The Lone Star Collection

by Renee Mackenzie

  Someone who knows what they’re doing. I directed my question at both of them. “Hardin Jones called about me? Said Stuart would hook me up for tonight.”

  A light bulb went off in Stuart’s head, and he shot out a hand and pumped my hand. “You ready?”

  “Sure,” I replied, glad we were finally making some progress.

  “Follow me.”

  He started walking back toward the door, but I stood my ground, thinking he was trying to lead me out of the bar so he didn’t have to keep his promise. When he turned back, I shook my head. “I need to stay inside. That was the deal.”

  Again with the crazy eyes, but this time he actually formed a full sentence. “Booth’s inside by the front door.”

  “Booth?”

  “Hardin said you’re here to work for the night. We’re short-handed.”

  Before I could process that now I was saddled with two jobs, he pointed at Cash. “You sure that dog is going to behave?”

  I resisted pointing out we were at a place that would soon fill with hordes of dollar-bill waving, testosterone-driven frat boys and businessmen, all focused on getting mostly naked chicks to shake their boobs and bend into pretzels with the aid of a pole, but yeah, sure, my dog could manage to stay in line. I only had one question. “What’s this gig pay?”

  Two hours later I was bored out of my mind. I’d been standing by the front door, next to the booth where all the cover charges were collected, checking IDs. Watching the customers trickle in, I wondered why clubs even bothered opening before ten since the early crowd was such a yawn fest. My “job” was entirely unnecessary since the only thing that needed bouncing were the giant, stay-in-place, fake boobs on the size two dancer currently riding the pole center stage. And I was hungry.

  Like a mind reader, the bouncer from the front stage, Roy, strode over. “You wanna grab some food while it’s slow? I’ll cover for you here.”

  “Thanks, man.” I motioned to Cash, and we walked over to the bar closest to the door and ordered a burger and overpriced chicken wings, which we plowed through while watching an older guy in an ill-fitting but expensive looking suit shove dollar bills into the gravity challenged dancer on stage. I’ve got nothing against strippers. Hell, I’ve had some of the best times of my life in the company of women who shake their stuff for a living, but no way could I tolerate the level of bullshit they put up with. This guy needed to give his greenbacks to a tailor and then maybe he could find a woman who might really be interested in him instead of putting on a show for a few bucks.

  Not my problem. I looked back at the door and was happy to see things were starting to get busy. I signaled for my check from the bartender, but he waved me away saying, “It’s on the house.”

  If I’d known that, I would’ve ordered the steak.

  As Cash and I walked back to the door, I heard the rising voices and what sounded like the beginnings of a scuffle. The girl in the booth motioned wildly, and I hurried my stride. I started to ask her what was up, but as I got closer, I could see a group of eight women gesticulating wildly at her, and the tallest one of them had her face pressed up against the glass like she was about to crash in.

  “What’s going on?” I said in my best I’m in charge of all things voice. It was a delay tactic since I was certain I already knew the problem.

  Joy, the cashier, who was probably really named something like Jane or Linda, pointed at the women like they were wild beasts escaped from the zoo. “Roy went out for a smoke, and these people are trying to get in. I told them no ten times, but they won’t go away.”

  I crossed my arms and assumed what I hoped was a very stern expression. Bouncer wasn’t a great role for me since I’m pretty lax in the rules department, and I think anyone with the price of admission should get to see the naked girls, but I was determined to give this my best shot. “Ladies,” I said, but that was as far as I got. A closer examination revealed these weren’t just any ladies. While half of this crew looked like your typical pretty straight girls headed to a bachelorette party, the other half sported hair on the shorter side, well-trimmed nails, and more closely resembled the descriptor handsome than pretty. The latter set were puffed up with indignation and standing in front of their femme dates as if to protect them from the evils of discrimination because, clearly, that’s what this was. These were MY people who were being turned away from the gates of paradise.

  “We have every right to be here,” the tall one said, assuming a fighting stance.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked, more to stall than because I cared.

  “We just finished up at a book thing,” Tall girl lowered her voice. “Lone Star Lesfic Festival. We’re celebrating happily ever afters.”

  I smiled like I knew what she was talking about. I kinda did. I didn’t completely live under a rock and knew that lesfic meant books about lesbians and happily ever afters were for romance novels. I didn’t read the stuff myself but didn’t begrudge anyone else for spending their time celebrating eternal happiness. I looked over my shoulder at Joy and gave her what I hoped was a withering frown. “What’s the deal?”

  She smacked a piece of gum. “No escorts, and they aren’t with a party. Rules.”

  She smacked some more to emphasize the obviousness of her assessment while I considered my options. This wasn’t my battle. I was here to find Leroy, not stand up for the rights of lesbians to watch strippers pole dance, but the curt denial of entry pissed me off. If I was going to have to work the rest of the night to earn the right to conduct this stake out, then dammit, I was going to take advantage of my position. What good is a bouncer who doesn’t have enough cred to let someone jump the line?

  “I’m letting them in,” I said, daring Joy to challenge me.

  “Stuart’s not gonna be happy.”

  I kind of doubted Stuart was ever happy, but that had nothing to do with me. I didn’t respond, letting my silent stare speak my determination. After a few tense seconds, Joy shrugged. “Cover’s ten bucks.”

  †

  Things really started to pick up over the next hour, and I wound up working double time checking IDs while Joy counted up fistfuls of bills from the steady stream of customers anxious to enter the club and give their hard-earned paychecks away to hard-edged bartenders and mostly naked women. I wasn’t judging—hell, I’d done exactly the same thing on plenty of occasions. I just didn’t remember ever seeing a place as packed as this one.

  I was checking the next guy’s license when I spotted Leroy about three guys back in the line. I shoved the license at Joy and patted Cash on the head to signal we were on the move, but a strong grip on my shoulder grabbed my focus. I whirled to face Stuart and Roy, the bouncer from the front.

  “Switch,” Stuart said.

  I was beginning to wonder if he’d only been allotted a certain amount of words and was scared of running out. “No.”

  “Do it.”

  His glare told me not to argue. I shot another look at Leroy. Hell, if he was coming in the club, I’d get my hands on him soon enough. “Yeah, okay.” I signaled to Cash, and we walked over to the high stool positioned to the right of the main stage. My job now was to keep undesirables from encroaching on the performers. I was happy to see that my lesbian friends had snagged a table near the front. When I walked by with Cash, they all called out to me.

  “Thanks for getting us in.”

  “Hey, let us buy you a drink.”

  “Is that your dog? He’s so cute.”

  Cash and I exchanged a look at that last comment. Cute wasn’t the word I’d use to describe my dog. He was my sidekick, my pal, my partner in crime, but I could see where an outsider might view him as a big stuffed plaything. I smiled at the women but waved them off. “Happy to help, and thanks for the drink, but I’m good.” I pointed at the dog. “This is Cash. He helps me out on occasion.”

  One of the really girly girls reached out a hand. “Okay for me to pet him?”

  Before I could answer, I spotte
d Leroy, flanked by a couple of beefy musclemen headed to the VIP section. Distracted by the chance to track my prey, I made a snap decision. “Sure. Do you mind watching him for a minute? I’ll be right back.” I didn’t wait for an answer. They were lesbians. Leaving a dog with them was a no-brainer. My only concern was whether Cash would be spoiled rotten by the time I got back.

  I circled around the stage to the other side where the VIP tables were located in time to see Leroy pouring himself a glass of Cristal from an iced-down bottle which he had to have called ahead to have ready. My ah-ha moment was cut short when my gaze also took in the two Hulk-like guys seated on either side of him. Guess a guy smart enough to bilk his company for years would be smart enough to make sure he took protection when he was on the run.

  Damn. I needed some way to distract his bodyguards, and I immediately thought of Cash. I could get him to do some of his crazy, high-pitched Husky howls which would probably get both of us kicked out of the joint, but hopefully with enough time to grab Leroy on the way out. Satisfied Leroy wasn’t going anywhere soon, I headed back to the table of lesbians to retrieve Cash.

  Cash, the traitor, wasn’t interested in leaving. He was seated in the middle of the booth like a doggie VIP with two of the prettiest women in the group fawning all over him—stroking his head, cooing into his ears. And no telling how much of that bar snack mix he’d indulged in while I was gone. The sight was inspiring, and I hoped these gals were still grateful to me for getting them in the door.

  “Hey, you’re back.” The tall woman who’d led the charge to get in called me over and shook my hand. “I’m Devon.” She introduced me to her girlfriend Sasha and the rest of the group. “Can we get you that drink now? We’d really like to thank you for earlier.”

  Score. “Actually,” I said. “There’s something else I’d like better.”

  I subtly pointed out Leroy’s table and explained what I had in mind, making sure to let them know there would be no hard feelings if they weren’t on board. Their enthusiasm was overwhelming.

  A few minutes later, with Roy’s help, I’d tapped the two best strippers in the bunch and paid them for a lap dance. First time I’d ever shelled out money for someone else to get off, but it was for a good cause. Next, I escorted Sasha and Mia, another one of the femme girls whose lives I’d saved by getting them into the club, off to a table within spitting distance of Leroy and his henchmen. Once they were settled in, I set up nearby with Cash to watch the fun.

  Sasha and Mia both leaned back in their chairs, as a faux Brittany Spears and a lookalike Charlize Theron teased them unmercifully before grinding into their laps to give everyone a perfect show.

  “They’re hot, aren’t they?”

  I turned to face Devon. She was staring hard at the foursome, but it was clear she only had eyes for Sasha, and those eyes were starting to bulge. I glanced over at Leroy, happy to see a similar reaction. As if on cue, Sasha turned her head and looked straight at Leroy with hooded eyes. She pointed her finger and crooked it back toward her. Like a nail to a magnet, he rose from his chair and started walking toward the table, laser focused on the double dose of girl-on-girl action. No one would have been able to resist.

  I waited a minute until I was sure his bodyguards were staying put, and then signaled to Devon and the rest of her group. While they wandered over to distract the bodyguards, I made my move. Leroy was still drooling when I snapped the handcuffs on him.

  “What the hell?” He struggled against the restraints, but Cash’s low growl got his attention.

  “Remember that bond you posted? Well, it’s been revoked.” I tugged on his cuffed hands and pulled him toward the back door. “Say goodnight to the ladies, Leroy.” I waved at my helpers. “Enjoy your evening. Thanks for the help.” I pushed Leroy in front of me, happy to see the lap dances resume as if nothing had happened.

  †

  I tiptoed into the room, motioning for Cash to be quiet, but the light was still on, and Jess was sitting up in bed reading a book. She looked up from the pages and shot me one of her slow, sexy smiles. “You two are earlier than I expected. Everything go okay?”

  “Perfect. My work is done. How about you?”

  “Last panel was this afternoon. I had dinner with the gang, so I’m all yours.”

  I liked the sound of that. “Maybe we can sleep in before we head back tomorrow.”

  “Or maybe we can explore a little. Austin’s a fun place.”

  I thought back on my evening’s adventures. Fun wasn’t the word I’d use, but I’m sure there was more to the city than strip clubs and lesbian fiction festivals. Still, the nagging worry that Jess would want to uproot our lives was festering and I decided to get it out. “Are you trying to ease me into the idea of living here permanently?”

  “What? No. Don’t be silly.” She grabbed for my hand. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing. I mean, someday I might be ready to leave Dallas, but,” I searched for a compromise, but meeting in the middle wasn’t my strong suit. “If it’s what you want…”

  She reached around and pulled me closer, whispering in my ear. “You’re what I want, and we’ve already got a home.”

  I shivered at the feel of her breath on my skin. Would I ever get tired of her touch?

  Not for all the strip clubs in the world.

  About the Author

  Carsen Taite

  Carsen Taite’s goal as an author is to spin tales with plot lines as interesting as the cases she encountered in her career as a criminal defense lawyer. She is an award winning author of numerous novels of romance and romantic intrigue, including the Luca Bennett Bounty Hunter series and the Lone Star Law series. Look for her upcoming titles in 2018: Outside the Law (the final installment in the Lone Star Law series), Love’s Verdict, and Pursuit of Happiness.

  Carsen loves to hear from readers. Contact her at carsen@carsentaite.com, follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/carsentaite, or visit her website, www.carsentaite.com for current information about book releases and personal appearances.

  The Heartbreak State

  Barbara Ann Wright

  Author’s Note: These characters first appeared in the anthology, Absolute Power, edited by Erica Friedman

  I used to love a woman in riding clothes. Whether a cowgirl in a split-skirt with a straw hat atop her head, face dusty and set in a workaday scowl; or a fancy lady riding sidesaddle, covered in silks, there is something about a woman on horseback that always gets my blood pumping. Maybe it’s the sense of freedom that lights a woman’s face or the delight in her eyes as she prompts that horse to greater heights of speed and endurance.

  Or maybe it’s just the bouncing. I’m woman enough to admit that, even though I have always masqueraded as a man. But whatever my former infatuation with mounted women, I do believe it has ended with Miss Shepherd.

  Too many times I have seen that woman come riding into town hot on my trail. She has interrupted countless thefts, cons, and dalliances. I used to think my power made me invincible. One jolt can make anyone fall under my sway, dying for a kiss or a caress. Men fall at my feet. Women fall into my bed. Even Miss Shepherd has thrown herself at me more than once, a fact that makes her hate me as much as she desires me, but still she dogs my steps, intent on arresting me on behalf of the Pinkerton Agency, a force for law that probably fired her long ago, when catching me became her obsession.

  After our first meeting in Arizona, I doubled back on my own trail, putting off my plans to become the queen of California in the midst of the gold rush so I might lose my most ardent pursuer. I thought I had finally shaken her in Texas. Now as I dismount in Presidio, I see a form in the distance, clad in a sky-blue riding dress, and before she comes close enough for me to see the valise strapped to the back of her horse or the pretty blond hair escaping her large hat, I know it’s her. And I swear and spit even as an anticipatory fire builds in my core.

  I want her. And even without the power, I know she wants me, tho
ugh she’ll never admit it. We have tangled too many times, me wielding my power, her with her bounty of chemicals and compounds and potions. Her alchemical arsenal can detect and track my power, but I haven't used it in three goddamn days!

  How can she still be so fast on my trail? I laid a false track in Nacogdoches, told my lover in San Antonio that I was headed to Laredo and then on into Mexico, but instead, I headed west. Miss Shepherd should have had too many options to know which way to turn, yet here she comes, pretty as you please, like a bloodhound with the scent of prey in its nostrils.

  But I am the predator. It’s time she learned that lesson again.

  I step into the street and wait. She pulls up short and messes with something in her pack, no doubt applying one of her concoctions in the hopes of resisting me. I snort, knowing she’ll see me shaking my head, hands on my hips. She’s gotten better with her potions, but she’s yet to fully put me off. Only distance will save her.

  I could kill her, I suppose, but I’ve never been the murdering kind. I could pump enough power into her that she pounces into my bed. Maybe after a few bouts of ecstasy, exploring her darkest desires, she would be too humiliated to pursue me further. The thought has occurred on more than one lonely night, but my pride forbids it. When she finally comes to my bed, I want her to be willing. Spurred on by the power if need be, but in possession of her faculties.

  Maybe that’s the key. Instead of running from her, letting her vex me, I should woo her to my side. I will be the queen of California, and she will be my consort.

  I snort again. No, she would insist on being a fellow queen.

  She dismounts some distance away, her eyes locked on mine. She still doesn’t know my true name, calls me Jack from when she thought I was a man. I have never bothered to correct her. And anyone looking on in this moment will see a tall, pretty blonde, one with sensuous curves and a no-nonsense walk, approaching a slightly taller man clad in a suit that’s seen better days. Miss Shepherd won’t let me stop long enough for proper tailoring.