“Too fucking close. We need to call the police before he takes off,” he said, reaching in his pocket, presumably for a cell phone.
“No.” I wet my lips and shook my head, making my already throbbing temples ache even more. “We can’t do that.”
My guardian angel let out a long sigh and thrust a hand through his short, dark hair. “What's your name?"
I crossed my arms over my chest, tugging my shirt more tightly around me, and answered him. “Lo."
"Lo? Is that a nickname?"
From the gentle expression on his face and the tone of his voice, I could tell that this was probably nothing but an attempt to make small talk and get my mind off the fact that I'd been sexually assaulted and then nearly murdered a man in the past half hour.
I thought about calling him on it, and telling him he didn't have to baby me. I could take care of myself. But it had been a very long time since anyone had been that sweet to me, and I was feeling fragile, so I nodded. "Yeah. My real name is Lola."
To his credit, he opened his mouth but then snapped it shut without saying it. And you’re a showgirl? Kudos to Mr. Chivalrous for not picking the lowest hanging fruit. If I was keeping score—which I wasn’t—he'd be high on the leaderboard right now.
“Lola, I know you’ve got to be feeling raw and afraid right now, but the best thing you can do to feel more empowered here is to make sure this guy pays for what he tried to do to you.”
“And what’s your name?” I asked softly, lowering myself to the little stool in front of my vanity.
“Reid. Reid McDaniels.”
Reid McDaniels.
The guy with the piercing dark gaze that had been glued to my every move up on stage tonight. Dimly, I remembered wondering if he’d be that intense in the sack. Now, though, all I wanted to do was go home, climb into my bed and have a good cry.
“Look, Reid, I appreciate what you did for me out there, but I need to handle this my own way. My boss doesn’t exactly have a rigorous system in place for carding minors, and if I bring the cops to his doorstep, it’s going to mean big trouble. I don’t want to end my already shitty night by getting fired.”
“Don’t want to” was code for “couldn’t”. If I lost this job, it would screw up all my plans. I needed cash if I wanted to get out of Vegas.
He looked at me for a long second, firm lips pursed into a straight line, before he nodded.
“Then let’s think about getting you home safe. What do you say?"
"I can get myself home safe. I can grab a cab right on the corner.”
His pretty dark eyes went hard, and he shrugged his wide shoulders. “No.”
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, like, I know you want to walk away from here and pretend none of this ever happened. Unfortunately for you, it did, and I was here to witness it. And I've taught kickboxing classes for too many young women who only enrolled in my class because of shit like this to let you walk away."
"I was handling it."
"I saw that. And I'm very happy you weren't afraid to take action. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you stroll around Vegas in shock with your shirt half torn off and covered in blood. So I’m going to go outside and have a little talk with the gentleman on the ground to make sure we understand each other. You get your stuff together, and clean up some. Then, I’m going to drive you home.”
"How do I know you won't-"
The words died on my lips as his jaw flexed and I wished I could take them back.
"I won't."
The response was clipped and tight. And well it should be. He'd just saved my ass, and here I was, acting like he was the one who assaulted me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Of course you wouldn't."
I wet my lips again and tried to calm my rioting emotions enough to get through the next few minutes without jamming my foot in my mouth a second time.
"And I'd appreciate a ride home, if it's not too much trouble."
There was no point in fighting it, in any case. This Boy Scout wasn't going to budge and I could already feel the anger draining out of me, leaving behind something far more volatile. It was a short stop to breakdown town, and I wanted to be home and alone before it happened.
"I just have to get my bag. Where are you parked?"
"I'll pull right up to the side door. Give me five minutes.”
He left the room and I stayed seated and stared at my reflection for a long moment. I looked stunned. Pale, afraid. Like a victim. A wave of revulsion rushed through me and I stood, tearing off the bloody blouse as I went.
I wadded it up and threw it into the trashcan next to me. Then, I grabbed one of the costume bustiers from my wardrobe. Not exactly comfort clothes and totally at odds with my yoga pants, but at that point, all I wanted was something clean. Something that pig’s hands hadn’t been all over.
There was a knock at the door and, before I could answer, it swung open.
My fellow dancer and friend Sugar walked in, grinning. “The place was packed tonight. They wanted me to do an encore and I—”
She broke off and the smile faded from her lips.
“Lo? What the hell happened to you?" Her black-rimmed eyes went wide as she took in my appearance and she reached for me. "Did someone hurt you?"
I stepped back instinctively, shying away from her touch.
We were friends. Had been for the past six months. We'd done each other's hair and makeup a dozen times before a show, dressed in the same room four times a week without fail. Hell, I'd even held her boobs together earlier that night when she'd been trying to lace her corset tighter.
So familiar, and now, the thought of her touching me...anyone touching me, made me flinch.
In the thirty seconds it took for that asshole to wrench at my clothes and paw at me, he'd managed to make me feel unsafe.
Unclean.
Unworthy.
In that second, I wished I had killed him.
"I'm okay. A guy caught me getting some air outside and…it's taken care of. A friend helped me out."
Her eyes went even wider and her crimson-painted mouth formed an “O”.
“Did you call the cops?”
She knew as well as I did that “cops” and “The Velvet Room” were never to be mentioned in the same sentence.
She blew out a sigh of relief when I shook my head. “Better off.”
I knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“Yeah. Anyway, I have a ride home so I’m going to take off.”
“Sure, get home, girl. And if you need to take tomorrow night off for a mental health day, let me know. I’ll get someone to cover for you.”
She made like she was going to reach for me again but then pulled back, thinking better of it.
“Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded and scooped up my duffel bag as I made my way to the door.
When I walked outside in the hot, night air, there was a beat up silver muscle car waiting for me. Reid leaned over and shoved the door open.
“All set?”
I climbed in and closed the door behind me, breathing in the smell of classic car exhaust.
My dad was a mechanic, and it was a smell I remembered well from my childhood. I found it oddly comforting. There weren’t a lot of those happy memories, and I took another deep breath.
“If you get on the beltway up ahead I’ll tell you when to get off.”
Reid popped the car into drive and I watched him from beneath my lashes. The bright city lights of the Strip shed light on the evidence that whatever “talk” he had with the guy who’d attacked me had resulted in a set of bloodied knuckles on his right hand.
He flexed said hand on the wheel and broke the silence.
“I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
“Oh?”
“I got his picture on my phone, and escorted him to his car where I also got his plate number. I told him if he ever came t
o the club again or pulled that shit with another girl, we’d have a serious problem. He had on a wedding ring, and he was looking a hell of a lot more sober by the time we parted ways. I got the impression we understood one another.”
I wanted to say something, but the weight on my chest was growing heavier by the second and I was afraid of what would come out if I opened my mouth.
I swallowed the golf ball lodged in my throat and nodded, even though he wasn’t looking in my direction.
“Thanks,” I managed, after taking a minute to get my composure.
He kept his eyes on the road and stayed quiet.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“It’s what I do. For a living,” he clarified. “I teach self-defense during the day and I fight at night. Kickboxing.”
I got the feeling he wanted to say more. To press me on the whole police thing, but instead, he turned on the radio. We spent the next five minutes driving in silence.
“It’s this exit and then I’m the second street on the right.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I live on the next street over. On Jefferson.”
Hell, we were practically neighbors.
I shifted in the seat and tried to tamp down the ripple of panic shimmering through me.
It wasn’t the same panic I’d felt earlier, with that guy’s hands on me, but it was terrifying nonetheless. Like some part of me knew, deep down, that having Reid McDaniels within arm’s reach was dangerous.
Very, very dangerous.
I’d been drawn to him the second I laid eyes on him, but that was easy enough to forget. Then he had to go and rescue me. And now, the pull was back, tenfold.
We came up on my street and I jerked my thumb in the direction of my little terra-cotta rental.
“That’s me.”
“It’s almost a carbon copy of our house, only smaller. And our yard backs up to yours, I think.”
I was already plotting how to get out of the car without him walking me to the door when my brain stuttered to a halt.
“Our? You have a…roommate?”
He pulled into the driveway and put the car into park before turning to face me.
“Several. I live with my two brothers and their girlfriends.”
The burning in my gut subsided and I tried to play it off. “Cool.”
But it wasn’t cool. Because I’d been jealous. For an instant there, I had wondered if Reid had a girlfriend and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if he did, I would hate her stupid face.
Not good.
“Listen, Lo, I know you just had a scare, and I don't want to add to that, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better if I could walk you in. Make sure you're comfortable and settled."
I shook my head furiously and started to protest but he held up a hand in surrender.
"I'm not going to force the issue, but I'd like you to at least consider it.”
“Thanks. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm really grateful for what you did back there."
"I don't need you to be grateful. I just need you to consider pressing charges against that asshole, okay? I have enough information that we can get his name easily. At least think about it."
"I will." I stepped out of the car and he called behind me.
"Flash your front lights when you get in. And make sure you lock your door."
That was advice so unnecessary after the night I’d had that it brought a ghost of a smile to my lips. "You think?"
"Hey, you can never be too careful."
I walked through the snarly brambles that passed for shrubs in Vegas and onto the brick path that led to my door before turning around and waving.
Reid McDaniels waved back, but stayed put until I got inside and flashed my lights.
I held it together for a full minute, until I heard his car roar off into the night. Then, I leaned against the door, and let myself slide to the floor in a heap, finally giving in to the tears.
Chapter Three
Reid
The next day, I woke up from a short, fitful sleep, tense and out of sorts. I slunk out of the house early before anyone else woke up, grateful for the outlet my Saturday kickboxing classes provided.
The stuff that went down with Lo had stuck with me, and I still wasn’t over it that evening after work. There was a burning in my belly that re-ignited every time I closed my eyes for more than a second and pictured that POS with his hands on her.
When I’d gotten back to the Strip after dropping her off the night before, the fam had all assumed she and I had hooked up, and I didn’t bother to dissuade them of that notion. In this case, fiction was a lot better than the truth.
If I told my brothers about what actually happened to her, they’d be irate. If I told them that I’d gotten in a fight in an alley, they’d be doubly irate and also feel guilty on top of it, for leaving the bar without me.
Better for them to think I’d gotten some play on my twenty-first. Especially when I’d already made a promise to deliver some other disturbing news.
It was long past time to get this shit off my back.
So then you can focus on this new shit…
I shoved down my apprehension and plopped down on the armchair in the living room across from them.
"I need to tell you both something and I need you to listen without interrupting me, no matter how bad you want to. Can you handle that?"
Bash eyed Matty, and Matty shrugged.
"Sure," Bash said, before popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth and crunching down. "What's up, little bro?"
I could tell by the way they looked—Matty still sprawled on the couch like he didn't have a care in the world, and Bash still chomping on munchies while watching SportsCenter out of the corner of his eye—that they hadn't picked up on my agitation.
I sucked in a deep breath and said the words I'd been choking on for weeks.
"Mom—” The word stuck in my throat and I tried again. “Sherri knows we’re in Vegas. She…wants to see us."
Matty's whole body stiffened as his gaze flew to mine and Bash stopped chewing and moving altogether, almost like he was frozen in time.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
Matty's tone was one I'd only heard a few times. One that he reserved for truly special kinds of assholes, like his nemesis and girlfriend's father, Mickey Flynn.
He sounded lethal. Filled with hatred. Ice cold.
No place to go from there but forward, so I continued. “She came to the gym the day before we left. She only stayed a minute, gave me her card and asked me to call her when we were ready to talk."
Bash gave up on the statue routine and leapt up from the couch with a hiss, sending popcorn fluttering to the tile floor like confetti.
"Is this some kind of a joke? Because we left Boston a month ago. Tell me you didn't keep this from us for a month, Reid, or I'm going to beat the ever-loving shit out of you right now."
The fact that he'd voiced the threat rather than actually coming at me, fists flying, was a plus, and I took it as a sign to press on.
"Yeah, sorry about that. It was a judgment call and maybe I didn't call it the way you guys would've, but it's done. And now we need to decide together how to proceed."
I settled back into the loveseat and waited for them to blow off the initial head of steam. There was no point in trying to have a rational conversation. Not yet. I knew my brothers well enough to know that they both needed a few minutes before they'd even hear anything I was saying.
"Do you believe this little prick?" Matty muttered, half to Bash, half to himself. "He thinks because he's grown now, he's going to run this shit."
"Well, he's got a couple guys who've been running this shit since he was still pissing his bed at night, so maybe he wants to think again."
I let them talk their talk rather than reminding them that there were only a couple years between us, because that was the quickest way back to a ro
ad of productivity. But also because I knew it was all misplaced anger. They were just as thrown about Sherri’s visit as I had been and needed the time to process the news.
After a few more minutes of the two of them snorting like bulls, my silence paid off.
“So let's hear the rest of this story," Bash said, lowering himself back onto the couch. His gray eyes that had gone silver with fury and concern locked with mine.
"There really isn't much to tell. We were all packing up the apartment. I went to get takeout for everyone and, when I got to the door, she was standing there."
My gut churned as the memory of it surfaced. What a day it had been. Finally, we were going to be free of Mickey Flynn, Matty and Kayla had made up, Bash and Olivia were settled and happy. It was like Christmas had come early.
And then there she stood.
Sherri McDaniels. Our mother, whom I hadn't seen since she'd left us behind like an old pair of dirty socks.
The weirdest part was the way she was smiling at me. It was almost like—and it couldn't actually be, unless she truly was completely insane—but it was almost like she'd expected me to swing the door open and welcome her in. Maybe invite her up to the apartment for some tea and a chat.
"She told me that she missed us, and that she'd been looking for us for a long time. And that she’d been working hard trying to get her life back together."
Bash snorted at that and Matty grunted, his top lip curling into a snarl that would've made Ted Bundy flinch.
"I called her on it. Told her that was bullshit."
"Damn right. Especially since we never left Southie, the lying bitch."
The anger that surfaced at Bash's words shamed me. Because even now, after everything she'd done to us, and hadn't done for us, it still bothered me to hear him call her that. Sherri McDaniels was an asshole, but who was the asshole now that I actually felt some pathetic sense of protectiveness toward her?
I shoved aside my irritation and continued. "Yeah, well, you asked me what happened and I'm telling you. Now shut up and let me finish."
"I told her we were leaving for Vegas."
"There's your second mistake,” Bash said, a grim smile twisting his lips.
"Where was my first?"
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