by Emilia Finn
“Apples and oranges, Olivia. And you damn well know it.” He turns to my class. “Everybody up. Grab a rope, skip for five minutes. Every thirty seconds, drop down and do five pushups. When you’re done, I’ll teach you something else. Something really cool.” He turns back to me and grins, but it’s not friendly.
It’s, well, predatory.
“I’ll teach you too,” he murmurs just for me. “That way, when I hurt you in bed, and you don’t use what I teach you to get away, we’ll both know you like the pain and I should keep going.” He winks, releases my throat, and turns away. “Let’s move it! Less chit-chat and more running, ladies.”
William
In the Darkness
I sit on a stool at the bar of a dance club called Rhino’s. It’s a titty club, topless dancers, spinning poles, spotlighted stages, fake hair, and men with wads of cash.
It’s the antithesis to my entire life.
But here I sit, with a glass of Coke – purchased because I can let people believe it’s bourbon, which means I won’t look all that out of place while I sit alone and watch the room. Every now and again, when the people-watching bores me, and the dancers onstage make me have uncomfortable thoughts, I take out my phone and reread the last email I received from a “friend of a friend.”
I’m to come to Rhino’s tonight to secure some work. Exchange a few samples of a new product on the market, collect a little cash, shake hands and forge a new bond, then I can go home and crawl into bed inside my new apartment.
Apartment 2B, the second door on the second story of a brick apartment building just two blocks from Main Street. The space is sparsely furnished, and by sparse, I mean it’s less furnished now than what my sister and I had back in the day of milk crates and recliners we found on the side of the road.
I have a bed, a TV, a coffee pot. And the rest… we’re gonna call it a style choice.
Minimalist is a thing, right?
The lighting inside this club is going for the same style – minimal – and either the club owners missed the memo on smoking indoors, or they just don’t care. A thick cloud stains the ceiling and clogs every patron’s lungs, but I remain seated and do my job to the best of my ability.
It might not be what I envisioned for myself when I was a boy, nor was it what I thought I was getting into when I took a call on the side of the road more than a year ago, but a guy has to pay the rent somehow. Sometimes, we have to do shit we don’t want to. And the silver lining is that I no longer work in a dockyard, and more often than not, I get to stay in at night. When I have to go out for a late-night run, like tonight, it’s usually quick, an exchange, then I’m gone again.
The cops don’t like it when I loiter.
I don’t recognize more than a face or two in the crowd, which is a good thing, I suppose. I don’t want to run into anyone that might screw up my evening’s plans as I remain sitting in place, with my drink in one hand, and my phone in the other. My eyes are on the crowd, the front door specifically, but my mind is on a certain woman and her beautiful, bright eyes.
I felt her under me, even if it was for only a second.
I felt her on me, and that lasted just a tiny bit longer.
I felt her pulsing throat in my hand, and tasted her sweet breath on my tongue. And fuck her for having a boyfriend. She was single when we met. I had first dibs, dammit. And maybe I knew someone as beautiful and smart as her wouldn’t remain single for long, but still, I hoped she would wait for me to come back.
I was patient. I didn’t hound her while I was gone – which, I suppose in hindsight may have been a rookie mistake. If I’d stayed relevant in her mind, if I’d called, texted, written back, then maybe she would have laughed off that idiot she now calls her boyfriend, and instead given me a little thought. But I didn’t. For some asinine reason, she said yes when he asked her out, which means I’m now stuck playing catch-up.
I remain sitting on my stool, pouting about missed opportunities, and obsessing over the one and only woman in the world that I’m not even embarrassed to be obsessing over, when the front doors open, and through the lingering smoke in the air, I see a vision that has me shaking my head.
It’s an illusion, surely. A mirage.
But no, because right there, fifty feet away, Olivia Conner walks into Rhino’s bar with her hand in his.
His.
Lily-white skin, bold red lips, and black leather pants. Lord have mercy, she’s wearing leather. Her top seems respectable enough – a shimmering, black material – but when she turns to chat with the bouncer, I’m presented with her back, bare but for one single flimsy string keeping her top on and the police from busting her for indecent exposure.
Her long hair is tied up high tonight – because hell, let’s make sure the whole world can see every fucking possible inch of skin – and her leather pants have this way of lifting her ass and providing men with a kind of bullseye.
She’s too delicious for her own good, too wanted to be with a man like Pierce. A man who could never defend what he has.
All it would take – if I were to ignore the fact I wanted her permission, too – is to grab her hand and walk away. Brenten Pierce couldn’t stop me. He literally couldn’t do a damn thing about it. So why must my conscience now come into play? Why, after years and years of breaking the law and fucking people over, must I develop a sense of morality?
I ignore the pencil-pushing sissy and his ugly, brown coat, and instead focus on her.
They’re like chalk and cheese. Class and trash. They don’t match. But then again, I guess the same could be said about her and me. The poor boy, and the gilded princess. The criminal, and the cop’s daughter.
It burns me to know that, when comparing me and Brenten, she has more in common with the lawyer than she ever will with me. And yet, my heart and soul completely reject the idea that they could be a couple.
It looks wrong. It looks completely unacceptable.
“William Quinn?”
I wrench my neck and jerk my eyes away from the woman who makes my heart beat faster. From porcelain white skin and electric blue eyes that meet mine for just a single second before I turn, to a man with a darker complexion and a long, brown goatee. Dark green eyes, a bent nose, and a single gold tooth.
I catalogue the features that I was sent here tonight to expect, and since this guy passes muster, I extend a hand and forget the woman who walks the club with her hand clasped in another man’s.
“Larkin Pryor?”
He takes my hand and pumps just once. “And you’re William Quinn.”
I nod and swallow down my nerves. “That’s me. It’s good to meet you.”
I look to my left, to a guy who occupies the stool I intended to keep clear for Pryor. He feels my stare, looks up from his beer for just a second, then he grabs his drink and makes tracks.
“Good choice.” I gesture to my left. “Sit, Pryor. Order a drink.”
“I think I’ll do just that.” He waves to the bartender and orders a beer, then he sits down so his broad shoulder touches mine. “She’s a beauty, huh?” Somehow, like he knows I was already obsessed with her, Pryor looks to Olivia across the room, and smiles when her eyes invariably come back to mine.
She knows I’m here just as surely as I know she is. She saw me stare, felt the heat from my gaze.
I didn’t realize Pryor also saw. So I turn away and act like she’s nothing more than a pretty bauble. “You know who she is?”
He follows me around to face the bar, and rests his elbows on the sticky countertop. “Nope,” he pushes out on a raspy grunt. “But I doubt it’d take much to summon her over. You want?”
“The girl?” I pick up my drink, swirl the contents in slow circles, and shake my head. “No, I’m here to work. Leave her alone.”
He smiles and, I swear to Christ, licks his lips. “Well, alright. If you don’t want her, then I guess I’ll head on over and—”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take her later,” I dec
lare. “I said I was working. But once we’re done here, I’ll have her.” I turn just my head and meet his dark green eyes. “Don’t touch.”
He lifts his hands, and winks when his drink slides into place. “You saw her first. I’ll find me a different one. Now, tell me,” He takes a sip of the bitter brew. “What’s new?”
“In general,” I ask, “or are we talking business?”
“Well,” he chuckles, low and throaty, “I don’t want to discuss the plump women at church,” he smarts. “What’s happening with the product? Rip said you have something new for us to try.”
“Maybe.” I slowly bring my glass up and take a sip. “I have a little something that might interest you.”
“And our usual order?”
“I have that too. Do you have the cash?”
He sips his beer and looks straight toward the back wall. Totally cool, totally relaxed, like we’re not organizing something illegal. “I have the cash, and a little extra on top for expediency. I’ll make the drop in the usual place?”
I nod and watch in my peripherals as Olivia heads in my direction. “As will I.” I push my drink away and stand from my stool when I’m certain she’s heading straight for me.
Her world and mine never need to cross, which means she’s never supposed to meet the kinds of guys I’m speaking with.
“I guess she couldn’t wait,” I bullshit for Pryor. “It was good to meet you,” I tell him, “but I have something much more tantalizing coming my way.”
“You dog.” The guy who appears to be a few years older than me, but his face shows a little more wear and tear, sips his beer and chuckles like I just told a dirty joke. “Have fun. I’ll let the guys know where to find the product.”
“And I’ll swing by and grab the cash in a bit. Give me a call in a week when you want to discuss the new shit.”
I turn away when Olivia is only ten or so feet from the bar, and grab her hand when she pushes through the crowd. “Come with me.”
“What are you–Wait!” Her perfect, fruity scent invades my lungs and beats out even the stench of tobacco when her chest clashes with mine.
She expected to come to the bar and chew me out, but I hold her wrists and drag her to a dark corner on the very opposite side of the club. Shadows, privacy, no Pryor, and no Brenten Pierce.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps. “Let me go.”
“Why are you here?” I pull her in when other clubbers move closer, rest my hand on the bare skin of her back, and begin to sway, like all we’re doing is dancing in the dark. “These places aren’t for good girls like you.”
“What are you doing here?” she demands and tries her damnedest to slide out of my hold. “If it’s not good enough for me, then why are you here?”
“I like looking at the titties. Speaking of…” I flash a wolfish grin and look down at her top. “Nice.”
“You pig.”
She tries again to pull away from me, only for me to tug her back, but this time, our legs shift, and she’s forced to straddle my thigh or fall down.
“Let me go,” she growls. “You know I can take care of myself, but I’m gonna give you a chance to make the right choice and not end your night crying on the floor.”
Fair warning, I suppose, but instead, I smile and bury my nose in her hair. “Scary words from such a beautiful princess. You smell like sex and sin, by the way. My favorite scent on a woman.”
“Yeah? Well you smell like you’ve been fucking a cow. Get off me.”
“A cow? Really?” I pull back and study her beautiful eyes, and all the while, we sway, and her pussy rests against my thigh. “That’s the best insult you could think of? I have it on good authority you like cows. I know you had picnics with cows and deer as you grew up.”
Her lips twitch, and her eyes dance between indignation and humor. “Meg?”
“Of course. And Bert and Ernie too.” I recite the names she’s told me about in the past. “Rumor has it Meg’s a sweetheart. Not at all like her namesake, who is reportedly mean as a snake and wild enough to have the cops all up in her business every damn day of the week.”
“Why are you in this club, William?” Instead of pushing against my chest, she inches her hands up and around my neck.
Is this all it would take? Is this all I have to do to win her over? A whole heap of tenacity, and a little dancing? Plus a sprinkle of Meg-the-cow.
“Apart from the bit about me being a pig, I think you look fantastic tonight. Your pants are like skin, and your top…” I have to bite down my groan. “Seriously, Olivia. You make me thirsty as hell.”
“I’m here with my boyfriend.” She uses him like a shield. Tosses him around like I’m allergic to idiots. “You need to let me go.”
“You’re here with your boyfriend, and yet, you’re dancing with me.”
“I’m being forced to dance with you,” she counters. “I didn’t choose this.”
“You already said it, Conner. If you wanted out, you could put me on the ground.” I lean closer and rest my lips by her ear. “And you’re the one who walked into a packed club, with your hand in his, and yet, you still saw me.” I nip the top of her ear, and moan when she gasps. “You’re attracted to me, Olivia. We both know it. And just for the record, you walked over to me. I was willing to leave you alone.” For a minute, anyway.
“Which brings us back around to, what are you doing in a titty club? Who was that man you were talking to?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were in a relationship. Are we already at the point where I’m supposed to explain myself to you?” I tilt my head and grin. “Where’s Pierce now?”
“He’s working.” She grits her teeth and fights to pull away, but I control her succulent body. One hand on her back, the other in her hair. She can’t move anywhere unless I allow it. “My boyfriend is a respected man in this town, William. He has business to see to.”
“So you’re the…” I ponder it for a moment. “The distraction? Wait. Am I the target?” Chuckling under my breath, I pull back and study the crowd. “Is Pierce looking to slap some shit on me? The lawyer and the cop’s daughter, working together like Superman and Lois Lane. What have you got so far?”
“That you’re a master at deflection,” she grunts out. “And that whatever it is you’re doing here, it’s not going to shine well on you. If I were you, I’d leave this place now and never come back.”
“But…” I catch her eyes, and lean close enough that our noses touch. “Then I’d miss out on all the titties.”
“And that’d be a damn shame, huh?”
“Show me yours, and I’ll go home and lock the doors.”
“Absolutely not.”
I grin. “Show me yours, and I’ll take you home and lock the doors. Do you have a good imagination, Olivia?”
I wait just a beat for the answer I know isn’t coming. “Because I do. And in my mind, when we fuck, it’s like an explosion.”
“Funny,” she drawls, but there’s a definite lilt of breathlessness. “In mine, you’re flaccid and useless. Brenten is here tonight for work, which means he’s got a tip that something bad is happening inside this club. The fact you’re the first person I see when we walk through the doors doesn’t look good. Care to explain?”
I smile and spin us around when I catch sight of Brenten moving through the crowd. He’s looking for his princess, and I’m not done with her just yet, so I shove her in the corner, and shield her with my body.
“You’re here for your boyfriend tonight,” I toss back, “and yet, five minutes in, you’re dancing with me? That doesn’t look good, Conner. Care to explain?”
“Why is it that the cops are working more hours now, Brenten’s getting tips… and everywhere I go, I see you?”
“Kismet?”
She shakes her head and brings her tongue out to lick her bottom lip. She’s not trying to be sensual, but fuck if my cock doesn’t grow at the thought of biting her. “New guy in town,�
� she says. “New trouble in town. Do you believe in coincidences, William?”
“No. I never believe in coincidences. Can I look under your top?”
I bounce back with a laugh when she tries to slam a fist into my gut. “Why are you so fuckin’ testy?” I tease. “We’re in a titty club. I thought that’s what we do here.”
“I’m not a whore. And I’m not a cheat. If I say I have a boyfriend, then that means he has my loyalty.”
“Then I guess your idea of loyalty and mine are different. If you were my girl, what we’re doing already crosses a line.”
“Good thing I’m not yours then, huh?”
“Yet.” I dive in and bite her jaw until her knees collapse. I hold her up, hold her against my chest when she can do nothing else but feel, and I slide my tongue over the skin I’ve bitten. “You’re not mine… yet. But soon, Olivia. So fucking soon. And once you’re mine, we’ll be discussing what is and is not allowed when you’re with other men.”
“There are no rules,” she rasps out in defense against what’s so easily apparent between us. “Women are not possessions. We have free will, and we’re not to be threatened with a public beating for defying a man’s wishes.”
“No rules?” I’ve hooked her. Now reel her in. “You say there are no rules, because free will and all that shit?”
She lifts her chin – proud, defiant – and shows off her snooty side. “Nobody rules me. I’m my own woman.”
“Wrong answer.” My smile is her only warning. “No rules means I guess we don’t have to worry about Pierce seeing this.”
I slam my lips to hers until she opens up and gasps straight into my lungs. Pryor walks by us, he checks Olivia to see whether I’ve yet made my claim, so I slide my tongue over her lips, and duck inside when she’s nothing but a quivering mess in my arms.
Finally! Finally, my heart shouts.
Olivia was pushing me away just minutes ago, but now she clings on. She was telling me no, but now her core turns to fire on my thigh, and her breath tastes like sweet victory. Her heart pounds against mine, and her fingernails dig into my traps and hold on for fear of dropping to the ground.
