an issue,” he waved it off. “Let’s just say Angela can owe me one.”

  Well damn. Was this guy another one of her clients? He said Allen Franklin before, didn’t he? I sat back as I looked at him. This guy looked like he worked hard and he probably made more money than I did. “You hire Angela?”

  He snorted. “A time or two. Then I got upgraded from a customer to a regular that doesn’t have to pay for it.” He sat down across from me. “So I take it that means you know what she does? You hire her, too?”

  “I’m not into letting a woman tie me up and beat me,” I grunted.

  “It’s an acquired taste.” He paused to cover a yawn. “Not everyone is into it. But you can’t really knock it until you try it.” He shrugged. “I prefer the old fashion stuff.”

  I grimaced at him, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Do they have anything they can hold me on?”

  “Honestly?” He seemed just as relieved at the change of conversation. “Not really. The other guy, on the other hand, has far more incriminating shit even with a clean record. Right now,” he tapped on the metal table, “I think what they’re looking for an excuse to keep you in holding. Waiting for an interview with your parole officer seems to be that excuse.”

  I grunted as I took it in. “This is like an echo of what happened last time.”

  “I can see how you’d feel that way.” He opened his suitcase and pulled out a legal pad. “I didn’t get the chance to read your file on the way over. What happened?”

  I shrugged. “Saw a situation that looked off and I tried to help. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it. I broke her guy’s arm and paid for it.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “After working at the club this long, I’m beginning to think I was looking at it wrong the entire time. I kept thinking she had that ‘battered wife’ mentality and that’s why she sided with her man. Now, I’m wondering if it was just an elaborate public display that I just didn’t get and I broke shit because I’m a fucking dumbass.”

  Matt looked at me for a few beats, not bothering to take any notes. “I can’t claim to know the complete ins and outs of the BDSM community. I only know as much as I let Angela do to me.” He leaned back in his chair as he spoke. “A submissive woman is not the same as a battered wife. One is a willing participant, and the other is not. A safeword isn’t going to save a wife from her abusive husband.” He rubbed the whiskers on his face as he considered his words. “What I’m going to suggest is that you don’t try to overthink or over analyze what happened in the past. It's the past, done and over with. You’ve served your time for it, you’re out. There’s no sense to continue to punish yourself for it.”

  “Have you been to jail?” I asked because I doubted he understood at all.

  “No,” he admitted. I knew it. “But I’ve made some dumbass mistakes. There’s only one thing you can do when you make a mistake, learn from them, so you do
n’t repeat them.”

  “Fine advice, man.” I couldn't help but get angry at him. He was telling me this shit too late. “But I coulda used it a few hours ago.”

  Matt opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened and cut him off. Suzanne stood there in a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt with the US Navy emblem across the front; she still had curlers in her hair. She gave me a glower that would probably have had a lesser man shaking in fear. “You couldn’t do this shit at a decent hour?”

  I could only shrug. “I work nights.”

  She didn’t falter at all with the dark look she was giving me. “You’re gonna start hitting that first meeting every month from here on out. And you’re gonna stop giving Gregory shit.”

  I blinked. “Who?” I had to struggle to think about who she was talking about. I didn’t give people shit.