He had dark hair and wore a suit. It was ripped open at the back.
No. It couldn’t be.
Emily wrestled him onto his side, and checked his air passage was clear. It was the suited jerk from The Tease, the nipple flicker. His jaw was slightly skew and he bled from a gash along his cheekbone.
She fumbled for his pulse and a soft flutter beat against her fingers.
“Thank God,” she breathed. If he’d died because of her nipples, she’d have been consumed with guilt. “Phone, phone, I need a phone.”
Hers was back at home – she never took it to the club – but the road was clear of pedestrians. Flagging down a car was out of the question, but she couldn’t let him die here. What if he had a concussion?
Emily fumbled through his jacket pockets and brought out a wallet and a set of keys. She slipped them back where they’d come from and checked his pants next, coloring a little. This was a sight for passersby – a stripper digging through an unconscious man’s pants like a common criminal.
“Ah!” It was a smartphone and it was miraculously unharmed. She fiddled with the touchscreen and ground her teeth impatiently, technology wasn’t her strong suit, then managed to bring up a dialer.
911.
“911, What is your emergency?” The male voice on the end of the line was calm, and it helped slow her breathing.
“Hi, yes, I found a man who’s been badly beaten. I think he might have a concussion or something.”
“Does the man have a pulse?”
Emily touched the stubble along his jawline and he moaned softly. “Yes, he’s alive. Please send an ambulance.”
“What is your location?”
“Queens Plaza North, Long Island City.” She glanced around and the blood in her veins turned to shards of ice. A man stood in the shadows nearby; he was massive. And bald.
“Can you be more specific, ma’am?”
“It’s near The Tease. I don’t know the specific address.” She searched the buildings for a number and spotted brass lettering on an apartment block across the road. “We’re across from number 2403.”
“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and a squad car to that address,” the 911 controller answered, “Ma’am, can you stay with him?”
Emily glared at the shadowy figure nearby and gripped the phone to her ear; she squared her shoulders. “Yes. But hurry, his pulse is very faint.” She hung up and plopped the phone in her open bag.
The man in the dark hadn’t moved since she’d noticed him, but terror crept in. Who knew what he wanted from her. Money, murder, rape; they were concepts she didn’t want to familiarize herself with.
She’d been through enough.
Emily laid a hand on the beaten jerk’s arm and held him in place. Big Nick had obviously beaten the poor guy senseless after his foray in the club and that made this partly her fault.
The suit moaned in delusion, “Beautifaaa –”
She patted him lightly to keep him calm, not that he could be anything but calm whilst in a semi-coma with a bump the size of a baseball on his tan forehead – that would hurt in the morning.
Movement caught her eye and she snapped her attention to the stranger standing nearby. He’d lit a cigarette, the red coal glowered at her, and moved a few paces closer, but he was still hidden.
A couple cars raced by and she squinted in the light, trying to make the watcher’s features out. He had a jacket on. God, was it Big Nick? Had he come to exact the damn payment from her already?
She pressed a hand to her stomach and pleaded silently for help.
The stranger took another step towards them.
“Stop right there,” she commanded, fumbling in her bag for her deodorant can, “I’ve got pepper spray in here and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Grunting laughter travelled through the air, the figure’s shoulders shook from mirth. He didn’t buy it, apparently.
“I’m warning you.” Emily’s voice cracked slightly. She drew out the cylinder of deodorant - hopefully he couldn’t see the label from far – and aimed it in his direction.
But it didn’t deter him. His footfalls were heavy on the sidewalk. This was it.
The whoop of a siren broke the tension and a police car swung into the street up ahead, closely followed by an ambulance with its red lights flashing. Emily waved frantically and hopped to her feet and the cop car pulled up beside her.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the black police officer, leaning out of the car’s window and studying the scene.
“I think so,” she said and glanced back, but the mystery attacker had disappeared. She hadn’t seen which direction he’d gone in.
Three paramedics poured out of the back of the ambulance, carrying a stretcher with grim expressions.
The officer slammed the car door behind him and strolled over. “Can you tell me what happened here?”
“Not really.” It was kind of the truth. It might not have been Big Nick who did it.
The officer took out a notepad and pen, and Emily shifted her attention to the jerk on the ground. They’d braced his neck and placed him on the stretcher. It was probably the last time she’d see him, and remorse tickled the back of her mind. What was that about?
“How did you come across the victim?”
“I fell over him.”
“Sorry?” The officer shot her a quizzical look over the end of his pen.
“I tripped over him.” She lifted her palms for the first time since the fall and winced at the grazes on them.
“I see. And you didn’t catch a glimpse of who might have done this?”
“No.” Also the truth, but it made her skin crawl saying it.
The police officer snapped the notepad closed and stashed it back in his top pocket of his shirt. “Are you all right?” He softened his tone and the trauma of finding a half-dead man and being stalked by a psychopath hit home.
She let out a long low sigh and shouldered her bag. “Been better. Mind giving me a lift home?” Emily hated handouts, but she’d had enough trouble for tonight.
“No problem, ma’am. Hop in the back.”
She followed his lead, and squidged herself onto the back seat. Anxiety rose from the smell of the seats, the imaginary bite of cuffs on her wrists. She grasped a distraction, turning to stare at the ambulance behind them. It followed them from the dark street to the main road, before turning and speeding off in the distance.
Emily’s heart was a lead weight in her chest.
All she wanted was supper and maybe a peek at Netflix before bed, but the cupboards were almost bare and her TV was broken.
Emily settled for microwave ramen and sat down at the table. She had to come up with a plan for getting Nick the money. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d exact what he thought she owed him in other ways.
She blew on a forkful of steaming hot noodles and deposited them in her mouth. They were too chewy, but she slurped them up. The lamp over her kitchen table swung gently in the breeze from the open window.
The drugs had been her escape, but they’d granted her a prison instead and it’d been worse than any in her past life. Before it happened. Now, it was pay up or become a literal hooker for a bald man with a probable bondage fetish.
Shit, he scared her senseless. Big Nick was her anti-sex, with his sweaty pits and dirt-stained stove pipe jeans.
“Yeugh,” she mumbled and pushed the cup of noodles aside.
How much money had she made?
Emily brought out the wad of bills from her jeans and counted them. She’d scored $500 that night, which was about average at the club, but it was nowhere near enough to cover her debt, especially when she had bills to pay and a mother in an old age home.
Initially, she’d owed Big Nick an even $1000, but over time that amount had gained ‘interest’ and it wasn’t like she could take him to the cops for threatening her. What would she say? ‘Hi, I owe this guy $1000 for my cocaine habit, but he’s trying to charge me 10
times that’. Unlikely.
The injustice of it made her irate. She’d yet to meet a man who hadn’t tried to use her in some way.
Emily stirred the cooling noodles with her fork and bit her lip. Maybe she had a little extra in her wallet.
She pulled her bag across the table and rummaged around in it. Her hand closed around a cold and flat oblong piece of metal. What was this?
It was the drunk suit’s smartphone. She slapped a hand to her forehead. She’d slipped in her bag without thinking and that was yet another felony to add to the list: stealing.
Emily placed it on the tabletop and stared at it for a while.
Intrigue prodded her. He was probably a banker or accountant, out for a night of drunken pleasure whilst his wife waited at home. What a slime ball. Or was he?
What if he was broken hearted or in financial dire straits?
Her fingers itched for answers.
Maybe if she took a sneak at his messages she’d discover the truth. He’d invaded her privacy, with the nipple flicking and so on. It was fair that she got a peek into his private life.
She’d have to find a method of getting the phone back to him. A contact of his, probably.
Emily snatched the phone up and unlocked it with a smooth swipe from her thumb. Excitement and anxiety turned her stomach into a valley of wild butterflies.
She clicked the messaging icon and the phone’s screen lit up with a flashing face of a woman with long blonde hair and lush red lips.
“What the – ”
Incoming call.
“Oh my God.” Emily jumped back slightly and the phone slid from her grip. She caught it again before it could fall and shatter.
“Uh, hello?” She answered without thinking.
“Who is this?” A cold female voice demanded on the other end of the line.
“Emily,” she paused and frowned, then hit back, “who’s this?”
The woman cleared her throat. “Hello Emily, I’m Chastity. I believe you’re in possession of my brother’s phone.”
Emily glanced at her watch in disbelief. It’d been two hours since he’d been whisked off in an ambulance. Chastity sure didn’t waste time.
“That’s correct. Assuming your brother is the guy who got beaten up outside a strip club.”
“Chase.”
“Huh?”
“His name is Chase, and I’d like his phone back.”
That was a nice name. Better than Chastity, at least. “Sure, no problem. Would you like to meet up?”
“At the restaurant Daniel at 6 pm.”
It sounded like a showdown out of a western. Draw!
“All right.”
Click. The line went dead. No goodbyes, no thank you, nothing. It seemed bad manners ran in the family.
Daniel. That was one of the most expensive restaurants in New York, and it was on the Upper East Side. She’d been there in another life and she wasn’t pleased about having to go back again.
Emily rolled her shoulders and stood up slowly, studying that phone.
This Chase guy had turned out to be worth a lot more trouble than the $100 bill he’d slipped in her thong on stage. Before the groping of course.
CHAPTER FOUR
Blackness surrounded him, coated in calm except for a whisper of scratching.
“Chasey.”
Anger split the darkness down the middle. He hated that name. That was the cheesiest nickname he’d ever been given. Who’d used it on him, again?
“Chasey, wake up sweetheart.”
It was a girl speaking. No, a woman. No, this was definitely a girl.
“Chasey, the doctors say you’re going to be fine, don’t worry.” A caress on his … arm?
The crack in the darkness widened, and split open to reveal light and a white tiled ceiling.
There was a faint snap and sound returned. The faint call of an intercom, his own breathing.
“What happened?” He cracked his eyelids open further and tried to move his head. No dice, someone had replaced it with a cannonball.
Janet’s concerned expression wavered into view and he flinched. Oh boy, yet another issue to add to the list: an ex-girlfriend to ‘dull’ the pain.
“Oh Chasey, I’m so glad you’re awake.” She gripped his arm, her fiery red hair pulled back in a high pony tail to reveal those green worry-filled eyes.
“Don’t call me that,” he croaked and tried to shrug her off, but it was akin to a cripple kicking a leech off his foot.
“Come on, baby, can’t we finish this?”
“That’s what he said,” Chase quipped, though he didn’t hold mirth for what Janet had done with her mystery lover.
“I came to check if you were alive or hurt or… I was worried about you.” She leaned over and squeezed her breasts together, as if that would tempt him to forgive her.
“That’s a first, Janet. Normally you’re more worried about yourself.”
“Stop.”
“You realize I don’t want you anywhere near me, right?” He clenched his fists and grimaced at the shooting pain in his right one. He’d been in a fight.
He racked his brain, but he waded through a muddy sludge of memories. There weren’t fucking answers in that.
“Argh,” he let out the frustration. “What happened?”
“I – I’m not sure, babe, but they found you on the sidewalk near a,” she paused and blinked twice, “strip club.”
Shock, horror. That hurt her feelings. How about screwing another man when you’re engaged?
“Strip club,” he mumbled.
“Yes, The Tease.” Janet folded her arms across those ample breasts.
Slivers of memory came back to him. The stripper with the long blonde hair and the expressive gaze. She’d seemed so sad, and he’d been beaten up about Janet’s betrayal. He’d drank too much and… he’d flicked her nipple.
“Christ.” He rubbed his temples.
It’d been that big hulk of a bouncer who’d beaten the snot out of him. He wasn’t angry, he was ashamed. He’d deserved a beating for what he’d done to the stripper.
Janet made to stroke his forehead and he batted her away, then groaned again.
“What are the damages?”
“You have mild swelling on the brain from a concussion. They thought you had a blood clot, but the didimer test came back negative.” She said it like she knew what it meant, which was pure bullshit. Janet was a dance instructor.
“When am I out?” He hated relying on her for information, but he didn’t see a nurse around and couldn’t reach the chart clipped to the end of the bed.
“A week or so, they said. If you check out and don’t have headaches.”
“And how the hell did you find out I was here?”
Janet licked her lips and tried touching him again. He ignored the swell of anger and affection. She’d destroyed whatever they’d had the minute she’d touched another man.
“Who told you?”
“Chastity,” she blurted it out and colored slightly.
“Don’t call my sister again, Janet. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Chasey, please,” she pleaded, but a nurse bustled in and cut her off.
“And how are we today?” The friendly woman in white plumped up his pillow and went to check his chart. “It’s good to see those eyes open for a change.”
“Got a sledgehammer in the center of my forehead, but otherwise I’m fine and fucking dandy.”
She chuckled and he grinned back, then winced. Note to self: don’t use facial muscles.
“Janet,” he started, but she backed out, signaling her defeat by grasping the empty ring finger on her left hand.
“I’ll check in on you later, hun.” She tried a smile, but it faltered and slid off her like grease on a griddle.
“Don’t.” He turned and stared out the window at the end of the ward instead. He drifted off, but tried keeping his thoughts in order. That poor stripper. Was she okay? She’d seemed a
fraid.
Chase yawned and settled back into the white bliss of his pillow.
What was her name?
CHAPTER FIVE
“Emily, was it?” Chastity had the same dark hair as her brother, but the similarities ended there.
“That’s correct.”
They were outside Daniel and Emily was totally underdressed. Chastity swept towards her from a limo, wearing a short black cocktail dress and pumps, with that hair up in a sleek bun.
Chastity extended a pale hand and Emily took it. Should she kiss the woman’s ring or something? This was out of the ordinary to say the least.
“Shall we?” Her ‘host’ gestured to the wood framed doors set in ornate grey molding.
“Sure.” Emily patted at the summery pink dress she’d slipped on for the occasion. Her iron was broken, and she was creased as crepe paper.
A valet swept the right door open, and Chastity sauntered to the wood-paneled front desk topped with a single vase of red roses.
The entrance hall was immaculate, the carpets in a blue and maroon swirled pattern which kinda looked like fat drops of blood. Appropriate?
Chastity placed her clutch on the front desk and tapped her nails beside it. “Réservation pour deux,” she spoke imperiously in flawless French.
This got more intimidating by the second. Emily was a mannequin in the corner waiting for her instructions. A group of businessmen entered and ogled her up and down in disapproval.
“Quel est votre nom, s’il vous plait?”
“Newman.”
“Un moment.” The receptionist clapped twice and the garcon appeared with two menus.
Chastity glanced over her perfectly pale shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Follow.”
Embarrassment colored Emily’s cheeks, but she did as she was told. Why had this woman invited her to such a swanky place? Why not a quick meet and greet in the park or a meet and greet with less pressure.
They swept through into the lounge area and were seated at a table with a pristine white tablecloth. The snooty waiter layered their menus in front of them, then disappeared. There were green vases of flowers everywhere, and the atmosphere was hushed at best. The soft clinks of cutlery on plates overrode laughter or conversation. It hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d been there.
Never Say Never, Part One (Second Chance Romance, Book 1) Page 2