Pulled Under: a standalone Walker Security novel

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I’m not running at Ju-Ju, but so far, I’ve survived my monster. Five girls have not survived theirs. I don’t want there to be a sixth.”

  “I don’t want number six to be you.”

  “It won’t be,” I say. “You already kissed me and claimed me, remember?”

  “We can’t know that’s enough to dissuade him,” he says. “He’s shown interest in you when he won’t even look Kara’s way.”

  “Yes, but—” My brow furrows with a thought.

  “But?”

  “If you’re right, and he’s shown interest in me, despite you obviously staking a claim, then you don’t have his formula down.”

  “I can see you thinking,” he says. “Where are you going with this?”

  “You told me that refusing a paycheck made me look vulnerable, and that essentially makes me a target for any kind of predator. Maybe being single wasn’t why Ju-Ju chose his victims. Maybe it was more about them being vulnerable, or in trouble, in some way.”

  “In other words, Ju-Ju talked to someone at the bar that knows you are working for tips only.”

  “Maybe. That’s my thought.”

  He pushes off the wall. “We need to move and I need to make a phone call.” We start walking and he digs his phone from his pocket. “The subway is the only way we can make sure no one knows where we came from.”

  “What about after work? Aren’t some of the subways closed?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Which is why we walk to the ones that are open.” He punches in an auto-dial in his phone. “Luke,” he says and then listens a few beats, before adding, “Sierra and I have a hunch that someone at the bar is aiding Ju-Ju in some way.” He glances at me. “Yes. Sierra knows about Ju-Ju. I’ll explain later if Blake hasn’t already.” He listens a minute and they have a drawn-out conversation I can’t keep up with, especially when we head down the subway stairs. “I’m headed into the tunnels,” Asher says. “We’re going to cut out. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He ends the connection and sticks his phone in his pocket and pulls out two subway cards, one he hands to me. “That has plenty of money on it. Keep it, but not in your purse.”

  We both swipe, and for now, I stick the card in the pocket of my jeans. The minute we are on the other side, Asher’s hand is on my back, a protectiveness and intimacy in the way he steps close. We head down the stairs just in time to catch our train, which is virtually empty. In unison, we both gravitate toward the end of the car, claiming the side-by-side seats there that allow us to keep our eyes on the entrances.

  “What did Luke say about Ju-Ju?” I ask.

  “He doesn’t give a lot of opinions on the fly. He just gets the job done. He’s putting a man on Terrance, the manager, since he’s the one most likely connected in some way to Ju-Ju. And I’m not of Blake’s caliber when it comes to hacking, but I can hack pretty damn well. Between Blake and I, we’ve already done a basic fingerprint for everyone at the bar. Tomorrow I’ll dig in deeper, especially where the manager and the owner are concerned.”

  “I think it has to be Terrance,” I say. “He’s the one I’ve dealt with, and since I don’t have a file, I’d say it has to be him. I really hate that I told him my real name. I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

  “Running gets old and exhausting,” he says. “And so does pretending to be someone you’re not. You think your cover has become so real, even to yourself, that you can’t misstep, but we’re all human. And in your case, you’ve had to change identities several times in nine months.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Sierra with blonde hair in Denver. Leslie with black hair in Kansas. Jenny with red hair in Texas. I used wigs, clinging to the idea of one day being me again. Until I got here. I had no time for a wig and after Texas, I knew it was time to embrace a new me.”

  “Have you?”

  “Not really.”

  He reaches up and brushes hair from my eyes. “Believe it or not, I get it.”

  “Because you’ve had to pretend to be someone else?”

  “Yeah well, that’s part of it.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes I don’t quite understand, and he cuts his gaze, his jaw set hard. “Let’s talk about Terrance and damage control,” he says, changing the subject, and when he looks at me again, that flicker of something is now gone, wiped away. “It’s Saturday night and the busiest night of the week at the bar. One of the two of us needs to go to Terrance, on your behalf, we’ll play it by ear on which one.”

  “And say what?”

  “A demand that if you prove yourself tonight, you want to be on payroll for your next shift. Play it off as if you always believed that would be the case.”

  “As Kelli Vincent?” I ask.

  “Yes. When he calls you Sierra, ask him if he gives nicknames to all the girls. Make him believe he got confused about your name.”

  He means, convince him that I’m not vulnerable, therefore, Ju-Ju, a serial killer, shouldn’t target me. Because apparently, somewhere in the process of studying crazy killers, I became a magnet for them.

  ***

  Asher and I arrive late to work at the bar.

  We enter the building through the back entrance and we’re about four steps past the break room when we come face-to-face with the bar manager, Terrance, who is big, bulky and maybe thirty-five. Or forty-five. He’s one of those people that you just can’t guess the age for, even if you are one of those who always gets it right. I think it’s the shaved head or perhaps the unibrow and bad attitude, and in that order. “Why the hell are you two late and walking in together?” he demands.

  “We were fucking,” Asher says, “and if you don’t like it, fire us. Carlson down the road at Red Roof Bar offered us both jobs, and they promised Kelli a real paycheck.”

  I’m contemplating punching Asher, at least twice: Once for the “we were fucking” comment and once for putting my job on the line, but Terrance steals the show, with a scowl and another demand. “Who the fuck is Kelli?”

  “Me, of course,” I say as if in disbelief. “I’m Kelli,” I add, and I just decide to go with it, and follow Asher’s lead. “And Carlson knows that.”

  “I thought you were Sierra,” he snaps.

  “I thought you just gave everyone a nickname,” I say. “And mine was Sierra.”

  “How’s this for a nickname?” he asks. “Get your asses to work or you’re fired.”

  “Do I get a paycheck?” I press.

  “You were late,” he says. “Ask me when you prove you can be on time.”

  “She gets a paycheck,” Asher says, he and Terrance staring each other down.

  Terrance clenches his jaw and looks at me. “We’ll do paperwork if you survive Saturday night.” He turns and walks away.

  I turn and face Asher. “We were fucking? You couldn’t be more discreet?”

  “Terrance isn’t exactly a discreet kind of guy, and we need to get the point across. You’re with me.”

  “I’ll punish you later,” I promise, but for now, I move on. “You pushed him to fire us and knew he wouldn’t,” I say. “What do you have on him?”

  “Walker paid a couple of the bartenders to quit over the past week,” he says. “He can’t afford to fire us.” His phone buzzes with a text and he pulls it from his pocket and reads the message. “Ju-Ju just had an Uber drop him in the parking lot two blocks away.”

  “Why would he—” I stop myself. I know why. “A drug deal,” I say.

  “Yes,” he confirms, sticking his phone back in his pocket, “but he’s not selling to anyone that fits his victim profile.”

  “Hello, assholes,” Terrance shouts at us, reappearing in the hallway. “Get to work.”

  “On it, boss,” he says as if he’s actually compliant, instead of a smart ass, his arm settling around my shoulders as he sets us in motion down a hallway. “Punish me, baby,” he murmurs in my ear. “I didn’t want you to think I missed that promise.”

  I smile, despite the fact that Terrance glares at us
for several of our steps before he disappears into an office. We cut left, and round a corner to enter the dimly lit, crazy crowded bar considering it’s still early. Asher snags my hand and starts walking, leading me through the tables and bodies, the sound of Kelly Clarkson’s “Love So Soft”, blasting through the speakers. Kelli. My name is Kelli. I can’t forget that. I don’t know how I forgot with Terrance. Maybe I really am tired of running but a fight just isn’t always the answer. A reality I already know Asher won’t easily accept.

  I lose that thought as we near the bar we work behind, and I bring the two half-naked asses attached to two half-naked women dancing on top of it into view and I’m thrust into the past. To one of the many times The Beast forced me to go to topless bars. Forced me to watch him get lap dances and even get them myself when I just wanted to leave, wanted to run. But, I was forced to run. Forced to take this job, but it’s money, and it brought me to Asher, and I can’t regret either of those things.

  Asher and I head to the end of the bar and he unlatches the wooden counter, lifting it and creating an entrance. I pass through the opening, stepping behind the bar. Asher joins me, and as soon as I turn to face him, he pulls me close, and presses his cheek to mine, “Watch for Ju-Ju,” he says, and when I expect his arms to fall away, he instead adds, “You don’t belong here. We’re going to talk about that.”

  He releases me and walks to the bar to attend a customer, leaving me behind to digest his words with a mix of emotions, both good and bad. Yes, I like Asher’s alpha protective nature, but no, I do not want to be controlled by another man.

  An hour later, Asher has dispelled any negative his statement created in me by paying zero attention to the dancers, while managing to touch me as much as he has his orders. On one quick pass behind me, his hands settle on my hips, and he leans in close. “Luke just texted me. Ju-Ju is at a diner down the road, and on a separate, immensely important note, your ass looks fucking perfect in those jeans.”

  I laugh as he moves away and attends to a customer, while I too serve up drinks.

  Over the next hour, Asher and I have many intimate little moments before he steps behind me again, his hands back on my hips, as he leans in and finally offers an update on Ju-Ju. “He’s somewhere in the bar, and we can’t be out of here, and naked in my bed together, soon enough,” before he moves away.

  That naked and in his bed comment isn’t missed, but I’m also quite certain it’s meant to distract me from some anticipated freak-out over Ju-Ju, and him being undercover to catch him. I’m not freaked out. I’m not going to blink. I want to catch a killer. Exactly why I greet a customer, and discreetly scan the crowd to find no signs of Ju-Ju. For another full hour, which then turns into two, there is still no sign of Ju-Ju in the crowd, by me or Asher, even though the Walker team insists he’s here.

  I’ve just shared a look with Asher, confirming that hasn’t changed, when a bald dude, with a bald dude that is not him on his shirt, orders a beer. Which is weird, while him dragging out the transaction to attempt to ask me out, is irritating. Ultimately, he hands me a twenty-dollar tip and finally walks away. I stick the cash in the money jar, just as the girl dancing to my right suddenly squats down in front of me, her ample breasts pretty much falling out of her top. “I’m Jesse,” she calls out, over the exceedingly loud music, that at present is What Lovers Do by Maroon 5, I think. “I can’t afford to take a break without Terrance firing me,” she adds. “Any chance I could get some water?”

  Her fear of Terrance reminds me of a much smaller version of my fear of Devin, and I happily grab my sprayer and fill a glass for her. She gulps it down and hands the glass back to me. “Thanks,” she shouts out as she shoves some guy away. “Lucky you,” she says, after he backs off. “I wish I was behind the bar.”

  I wouldn’t ever be on that bar, but I get it. She’s using her assets to survive. As if proving that point she tugs her top down a bit more and stands, only to have the guy she shoved away grab her leg. I use the water hose in my hand and spray the drunk asshole, who curses at me, but backs off. Jesse gives me a thumbs-up thank you and we both laugh.

  She turns away and I glance over at Asher to find his side of the bar packed with people while the other dancer is kneeling in front of him, facing him, her legs spread wide. He motions for her to move, but she grabs his arm and bites her bottom lip, and actually tries to drag his hand to her panties. My stomach knots with a flashback of me watching Devin feel up a dancer, because if I didn’t—

  Asher jerks his hand back, and points up at the dancer. I don’t know what he says, but her face falls hard and fast, and she stands just as hard and fast. He turns in my direction, and I quickly face the other way before he knows that I was watching. Hating how much seeing that woman offering herself up to him bothered me. I just met Asher. I have no right to feel this way. I don’t want to feel this way. I won’t feel this way.

  I step to the counter and take an order, but Asher is suddenly next to me, pulling me to him, his cheek pressed to mine, hand on my lower back. “That was her, not me,” he says, making it clear that he knows I saw what happened. “You have my full attention, and no one has ever had my full attention.”

  The minute he says those words, I know that I have the option to reject them as sweet talk or to choose to trust him and he’s made that decision remarkably easy. My hand goes to his face, my lips pressing to his lips, and I’ve just touched my tongue with his when someone grabs my arm. I look up to find Jesse squatted down again. “Trouble!” she shouts, pointing down the bar.

  Asher and I follow her lead to discover two guys on top of the bar grabbing the dancer I will now forever think of as “crotch girl.” Asher curses, and in a swift move and a jump, he’s on top of the bar, yanking one of the men off crotch girl. He tosses the guy off the bar, but that doesn’t end it. The other guy lunges at Asher, and crotch girl jumps off the bar, and to my side of the counter, just in time to avoid the impact of a fist. Jesse jumps too, and joins us, but I’m not focused on them. I’m focused on Asher, and the two new guys that jump onto the bar, and go at him. I suck in air, and watch as Asher struggles with them but ultimately wins out. I breathe out in relief. He’s virtually unscathed, and they look like the drunk fools they are who stupidly chose an ex-Navy SEAL to fight.

  “I hate when this happens!” Jesse shouts over the music, her complaint telling me that this fight is a version of normal to her. The fact that there are people standing around the bar, still drinking and dancing to the music, confirms that yes, this is a normal Saturday night, and Lord help me, I don’t want it to be my normal.

  Thankfully though, the fight begins to die down and a couple of guys approach our end of the bar, waving Jesse and crotch girl forward. Both dancers rush toward the obviously familiar men, while the bouncers, along with Asher, now have the final troublemakers off the bar, and they’re dragging them toward the exit.

  Terrance parts the crowd and charges at Jesse and crotch girl. “Dance!” he shouts. “Now!” They both scramble to the top of the bar, as he leans across it and focuses on me. “Get busy!” He seals that barked order to me by turning to the room and waves people forward.

  I’m rushed by customers, and I start taking orders, but freeze with what seems to be a flash, like a camera. My head jerks up and I scan the area, to spy no one taking pictures, but then, I’m swamped with people. “You’re paranoid,” I murmur to myself, filling another order, but Asher hasn’t returned, and I have this sense of being watched, this unease that I can’t shake. It’s nagging at me and I ignore the guy in front of me demanding a buttery nipple and laughing while he does. I focus on the seating areas, scanning for the source of my unease and I find it: Ju-Ju is sitting at a table halfway across the bar, staring at me. Asher’s right. I have Ju-Ju’s attention and my only comfort in that is that maybe, just maybe, while focused on me, he’s not focused on another innocent girl. Because I’m not innocent. I might not know how to use a gun, but there’s at least one asshole in Te
xas who most likely knows my knee more intimately than he’s ever known pleasure.

  I turn away from him and my gaze lands on Asher, two bouncers, and a cop, standing near the front door, the cop my real focus. My heart starts to race at the sight of that uniform, which has a connection to my past that is far more dangerous than Ju-Ju. I cannot risk being recognized. Not when Devin has his cronies looking for me, while the many random press photos I’ve been forced to smile through, by his side, make me easier to recognize than I’d hope. Decision made, I jump up on the bar next to Jesse and grab her arm. “I have to pee. Send people to the other bars!”

  She gives me a thumbs-up and I jump down on the other side of the bar and that’s when Ju-Ju steps in front of me and holds up a photo, a taunting smile on his face. A photo that he would be paid large sums of money for supplying to Devin. I reach for his phone, and he pulls it away, waggling a finger at me before he disappears into the crowd, holding it and me hostage. I want to go after him, knee him, and take his damn phone.

  I take a step toward him but he’s already walking toward the door, and my gut says that he’s luring me out of the bar, where he could have one of Devin’s cronies waiting on me. My heart now wants to beat right out of my chest. I need out of this bar. I head to the employee exit where Asher and I had entered the bar, and I don’t stop until I’m down that hallway and in the bathroom.

  My phone rings and I grab it, finding Asher’s number on the caller ID. “In the employee bathroom,” I say, “and I need to see you now.”

  “I’m on my way.” He disconnects the call and I slide my phone back into my pocket, wishing I had the mace I left back in my apartment.

  Instead I lean against the wall, my mind racing as fast as my heart. “Think, Sierra,” I whisper. “Calm down and think.” I inhale and exhale and my mind actually starts to work. Ju-Ju can’t know who I am. He’s just playing games with me. He’s not connected to Devin. He doesn’t know what that photo is worth.

  The door opens and Asher is immediately in front of me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his hands settling at my waist, a huge cut down his cheek. “What happened?”