by Nashoda Rose
Bree lowered her voice, leaning into me. “Tab is sorta seeing Greg.” Oh. Huh. I didn’t see that coming. Greg was so direct and fierce, and I pictured him with a… well, a softer girl than Tab.
Tammy overheard and snorted. “Seeing? No, they fuck when he has nothing else to fuck.”
“You’re a bitch, Tammy.” Tab snatched her bag off the floor and hitched it over her shoulder as she walked out.
I heard the door open and slam shut behind her.
Everyone laughed. I smiled, already feeling like I was part of the group.
“No leaving the club without an escort.” Bree climbed to her feet, held out her hand, which I gratefully took, and she hauled me up beside her. “And if you have any issues, go to Greg. He’ll straighten it out.”
I bit my lip. “Umm, Greg is pissed at me right now.”
Bree bent, picked up her bag and water. “No, he’s not. He’s pissed at himself for letting you get away and has a bruised ego. But Greg’s ego needs a little bruising now and then. Don’t worry about it.” She pointed to the stairs. “Change room for dancers. First door after the bar then second door on the left. There’s a ton of outfits, nothing too risqué. Brett’s motto, ‘class not trash.’ What’s your cell number?” Bree asked.
“I don’t have one at the moment.” If I got the job, after paying hydro and rent, I’d buy prepaid cards for my phone.
“You serious?” Her eyes widened. “You need a cell. If you’re hired, which you will be, Derek will get you one. He’s the manager here.” Bree walked to the door and I followed. “Later, girls” She waved over her shoulder.
“Bye,” I called to Tammy and Shari.
She yanked open the door, and the warm summer air billowed into me as we walked outside. “I don’t need a cell.”
“You will if you’re hired. Compass rule. Girls text Greg when they’re ready to leave the club. No exceptions. All girls. Waitresses, bartenders, dancers. He’s not available, then he sends one of the other guys to escort you to a taxi, car, whatever.”
“A little over the top, isn’t it?”
“Told you. Safest club in the city. That’s why we don’t have trouble. Compass is tight, and if Greg finds out you left with no escort, he’ll have your ass fired. And it won’t matter how good a dancer you are.”
It kind of made me feel better about leaving at two in the morning in the club district, especially Friday and Saturday nights. It was one part of the city that the mounted police often patrolled.
Jacob, who had let me into the club, was leaning up against the wall having a smoke when Bree and I came out. “You get hired, Hijack?”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname. Looks like I’d be stuck with it if I was hired. “Trial Saturday night.”
He tossed his cigarette into the alley. “Good. See you then.”
Bree reached into her purse as she stopped at a silver sports car. With tinted windows and sleek lines, it looked like it cost a fortune. The horn beeped as she pressed the key fob. “Need a ride?”
I was still staring at the car, trying to figure out how on Earth she could afford it. She laughed.
“Parents bought it for me. Twenty-first birthday. I couldn’t refuse because”—she ran her hand over the lip of the roof—“well, it’s sweet as hell.” She slid into the leather seat and started it up. “You need a ride?”
I shook my head. “I have my car.” But it was always a risk whether it would make it to its destination. “Thanks for your help. Have fun Saturday night.”
“Thanks. Later,” Bree called, shut her door then drove off.
I put on my sunglasses, walked to my car and climbed in when a black sports car pulled into the alley and parked. I briefly glanced over and…
Holy shit. It was Killian in the driver seat.
What the hell?
I slammed my door shut and ducked down so fast I hit my head on the gearshift. I rubbed the spot as I kept tucked in next to the steering wheel. Why would he be here on a Wednesday afternoon? The club wasn’t even open. But there’d been someone in the car with him, though I didn’t have a chance to see who it was.
My calf leg cramped, and the car was suffocating with the windows closed from having sat in the sun for two hours. But I didn’t dare pop my head up. How long had it been? Was it long enough to park and go into the club?
I peeked over the dashboard.
Shit. He stood beside his car talking on his phone, his tall, length leaning against the side of it. And Christ, he wore a pair of worn jeans, black belt, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up revealing his tattooed arms.
His clothes hung in crisp clean lines, defining his lean physique. Pure class.
I was having trouble breathing as the sun blazed through the windows, the vinyl also burning my ass. Shit, I was going to pass out if I didn’t do something.
I kept my head down and wiggled the key out of my pocket then inserted it into the ignition and turned it once so the car didn’t turn over, but the air came on. Not air conditioning, I didn’t have that, but hot air.
Unfortunately, the music blasted, too.
Shit.
I scrambled for the volume knob and shut it off then peeked up over the rim of the door.
He was still on the phone but was no longer leaning against his car. He was looking my way and so was Crisis, the guitarist in the band who was by the club door talking to Jacob.
I couldn’t chance staying here.
I had to leave before he recognized me, and the only way was to reverse all the way out of the alley because I couldn’t drive past him.
I glanced up again just as he hung up and put his cell in his back pocket.
Then he headed for my car.
Crap.
Pressing the clutch, I turned the key and jammed the gear shift into reverse. I glanced back through the seats and reversed all the way out of the alley.
When I backed onto the street, I peered out my side window and saw him standing in the middle of the alley staring after my car.
Past
Ireland
“Emmitt. Go. Go. Go,” I shouted from behind him as I blocked the opposing player from getting to him. My brother ran the length of the field, the football dribbling between his feet back and forth.
He was tall like me and athletic and could outrun most of the kids on his team and the opposing one, except me, of course.
He was also only eleven where most of the other kids were fourteen to sixteen, but Emmitt excelled at football, so my da pulled some strings, or rather donated money, to have him try out for the team I was on. As soon as they saw him with a football, they put him on the team.
I saw him hesitate and look over his shoulder for me and I weaved right then left avoiding the opposing player, and Emmitt kicked the ball to me.
It was our play. Back and to the right then I’d get in close to goal and when everyone was on me, Emmitt was open and in position.
I grinned at the asshole who tried to get the ball from me as I came in close to goal.
“You and your brother are going down,” he shouted as he tried to steal the ball from me.
I laughed while kicking back with my heel then glancing up for Emmitt. My brother nodded at me, and I danced with the ball a couple of moves then shot it high at Emmitt.
He jumped up and bumped the ball with his head, and it went straight into the goal.
Our team cheered and slapped Emmitt and me on the back. I grinned at my brother and ruffled his unruly hair.
“Nice shot,” I said as we jogged to center field.
“Thanks,” he said under his breath while keeping his head down.
Emmitt was quiet, especially when it came to social situations. Football was one place that he could let go and be himself and not worry about his Tourette’s.
In school he had a hard time with his classmates, and since I was a year ahead of him, I wasn’t able to protect him all the time.
His Tourette’s manifested itse
lf in the form of involuntary eye blinking called tics, so he often kept his head down and never looked people in the eye. My da, on numerous occasions when he was younger, had locked Emmitt in his room and forced him to practice keeping the tic “under control.”
But when he played football, the tic rarely happened, and I think that was partially why he loved it so much. It was the only place Emmitt felt like he was normal and didn’t have to hide who he was.
“Nice goal, Emmitt,” our dad shouted from the sidelines.
I didn’t expect him to say anything to me, and I didn’t give a shit. He’d always hated me and after twelve years of him ignoring me, I was accustomed to it.
Emmitt noticed it though and asked me once why Da never talked to me except to give me shit about something. I told him that Da and I were just different. But it was more than that.
When I’d asked my mom why Da didn’t like me, she’d dropped the dish she’d been reaching for and it had shattered on the floor. As she cleaned up the shards, I saw her hands shake and there were tears in her eyes.
“I love you, Killian,” she’d said. “Your da does, too. He just… has trouble showing it.”
It was a lie. I’d heard the hesitation in her soft voice. But it really didn’t matter anymore.
Emmitt was who mattered.
“Retard,” a kid from the opposing team muttered when he banged into Emmitt with his shoulder as he ran by.
Before I had the chance to go after the kid, Emmitt grabbed my forearm and shook his head. “It only makes it worse.”
I gritted my teeth. “He won’t say it again if I knock his teeth out.”
Emmitt jerked his chin to the sidelines where our dad stood. “Da doesn’t need another reason to be mean to you.”
I sighed. Emmitt had so much to be angry about, yet he wasn’t. He was nice to everyone.
“I don’t care about him, Emmitt. I care about you, and that kid deserves to have his ass kicked.”
“Then score a goal,” he said, smiling as he met my eyes.
I cuffed him on the shoulder. “Yeah. But if that kid gets near me, he is accidentally falling flat on his face.”
It was the same story. Emmitt never wanted anyone to hurt, but he was the one who suffered all the time for something he had no control over.
“Emmitt,” a kid yelled as he kicked the ball toward him.
We dove back into the game.
Saturday night. Trial night. I arrived early and went to try on some of the outfits, most of which were a bit snug in the hips. I had big hips. But I found a flowing white dance dress that reached my knees and flared out. It was chic. The waist was tight, but the material was stretchy so it left lots of room to dance in. It had a deep V-neckline with a scooped back and spaghetti straps.
By the time I dressed, Tammy, Shari, and Tab had arrived and were also changing. Music played and the beat vibrated through the room. I smiled. I loved loud music. The vibration filtered through me as if the instruments were being played on my body.
“You good, Hijack?” Tammy asked, leaning on the back of my chair and meeting my gaze in the mirror as I applied my red lipstick.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay, you’re taking cage two. That’s the one on the left of the stage. All new girls start there.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Greg will come get you when it’s time for a break. It’s Saturday, our busiest night, so the club is at full capacity. Do not leave the cage until one of the guys gets you. If you’re tired, slow your dancing. Customers like provocative so don’t worry if you can’t keep up with the music. Security guys are always watching the floor so you won’t have an issue getting their attention if you need it.” She straightened and smiled, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Most of all have fun. Customers know if you’re not having fun.”
“Got it.” I slipped on my mask.
There was a knock on the door and Shari skipped over. “Let’s hit it, girls.” She wore a ton of makeup, but it wasn’t distasteful, just dramatic, almost like a mask in itself.
Greg was at the door. He wore an earpiece and was in the usual garb, black pants and T-shirt with Compass written on it. “Ladies,” he said.
Shari, Tammy, and Tab shifted by him, all tapping him either on the chest or shoulder as they did.
I stood, and his eyes hit me. Greg was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. The scruff on his face, neat and sculpted, dark eyes that right now looked black, and a defined nose with a slight notch as if it had been broken a few times.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He nodded.
I hesitantly walked toward him then stopped a foot away. “Listen, I’m sorry for the other night. That I took off. I was scared and well… I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“No reason to ever be scared at Compass. And next time you’re scared in here, you better be running to me, not away. Got it?”
I nodded.
Since he was tall, he bent at the waist to speak in my ear. “And I don’t get in trouble, Hijack. I am trouble.”
Jesus. His low graveled voice, words like that, he definitely was trouble. I half smiled because I thought he was teasing, but I wasn’t too sure because I really didn’t know him yet. But I liked that he was the one who made sure all the dancers were safe. I bet no one messed with him.
He escorted me to the cage, and I walked up the steps and into my dancing oasis for the night. Despite the platform having bars, it was at least twelve by twelve with plenty of room to move.
It was early, and the place was crowded but not yet packed. I could see the door from my vantage point, and there was a steady stream of patrons coming in.
I danced easily for the better part of the night, and Greg or Jacob came and got me every hour for a quick break. There was always cold, bottled water within reach.
It was almost one in the morning, and I was doing my last set when my heart stopped. Holy shit. That was Sculpt; I’d recognize him anywhere. He stood with his arm around a cute brown-haired girl who I recognized as his wife, Emily. He had a drink in hand and was peering over the railing at the crowd below while Emily chatted with Crisis.
Shit, Killian was there, too.
He was tilted forward, hands gripping the glass railing, and his eyes were focused on me.
I whirled around and danced holding the bars on either side. When I flicked my head back, bending over backward at the waist, my eyes went straight to him, and he was still watching me.
Shit. Could he tell it was me? No way. I looked nothing like myself and was wearing a mask. Plus it was too far away. I was being paranoid, and if I wanted this job, I was going to have to get over this fear that he’d find out. What was the worst that could happen? He’d tell Brett.
I kept my back to him as I finished my dance and the music ended.
Greg came to get me five minutes later, and I grabbed my water and… oh, shit. Upstairs. Our change room was upstairs, and I’d have to walk right by him and his friends.
I stopped.
Greg frowned, his eyes puzzling. “What’s up?”
I couldn’t very well try to trick him again, and there was no chance he’d fall for it, plus I had no clothes, no purse, no car keys. So I opted for the truth.
We were at the bottom of the stairs and I held the handrail, my fingers tapping the iron. “I… well, Kite is here. From Tear Asunder.”
Greg frowned. “Yeah. That a problem?”
I nodded. “I’d rather not meet him looking like this.”
His expression softened. “Don’t worry about it. He’s used to fans drooling over him.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to drool all over him. Plus, he looked kind of pissed off.”
“The club isn’t his favorite place. He’s not pissed off.”
“Like fuck I’m not,” Killian said, coming up behind us.
I gasped. Crap.
“Kite?” Greg questioned, his hand on the sma
ll of my back dropping away when Killian’s furious glare went from me to Greg’s hand on me then back to Greg’s face.
There was really nothing for me to say except, “Hey, Killian.”
“Hey, Killian?” His jaw clenched. “Jesus, Savvy. What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?”
Greg shifted closer to me because Killian was really pissed and Greg’s job was to protect me, even if it was from a famous rock star. It was nice to know he had my back. I was really liking Greg.
“Is there a problem?” This was not from Greg or Kite. This was from Brett Westhill, the club owner who I now noticed stood behind Killian.
Killian’s glare shifted from me to Brett. “This is Savvy Grady.
Brett’s eyes widened for a second, and then he said, “Fuck. No way.”
“Yeah, fuck,” Killian barked, then looked back at me. “What part of our conversation did you not get? I told you, not in my fuckin’ club.”
I jolted. What? His club? What was he talking about? “Your club?”
I peered at Greg who looked uncomfortable as he stood stiffly beside me, uncertain as to what was going on. But Brett appeared rather amused as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned his hip against the stair railing.
He was hot, a different kind of hot than Killian as they were complete opposites. Where Killian was dark and mysterious, Brett was blond and carefree, wearing his emotions on his face. I’d heard he was also a huge flirt, too, whereas I couldn’t really see Killian flirting. He definitely hadn’t in school.
No, he’d be the type to tell a girl to get on her knees and suck his cock, and she’d simply do it.
I swallowed then realized my eyes had shifted to Killian’s crotch. Jesus. My gaze darted up to his face, and his brows were drawn over his eyes with a crease between them.
“I own half,” Killian ground out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t advertise it.”
Oh. Okay. Well, that explains why he’d been here during the day on Wednesday. He partially owned the place, which I found odd because Greg said he wasn’t even a fan of the club. Then why get into the business? It wasn’t like he needed the money.