by Colbie Kay
“Damn.” His hazel eyes connect with my green ones. “I apologize for how I treated you.” I see he means it; I see the sincerity, and maybe a little regret.
I finish off my glass of wine and pour another. “I understand why you’re angry; do you know how many times I have wanted to cuss out those doctors and tell them to do their fucking jobs? Hundreds, but I would never humiliate, embarrass, taunt, scare, or try to destroy them with my words like you have me.” I cock my brow; waiting for a snide remark.
“I know and truly, I’m sorry. I never took into consideration what you could be going through. I’m an asshole and you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” That is not at all what I was expecting.
“Thank you for your apology.” I give him a small smile before it falls. “That night broke me; you have to believe that I did everything I could, but I couldn’t save him. That night was the last night I worked in the ER. I changed my career because it destroyed me watching your little boy lose his life.” Water pools in my eyes. A stray tear trails down my cheek.
“I knew you changed your career, but I never knew why. It means something to me that you never forgot him.” He finishes off his glass, so I tip the bottle towards it, but he shakes his head.
“Sometimes I wonder if death is better coming on all of a sudden. Mark is slowly dying to one of the most horrific diseases someone can experience. Cash, being so young, has to watch his dad lose his mind, eventually his ability to speak, walk, and function. One day he won’t recognize either of us, and there’s no fixing him. There’s no miraculous cure, no hoping he’ll get better, no way to slow the disease down. We just have to sit back and wait until the disease takes him from us, leaving Cash without his parents. I don’t understand why life is so cruel.” More tears fall.
Hacker reaches up with his thumbs, wiping them away. I stand stock-still, frozen, half from not knowing what to do and half out of shock. He says, “I don’t think we’ll ever have an answer to that question. I want to make it up to you for how I treated you and I want to help you. I’m offering you a job at Stilettos.” He drops his hands from my face.
My mouth gapes open. “You’re going to let me dance?”
He leans against the kitchen counter. “Fuck no, you’re not dancin’. I’m giving you the manager job.”
“You said that job was filled.” I arch my brow.
He looks down at his boots and back up with a hint of a smile. “I lied.”
“I’ll take it, but what if I need to leave to deal with a patient?”
“Just let me know, we’ll figure it out.”
I finish off my second glass and set it on the counter next to his. “This is definitely not how I expected tonight to go. Thank you, Hacker.”
“Yeah, me neither.” He chuckles. “Who would have thought we can have a civilized conversation? Come by the club tomorrow night and we’ll get you started.”
“Sounds good.” I proudly wear my megawatt smile. I can’t believe he really is going to help me.
I walk to the front door with Hacker and show him out. Just as Shelly walks up.
“Who is that?” she mumbles. We stand on the front porch watching Hacker leave on his motorcycle. She practically has drool running down her chin.
“Long story. Let’s have a glass of wine and I’ll tell you all about it.” Shelly follows me inside and straight to the kitchen.
I put Hacker’s glass in the sink, grab another for Shelly, and pour the sweet red wine in. We move into the living room, sit on the couch, and I go through the whole story from the beginning, not stopping until the end.
Her jaw should be hitting the floor with how wide her mouth is open when I finish. “So, that was the father of the little boy we couldn’t save?”
I reply, “Yep.”
“Damn.”
“Yep.”
“And now after years of being a shithead to you he’s apologizing?” Her brow arches in skepticism.
“Yep.”
“And you’re going to go work with him?”
“Yep.”
“Woman, if you don’t quit saying yep…” Shelly shakes her head.
Laughing, I respond, “I can’t help it. I think I’m still in shock. It was just so weird and out of the blue.”
She reaches over and squeezes my arm in comfort. “Well, if he tries any funny business you have your gun. And this might be really inappropriate, but that man looks good.”
“Shelly!” I scold. “So inappropriate.” I shake my head with a laugh.
“You going to tell me you haven’t had thoughts like that? Even if he was a shithead?”
“None.” And that is not a lie. I was always too busy running from him to really notice his looks.
“Guess you’re better than me.” She smiles then takes another drink.
We spend a few more hours talking and drinking, and then we end up watching the movie I was about to start earlier.
It felt good talking to someone about everything that has happened, that’s going on, and the way I feel. I’ve known Shelly for years and she knew parts, but not everything. Maybe it’s time I should call the ladies?
Chapter 12
The time has finally come. I’ve watched this bastard for the last couple of months, ever since his release. I know his routine: when he comes and goes from the halfway house, if he is ever with anyone, where he goes on a daily basis.
I look at the clock in my F-150: 8:30 am. Dennis Yearly should be walking out any second. Right on time, he steps out of the blue two-story house, shuts the door behind him, and walks down the steps.
He has his normal dark blue coveralls on and carries the small cooler that he keeps his lunch in. He has a twenty-five-minute walk to work and there is a mile period where everything is deserted. The houses are empty, no one is walking on the sidewalks, no kids playing in the yards, and no cars parked in driveways or on the sides of the streets. It’ll be right at the fifteen-minute mark.
He walks down the sidewalk, takes the normal turns, and I follow behind him until I have to speed up. I have enough tint in my windows that he won’t be able to see me as I pass by, if he would even know who I was. Driving on, I get to the spot I need to be at, pull my Beretta out of the glovebox, and tuck it in the back of my jeans, beneath my t-shirt and cut. Now I wait.
Ten minutes later he starts strolling by, not even noticing my truck. I step out, leaving the driver’s side door open, and jog across the street, sneaking right up behind him. Pulling my gun out, I hold it to the back of his neck. “Get in the truck,” I command.
“Please!” he begs, putting his hands in the air and dropping the cooler. “I’m just on my way to work. I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ money. Pick up the cooler and get in the truck now!” With my free hand I grab his arm tightly, pushing him in the direction of my truck after he bends to get the cooler he dropped.
“Open the door.” He grabs the handle and opens it. “Get the duct tape, tear off enough to cover your mouth, and put it in place.” He does as told, but the fuckin’ bastard is shaking and whimpering like a little bitch. Letting go of his arm, I reach up, gripping the back of his neck tightly. I put the gun back in my jeans and grab the rope I have sitting on the backseat. I snatch the cooler from him and throw it in the backseat, then I hold both of his wrists behind his back and secure the rope around them. “Get in!” He steps up with my help. I push him down and begin attaching the rope around his ankles, hogtying him. Double-checking the rope and the tape, I shut the back door, which already has the child safety lock on, and go around to my side. I get back in the driver’s side, start the engine, and head for the Sinners’ compound.
The prospect knows my truck, so as I pull up to the gate he lets me through, and I drive up to the clubhouse, pulling up as close
to the cellar as I can. All of us patched members have a key to the cellar, so I shut off the truck, take my keys, and go unlock the cellar door.
Leaving the door wide open, I go back to the truck, open the back door, and grab a hold of the rope. Untying it, I sit him up and pull him out of the truck. His foot slips and he almost goes down, but rights himself. I push him into the cellar, down the stairs, into the main area, and through the second door. I pull the gun out of the back of my jeans and rip the duct tape off his mouth. I lift the gun, shoving the barrel against his forehead. “You make one fuckin’ sound and I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out right now. Understood?”
He nods. Tears streak down his cheeks, his body shakes uncontrollably, and the smell of urine invades my nose. I look down and, sure enough, he’s pissed himself. “Why are you doing this?” His voice is wobbly, matching his bottom lip.
My brows knit, and I tilt my head to the side. “Do you recognize me?”
“No.” He frantically shakes his head.
“Fifteen years ago, you drove drunk in the middle of a fuckin’ ice storm. You crossed over that yellow line and crashed into another car. That car had my wife and my son in it, along with myself. Because of the decisions you made that night, I lost my family.” I stare coldly at the man who killed my family.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m a changed man. I swear!” he pleads, but it will do nothing to help him.
“Apologies don’t bring them back. Do you know why I never went to any of your appeals?”
“No.”
“Because I have been waiting for this moment. I have been waiting for you to be released so I can have my revenge. You don’t get to kill my family and move on with your life. You don’t get to go about planning a future when I’ll never get to see my son have one!” I grind out the last words, bring the Beretta back, and then hit him in the side of the head with it. He stumbles to the ground. Turning around, I walk out of the dirt-riddled, cold, and isolating room. I slam the door closed, lock it, and leave the cellar, making sure to lock it behind me. I get back in my truck and set my destination for Stilettos.
Unlocking my office door, I turn the light on and look around for the first time in a while. Usually I don’t give a shit what it looks like, but goddamn, this is a mess. Boxes are stacked and lined up along one wall, papers are thrown around my desk, not leaving any empty space, and uniforms are cluttered in a corner for the bouncers and waitresses. I have a lot of work to get this looking right for Sierra.
I lock up my office, head back out to my truck, and drive to the nearest store that has office shit.
Walking around, I throw things that I think she will need in the cart. I also get a couple filing cabinets and find a nice mahogany desk. The cashier rings me up and one of the stockers helps me load the desk into the back of my truck.
When I get back to Stilettos I begin cleaning up my desk, unpacking the boxes full of papers, supplies, and more uniforms for the bouncers and waitresses. What the hell do I need with all these fuckin’ uniforms?
I unload the filing cabinets first, get the dolly we use here at the club, and unload the desk. I push the desk inside and place it parallel to mine so she will be facing me, and then set the filing cabinets where the boxes once were and begin filling them.
Two hours later, I’m done. I look around the office; it’s clean, organized, spacious, and ready for her to claim the desk.
I sit behind mine, do some research on my computer for Hanger, unlock the top drawer, and find my checkbook.
I write her a personal check, put it in an envelope, and set it right in the middle of the desk with her name on the front. I turn out the lights, go out to the bar, and start getting shit done for Dancer.
Chapter 13
What do I wear to my new job? Definitely not a trench coat and dress shirt, that’s for sure. Rummaging through my closet, I find a business suit. Hmm, that might be too dressy. I pull out a pair of jeans and the top I bought at Lady Sinners. It goes perfectly with the jeans; it’s oversized and hangs off one shoulder. I grab my open-toed wedges and go into the bathroom to shower.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror in my matching pink lace bra and panties, blow-drying my hair. With my straightener, I give the ends of my hair just enough curl to add a little volume before putting on my usual minimum amount of makeup.
Checking myself out in the mirror, I think I look good. I walk out of the bathroom holding my shoes and sit on my couch. I fasten the wedges and look at the clock. It’s 3:30 pm; time for me to go.
“Shelly?” I yell through the house.
“Yeah?” She comes out of Mark’s room.
“It’s time for me to go.” I bite my bottom lip in nervousness.
“You’ll do great!” she encourages with a smile. “Just relax and remember: If he tries any funny business, you’re packin’.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t really shoot him!”
“I know, but doesn’t it make you feel like a badass knowing you could?” She winks. “See ya’—and I expect details.”
“Details of what?” My brows rise.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but you’re spending the evening with that hot piece of man meat. Give me somethin’.”
I bust out laughing. “You are crazy!”
“I know.” She turns, waving over her shoulder, and goes back towards Mark’s room. Making sure I grabbed everything I’ll need, I leave the house, get in my SUV, and head to Stilettos.
I wasn’t lying; Shelly is crazy. She is so much fun, though! I’ve known her for years, ever since I started out as a doctor in the ER and she was a nurse, later getting promoted to head nurse. She stayed on in the ER long after I had left, but when Mark needed a nurse she was the first to come help.
She is a sassy, spunky woman in her early fifties with short blonde hair that’s turning grey and cat-eye glasses that hide her blue eyes. I swear she still thinks she’s in her twenties, but I love her craziness.
I pull up to the empty club, park my Navigator, and walk inside. It’s a different atmosphere when nobody’s here. No music is blaring, the tables are empty, and the lights are on like a normal business—it’s quiet.
“Hey, Sierra,” Dancer welcomes me with a smile from behind the bar.
“Hi, Dancer.” She comes around the bar and meets me on the other side.
“I’ll show you around. Follow me.” I do as she says. “I’m so glad he finally came to his senses and hired you. I think you’re going to work out perfectly. He said he wasn’t going to apologize, but I knew he would.” She opens a door. “Here’s the dressing room.”
“Ah, so you’re the reason he apologized.” I look around the dressing room. It has a wall lined with lockers, a makeup table that goes along another wall with multiple stools in front of it, and a mirror the same length as the table is mounted above it.
“I don’t know if I’m necessarily the reason, but he needed someone to talk some sense into that stubborn head of his and make him see he was wrong.”
“Honestly, I don’t care how it happened, I’m just grateful it did.”
She shuts the door and begins walking again. “Here’s the bathrooms.” She doesn’t need to show me the inside of those. She continues talking as we walk around the club. “Did he tell you what your job involves?”
“No.”
“Basically, you’re in charge of the dancers. Keep them from fighting, keep the drugs out, and if more is going on in the VIP room than just dancing, that’s a big no-no. Here’s the storage room.” She opens the door.
“What do I do if any of that stuff happens?” I look around at the shelves containing supplies and liquor bottles, and over to the side is an ice machine.
“You fire them and tell Hacker.” Well, alrighty then.
My brow cocks. “Won’t he be mad if
I just fire someone?”
“Nope, that’s what you’re hired for. These women act like a bunch of toddlers and we need to get control of it. Here’s the VIP room.” My eyes scan the couches, curtains, and dividers separating each piece of furniture. “You will be sharing an office with Hacker and he’s waiting for you now.” She leaves me to go back to the bar, so I go to his office and knock on the door.
“Come in,” Hacker responds to my knocking.
I open the door and walk inside, shutting the door behind me. I look around the room. It’s cleaner than the last time I was here, and now there’s another desk. “Hey,” I say shyly.
“Hey,” he repeats.
“Dancer showed me around and told me what I’ll be doing.” I stand there awkwardly.
“Good. I got the desk for you since we’ll be sharing an office, and you don’t have to knock. Here’s a spare key; Dancer, you, and I are the only ones that have one, so if you need in here and I’m not around…”
I take the key he holds out for me. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do all this.”
He types on his computer. “It’s fine; I should have cleaned up a while ago. Sit, get comfortable.”
My brows pull down; he keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I set my purse on top of the desk and notice an envelope with my name on the front. I open it, pull the check out, and my eyes widen in shock. “What is this?”
“Call it a sign-on bonus.” My head snaps in his direction. He’s concentrating hard on whatever he sees on that monitor.