Four Seconds to Lose (21 page)

The look isn’t meant for my drug addict neighbors, though.

It’s meant for me.

Despite the oppressive late afternoon heat, I feel a chill course through my body.

■ ■ ■

Something has shifted in the air since our conversation two nights ago. I can’t quite peg it. It’s not the music, though the song I’ve chosen—“Sail
,
” by Awolnation—is decidedly slower. It’s not my routine, though I need to temper some of the moves to flow with the music. It’s certainly not Cain’s attention. He’s still standing in his customary location, still watching with that intense gaze as I peel articles of clothing off. It’s not the lighting or the location or the crowd—it’s as congested as always.

And yet there is suddenly
more
. Something much deeper and more substantial lingering in the air.

A magnetic pull.

An ache in my chest.

Is it what was said the other night? His confession, however brief?

I can’t place what has changed but I still feel it after I leave the stage, and it’s both enticing and troublesome.

I’m so distracted as I trot down the steps, on my way to the dressing room, that I don’t see the man until I run smack into him.

“Excuse me,” I begin to mutter until I look up and into cold blue eyes.

And gasp.

If there was any question in his mind, any doubt as to whether I was the same girl that delivered heroin to him yesterday, my reaction confirms it.

Bob’s mouth stretches into a wide, wicked grin. “Well, well. Came in for a show. Didn’t expect a shock.”

This is bad. So very bad. If only I weren’t so fixated on Cain, I would have seen Bob coming. I would have spotted him in the crowd and hidden my face from him.
Fuck!
Of all the clubs he could be in, he has to be in
this
one? Is this a fluke? Or did he tail me here?

Based on the look on his face, I don’t think so. I think he’s telling me the truth and he’s as surprised to find me here as I am to see him.

“I guess you’ll be stripping for us from now on, seeing as you’re a professional. Isn’t that right,
Charlie
?” A slight slur in his words tells me he’s far from sober.

Even better. I don’t know what kind of drunk he is and whether I can trust him to keep his mouth shut. But the fact that he approached me so openly tells me I can’t. With hesitation, my eyes flash over to Cain. I breathe a small sigh of relief. He’s still there, talking to Nate, his eyes trained on something else. It doesn’t look like he has noticed me with Bob yet.

If I stand here any longer, he surely will. Or Nate will. Or Ben. I can’t have any of them talking to my drunk, drug-trafficking partner.

I need to deal with this potentially explosive situation and fast.

Swallowing my revulsion, I offer Bob a fake friendly smile as I loop my arm through his and lead him to the one place I will have privacy until I convince him to turn around and leave. I approach the two no-neck bouncers guarding the V.I.P. room entrance, readying my lie, that Cain has given me the go-ahead.

And I pray that Cain isn’t watching my back right now.

The two guys—seemingly as wide as they are tall—look at me, then at Bob, and give me a single nod. I don’t waste another second, leading Bob into the first available room. Ginger gave me a tour weeks ago, so I know the rooms are all the same—clean, dimly lit, and simply furnished. Since then, I’ve visited these rooms only in my dreams, both on the stage and at night. Cain has always been the one waiting for me inside.

Being in here with Bob has turned the setting into a nightmare.

“What would Mom and Pop say about their little
Charlie
showing her tits onstage and traffic—”

“Shut up!” I snap, whirling around to face him. He must be drunker than I first believed. “For someone in the
big leagues
,” I air quote that, mocking him for his earlier scolding, “you sure shoot your mouth off.” I tilt my head toward the camera in the corner of the room, my brow intentionally arched.

Bob catches my move and dismisses it with a snort and a lazy wave. “Those are for show. None of these owners actually want proof of what happens in here.”

“
This
owner does,” I warn slowly, though I silently pray that he’s right. I also pray that the sound doesn’t work on the recording. I’m hoping the music pumping out over the speakers will muffle our words, in any case.

Rubbing his chin, a pondering look suddenly touching his face, Bob murmurs, “You know, Eddie’s been trying to connect with this guy for years. Seeing as you work here—”

“Not happening. Cain will have you thrown in jail before you get the proposal out of your mouth. He wants nothing to do with that world. You need to leave, right now.”

Bob’s face twists with displeasure. I gather he doesn’t like being told what to do. Just as quickly, though, it smooths over. “Sure thing,
Charlie
.”

Suppressing an eye roll, I turn toward the door, intent on leaving the room. A vice-like grip over my wrist stops me. “Don’t turn your back on me.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I quickly assess the situation I’ve put myself in. Bob is semi-respectable when he’s sober. But he’s not sober now and, clearly, not at all respectable. He’s also a big, muscular drug dealer who may not have hurt me yet but could easily do so tonight, And for some reason, he now thinks he has the upper hand on me because he’s invaded my “real” life.

In a way, he does.

And my gut says he’s going to use it to his full advantage.

Swallowing, I explain calmly, “I have to finish my shift behind the bar. And you should go. I happen to know the bouncers here aren’t very friendly to patrons who lay hands on the girls.”

“Then it’s a good thing that no one’s gonna tell them, right?” He gives my arm a painful squeeze in warning. “As soon as I get a private show, you can do whatever the fuck you want. On the house, of course.”

He’s drunk, I remind myself. His reflexes will be slower . . . “Okay, sure. One song. Sit down in the chair,” I agree calmly, trying to placate him.

The second his fingers release me, I run for the door.

Drunk or not, Bob’s not as dumb or as slow as I had hoped, and he was expecting my dodge. Pain shoots through my scalp as he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me into him, until my back is against his chest. He coils his fingers around my hair, pulling my head back until my entire body twists in an awkward angle as I look up at his face.

And then he slaps me across the cheek.

It’s open-handed but it’s with the back of his hand, and it’s hard enough that the sting brings tears to my eyes. I’m sure there will be a mark.

“You’re not afraid of me. You should be.” He jerks my head, earning another wince. “You think you’re protected? You think you’re safe?” A wicked chuckle escapes his lips. “I kind of like you, Jane . . . Charlie . . . whatever the fuck your name is. You’ve got balls. Well,” His eyes drift downward as his free hand finds its way under my skirt, looping around the back of my tiny bikini bottoms, making as if to pull them off.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He leaves them on
.
“Metaphorical ones, anyway. But I don’t like that you think you can just dismiss me. I don’t like that at all.” He launches me toward the pole. I manage to grab hold of it before I lose my balance and tumble to the ground. Crossing arms over his broad chest and planting his feet solidly on the ground—clearly poised to block any more of my attempts to flee—he snaps, “Any time now.”

My eyes dart to the door. It’s only five feet away.

That earns Bob’s toothy grin. “Take your pick—it’s here or the next time I see you.”

I’m no idiot. If I give in now, he’ll still try to make me do it at the drop and there are no bouncers there to save me. “Eddie wouldn’t allow that,” I answer, forcing certainty in my voice. I have no idea what Eddie might allow but he hasn’t had patience for Bob’s leisurely search tactics so far, so I can only hope I’m right.

By the narrowing of Bob’s eyes and the sudden flushing of his cheeks, that was the wrong thing to say. He’s on me in a flash, kicking my feet out from under me and pushing me down onto the ground. I land with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “You think what Eddie says goes?” He reaches down to grab and lift me up by the face, his strong fingers squeezing my jaw until tears spring to my eyes. “Eddie doesn’t own me. I do what I want!”

Bob’s muscular arm pulls back and I see him make a fist. I close my eyes and wince, bracing myself against the impact that’s about to come, knowing it’s going to cause severe damage.

It never comes, though.

The sound of the door being thrown open and a shout comes a split second before Bob’s painful grip vanishes and I drop to the ground again, spending a few seconds working the ache out of my face by wriggling my jaw. When I manage to pick myself up, I find Nate and Ben flanking Cain, who has Bob on his knees with a white-knuckled grip of his shirt collar. Bob has at least thirty pounds on Cain but right now, with the blazing rage in my boss’s dark eyes and the way his muscles cord along his neck and arms, I don’t doubt that Cain could bury Bob in seconds.

And that he very well might.

“Who the fuck are you?” Cain growls, all semblance of his reserved, professional nature gone. When Bob doesn’t answer, his eyes panning back and forth between Nate, Ben, and the door, Cain’s nostrils begin to flare. “You’ve got about four seconds to start talking.”

“Easy to threaten when you’re three on one, isn’t it?” Bob tosses back with a sneer, trying to stand his ground, even while on his knees.

That makes Cain’s lips curl into a smile. Not the smile I love. A wicked smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. As if he was waiting for an invitation. “Nate, Ben, . . . take Charlie and step outside.” His icy tone sends a shiver through my insides.

Ben and Nate share a look but don’t move.

“Outside. Now!” Cain’s bark makes me jump.

Ben moves as if to comply, reaching out to me with a hand. Nate doesn’t budge, though. “You know I can’t do that, boss.”

“And why is that?” Cain taunts, never leaving Bob’s eyes. It’s as if he knows the answer but wants Nate to say it out loud, to have Bob hear it.

“Because this fool will not walk out of here if I leave you alone with him,” Nate answers, just as calmly. “So why don’t you let me take care of him.” Adding a little more softly, “Let it go, Cain.”

I haven’t taken a single breath since they stormed in. I have to take one now. It’s small and shaky and, as I study Cain’s face—a mask of cold, detached hatred—I realize that I’ve now gone from one dangerous situation to another.

I need Bob gone. Immediately.

“I’m fine, Cain. He’s just some guy who thought I was someone else,” I explain, taking a step forward.

Cain’s severe gaze finally settles on me. There is a turmoil within his eyes that can’t be missed—fear? Panic? Anger? Shock? With tentative steps, I close the distance and place a gentle hand on his forearm, which is taut with tension. His eyes haven’t left mine. “Cain, please. Just let Nate take him out.” I hate the pleading in my tone but at this point, I’m desperate. I can’t have Bob saying a word and I definitely can’t have Cain beating the hell out of him. That will just end badly for me down the road. As it is, I don’t know what this is going to mean at my next drop. I can’t think about it right now.

Right now I have to defuse this situation.

I slowly rub my hand back and forth over Cain’s arm, each muscle ripped, as tightly wound as he is.

After another long pause, he finally releases Bob from his death grip and steps in front of me, shielding my body behind him protectively.

As Bob struggles to get up, his eyes flash to me. I see the promise in them.

The promise of retribution.

I fight the tremble that skates along my spine.

“Your type isn’t welcome in this club,” Cain warns. “Stay the fuck out.”

Bob snorts, trailing beside Nate, who’s got one mammoth hand resting on his shoulder to steer him in the right direction as quickly and quietly as possible. Bob throws back, “Maybe you should look more closely at the type of whores you hire in here.”

Nate and Ben—obviously knowing their boss too well—anticipated his reaction because they move fast, Nate shoving Bob out of the room while Ben blocks Cain from chasing after him. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him,” Ben says, stepping backward slowly, “and you take care of Charlie.”

My hands find my stomach, pressing against the growing tangle of nerves inside. Why couldn’t I just keep these lives separate for a while longer? It’s as if the universe is conspiring against me, reminding me that I don’t have an indefinite amount of time. That everything will come crashing down. With just one phone call, just one visit . . .

Ginger already suspects something. She’s still talking to me, but she’s moody.

Now Bob knows how to find me. What if that had been Jimmy coming in here? Hell, tomorrow it
could
be Jimmy out there, watching me strip. My insides coil tighter at the thought.

And Cain . . .

At some point he made his way back into the V.I.P. room. He’s studying me with those hawkish eyes. Can he see my inner turmoil? My guilt? My duplicity? If he does, he doesn’t let on. He just stands there, studying me in silence until I’m ready to scream.

“Say something,” I finally demand in a hoarse whisper. I wait for him to growl at me as he did at Bob. To fire me for being in the V.I.P. room with a customer, though clearly I wasn’t doing any entertaining. I wait for him to look at me with hateful, disgusted eyes. To interrogate me, hammering me with questions, accusations, theories.

But he does none of that. He calmly pushes the door shut. Then, so fluidly that I miss his movement, I feel my body tugged toward him by the wrist, into his firm chest as his arms wrap around my frame, pulling me close, until I can almost feel the mess of emotions radiating from him—that same worry and pain and fear that I saw in his eyes.

And the last thing I expect him to do at this moment is the first thing he does.