by Chloe Adler
My eyes wander to the stage when two lovely women appear for a double strip act, which includes a heavy make-out session. I keep trying to catch Jules’s eye but she’s glued to the stage, eyes as wide as the dancers’ nipple pasties.
Alec appears at my elbow. “How ya doin’?”
I swivel on a heel and grasp his muscled arm for support.
“Careful.” He grins, righting me.
I want to point at my heels and explain I’m not used to wearing them but I plaster a fake smile on my face instead. “Yes, boss?”
“Let me show you the register.” He leads me over to a point of sale station a few steps away. “We use Square and tethered iPads. Here’s a contactless reader.” He opens a drawer, pulls out a Square reader and hands it to me. “Carry it with you when you’re working and then return it here at the end of your shift.” He points to the same open drawer.
“Easy peasy, I totally know how to use these.” At least I got one useful thing from my Harbor House Café days.
“Great. Then I don’t have to explain the deets.” Someone flags him down from the end of the bar. “You got this?”
“I got this.” I slip the card reader in my pocket and scan the bar to see if anyone nearby needs to be served.
“Amaya?” a soft feminine voice says and I nearly lose my balance again, grabbing on to the bar for support.
Jogger lady? Her long, straight, mahogany brown hair and clear blue eyes remind me of the Caribbean Sea. Or at least how I imagine it to be. Calm, but layered with hidden depths. She extends her hand, which sports long painted nails in a French manicure. “Siobhain Paice. We spoke a week ago, I think it was. When I heard you singing.”
“Of course, I remember.” She looks completely different in a fitted black dress that ends midthigh. The last time I saw her she was in leggings and her gorgeous hair was pulled up in a forgettable ponytail. She’s exchanged bland white tennis shoes for an impressive pair of silver pumps. I extend my hand, keeping the other planted firmly on the bar. “How are you?”
She shakes my hand once, then drops it to the bar. “I’m well. Have you thought any more about my offer?”
“Is this the woman you told me about?” Jules leans in.
Siobhain turns toward her. “And you are?”
“I’m Amaya’s best friend Jules.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shake hands and Jules gives me a look. Yes, Jules, real adults shake hands. “It sounds like Amaya told you that I heard her singing on Discovery Beach last week and offered to represent her. I’m an agent.”
“Yes, she told me, and when she also told me she hadn’t followed up, I reprimanded her as any best friend should.” Jules turns to me. “Again, the fuck, bitch?”
Siobhain’s mouth falls open.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I say to her. “Jules is easily excitable.” I clear my throat and furrow my brows at her.
“Oops.” Jules sits up straight. “No filter.” She points between her head and her mouth.
Siobhain smiles tightly and then turns back to me. “I see. Well, Amaya, have you . . . ?”
“I don’t know.” I worry my hands to keep them from finding their way into my mouth.
Jules looks skyward. “The woman born with the voice of an angel lacks the confidence to share it.”
Where’s a black hole beneath your feet when you need one?
“Jules, can I have a moment alone with Amaya, please?” Siobhain says.
“Sure, sure, whatever. It’s not like you’re going to talk her into it.” My angsty BFF saunters off to an empty four-top at the foot of the stage.
“Amaya, I know you’re working right now but even if you weren’t . . .” She wets her pouty lips. “I wouldn’t want you do anything you’re not completely comfortable doing. But you have amazing talent and if you don’t see where it can lead you, won’t you always wonder?”
I shrug, my shoulders tight as bowstrings.
She taps her fingers on the bar top, the French manicured nails clacking. “Be straight with me. Is there anything you love more than singing opera?”
I look down, shaking my head.
“You’ve heard about the new opera house opening in the Edge next year?”
“I have.” I swallow, trying to wet my throat, and peek at Alec to see if he’s watching. I don’t want to get in trouble for not working. He’s busy with customers and I exhale and square my shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”
She nods brusquely and gives me a half smile that doesn’t light up her blue eyes. Reaching across the bar top, she hands me her card. Again. “Please do, Amaya. You won’t regret it.”
“Siobhain,” Alec appears next to me, “great to see you tonight. I see you’ve met Amaya. Is there anything she can get you?”
“Alec.” She reaches across the bar and clasps his proffered hand. “Laney and I are at a table already. We’ll order there.” She winks and Alec flashes her a grin, letting go of her hand.
“Give Laney a kiss for me.”
“Will do.” She blows him an air kiss and turns to me. “Amaya.” She nods once, slides off the barstool and disappears into the crowd.
I turn back to Alec. “She comes here regularly?”
He nods. “She does. A patron of the arts. All of them.” His lips twitch in a conspiratorial smile.
I obviously misread her. I thought she was far too conservative to be at the V Club. Boy was I wrong.
“You got this?” Alec asks.
“Yep, all good.”
He nods and moves down the bar to chat with another customer.
Jules slides back onto the barstool Siobhain just vacated. “Tell me you said yes.”
I hand Jules the card and move over to help another customer, who thankfully just wants one of our microbrews on tap. I pour and study Jules studying the card. She squints, turns it over, squints again and then looks around the crowd as if trying to locate Siobhain. After I help a few more people, I stand in front of Jules but she’s still staring at the card and now she’s frowning.
“What is it?” I uncork a single malt scotch, pour two fingers for the next patron and pass it over to him.
“That woman.” She motions toward the main floor. “She’s a real agent. Dude, you hafta say yes to this.” She waves the card at me.
I shake my head and take the card from her. It’s the same one she gave me last week. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to checking her out online. She appears to be legit. She owns a talent agency with offices in La Jolla, Los Angeles and New York. And her client list includes more than one singer on my favorite playlist.
I look out at the tables again, trying to locate her, but why? I can’t see myself singing in front of an audience, even though singing is my guilty pleasure. It’s true that singing lights me up more than anything else I’ve ever done but that doesn’t mean I should pursue it as a career. Wouldn’t that ruin it for me? Shit. It’s a job that would thrill my parents. They are musicians after all, and to see me following in their footsteps . . . And maybe I could even help them monetarily. I could help out the guys and even buy a car, eventually. But why me? Growing up in a household with two classically trained musicians isn’t the same as being one. And singing opera for fun is a hell of a lot different than singing it on a stage, in front of an audience of thousands, with a full cast depending on you and stage makeup streaking into your eyes and a costume that weighs more than you do and thousand-watt lights blinding you and—
I shiver, wrenching myself out of a panic attack. The point is, I haven’t spent years of my life studying for it, working for it, training for it. I haven’t earned it. I’m about as far from worthy as anyone could get.
“Amaya?”
I wince at Alec’s voice, spinning around so fast I knock over the bottle of single malt scotch. It clatters to the ground under my feet and I leap out of the way without thinking. Everything seems to slow down as I teeter on the boot’s spiked heel and spin 180 degrees before falling face-first toward
the broken glass. Instinctively, I put out my hands. A white, searing pain shoots up my arm at the same moment a horrific crack echoes through my head. And then my face slams into the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Everyone stay calm, I’ve got this.” Alec’s voice sounds anything but, rising almost to a countertenor. Impressive. “Jules, call 911 and get Benedict down here. Now.”
My foggy brain wants to tell Alec that she doesn’t know who Benedict is but he’s crouching next to me, whispering, “Can you hear me?”
I nod my head.
“Okay, the paramedics are on their way. “Can you move your hands and feet?”
I move my feet.
“Good.”
I move my hands and cry out in pain.
“Shit.” He bends down to examine my hand. “The lighting is too low. We’re going to have to turn on the overheads.”
Kill me now. My first night on the job and not only did I break the most expensive bottle of whiskey and fall, now everyone in the entire club, including Siobhain, will know what a moron I am.
“I’ll be right back.” He presses his hand into my shoulder.
I try to move my head but it hurts too much so I lay still and wait. Someone lands next to me, glass crunching under their feet, then a soft lapping, like they’re licking the floor. Ewww. I hope I’m delusional and making this whole thing up. Another person, more crunched glass. More lapping. What the fuck?
The lights blaze and whoever was licking the floor stops.
“Are you kidding me?” Alec says and I’ve never been so relieved to hear him.
Someone hisses, actually hisses. “What? It was going to waste. It’s not like we sunk our fangs into the girl.”
“Go. Now.”
I twist my head around but from my vantage point all I can see is blood. My blood? But where the hell is it coming from?
“Shit, Amaya, you have a head wound. Those bleed a lot,” Alec says. “Jules, take this towel.”
“Amaya.” Jules is crying. She never cries. I must be dying.
“Hold it to her head and wait for the paramedics,” Alec says.
Jules presses the cloth to my head and I jolt from the pain.
“What’s going on?” I ask her. “Am I dying?”
“I don’t”—she sobs—“know. But if you do, I’ll kill you.”
There’s my girl. I smile, even though it hurts.
“What happened?” Benedict asks, crunching glass beneath his perfectly polished . . . Guccis? I am totally hallucinating.
“She slipped,” Alec says and I’m so grateful to him right now I could hug him. Except for the minor problem that I can’t actually move.
While we wait for the paramedics, Jules, Alec and Benedict stay with me. Benedict tells people to go back and watch the show, starting the music again. I just hope that Siobhain doesn’t look behind the bar to see me sprawled on the floor in a heap of limbs and blood. But why should I care what she thinks? I can’t possibly accept her job offer. Though at this moment, the idea of singing in front of an audience seems less painful than this. Forget it, I can’t bartend without screwing up. What makes me think I can sing? Maybe I’ll just live in a dark hole.
“How you holding up?” Jules pulls the cloth away from my head and winces. “You’re bleeding a lot.”
“Paramedics are here,” Benedict says and Jules stands up.
A man with a stretcher kneels beside me. “My name is Ryder. How are you doing, Amaya?”
How the fuck does it look like I’m doing? Really? “Never better,” I growl until I catch a look at his handsome face hovering near mine. No reason to be a bitch. “Humiliated.”
“I understand. Let’s get you out of here as quickly as possible then.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. He turns away for a moment and then presses something white and cold to the front of my head. “You’re still bleeding but this should stop it.”
I want to nod but I can’t so I lie here, now shivering.
“Blanket,” he calls out and a moment later I’m covered.
“Can you move your legs and feet?”
“I can.”
“Good. I’m going to check your vitals. Okay?”
Whatever that means. “Sure.”
He asks me general questions. My full name, the day, month and year and who the president is. I shudder at the answer and he nods sympathetically. He holds up three fingers and asks me to tell him how many there are. He lifts my eyelids and shines a bright light into my eyes. “Where do you have the most pain?”
“Both wrists but the right one is worse. I can’t move it.”
“Wrist braces needed,” he calls out and someone hands them to him. He attaches the left one with minor pain but when he moves to attach the right one, I cry out. “Ice.” He reaches up and comes back with a white ice pack, placing it gingerly on my wrist. “I think it may be broken.”
A dramatic end to my bartending career before it even began.
“I’m going to put in an IV, stabilize your wrist, wrap your head wound and apply a neck brace. Then we’ll get you out of here. Can you stay with me?”
I have no idea why he’s asking me that, I only closed my eyes for a second.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I open my eyes again, I’m in a hospital room, surrounded by the sweet smell of masculine sweat. Four of my men are standing over me like angels and for a second I wonder if I’m dead.
“She’s awake,” says Arch, and Jules’s worried face appears next to him.
I try to move but my entire body aches.
“We’re going to get you fixed up,” says Bodhi. “You’re at DE General.”
My head throbs in an irregular beat. I open and close my mouth before giving up and groaning. The splitting headache runs a jagged cut through my skull.
“Shhh, just focus on healing.” Jules places her hand on the bongo drum that is my head.
If only it were that easy and I could use my mind to will myself whole again. Could my own powers really work that way? My headache is subsiding and my throat and mouth clear up too. Something is happening in my body, like the cells and bones are knitting themselves back together. I look up at the IV bag next to the bed. It’s filled with blood. I must have lost a lot. “I’m getting a transfusion?”
“You are.” Cedar turns the bag to face me. I read the label and gasp.
“Vampire blood? Are you crazy?” I move to rip out the IV but Forrest’s hand on my shoulder stays me.
“There are only a few drops, enough to help you heal quickly,” he says. “They’re mixed with regular blood because you lost far too much from your head wound.”
I know, vampire blood heals but . . . “It’s illegal,” I blurt.
“Well I see the patient is awake,” a deep voice says and everyone moves aside. A ruggedly handsome face peers down at me. “Hello, Amaya. I’m Dr. Kaden Decker and you’re going to be fine.” He turns to the others. “May I have a moment alone with my patient, please?”
“We’ll be right outside,” says Bodhi and everyone files out.
The doctor turns back to me. “Your friends care about you, a lot.”
I proffer a half smile. They do. “How much is all of this going to cost?” I wince. I haven’t even made a cent and now I’m going to be in debt on top of everything.
“All your fees have been covered, including the upgraded healing package.” He nods toward the vampire-blood IV.
“By who?” I’ll definitely move to a new county if the guys have been stuck paying for this too.
“The blood was anonymously donated and I’m not at liberty to say who paid for your bills. Confidentiality and all.”
“Anonymously donated.” I repeat the words as though in a trance.
He maintains eye contact. “Well you know the law, Ms. Reynolds.”
“Of course.” The thick veil of pain and sedatives clears as the illicit blood fills my veins.
At this hospital, Signum are allow
ed to perform services on loved ones, but the privilege only extends to close friends and family. The only vampire I know is Benedict. Could he be the anonymous donor? Is he the benefactor too? Can’t be, not after I screwed up tonight and probably cost him a few hundred in drinks and cleanup already. “Will I be as good as new in a few hours?”
“Not quite.” A tiny smile appears and he chances a look at the IV bag. “Vampire blood is quite strong and the amount needed depends on the extent of someone’s injuries. However there are laws about how much we can give, and with your injuries, it was three drops. This will heal the contusion on your head and all other minor bruising and cuts.”
I look down at one casted wrist, the other splinted.
“It will not, however, completely heal your broken wrist.”
Great. What kind of job can I get with a broken wrist? I can’t even go back to tending horses now.
“But don’t worry, that will heal on its own in a few months.”
A few months? Like after I’ve lost everything? “When can I go home?”
“We need to keep you here for at least twenty-four hours. You don’t have a concussion but we do need to make sure you’ve completely healed from the blood first.”
I shake my head. Not at him. At my circumstances. I feel like a complete failure. I am a complete failure. I can’t keep a job. I can’t keep my parents’ house. I can’t keep my men from worrying about me and needing to take care of me. Independent Amaya, the woman I’ve always wanted to be, is not so independent after all. I sniffle.
“You’re upset. It’s understandable.” He grabs the tissue box off the nightstand and holds it out to me.