With all that had just gone on, I only had it in me to repeat an even more trembling, “Place keeper?”
“I’d apologize for the brotherhood if I didn’t know for a fact that there are women out there who need validation or can’t be alone or just want some guy around to take her car to have the oil changed, and she knows he has no staying power. Because she wants one who’s better looking or has a healthier bank account, and even though she’s got one, she’s still looking for what’s next. It goes both ways, Hattie.”
Sadly, I couldn’t argue that.
“You think Axl’s like that?”
“I don’t think a man who’s like that has it in him to kiss a woman like he was kissing you.”
My breath left me.
Whoosh.
Gone.
So when I spoke again, I had to force it out on a wheeze.
“Really?”
His face got soft, he came to me, and then he tucked me in a brotherly headlock to his side.
“Really,” he said quietly. “And as such, I’ll be checking the veracity of your earlier statement. Now, it sucks huge, but I gotta bring us back to why I felt the need to interrupt that kiss.” He shook the photos again. “Hattie, this is next level. And I got resources, but I can’t lift then run DNA on a postage stamp. Not unless I find a new resource that’s reliable and add it to my arsenal. Which will take time. Too much of it. I need to give this to Hawk.”
I had to admit, there was very little doubt my caller had sent those pictures.
So he knew where I lived.
And very likely where I worked.
And in the porn industry, it seemed they catered to their clientele thinking that a woman needed to look in pain even when she was having a non-BDSM orgasm.
Not that I watched porn (okay, full confession, I had one subscription, but they did really quality stuff, and I was a girl on my own with what seemed to be a somewhat limited imagination, so I didn’t watch porn a lot, but I watched it—though, still in full confession, it was usually gay porn because (A) hot and (B) the women in the hetero stuff always seemed fake when they were having orgasms, and one could just say, a man couldn’t fake it).
But what was in those pictures was absolutely next level.
Whoever this guy was, he meant to scare me.
And if Brett didn’t have me in a headlock right then, I’d probably be more scared.
Fortunately, I had good friends.
Which reminded me …
“But to answer your question,” Brett said, taking me out of my thoughts.
I focused on him.
“When he said ‘You’re up,’ that means, after that kiss, and you dissin’ him on Protecting Hattie duties, something I’m seeing clear now I should have strongly advised you against, then again, I’d never seen him kiss you like that, but back to the point. The next move is on you.”
Okay, now I was scared.
“Oh boy,” I whispered.
Brett gave me a squeeze and encouraged, “You can do it.”
I chewed on my lips a bit before I whispered, “That kiss was really amazing, Brett.”
“That wasn’t lost on me, baby. Sorry I had to fuck it up.”
“I get it. Those pictures are next level. And obviously, Axl would have wanted to know about them. Just maybe not be blindsided by them.”
He studied me closely as he asked, “Are you okay about the pictures?”
A cold feeling stole through me.
“Are you—?”
He shook his head once in a firm way that was more like a jerk.
“You got me or one of my boys until you got other cover or until this is over.”
I relaxed. “Then I’m okay.”
“Evie was right,” he muttered, gazing down at me.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“She told me when I found a woman, I shouldn’t make her work for it.”
“Work for what?”
“Me. Put up with my shit in order to have me. Seein’ now it’s the other way around, if it’s worth it. You don’t make them work for it. You do the work so they don’t have to.”
“Axl’s been doing the work,” I told him something he knew.
He gave me another squeeze with his arm, and he sounded almost apologetic when he said, “Your turn, sweetheart.”
It was.
I didn’t know what was happening with Axl’s girlfriend (or him not actually having one), but Brett was also right.
A man did not kiss like that.
Unless he means it.
It was time to boss up.
Because whatever was happening was happening.
And Axl deserved it.
So it was my turn.
I chewed my lips some more.
I stopped doing that to pip a quiet, “Eek.”
Brett grinned at me.
Then he turned me toward the door to the kitchen, saying, “Bacon and eggs.”
Good idea.
Moving on.
“Uh, we have something else to discuss,” I told him.
“Yeah?”
“Well, you opened my mail. And you read my texts. I hope it goes without saying I’m extremely grateful you’re looking out for me, and I’ll find some way to repay you, I promise,” I told him as he shifted us sideways through the door so he didn’t have to disengage in order to get both of us through it. “But perhaps we should go over boundaries.”
He positioned me by the refrigerator, let me go, tossed the pictures on the counter and then opened the fridge.
“First, you don’t have to repay me,” he said into the fridge.
“I so totally do.”
He closed the door, coming out with my eggs and bacon. “Not if I say you don’t.”
“Brett—”
“Second, baby, while I’m up to bat for you, I do what I have to do. With the writing on the flap, I’m surprised you didn’t open it.”
“What writing on the flap?”
His brows came together. “You didn’t see it?”
I shook my head, my gaze going to the pictures that were upside down.
I couldn’t see the envelope.
“It says, ‘Whip you into shape,’ ” he told me.
I looked at Brett and made a face.
“Yep, this dude is fucked up,” Brett agreed to what my face was saying. “Totally making a deal with Hawk, once we find him, I get my licks in before they disappear him.”
Okay.
Hold on.
Um …
What?
“Disappear him?”
His reply to my question was offhand.
His words were not.
“Delgado doesn’t turn shit over to the police. Delgado deals, either in house, or he contracts out. But how he deals, it’s permanent.”
Delgado was Hawk, that was his last name.
And Hawk, again, was Axl’s boss.
“Permanent?” I asked.
Brett was getting out a skillet. “You don’t know what your man does?”
“My man?”
“Pantera.”
Another breath leaving me.
Whoosh.
When I got some oxygen, I drew out, “Ummm …he’s a commando?”
Brett chuckled.
Oh man.
“He’s not a commando?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s a commando all right,” Brett muttered.
“Brett!” I snapped.
Brett turned his attention from the skillet to me and he did it smiling.
Hugely.
Then he stated, “There are a variety of different types of badasses, you dig?”
I wasn’t sure I dug, but I nodded anyway.
Brett read the wasn’t-sure part and explained.
“Okay, you got your motherfuckers who you do not, under any circumstances, want to come up against in a street fight. But you get that same dude in a tactical situation, he wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
Well then
.
That made sense.
I nodded.
“Or you got your boys who are badass behind the scenes. Meaning they can plan an operation within an inch of its life, every angle covered, every scenario accounted for.”
I nodded again.
“Then you got sublevels of that, depending on terrain. Urban. Mountains. Rural. Water. Domestic. Foreign. You with me?”
More nodding.
“And then you got expertise in tech. In weapons. Then there’s more expertise in types of operations. Assault. Defense. Extraction. Reconnaissance. Undercover. That sounds military, and it is, but there are a number of cases, the majority of them, where it’s not. It’s how a lot of us do business in a number of ways.”
Oh crap.
At where this seemed to be heading, I stopped nodding and just stared.
“A man, or woman, cannot call themselves a commando unless they got expertise in all of that. And Hawk Delgado is the most expert in all of that I’ve ever seen. And he does not employ a single man who’s any less than he is.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“So Pantera, and his brothers, are not badass. Adjective. He’s a bad … ass. Noun. And when you’re a badass, you get a job done, start to finish. You don’t hand shit over to anyone. So yeah, Hattie, Hawk is gonna take that on.” He stabbed a finger at the pictures. “And whoever is behind that, for the rest of his days, and it’ll be up to Hawk and the team how many of those there are, and how much ongoing pain he’ll endure through them, will regret fucking with you.”
“Maybe I should call the police,” I said quickly.
And Not Sweet Brett came out again.
“Too late,” he said softly. “’Cause if Hawk doesn’t get him, I will. And I’m no commando, but I am a motherfucker. And I know for certain one thing in this life. A man does not fuck with a woman, Hattie. This guy obviously does not know that now. But he’s gonna learn.”
Hmm …
Time to belatedly rethink.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have called you,” I whispered.
Brett held my gaze and repeated, “Too late.”
“Um—”
Brett was done.
And he communicated this by saying, “Grab a plate and cover it with paper towel. We’ll need to drain this bacon when it’s done. And warm up our joe. Think it got cold in the drama.”
Okay.
Brett was moving on, so I’d talk to him a bit later about the lessons he was intent on teaching a man who was a creep, but he’d been that creep using the postal service to deliver a threat, so he’d also committed a felony. And the cops and prosecutors could teach him that lesson.
And if I managed to straighten things out with Axl, and Hawk took this on, I’d also share my views on that with them.
After, I’d turn this over to the police.
But for now, as Brett mentioned, there was a drama.
And I needed more caffeine, breakfast, and to get to the club to rehearse the new numbers I was introducing that night.
So it was time to get a move on.
Though, while Brett cooked, I went back out to the deck to grab my phone.
But before I came back in, I sent the first text I’d ever instigated to Axl.
You’re right. You’ve always been
right. We really need to talk.
I hate that went bad this morning.
Let me know when a good time is
for you.
I’m on at the club tonight. But any
other time, I’m yours.
Just let me know.
Then Brett and I had breakfast.
After, Brett got dressed and introduced me to my bodyguard of the day, a man with no neck, a buzz cut that exposed several scars on his scalp (yikes!), with a very full beard, wearing a badly hidden shoulder holster under his well-cut suit jacket.
His name was Sylvester.
With me covered, Brett kissed my cheek, told me unless he heard from me, he’d see me when I was done at Smithie’s that night to pick me up, and he took off.
I took a shower. Got ready to face the day.
And with Sylvester, I headed to Smithie’s.
In all that time, Axl did not reply.
So yeah.
I guessed I was up.
And it was my turn to do the work.
Crap.
CHAPTER FIVE
Because We Love You
HATTIE
I had to admit, in the beginning, when Smithie and Dorian suggested the change to a Revue, I loved the idea.
But I was worried.
See, at Smithie’s Club, strippers made a lot. And they could do that without doing lap dances.
And although, if there was a fabulous slab of marble I wanted to buy or I felt like a new outfit that was beyond the reach of my normal clothing budget, I was in to do a few lap dances to get them, mostly, I lived well off just salary and tips.
So the Revue worried me, because we still got tips, but we didn’t dance all night. Depending on the schedule Ian set (and he shifted it nightly so patrons wouldn’t become accustomed to what was on offer), it was anywhere from four to six dances a night.
And although Lottie had been making a mint off much this same schedule for years, first, she was famous, and second, she was a downright inspirational stripper.
The woman had serious moves.
But I’d been worried.
Sure, I had moves.
But I was no Lottie Mac, Queen of the Corvette Calendar and the most famous stripper west of the Mississippi, which was also the most famous east of it, seeing as Vegas was west, and Lottie was even more famous than any girl in Vegas.
So, not only was I worried because I thought my incoming cash would reduce, I thought it’d be boring, being there nine to two (which was actually a cut in hours, it used to be seven to three, but the last headliner—me—went on at 1:45 and then it was pure strippers for the next hour) and only working for maybe twelve to twenty minutes a night.
But Smithie had tripled the already substantial cover charge in order to hike our salaries.
He’d also increased the price of drinks.
And even if I wasn’t onstage as often, preparing for my next dance was a total do-over in hair, makeup and costume, not to mention making sure our new stagehands had whatever I was going to use sorted.
Topping that, I had to have new material all the time. I had yet to dance the same dance twice and wasn’t set to recycle for another two weeks. That was some serious work, having that number of routines performance ready.
In other words, that amount of prep and rehearsal took a lot of time.
With relief, I’d found quickly that I didn’t have anything to worry about.
Smithie’s used to be a hip hot spot.
Now it was a super-hip hot spot.
The Revue was a smash hit, even the papers were writing about it.
And Dorian had set up some social media that had gone from around a hundred followers to over a hundred thousand in just a week.
As such, the velvet ropes were jammed outside to the point they had to turn some people away.
And my tips were off the charts.
Before the Revue, I never had a night less than five hundred dollars in tips.
Since the opening of the Revue, I hadn’t made less than seven hundred in tips, and the opening night, it was over two thousand.
So even though it was weirdly more work, what with having to have so many routines, and those routines having to be amazing, it was more money.
And it was a lot more fun.
This was what I was thinking when Sylvester and I walked in the back door and down the dancers’ hall.
I wasn’t thinking about fun when I heard the voices coming from the main room of the club.
I hesitated.
“Everything cool?” Sylvester asked when I did.
I stared at the open door to the club, hearing Ryn’s voice, and Lottie’s, and in the midst of thi
nking I’d turn right around and text Ian, asking him to tell me when the club was empty so I could rehearse, another thought invaded my head.
This thought being it was time to grow the heck up.
These were my friends.
And I’d done them wrong.
I needed to fix that or face the consequences if I wasn’t able to.
Because, just like Axl didn’t deserve me sending him very public mixed messages about where I was at with him, my girls didn’t deserve me acting like a twelve-year-old who didn’t know how to handle her own emotions.
“Yes,” I said to Sylvester, though it was a lie. “Everything’s cool.”
Then I might have tossed my hair (just a bit), and forcing a lot more confidence in my movements than I was feeling, I strode through the door.
Ryn and Lottie were there, that I knew.
Pepper was too.
She was onstage in some leggings and a workout bra.
The other two were sitting side stage.
All eyes came to us when we showed.
And looking at them, I realized I saw them often, I avoided them all the time, and I missed them like crazy.
They’d done their work in trying to reach me.
It was again my turn.
So I walked right up to them.
They were all eyeing me, but mostly eyeing Sylvester and me.
I’d get into Sylvester later.
Priorities.
I looked right at Lottie.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to Elvira’s. It was wrong and I knew it and I felt bad about it. So bad, you wouldn’t believe. But that night, my dad called me a whore …”
Gasps ensued, from all of them, with Lottie’s eyes narrowing and Pepper’s face getting red.
But Sylvester rumbled, “What the fuck?”
I ignored all this and carried on.
“No, worse than a whore because he says a stripper is a tease and at least a whore is honest about it. And I wish I could say that was the reason why I didn’t go. But it isn’t. At least not the only one. It was because I made myself so distant from all of you, and I didn’t know how to come back. And then that happened with dad. Also stuff was weird with Axl because I danced that dance for him and he wanted to talk it out and he scares me so badly, even though I want him even worse, I couldn’t go there. And then I got home to my house and Brett was there. And he got in my face about putting Axl off and fasting …”
Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3) Page 6
