by TJ Vargo
* * * *
Angela watched Julia walk out. She picked up the paper from the floor, put the stack of cash Julia had given her on the table and sat in front of the mirror. She opened the contract. It was from James. She had her new job as an executive secretary. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t catch her breath. She looked at the curtain Julia had just walked through with Billy.
Then she was on her feet. Stuffing her purse full of the money she and Julia made. Taking off her heels and putting on jeans and a shirt. She pulled on her heels and started to walk out after Julia, stopped, walked back and grabbed the contract. She tore it in two, threw it in the trash and walked toward the curtain that led into the club.
She ran straight into a guy that was coming into the dressing room. A big strong guy. He knocked the breath out of her just by bumping her. She would’ve fallen on her ass, but he clamped his hands on her and lifted her. She felt like a rag doll.
“I’m looking for Julia Adriani,” he said.
* * * *
Julia could barely keep up with Billy. “Could you slow down?” she asked, her heels clicking as she did her best to keep pace with him. He tightened his grip on her elbow and pulled her into the private lap dance room. It was packed with shadowy bodies dancing over men sitting on the couches.
“The room’s full,” she said to Billy.
Billy pulled a key out of his pocket. “You have your own special room,” he said, pulling her toward the common bar against the back wall.
“What room?” she said. “Where are we going?”
“VIP section,” said Billy, pushing her behind the bar. He pulled back a white curtain on the wall, revealing a door. His gold tooth flashed. “This is for high rollers,” he said, sliding a key into the door.
His grip on her elbow tightened painfully.
The door opened soundlessly. Billy shoved her inside and closed the door. The lock clicked. She turned around.
It was the size of a small bedroom. The floor was white tile. A white metal bed with four posters and a ornamental headboard of scrolled metalwork dominated the middle of the room. Chains hung from the ceiling over the bed, running through eyelets welded on the top each of the four posters. On the end of each chain was a handcuff. Mirrors covered the ceiling. Every wall was covered in plush white carpet. The wall straight across from her was filled with sex toys and bondage gear. James Stockton sat in a chair in front of the sex gear, wearing some kind of weird contraption on his head and holding a long black nightstick.
She reached for the doorknob, trying to turn it. It wouldn’t move.
James Stockton got out of the chair. The thing on his head looked like goggles of some sort.
Then the lights went out. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard a click and a whine, as if some electrical device was powering up. Then she heard James.
“You can’t see me, but that’s okay, Julia. I can see you. And for what I have planned, that’s all that counts.”
She heard him walking toward her.
“But do you want to know what the best part is?” he said. “It’s that your boyfriend can’t cause me any trouble this time. We’re all alone and I have something you’re really going to like.” He smacked the floor with the nightstick. “You’re not going to walk right for a long time after this.”
Julia tried to recall the layout of the room. If she could get to the bed and keep it between her and James, maybe she could keep him off her long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She put her hands out and stepped forward. James quickened his steps. She did the same, moving forward blindly. Her ankle turned, but she caught herself. Damn stilettos. She pulled one off and threw it toward James. She slipped off the other stiletto. A hand grabbed her arm and a handcuff snapped over her wrist. James’s hot breath was in her ear.
“I got you now,” he said.
She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard perfectly fine. She swung the stiletto, aiming for his voice. The heel stuck into something. Hot blood spurted over her hand. She almost lost her grip on the stiletto when James gasped and pulled away, but she held on to it. A fist, an open hand, or maybe the nightstick clipped the side of her head. She fell onto the bed and rolled off, holding the stiletto tight.
“You want to fuck me, you’re gonna have to earn it,” she yelled, then shut her mouth.
She needed to keep quiet. It was her only way chance to hear where he was. And when he was coming closer.
Like he was now.
She gripped the stiletto and waited, holding her breath.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cracker peed in the urinal, thinking over his next move. He’d found Angela’s townhouse easy enough, but when he went up to her front door he saw that there were two girls in there. One girl could be controlled. Two was too much trouble. One might call the cops while he was trying to figure out where he could get his hands on Julia Adriani. So he sat in his truck and waited. And then he followed the girls to this strip club. Nice enough place. Lot of good old boys in here, drinking beer and hooting and hollering at the girls. The two girls he’d followed put on some kind of show. The tall blonde with the big boobs and the shorter, dark-haired girl with the nice behind turned the club on its ear with their girl-on-girl action. Got these country boys all riled up. It gave him a chance to make sure the dark-haired girl was Julia Adriani. Fact was, he’d thought she was Julia back when he got his first good look at her walking out of Angela’s townhouse. She bore a distinct resemblance to the girl in the painting. Yelling her name when she was up on stage was just a formality. All he had to do now was grab her, take her back to Tombs, and get the word out that Curtis needed to show his face or Julia Adriani would soon be missing important parts. As soon as he finished peeing, he’d wash his hands and try to pull Julia out of her dressing room without causing too much of a ruckus. Or with a ruckus. Didn’t matter all that much. Once he got hands on her, she was coming with him.
A big young buck walked into the restroom. Beefy boy with a moustache and a curlyhaired mullet. There were five open urinals, but the boy took the urinal next to Cracker and started pissing. He stood six inches taller than Cracker and was so wide he bumped Cracker’s shoulder, mumbling a “Sorry,” while he did his business.
“No problem, son,” said Cracker. He turned and pissed on the boy’s leg.
The boy jumped back. Cracker aimed for the boy’s shoe, wetted it down a bit, and then turned back to his urinal, zipping up while the boy huffed and puffed.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” said the boy, looking downright shocked at the hot piss stain blotting his jeans and his shoe.
Cracker stepped to the sink and washed his hands.
“You hear me?” said the big country boy. “You’re going home with your teeth in a bag, mister.”
The boy grabbed Cracker’s shoulder. Cracker snatched the boy’s hand and twisted it back against the joint, lowering him to his knees.
“You don’t touch on people, boy,” said Cracker. “That’s what got you pissed on to begin with.”
“Ok, ok,” said the country boy. “I give.”
Cracker released the boy’s hand. “That’s more like it,” he said, then walked over to the paper towel dispenser. The dispenser was stainless and Cracker could see a distorted reflection of the country boy walking up behind him with a cocked fist.
“Son, hold on ,” said Cracker, doing an about face. He wiped his hand and tossed the paper towel on the floor. “You look a man in the eye when you punch him. Take your best shot. Go on. Hit me right in the face.”
The country boy flexed his fists. He looked confused. “What are… what’s the trick?” he said.
Cracker shrugged. “No trick. Just get a move on. I got business and you’re holding me up.”
The country boy reared back and threw a hard right. Cracker tucked his chin, taking the punch on top of his head. He heard the boy’s hand crack on his skull. He looked up, watched the boy grimace and cradle his hand, then slashed an elb
ow into the his temple, drove a knee into his crotch and helped his downward progress with a right to the back of his head.
The boy twitched a few times on the floor and went still.
Cracker wiped his brow. He’d been cut. Eyes stinging from the blood, he bent over the sink, splashed cold water on his head, then pressed paper towels against the cut. Goddammit it all. He couldn’t walk out there bleeding like a pig. Julia would see him coming from a mile away. She’d put up a fuss if a bloody hillbilly tried to pull her out of the club. He sighed and crumbled another handful of towels, pressing them against his head.
A handful of men came in while he tended to his head. A couple pulled up short and walked out when they saw the country boy on the floor. Cracker knew one of them would tell the club’s bouncers, and he didn’t have time to mess with them. He dabbed at his wound one more time and looked in the mirror. It was just oozing now. He pulled out a comb and slicked his hair back. It didn’t cooperate, sticking out here and there, but it would have to do. He exited the rest room and made a beeline for the dressing room Julia and Angela ducked into after their dance.
He glanced back at the restroom as he walked.
That damn country boy sure slowed him down.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Curtis drove around the back of Sweeties and wedged the Camaro next to a Mustang by the dumpster. He cut the engine, jumped out and tried the back door of the club. It was locked. He ran around to the front. Ever since he’d left Tombs, he’d been moving in overdrive. He was lucky a trooper hadn’t lit him up on the way over. But there was no time to waste. Ronnie and Pedro said they saw Julia dancing here. He had to see her and apologize for not showing up. He had to get her back.
He paid the cover at the front door and walked into Sweeties. It was dim and smoky inside. A big bar dominated the middle of the club. Girls twirled around poles on a stage set inside the bar, bouncing and gyrating to the pounding music. Some of the girls walked the bartop, highstepping their way around beer mugs and cocktails. Curtis pushed to the front of the bar and checked out the girls. None of them was Julia. They were all super hot with long legs and big racks, but none of them was as pretty as Julia. A bartender came over.
“What can I get you?”
“Looking for a girl. Julia Adriani. She work here?” said Curtis.
The bartender shook his head. “Don’t know. You need a drink?”
Curtis held his hand below his chin. “About this tall. Shoulder-length dark hair. Big eyes.”
The bartender shrugged.
Curtis started to step away. He touched his cheek. “Big scar? Girl with a big scar on her face? She work here?”
“Oh yeah,” said the bartender. “She’s something. Just finished a set with Angela. I think they’re back in the dressing room.”
“Where’s the dressing room?”
The bartender pointed at a curtain around the back side of the bar.
Curtis fought through the crowd to the curtain. A girl pushed through the curtain and walked straight into his chest. He grabbed her before she could fall down. She was tanned, blonde, tall had big boobs and looked worried.
“I’m looking for Julia Adriani,” he said. “You know where she is?”
“Damn,” she said, studying him. “You’re a big boy. Are you Curtis?”
Curtis relaxed his grip on her arm. “How’d you know?”
Angela squeezed his bicep and slapped his shoulder. “You’re all muscle,” she said, suddenly smiling. “Bet you can fight.”
“If I have to,” said Curtis. “Where’s Julia?”
“Follow me,” she said, pulling him through the crowd. “I’m Angela, a friend of hers. Some asshole took her.”
Curtis followed Angela toward a curtained off section of the club. “What asshole?” he said as they stopped in front of the club’s private lap dance area. “What’s going on?”
Billy Kelley stepped through the curtain and stopped in front of Curtis.
“That asshole,” said Angela, pointing at Billy. “He took her to get ass raped by some pervert.”
Curtis turned his attention to the man. He was one hundred percent hick with long hair and a gold front tooth twinkling in the club’s strobe lights. The man looked at Curtis, then at Angela.
“What’s going on here? Who’s this?”
Curtis turned to Angela. “You sure this is the guy?” he said.
Angela grinned and nodded. “I’m positive.”
Curtis snatched Billy’s shirt and wobbled him with a vicious backhand.
“Where is she?” said Curtis.
Billy looked around, his eyes wild. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Curtis looked at Angela. “You know where she is?”
“Yeah,” said Angela.
Curtis pulled Billy’s head down and drove his knee into his mouth. Billy’s gold tooth bounced on the floor and spun out of sight as he fell on his face.
Angela searched Billy’s pockets, pulling out a key ring. “Follow me,” she said.
Curtis grabbed Billy by the hair and dragged him as he followed Angela through the white curtain. He threw Billy on a white leather couch and let him bleed. Bass heavy music throbbed as he scanned the room. The four corners of the room were curtained off, but he could see the shadows of people behind those curtains. He turned to Angela.
“Where is she?” he said.
Angela grabbed Curtis by a belt loop on his jeans and pulled him toward a bar set up on the curtained back wall. She pushed him behind the bar and handed him the key ring.
“Open the door behind the curtain,” she said. “Julia’s in there.”
Curtis pulled back the curtain, unlocked the door and stepped into darkness.
The light spilling through the open door wasn’t much. He could barely see, but he could hear a rattling, like chains, and muffled screams. He felt for a light switch. There was nothing. He moved toward the muffled screams. His thigh bumped something. He reached out. It was a bed. His head exploded with pain and light.
He was on all fours. He tried to get up. A kick caught him in the ribs, driving the air out of him. He rolled over. A foot came down on his stomach, stomping the air out of him. He curled up, waiting for the next blow.
Then he heard rattling.
And gagging.
He pushed off the floor. The overhead lights in the room popped on, blinding him. He squinted.
Angela was across the room, her hand on a light switch. A big fat guy in hot pink bikini bottoms stood over him, holding a nightstick and wearing some kind of goggles. The fat guy dropped the nightstick, fighting to unwrap a set of chains wrapped around his throat. Julia stood behind him on the bed. She was gagged, wearing nothing but a g-string, strangling the guy with the chains. Handcuffs on her wrists and ankles were attached to the chains, which ran through eyelets welded into the bed’s four posters and trailed up to an anchor in the ceiling.
Curtis buried a punch in the guy’s stomach. He slumped, but the chains around his neck kept him upright.
“Hold him, Julia,” said Curtis, sinking hard punches in his gut. The guy grunted. His goggles fell off. His knees buckled. Julia unwrapped the chain from his neck and he crumpled to the floor.
“Get those cuffs off her,” said Angela, taking a set of keys off a hook on the wall and throwing them to Curtis.
“You okay?” said Curtis, unlocking Julia’s handcuffs.
As soon as her hands were free, Julia pulled off her gag. She watched Curtis unlock the handcuffs on her ankles, then jumped off the bed, bending over the man on the ground. “You sick, sick fuck!” she screamed, then reared back and kicked him in the face.
Curtis pulled Julia away from the man as she bared her teeth and fought to land a couple more kicks.
“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy,” said Curtis. “You’re gonna break your foot.”
Julia caught her breath.
“I’m gonna let you go now,” said Curtis. “Okay?”
She n
odded.
He released her and picked up the man’s goggles, holding them up to his eyes. He jerked his face away. Looking through the goggles nearly blinded him. They turned the light in the room super bright. He tossed the goggles on the floor and studied the man. A flash of recognition ran through him. “Is that your old asshole boyfriend I beat up?”
Julia pushed by Curtis and leveled another kick into James’s head. “Yeah, and he’s gonna be dead when I’m done with him.”
“We need to go,” said Angela, grabbing Julia’s hand.
Curtis turned. A group of people were crowded at the open door. He grabbed Julia’s hand to get her out of the room, then noticed she was topless and barefoot. He picked up a black stiletto from the floor and one from the bed, handed them to Julia, then pulled off his white tee shirt and gave it to her.
“Get dressed and let’s go,” he said, wiping blood from his hand to his jeans. He looked at the stiletto Julia was putting on. Blood dripped off the spiked heel. He looked at James. There was a big bloody hole in his cheek and one in the side of his neck. Curtis shook his head. James got more than he bargained for when he tried to screw Julia.
The people at the doorway backed away as Curtis led Julia and Angela out of the room.
He pulled Julia through the club toward the front door. The guy at the front door was a typical three hundred pound biker turned bouncer. He got off his stool, eyeballing the two strippers with Curtis. He folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin, looking down on Curtis.
“Sorry,” he said. “Dancers can’t leave the club with customers.”
Curtis walked up to him. He didn’t move. Dropping a boot heel on his foot backed him up, but he was still moving too slow. Curtis stepped to the side and kicked the side of the bouncer’s knee. The man’s leg folded and he screamed as he hit the floor. Curtis ushered the girls into the parking lot.
Running out in front of the girls, Curtis jumped in his Camaro and cranked the engine. Both girls pulled off their high heels and ran barefoot to catch up.