By the end of the first workday, Archer and I had wordlessly pulled the carpet in the other two remaining bedrooms on the second floor. My body also ached in new places that exercise and dance didn’t reach. If this was going to be a daily occurrence during the summer, I would need to buy stock in pain relief.
The following week went the same as the first day, except Archer and I had thrown down a silent gauntlet to see who would be the group leader for the day. I secretly thought that Dr. Fincher and the rest of our team got some sort of sick enjoyment out of our competition. But regardless of who handled the task sheet for the day, Archer and I worked silently to remove the linoleum and rotted hardwood floors throughout the house while the rest of the group worked with the contractor to pull out old drywall and fix any foundation issues. They had found a leak in the basement, which led to digging out around the house and resealing any cracks or fissures in the concrete.
On Friday afternoon, I wanted nothing more than to spread out on the queen-sized bed that had finally arrived almost four days late, but Alice had called to see if I wanted an extra shift due to a stomach virus going around. I readily agreed despite my exhaustion and aches and pains.
Filling my duffle bag with extra clothes and the required lingerie that Alice’s company offered a stipend for, I grabbed a frozen burrito from my fridge. I quickly heated it up before leaving my apartment.
As I started to do daily, I glanced back and forth down the hall and then checked the stairwell to see if Archer was anywhere in sight. I could tolerate him on the job site since there were other people around the majority of the time, but he never hesitated to throw jabs my way when we were alone. Most of the comments dealing with my lack of style and appearance. Usually, I gave it back just as strong by pointing out his playboy ways and his likelihood of having an STD. We verbally sparred until one of us had enough and stormed off the sight. Usually, I got the last word, but occasionally I had to step away to dry the tears that threatened to spill over. But I learned how to deal with his nasty comments, just not at the pace I had hoped. I could barely keep up most days. It’s as if he kept a book of insults in his nightstand and memorized a few just for me.
Assuming the coast was clear, I made my way down the stairs then across the hallway. Just when I thought that I had cleared any disastrous meeting, Archer came stomping through the main doors. Our eyes locked and neither of us seemed to be able to pull away. A visual game of chicken took place until I could no longer pin him with my gaze and I turned away. I hated to see that damn smug smile grace his far too gorgeous face. With his bad attitude, he really had no right to be so attractive.
Hiking my duffle bag higher on my shoulder, I braced myself for whatever critique he planned to throw my way. I didn’t have to wait long. As I stepped off the last of the stairs, Archer said, “Headed off to go dumpster diving for some more clothes?”
That one stung more than most and I had to bite my cheek to keep from crying in front of him. He didn’t know that my family had no money to buy the nice designer clothes that he and his harem favored. I shopped at thrift stores or second-hand stores looking for a bargain. I didn’t care what the clothes looked like, just that they were in good condition and would fit.
I moved past him as quickly as I could, but I didn’t expect for him to grab my arm to try and stop me.
“Hey. . .” he said with a hint of remorse lacing his words. “I didn’t mean-”
“Don’t touch me,” I bellowed, jerking my arms free from his grasp.
“Sarah, I’m. . .”
“Oh look. You finally learned my name. It only took a week of working next to me. Does that mean I’ll no longer be referred to as Freegan?” Which I had learned was sort of a derogatory term for a dumpster diver.
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Well, don’t be an asshole. I have somewhere to be if you don’t mind,” I snarled as I tried to move past him again. Luckily, this time I was successful.
I kept replaying the scenario during my walk to the bus station, wondering if his apology had been anywhere close to sincere. From the short time that I’ve spent with Archer around other people, he was generally in a good mood and was an expert at putting people at ease. People thought he was funny and seemed to enjoy his company. I couldn’t figure out why he was so hateful toward me.
Except, as I took my seat on the bus, I remember the haunted and pained look that grew on his face when I bumped into him at the fundraiser. His face had turned an unhealthy shade of green and he had bolted from the scene before I could even apologize fully.
I’d already had a preconceived notion about Archer from his laughter at my clumsiness, but paired with everything else I had witnessed at his hand, I wasn’t sure which Archer was the real one. The one that gave off a broody and angered persona, or the one that seemed to breathe life into everyone else by just being in their presence.
Or maybe the real Archer was hiding beneath the surface. I hadn’t decided if I even cared to find out.
Chapter Seven – Archer
Jolting awake, I wiped the sweat away from my chilled skin. God, it had been days of the same nightmare over and over again. No matter what I did to exhaust myself in the hopes of keeping the dreams at bay, they were still occurring over and over again. I couldn’t even wake myself up in the hopes of ending them. The second I closed my eyes, they would start up exactly where they left off.
Except these weren’t the same dreams I’d had since I was eight. These dreams left me screaming in the middle of the night. I’d relive the scenario where I found my sister dead in her room, except when the landlord would arrive, my sister’s lifeless body turned into Sarah’s. The red-headed woman couldn’t even leave me alone in my dreams.
The lack of sleep was leaving me irritable and anxious, all of which I took out on her since she was the one taking part in my nightmares.
Summer rain pounded against the window to my room and, instead of going for a run to clear my mind, I decided to stay in and paint. I had nothing in mind as I pulled out the acrylics, choosing two or three colors to begin the design.
Normally I only painted abstracts or attempted landscapes at best, but this morning I had an unyielding desire to paint a portrait. Perhaps if I painted the face of the woman that I couldn’t get out of my mind, I could imprint her on the canvas and rid myself of her. I was hopeful but not confident as I selected my brushes and got to work.
Hours passed and I could hear my brothers bustling around as they woke. They moved around without a single care while I sat here in my closet, struggling to keep myself together.
“Archer?” A soft knock sounded on my bedroom door and it immediately jolted me out of my zone. “I made some sandwiches for lunch,” Jolee called out. Man, my brother really lucked out with that one. She made sure to take care of all of us even though we were grown adults.
Setting my paints aside, I thanked her and said that I would be out shortly. Taking a step back out of the closet, I looked over the painting, prepared to critique my own work. Except, as I carefully inspected the canvas, there wasn’t anything that I would change. It wasn’t perfect, nor did it follow any artistic guidelines, but it was raw and unfiltered and showed every ounce of the emotion I felt when I would wake from the nightmares. Each brushstroke was a piece of my soul. The motions jerky and unclean, but together they made a portrait of pain within the beauty.
I didn’t bother washing more than my hands when I stepped into the kitchen, watching as Jolee’s eyes widened as she noticed the red droplets all over my arms.
“It’s not blood, it’s paint,” I explained as I grabbed one of the many sandwiches towering on the counter.
“You paint?”
“Sometimes.”
“Wow. I had no idea. I’d love to see something sometime,” she said as she placed another meat-filled sandwich on the counter.
“I don’t show anyone my work,” I growled with my mouth stuffed.
“Oh. Well, I bet they’r
e wonderful, and if you change your mind, I’d love to be one of the first.”
Quietly I devoured another three sandwiches before rising from the barstool at the counter.
“Thanks for lunch.”
With a joyful smile, Jolee replied, “You’re welcome,” as if I hadn’t spoken harshly to her a mere few minutes before.
Trey messaged as I was making my way back to my bedroom, asking if I wanted to join him and some of his other friends for his birthday. They wanted to check out a new club that was a couple of towns over. I had no plans, so I readily agreed, hoping that I’d find another female to bring home.
My night with Callie had left me worrisome, and I hadn’t gone out to find a willing partner since then. She had come by the apartment numerous times, and had even begun to stalk me around campus. I worried that soon I would find a dead animal in my bed. She seemed to be off her rocker and unable to comprehend that we were only going to have that one night together.
Ford had even begun to worry that Callie would lash out at Jolee since she lived with us. I promised him that if I saw Callie again, I would make it absolutely certain that things were over. But I couldn’t promise that she would listen to reason.
A few hours later, Trey messaged that he was waiting outside. He and his friends had gone all out and rented a limo for his twenty-first birthday. I was grateful to have been invited and planned to buy him a few rounds at the club.
“So, where are we headed?” I asked Trey as I piled in with the four other guys in the back of the limousine.
Despite being able to text coherently, Try was already feeling the effects of the liquor provided in the vehicle. He stared at me as he tried to come up with the name of the club. Impatiently I turned to one of the other passengers and prompted for the name.
“Bird of fire or something like that.”
Hm. . .I had never heard of it, but I tended to keep close to campus so that there was never any temptation to drive.
“Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, the word is the ladies are smokin’.”
The way he said the last word had my ears instantly perking up.
“I’m sorry, what kind of club is this again?”
“It’s a strip club. I thought Trey told you.”
Bile rose in my throat at the thought of stepping foot inside a strip club. I also didn’t want to explain why I wanted to go back to my apartment.
“It’s supposed to be a real classy place,” one of the other guys said. He reminded me of Johnny Bravo with his black shirt and spiked yellow hair. “I’ve gone with my girlfriend and even she was impressed.”
I was going to have to take their word for it.
As the limo pulled into the parking lot, I had lost all ability to breathe or form a coherent thought.
“Hey, man. You okay?” the Johnny Bravo look-alike asked.
“I. . .ugh. . .I’m going to call a rideshare to pick me up. This was a great idea, but I just. . .can't.” I left them with no explanation as I dove out of the limo and walked toward the bench where the bus dropped people off and picked them up. I felt bad for leaving Trey on his birthday, but I’d make it up to him later.
I watched the guys struggle to carry a drunk Trey into the club. The bouncer shook his head as he scanned their IDs, pointing to Trey with an angered expression. My guess was that he didn’t tolerate rowdy guests and wanted to make sure that his friends kept him in line.
I sat outside on the bench for a few minutes, my stomach growling as I waited for my rideshare. The map showed that they were still a few minutes away, stuck behind an accident.
A bus pulled up to the bench, I stepped back so that the driver didn’t think I was there for a ride, but I was still surprised when it stopped. A group of people exited the bus, most turning and crossing the street to go to the market across the way, but one person continued toward the club. The hood of a rain jacket covered her head, but I caught a glimpse of bright red hair.
She made her way toward the back of the building and I began to follow along, only to hear a high-pitched whistle as I passed the entrance.
“Only way in,” the bouncer snarled as he crossed his arms against his chest to appear bulkier than he probably was. Except I knew he could kick my ass at the drop of a hat either way.
“Sorry.” I apologized as I approached. My hands were sweaty as I got closer and my lungs felt as if I was one breath away from seizing. I was one second away from bolting, but the need to confirm if that was Sarah was too strong.
He scanned my ID after I dropped it on the ground, twice, then let me inside. I had been to the many strip joints when my sister worked the circuit. They weren’t the place for a young boy. I remember the walls lined with paneling or dilapidated décor. And they always smelled of smoke, booze, and sex.
But this place was nothing like what I remembered. The walls were lined in decadent fabrics and the tables were spotless. Even the bar area looked well-kept. Color me impressed as I looked around the room.
A woman in a business suit stood off in the corner with a phone in her hand. Her hair pulled back in a severe bun, but she would be attractive under any other circumstances, but my mind was locked in on the woman I saw get off the bus.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Trey and his friends piled in a booth close to the stage. They were laughing, but they seemed to be behaving themselves. I wondered if they were the reason the woman in the suit was close by. The rest of the clientele were men in business suits and women dressed as if they just left the runway.
I couldn’t comprehend the differences between this club and the ones my sister worked at. They had to all be the same, deep within the bones. Money, drugs, and sex were what fueled the industry, that I was certain.
From the edge of the stage, I noticed a fabric-covered door that I was certain led to the club's backstage area. I inched my way toward it, following the perimeter of the room, until I watched the severe woman turn to speak with the bartender. Then I made my move. I opened the door just wide enough to slip through then I had to give my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim lighting.
When I took a step farther into the space, I noticed a series of doors lined against the wall. It took only a second to realize that these were private rooms. My sister had spoken about them and the higher amount of money a stripper could earn.
The bile I had tamped down from earlier rose to a higher level. I was seriously afraid that I was going to find myself covering the floor in vomit if I didn’t find Sarah soon.
“What are you doing back here?” the stoic woman from earlier commanded as she stepped through the door.
“I’m looking for Sarah.”
“Boyfriend or customer?” she asked as if either was a common occurrence. My jaw ticked at the thought of anyone being either option.
“Neither. Concerned friend.”
“Sure don’t look like any friend I know. She’s scheduled next, so you can see yourself back out to the main area unless you want to pay for a private room.”
I was tempted, far more than I should have been, to pay for a private room, just to convince her that she was making a mistake.
“I’ll wait. Thanks,” I grumbled as I turned around.
“Don’t go causing trouble, understand?” She said in a tone that meant that she wasn’t messing around.
“Understood.”
I made my way back to the main room and kept walking until I reached the bar. I had no desire to watch Sarah strut on stage, but I have every intention of waiting until the club closed to speak to her.
I ordered a vodka tonic and kept my back to the stage as the music started. A rock song pulsed through the speakers and I closed my eyes, trying to stop from turning around. I could imagine her moving her hips and legs to the beat of the song. Her hair would swing with every motion and she would caress her own skin with hands, leaving the watchers wishing that they were the ones touching her.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat at the club. At one point,
the manager or owner nodded in my direction, most likely pleased that I behaved myself. I had even stayed longer than Trey and his friends. I didn’t want to think about them drooling over Sarah.
Overhead lights began to flicker and I took that as the cue that the club was closing.
“She’s headed toward the bus,” the blonde woman said as she stepped behind the bar.
“Thank you. . .” I said, prompting her for her name.
“Alice.”
Nodding I left a hefty tip on the bar and exited through the front with the other customers. I didn’t see Sarah at first, but from around the corner she approached with her hood pulled over her head.
“Sarah!” I called out and her head jerked up in surprise. Her eyes widened as I approached and as I took a hold of her arm and pulled her away from the crowd over to the a shadowed area of the parking lot I noticed that her breathes were coming faster.
“What are you doing here,” she seethed as she jerked her arm away.
“Me? What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here? Do you know what kind of place this is? What goes on at places like this?”
“I do. The question is, do you?” she retorted as she crossed her arms in defiance.
“I know better than anyone. You know I would never have suspected this from you. God does Jolee know that her friend is a druggie and a whore?” The words fumbled form my mouth before I could pull them back in. Sarah jumped back as if I had slapped her.
“How dare you. I have nothing to say to you. Please don’t follow me home.”
Without a comeback, Sarah rushed toward the bus stop, and as if by a miracle, the bus pulled up only a moment later.
I was left standing in the dark, wondering why I had called her those things, but they were all I knew of the business. It was what had darkened the light of my sister and eventually killed her. My only remaining question was why Sarah needed to work here at all.
Of Bishops And Pawns (Ridge Rogues Book 2) Page 6
