Human Interaction (5 page)

I thumped myself in the chest, finally able to quit coughing. "No. That… no."
Just great
. Mr Meat now thinks I'm loonier than any loon he's seen before. My self-esteem quickly tanked to the basement.

Darn it. I'm a scientist, a researcher. I'm supposed to be intelligent and learned.

He stood, grinning widely down at me. "You got any money?"

Without thinking, I burrowed into one of my pockets, pulling out a quarter. I reached out, unfolded my fingers and showed him what I had.

His low laughter followed. Digging into one of his pockets, he pulled out a bill and dropped it onto the table in front of me.

"What's this?" I looked at the ten dollar bill then back up at him.

"Do me a favor. Get some change." He arched an eyebrow, looking at me like he expected a light to come on.

Nope. My light stayed dim as ever. "I don't get it."

He leaned down, hands flat on the table, eye to eye with me. "Get some change. I'm on next. Management frowns if you stick your hand in my thong without leaving money." Meat grinned once more, then stood and turned.

"Wait!" I picked up the money. "I'm confused. You gave me your own money to use. How does that benefit you?"

Straight white teeth flashed as he smiled. "I get your hand in my pants."

"Oh, boy."

With a wink, he turned and strode into the crowd.

Sitting at my tiny corner table, I drummed my fingers against the worn wood finish. Perplexed, I stared down at the ten dollar bill Meat had given me.

He wanted me to place his own money in his underwear. For the life of me, that still didn't make sense. After all, this is the guy whom I de-thonged at a prior club. Accidentally, of course, but true. Now, he believed I have some sort of freaky monk fetish. Wouldn't most guys hear the words 'monk fetish' and run in the other direction? Maybe he really was a former monk seeking asylum from the bus-pulling chores after all.

I looked at the money in my hand. It seemed I would be copping a feel of Meat's assets once more. Whether good or bad, I couldn't be sure.

Alex trotted by and I waved him down.

He grinned down at me. "Drinking heavy again?" His flirtatious grin must earn him all sorts of tips and multiple lecherous offers. Heck, with his athletic build and cute face, he could easily make a living as a dancer, too.

"Ah, no. Not right now. But, can you break a ten?" I held the money up.

His smirk turned downright evil. "Gonna feel Meat up after all." He made it a statement.

Flushing, I cleared my throat. Didn't he have other customers to embarrass?

His grin remained as he dove into a pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. "How do you want this broken?"

My eyes flew up to his. "Ummm…"
Oh, jeez. Hadn't thought of that.

Alex simply tossed his head back and laughed full and hearty. "Debating on how many times you want to get into that G-string, huh?" He shook his head.

"Well, not really." I lowered my eyes back to the table. How did I ask this without sounding like a strip club imbecile? Taking a breath, I continued, "If you stick a one dollar bill in his thong is that considered cheap or an insult?"

He erupted in a fresh round of guffaws.

Furrowing my brow, I tapped my foot, frustration mounting at being the brunt of his amusement for the evening. The question had merit and logic, in the same area of, 'Why in the world do they make those stiletto high heels in size fourteen?' I can't be the only woman in the whole world who had at least considered such.

Two five dollar bills appeared in his hand. "Here." Alex smiled down at me.

"So, a one dollar bill is really offensive?" I took the money and folded it.

"Let's just say I don't think you're ready for ten dives into a man's basket of jewels tonight." He gave a wink and headed back into the masses.

Oh, yeah. Good point.

The lights dimmed overhead as the spots flickered on the stage. Music thumped in response. "Born to be Wild." I rolled my eyes. How predictable.

He stepped on stage, the black leather shining beneath the lights. Hips gyrated as women flocked over to be within easy reach of him. Voices carried with "Meat! Meat! Over here. I need you!"

Talk about Jerry Springer wannabes. The show has to get those idiots from somewhere and this club teemed with numbers of them. I could almost hear it now.

"He's the papa of my babies!"

"No, he's my babies' papa!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"He likes my boobs better."

"No, you floozy, he likes mine better. They're bigger than your fried eggs."

"My brain is the size of a walnut, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, well, mine is the size of a… a… beer nut. Besides, you have a big ass."

"Why, you trailer trash."

"Takes one to know one!"

Crash. Slap. Curses.

Yep. I think some of those women would be the perfect candidates after all. Hmmm. There's a possible title to my paper. Bimboland and the men that come… visit.

Chewing my lip, I debated my options. He wanted me to brave the masses in order to stick my dainty paws in his Speedo. In the meantime, I would have to try to avoid being trampled, felt up, knocked to my knees, and my precious corner table nabbed by someone else. Where was Indiana Jones when you needed him?

Meat's eyes peered directly into mine from his place at the front of the room. His grin taunted even as he tilted his head, indicating my time had arrived. He shimmied closer, hips thrusting in lewd suggestion, and blatant challenge.

Grabbing up the two five dollar bills, I headed to the stage, snaking past one group of women, and elbowing through others. Sweat broke out from the efforts to even make it close enough to reach him. Or maybe the heat from the spotlights held responsibility. After all, Meat shone with it, too.

I experienced a mysophobia inspired moment. "No touchie! No touchie!" I had enough sweat of my own, didn't care to share anyone else's. Besides, who knew if they'd washed their hands after leaving the bathroom? Money held prestige as a big time carrier of nasty germs. Add to that the fact that nasty, money-infected, germy hands groped down some guy's pants that might or might not have washed lately. Come to think of it, wonder where that part had been right before his stage call?
Ewwwwwww.

With one final shove, I felt the edge of the stage against my belly. Looking up, I located the guy who already knew how to push my buttons and tapped my toes until he meandered back in my direction. No way would I relinquish my front row seat after such a battle to get that far.

He found me amongst the crowd and his grin widened. The recently discarded shirt lay on the stage floor already. Keeping his gaze locked onto mine, he tugged the leathers hard enough the Velcro gave way. A dark line of hair led from his belly button downward, meeting up with the only material left on his body. My eyes followed it down of their own volition. I stared up at a black leather thong with a quite noticeable bulge in the front. Blinking, I stood transfixed at the scene in front of me. I could have sworn he laughed at me.

The woman next to me cooed as she tucked money into that Speedo, indicating that he should look her up after this dance, as she would love to do things I didn't dare think about, let alone repeat.

Gripping the money, I waited for my opening. He wiggled, the bulge didn't even budge inside his skivvies.

Which brought about another question. Are those things supposed to move inside their confines? Or are the thongs too tight they are almost glued into place? Maybe he sprayed that sock with the stuff that beauty pageant ladies sprayed on their rears to keep the swimsuits from riding up?

Ow!
The woman next to me stomped my toe in her effort to get closer to her "newfound love." I decided to complete my mission and fast before I ended up road-kill after all. Reaching out, I waited until just the exact moment. I stood on tiptoe and reached as far as I could before snagging the edge of the black material. Closing my eyes, I pushed the money downward, yanking my hand back in record time.

I was quick. He was quicker.

His hand grabbed my wrist, holding it in place. Soft, warm skin rubbed against my slack fingers. Glancing up, I found a taunting grin on his face, full of wickedness and pride at his challenge win. I tugged, but he didn't release my wrist. Instead, he thrust a couple more times.

"Hey! Get your ass over here. I wanna put money in that strap of yours!" A slurred voice carried from a couple of lusty women down.

With a wink and a smile of promise, he released my wrist and sauntered back across the stage, gathering bills as he went.

I turned my back, still flushing, and tromped back to the tiny table that miraculously remained vacant. Plopping down, I felt my temper rise. Meat meant to embarrass me, probably a direct payback for my de-thonging him in the past. Next time I found my hand in his drawers, I would squeeze that prominent area and find out once and for all if the contents were really Meat's meat or just a sticky sock tucked strategically underneath.

Meat's set had been over for approximately fifteen minutes when I caught sight of him coming through the side door leading offstage. He wore the same blue jeans with the hole in the right knee from earlier. Must be a leftover from his monk days. They spent lots of time on their knees so it would probably wear that area out in their clothing frequently.

He slowly ambled over, took the remaining chair, spun it around, and sat facing me.

I sipped my water and watched the action on stage, ignoring him.

"Cat got your tongue?" he inquired, his mouth hinting at a teasing grin.

I shrugged, unsure why he irritated me so much. Sure, I felt embarrassed by that onstage performance and my part in it, but normally I was fairly easygoing, I wouldn't typically be miffed at someone for such a token episode in the scheme of life.

"I heard this vicious rumor backstage just now," he tossed out.

That got my attention. I quietly took the bait. "And, what was that?"

He reached out to grab a beer off the tray of one of the waiters before answering. "Seems I'm a lousy date." He popped the cap and took a swallow, his eyes staring into mine. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

I blinked up at him. "Who, me?" Yeah, the squeak sealed my innocent plea. So, I might have mentioned that idea in passing to the clan at the table behind me. Who knew it would spread to the whole club by now?

He just shook his head and scanned the room.

"Do you have a real name?" I asked when the silence grew uncomfortable.

His attention flicked back to me. "Yes." He took another drink before his gaze returned to the action on stage.

I tapped my fingers on the table, yet no more words came from him.
Jeez.
It was like interviewing Frankenstein, the monster, not the doctor. Grunt once for yes, twice for no.

"Nut."

"Baby, I have nuts. I'm not one, though," he returned in a low, sensual voice.

My face immediately flamed. Talk about blunt.

The devil horns popped out. "Tasty when cracked?" I managed with only a tiny wry smile.

He tipped his head back and laughed. As the chuckles faded, he leaned forward, arms crossed over the back of the chair, beer bottle in hand. The low voice sent shivers down my spine even as his eyes twinkled with wickedness. "You aiming to find out?"

Oh, boy.

CHAPTER 4

I woke slowly, becoming aware of a couple of small items right off the bat. First of all, I needed to find a mattress sale. My current one felt hard as granite and didn't smell lavender-ish like my sheets normally did. Secondly, my head swam and my stomach verged on rebellion. Very odd. I couldn't recall ever waking with that sensation before. I pushed against the mattress. No such luck. The hardness remained as unforgiving as before.

Last night's activities returned in a flash. Club. Dancers. Bottled water. Puzzle pieces fell into place. They spiked my bottled water? Who?

The boys
! Panic washed over me like a tsunami, immediately receding when I recalled that my adoptive father had offered to watch the boys for a few days since I needed to spend a few evenings at the exotic dance club gathering data, which gave me time to complete my research project and enjoy a small token of freedom without numerous interruptions. With my primary concern addressed, I returned to the gigantic issue at hand.

Scurrying, I sat up, opened my eyes to see the image of Meat bobbing in front of me. It took a couple of blinks for the vision to steady and the three heads to merge into one. "You kidnapped me for a night of some perverted debauchery?" My intention of sounding outraged sunk as my voice squeaked and rasped. Definitely not intimidating, darn it.

A low chuckle sounded behind me. Twisting, my mouth fell open at seeing the person sitting there. This nightmare just got better and better.

Perturbed, I swung back to Meat. "Correction. You kidnapped us for a night of perverted debauchery?"

Meat shared a glance with our other companion before answering in a low rumble. "I didn't kidnap us. Someone else did."

Stunned at that revelation, I took the opportunity to look around. My stomach sank at the scenery. Metal walls surrounded us, solid, without a single window or hole. An effective jail cell that offered no release. A single door sat to one end, presumably locked since the guys sat on the floor inside rather than free. No supplies, no furniture, no boxes sat in the modest-sized room, thus no comfort and little avenue of escape.

"Seems we found the slavery market on the first try." This from the blond fangy behind me.

Slavery market?
Oh, he didn't just say that, did he?
My heart nearly stopped at the images that word brought to mind. "Would someone please care to explain what's going on? Where are we? What happened?"