The Narrow Path: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (Dangerous Men by Alex Abbott Book 1)

by Alex Abbott

  “Guess I was wrong about you then,” he stated simply, tilting his head to one side, giving her that cocky once-over as if seeing her anew once more. His first glance clearly wrong. “Didn’t think you were the type of woman to settle down with anyone. Let alone just one guy. One wimpy guy. Yeah I seen where he went,” he stated.

  Her frustration was rising, the man somehow finding his way under her skin so easily, with each passing word.

  “Where, then?” she asked. Already so much time had been wasted.

  “That’s it?” he said, holding his hands out to the side in a display of how little she was offering for her side of the bargain. “Just a demand for an answer. No offer of exchange? No pretty please?” he said, giving a wry, smarmy smile.

  “Pretty please?” she said, trying to pout though she would put money on it coming out as closer to a sneer.

  Whatever it looked like to him, he smiled. A genuine smile, not the sort of smug expression he bore before. And the damn thing had the effect of making him look significantly more handsome.

  “You’re a gutsy lady,” he said to her, not coyly. Not in some playful manner. But a genuine, honest confession of her daring against a man who clearly could’ve made her life hell. Or simply ended it.

  But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking proud at his words, though something within her shined a bit brighter.

  “You missed ‘em,” he said simply. “The kid had to hop a cab. Guess he’s lucky mom and dad gave him enough change that he doesn’t have to take the bus.”

  Her lip quirked into a sneer, not at his jab at Romy, but at the fact that her lover was clearly avoiding her.

  “Right. Thanks,” Angela said, anger roiling inside her veins.

  “Don’t let the look and the thugs confuse you,” he said to her, and for once she noticed the curious accent about him. He looked like he could be a typical, white-bred sort of fellow, albeit a particularly special one. Instead there was that slight hint of something else in his words…

  “I’m not some thug,” he said. “You should spend some time with me yourself and figure that out.”

  “You the one revving your bike down here at all hours of the night?” she asked, none of that bravado having drained from her the more they spoke.

  He eyed her up and down again, a hard sort of inspection one might give a potential criminal about to rob them.

  “Not anymore,” he stated simply. “I’ll make sure the boys keep it to a minimum.”

  Angela nodded, flicking her eyes up at his two big guys, before she looked back to the man in front of her.

  “Got a name?”

  “Vitaly,” he said simply, then jerked his chin in her direction. “You’re Angela,” he pointed out. “But I think a name like Anj would suit you better. What do you think?” he asked in that hard voice of his, though his harshness seemed somewhat alleviated with their more familiar conversational turn.

  She stared at him, arms tightening about her ribcage.

  “How’d you know my name?” she asked. Curiosity was getting the better of her, and she knew she should take off, but she didn’t want to be alone just then.

  “I just think it’s a sleeker, hotter name, for a very sleek, hot woman,” he stated, tilting his hip to one side as he stood before her, so cocksure and in control. He avoided her question though. The man seemed ever to be directing the conversation his way and not hers.

  He was infuriating, but she did her best to hide it.

  “Well, Vitaly,” she said, “I’d appreciate it if I could get some sleep tonight.”

  “I will do my best,” he said to her frankly, one brow raised. “As you can likely tell, however, we have business here at the bar. So it can’t be avoided altogether. But no needless revving,” he said to her firmly. “I hope this will make you more amenable when next we meet.”

  “We’ll see,” she said simply, glancing to his buddies before back at him. “Until next time.” She turned on her heel, walking more sullenly back to her apartment.

  Why was Romy avoiding her?

  Chapter 10

  Two calls came in quick succession, and they left Angela dazed.

  First was Romy.

  “We’re over,” was all he said, and the tone of voice he used was so flippant and cool as to be suspicious.

  There were a hundred things she could’ve said then, among them: we were never officially a thing. After all, despite her fondness for him, their many times screwing, she’d never actually agreed to his many propositions to be his girl.

  Though mostly she was left confused by it all, the sudden shift. The change in his demeanor.

  She tried to find out what was going on, but he had hung up the moment her lips parted.

  That left only the silence. And she went to call him back, but before she even had the chance, her phone rang, coming to life with Jamal’s name across the screen.

  She answered, her mood soured and hard.

  “What’d you do?” she asked, for though he said Romy was her problem — her responsibility — she didn’t have any other idea of why Romy would suddenly turn cold on her with no reason.

  Unless Vitaly had threatened him.

  Her lips curved into a sneer.

  Her tone of voice and demanding question immediately set Jamal off, but he recouped quickly.

  “I’ve got us an opportunity to go look at the club, help make our decision. I can swing on by and pick you up in an hour if you’re free,” he offered, though clearly the man sounded confused and doing his best to make up for it.

  She took in a deep breath.

  She wasn’t even that upset about Romy, but the idea that someone was meddling in her life had set her on edge.

  “Fine,” she finally exhaled. It’d been another long few days with no response to her gap-filled and inconsistent resume, and she couldn’t live off ten grand for an eternity.

  “Everythin’ okay?” he asked, and despite his apparent confusion, there was genuine concern in his voice. Where Romy had treated her with such casual disregard, he’d only shown consideration for her since they’d reacquainted.

  The text message that popped up on her screen then reaffirmed it.

  I’ve got no time for a loose whore.

  It was all Romy said.

  She stared at it for a second but then her anger turned into an eye roll. Of course. He only wanted her to be a loose whore for him. As if a girl that goes home with him after just meeting could ever be dedicated to him and him alone.

  She put the phone back to her ear, her jaw tight.

  “It’s nothing,” Angela managed.

  She hadn’t even been with another man since she’d met him; that fact was just salt in the wound he made though. Their relationship was a wild ride, it’d been fast and intense. But short it seemed.

  “I’ll be right over,” he said to her in that deep, masculine husk that was especially soothing. Jamal at least had made it more than abundantly clear he’d hold no such thing against her. Not that he had any right to.

  She hung up the phone and let out a loud sigh. She didn’t know what had happened to make Romy change so quickly, but it barely mattered. The fact was that if he wasn’t willing to do anything more than fuck her and put her on a pedestal, he was not going to be the one for her.

  Especially since she’s turned down the man she’d loved for so long. All out of consideration for Romy.

  She threw the phone on the bed as she got dressed, her skin still boiling and flushed with her anger.

  Jamal arrived right on schedule, this time buzzing her door through the intercom.

  “Your ride awaits,” he said.

  “Be right down,” she said grabbing her purse and walking downstairs.

  She didn’t want to be overly dressed up so had pulled on a pair of dark jeans and stiletto heels, a white blouse and pulled back hair. She walked up to Jamal, waiting for him to open the door, before slipping into the passenger's seat with little more than a smile g
iven to him.

  Jamal for his part was looking infuriatingly good again. All that time in jail had undoubtedly messed with him in many ways, but by all she could see, he’d only come out stronger, wiser and a hell of a lot better looking.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat wearing a sleek pair of black jeans and a button up shirt, both of which hugged his physique nicely. He wore a black blazer over both, indicating he was likely treating the whole situation seriously as a business excursion.

  “You’re lookin’ great,” he remarked simply, pulling out of the parking spot.

  She stared out the window again, trying to avoid looking at him, though she didn’t know why. She was free. There was no more Romy to worry about.

  Angela bit in her lip briefly before tasting her lipstick and rubbing her tongue over her teeth to free them from its taint.

  “So, what, we meeting with the former owners or...?”

  “Nah,” he said to her. “Just their representative who should be waiting for us when we get there. He’ll give us free reign to look around, make our decision. The sale’s in the bag really, all it needs is our approval,” he said smoothly.

  Though, of course, what he really meant was her approval.

  That it was something she wanted.

  Her fingers traced along the door idly as she watched the world whip past before she finally tore her gaze away, meeting his.

  “I just got dumped,” she said simply. She never could keep secrets from him.

  Perhaps it was the fact that he’d never treated her lesser for being her whole self. Not just the idealized version of herself.

  Though Jamal was a stoic man who did not show surprise easily, the little twitch upon his face, the way his eyes widened in that tell-tale manner said it all.

  “You should’ve dumped him. You’re too good for that punk anyhow,” he said in that dark husk of his. “I mean, other than a quick fuck what’s he got to offer a real woman like you?” he asked, his arms moving upon the steering wheel.

  “He’s been avoiding me,” she shrugged. No matter if what he said was true or not, it still damaged her pride to have been dumped.

  “What a little shit,” Jamal nearly growled the words out. He took a deeper offense to her dumping than her almost. “Could tell he was a little shit the moment I saw him,” he said just before pulling up outside a club. What it lacked in class it made up for in size. It was a huge strip club, Angela had to give it that, though the sign was busted. Easy to estimate why, as big as that sign was with its giant lights, it must’ve cost a small fortune to repair.

  She shook her head free of the thoughts of Romy. She had to get her head on business. Had to do it right.

  She took in a deep breath as she waited for Jamal to open her door, then stood up straight and, hopefully, imposing. She was a short woman, but in her heels she was middling height, and her dark hair and intense eyes often gave her a serious air.

  “We’d have to fix that,” she said, stating the obvious. “Make sure that’s accounted for in the price.” Not that the price mattered. It wasn’t his dollar.

  Jamal escorted her to the front door, where a man in a business suit got out of a silver Mercedes while he spoke on a phone. He gave Jamal a nod in between authoritative “yeah’s” but otherwise said little. He unlocked the front door and said to them at last, “take your time, I’ll be waitin’ out here.” Then went back to his phone conversation.

  Jamal placed his hand upon her lower back and guided her in. The place looked even bigger on the inside. Much larger than the club the two of them worked all those years ago.

  With red carpeting and walls, it had the appearance of a real house of debauchery. Shiny metal poles and mirrors, a dark wood bar at one side. It was old, but in surprisingly good shape. The interior far exceeded the exterior.

  Angela gazed around, feeling all of those old memories well up in her. When she’d stripped, she felt alive. It was a constant rush of emotions, and not all of them were good, but looking up at the 20 foot pole, she couldn’t help but smile.

  Stage shows were her life. Swinging around the pole, stripping for dozens or hundreds of eyes, manipulating the audience into wanting her. She could almost hear the beat of the music thrumming through her body and she had to force herself to see it as something more than just a way to relive her youthful indiscretions.

  No, she was going to be the manager she’d always wished she’d had back when she was dancing. One that understood the realities of being a stripper and not just some skeezy guy who wanted to make money off of the dancer’s hard work.

  She walked away from Jamal, going towards the bar and inspecting the fridge, the washers, all of the little corners that she could see. It was clean, she had to give it that, though the carpets would need replacing. They were worn, and the shelves would be a bit cumbersome for any short bartenders to reach.

  She walked into the champagne room area and instantly approved. The dark purple curtains were transparent, a little table in each with benches all about. They were in surprisingly good condition, as well, with cute little pillows.

  Definitely workable.

  Next was the lap dance sections, but they were less well kept, and needed to be reupholstered. It was an excellent start, though.

  Jamal came out from behind her, having been inspecting the back rooms.

  “There’s change rooms back there, actual ones. Not just one big one either, there’s a couple of individual ones for feature dancers I guess. Oh, and two offices even, in case you change your mind about ever wanting one of your own,” he remarked, smiling down at her. “I don’t know about you, babe, but… this place looks damn workable,” he said, sounding genuinely excited for the whole venture.

  “I don’t want us just to have any girls. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna make a reputation as being the best — not just for clients, but for dancers too. If we can attract some big names, some real stars...” she trailed off.

  She was excited.

  It could work.

  Jamal stepped up to her, and like old times he put his arm about her back, rested his hand upon her shoulder as he peered around the place. From the upstairs where they were, they could see down from the railing over the club below. The two mini-stages and poles, the main one, and all the tables and seating about.

  “I can feel it too,” he said to her in his low voice, so full of optimism. “This could be big. Real big. Not like any of them clubs we worked or saw before. Somethin’ with a name that people know, far outside the city. It’s got the layout, we just need to fill it and use it right.”

  “Didn’t seem they were doin’ that great before. I mean, not bad, but,” she glanced around. “For a place like this I’d expect the lap dance couches to be immaculate, but they’ve been letting it go. We’re going to have to do some retooling to get the right clients in here. Get the right clients, we’ll get the right girls.”

  Jamal’s large hand rubbed at her shoulder and he leaned into her, his hard pecs pressed to her arm as he spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

  “Been speakin’ with some folk who owe me favours. Seeing about gettin’ some big spenders in here, make it their club of choice once I take over. I did a lot of good for ‘em before I went away, least they can do is spend some of those fat wads of cash they made while I was gone on our club and girls.”

  It caused her to hesitate, but she slowly nodded, despite herself.

  People that owed Jamal favours would be inviting trouble back into her life, and yet she had no other ideas. She couldn’t convince the whales of the city simply to come to her strip club just because she wanted it.

  “And what do we do if they get out of hand?”

  “That’ll be my area,” he said to her with a hard edge. “I’ll keep the club clean and safe. Keep the books balanced. I’ll leave the girls and everything else to you. Anyone that gets in the way of business will be gotten rid of in turn.”

  He reached out to take hold of both her shoul
ders and bring her to face him entirely.

  “We won’t be pulled back into that life. And I’ll defend us against it with force if it becomes necessary. I’m only gonna invite along those ones I trust to behave themselves. No hard cases, no thugs.”

  He had a serious look in his eye as he stared down at her, his thick strong arms holding her securely as he stressed his point.

  He never broke his word.

  She let her gaze fall between them, looking at his tailored shirt, eyes tracing along the buttons as she slowly nodded.

  “I know you get it. That I can’t go back there. But I can’t be a nobody eeking out the rest of my years in tedium. Trouble follows me, Jamal.” It went unspoken that he had been the only one that had been able to protect her through it all.

  He knew anyhow.

  Which was why he pulled her into an embrace then, pressing her into his hard, muscular chest as he wrapped his arms about her and placed his hand alongside hers. That raw, masculine comfort so pleasing in the face of all that upset her.

  “We’ll stick it out,” he said in a low husk. “Make a life for ourselves. Full and complete. We’ll be players, determine our own course. But we’ll not get sucked into that dangerous life.”

  He felt so warm around her, like cuddling into her favourite blanket. Familiar. Safe. And like armour, he made her impenetrable.

  She let her face press into his chest, inhaling his scent as her arms hugged around his back, holding them together.

  “We’ll give it a try, but I’m out if anything happens.”

  Jamal pulled back and let his strong hands roam across her back up to her shoulders, then to her face. He cupped her two cheeks and leaned in to place a kiss upon her forehead.

  “I’m gonna protect you from whatever might come,” he said firmly, such determination. “All I’ve dreamt about these years is giving you a good life, security and love,” he said, his dark eyes alight with conviction for what he said. “I’ll be the man you need, Angie. The one I should’ve been all these years. I got a lotta time to make up for.”