His behavior was shameful, and she deserved an apology. Everything in him screamed that he should run after her for the sake of her safety, but he knew she needed some alone time. She’d made that abundantly clear. Instead, he settled for calling her. When she didn’t pick up, he waited for the answering machine. Was there a reason why she wasn’t picking up, or was she simply ignoring him?
“Vera Sanders is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”
His fear for her well-being built. The phone beeped. “Vera, this is Shane. I... I just wanted to say I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me to say the things I did, and I’m sorry for that. I just wanted you to know, and as for my lying... Well, my motivation was entirely selfish. I...I didn’t want you to leave when you found out what my father had done. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please, just let me know you’re safe. I’m sorry.”
He hung up the phone before he could spill all his emotional guts and say things he probably shouldn’t admit, like that beyond his physical attraction to her, he was starting to have feelings for her, as well, or that her not being there made him sick to his stomach with worry that something might happen to her. Sure, she hadn’t been completely truthful about her struggles with black-magic addiction, but how could he blame her for being ashamed of that? And at least she was trying to improve.
When Vera spoke of her issues, she had a sadness and shame about her that had never been present in his mother. His mother had always promised to get clean, but she’d never kept that promise because her heart hadn’t been in it. She wasn’t genuinely ashamed of her actions, but Vera clearly wanted to get better. Even he could see that much. If he was a true friend—and he wanted to be that and more—then he needed to support her efforts to get clean rather than berate her failures.
His response had been knee-jerk and illogical, two things he prided himself on usually not being. That made the fact that he’d hurt her all the more upsetting.
* * *
VERA LAY ON her bed with Binks curled into a hefty mound at her side as she contemplated how exactly she had gotten herself into this situation. To say that it felt as if everything in her life had gone to absolute shit was an understatement. Shit didn’t even begin to cover it. A clusterfuck was undoubtedly more appropriate.
Realizing she was falling in love with Shane mere moments after he’d confessed that his father had been the hunter who’d killed her father? Well...it was like the script of a really bad soap opera, and if she could have, she would have called her life’s editor and asked for a damn rewrite. But unfortunately life didn’t work that way, and she was fairly certain she was stuck with what she had.
Sure, her father had been a complete bastard, and a part of her hated the man for the lifestyle he’d chosen, but another part of her felt like the worst daughter in history for even considering loving someone whose father was responsible for the death of hers. It was like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but with guns, black magic and drug addiction thrown into the mix. Not to mention that Romeo had conveniently been omitting the truth.
She couldn’t say she blamed Shane completely. It was a terrible pill to swallow, so she imagined that delivering the news to her hadn’t been easy, either. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was the personification of honesty and truth herself. Clearly they both had issues when it came to the little white lie department.
The way he had reacted to the revelation of her addiction stung, to say the least. But she wasn’t really sure she could blame him for that, either. Knowing his mother’s history, the fact that he hadn’t assumed even worse of her was a major feat.
She covered her face with her hands and sighed. Was she really this type of woman? The type to lie here on her bed, wallowing in emotional pain as she made up excuses for him? She couldn’t tell whether the excuses were valid or if her love-struck heart was making her blind.
The ringing of her phone startled her from her internal debate. She glanced at the caller ID. Shane. Too shattered to speak, she let it go to voice mail. A minute later the flashing light went on to tell her he’d left a message.
Shit. A whole different internal debate began, one in which she couldn’t decide whether or not to listen to his message. Finally, she hit the button, and Shane’s voice filled her room. “Vera, this is Shane. I...I just wanted to say I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me to say the things I did, and I’m sorry for that. I just wanted you to know, and as for my lying... Well, my motivation was entirely selfish. I...I didn’t want you to leave when you found out what my father had done. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please, just let me know you’re safe. I’m sorry.”
Tears poured down her face as she replayed the message. He hadn’t wanted her to leave.
The reasoning behind his lying was so tragically heartbreaking and romantic that she was fairly certain her heart might spontaneously combust. He didn’t want her to leave? Yet, he had told her there was no chance of them having a relationship.
She played the message again. No, he’d lied when he said there was no chance. The voice filled with sadness coming from her machine was not that of someone who was uninterested and detached. Of that she was certain. A part of her had insisted he wanted her, too, and this message confirmed it.
She replayed the message one more time for confirmation. When she heard Shane’s “I’m sorry” again, she knew what she needed to do.
Her father had been a jerk who had caused far more pain in her life than necessary, and she wasn’t about to sacrifice her own happiness and potential for a relationship with a loving, amazing man out of some misplaced sense of loyalty to someone who was already buried six feet under. Secondly, she wasn’t blinding herself with love. Shane, just like her, was a flawed human being who had and would make mistakes. What mattered was the fact that he recognized those mistakes and was clearly sorry. How could she not forgive him, especially when she expected the same forgiveness from him?
Before she could ponder the answer to that, her phone rang again. She glanced at the screen, half hoping and half dreading that it would be Shane calling again. The name Soft-Tails flashed across the screen. Probably her uncle wanting to know what they needed for their next liquor inventory.
She pressed the button and answered. “Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” Uncle Anthony’s voice barked through the receiver. “I’ve got so many customers wanting drinks barking up my ass I’m gonna need a colonoscopy.”
Vera shook her head. Not that she was any cotillion queen, but Uncle Anthony took being the black sheep of the family to a new level. When her father had been living, no one ever would have been able to tell the two men were related, let alone brothers. Her father’s darkness had been concealed behind country-club doors, but Uncle Anthony, who the strippers at the club affectionately referred to as Big Tony, made no ifs, ands or buts about just how much of a sleazebag he was. Vera could respect the blatant honesty of that.
“Get your ass down here, or niece or not, you’re fired.”
On second thought...
“Jess was supposed to cover for me.”
“Yeah, well, she ain’t here and you’re the one on the schedule, so get down here pronto.”
Shit. Vera should have known better than to count on Jess for anything. The woman thought she could do no wrong, all because she was crawling into bed with Uncle Anthony’s boneheaded friend Jim, their newest bouncer.
“I’ll be right there.”
Vera hung up the phone, silently cursing Jess for hanging her out to dry. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was deal with grabby drunks at the strip club. If someone got a little too handsy, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop herself from telling him exactly where he could shove it. She let out a long sigh as she dragged herself from the comfort of her bed to her bathroom. She fixed her hair in the mirror and refreshed her makeup be
fore grabbing her keys and heading to the club.
When she arrived at Soft-Tails, impatient patrons were flooding the bar six-deep, so she didn’t have more than two seconds to think. She hauled ass behind the bar and immediately switched her brain into work mode. A half hour later the muscles in her arms ached from using the shaker. She slapped a green microfiber towel down on the bar and wiped it off. She’d slung enough liquor to satisfy a small and extremely horny army of men, and practically every one of them had wanted some sort of mixed drink. What had happened to guys who wanted something straight on the rocks? She threw the damp towel on top of the refrigerator where they kept the wine bottles and garnishes, then grabbed a clean one.
She took a martini glass from the drying rack and wiped it down as she surveyed the club. Tina, whose stage name was Roxanne, was swinging around the pole on the main stage in a neon-green bikini, flipping her long red hair like she was riding a bucking bronco. It wouldn’t be long before the bikini top came off and the patrons started hooting and hollering so loud at Roxanne’s new boob job that she wouldn’t be able to hear any drink orders. She eyed the drinks of the few customers sitting at the bar, all of them too entranced by the impending nudity for their glasses to need refilling.
She turned away from the main stage and stood on her tiptoes to slide the glass into the overhead hanger. As she did so, she spotted Hillary, better known as Lady G, by the back door in a deep argument with some overly muscled slab of beefcake. No doubt her no-good boyfriend, Johnny, who, Vera had heard from the dancers, was an abusive asshole. The crowd of patrons roared, signaling that Roxanne’s top had finally been stripped off. Vera trained her eyes on Lady G and Johnny. Lady attempted to stomp out the back exit, only for the beefcake boyfriend to grab her by the wrist and pull her back in. She tried again a second later, this time successfully. Anger was etched across Johnny’s face, and a moment later he stormed out into the alley after her, red faced and probably deeply drunk.
Oh, no, nothing was happening to Lady G on her watch.
She turned toward the front door and hollered, “Jim! Get your ass over here! Jim?”
She scanned the club, looking for the bouncer, only to find him tucked away in one of the back booths with...oh, hell, no. Jess had the nerve to show up here to hang out with Jim while he was on shift when she was supposed to be filling in for Vera? She threw her towel down onto the bar top and headed for the back door. If Jim was going to sit on his ass, she would tell Johnny to get lost herself. The bar would be fine for a few minutes without her.
Shoving the back door open, she stepped out into the chilly Rochester air. A burst of wind whipped her right in the face. The thumping music of the club faded to background noise, and the sound of skin hitting skin in a brutal slap filled its place.
“You dumb bitch,” Johnny’s voice sounded from the far end of the alley. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”
Vera looked that way and saw Lady G clutching her reddened cheek. The jerk was holding her in place by her wrist.
Tears poured down the woman’s face. “I’m sorry, baby. I just...”
“Hey!” Vera barked.
Johnny and Lady G both looked toward her.
She pointed to Johnny. “Get your sorry ass out of here. Nobody lays a hand on the dancers.”
Johnny didn’t budge. He pegged Vera with a nasty scowl. “Mind your own damn business.” He turned back toward Lady G, still clutching her wrist.
Vera shook her head. Oh, no. This abusive prick wasn’t getting off that easy. “Maybe you didn’t hear me correctly the first time, asshole. I said beat it, before I call the cops.”
An enraged look crossed Johnny’s face, and he released Lady G’s wrist, turning his wrath on Vera. A malicious hate blazed in his eyes, his clear hatred for both women clear. Vera shook her head. Whatever. Misogynist dick.
Vera shot a glance toward the crying dancer. “Get inside, Hillary.”
Lady G didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled toward Vera and raced through the back door Vera held open, sobbing the whole way.
Vera glared at Johnny one last time before turning back toward the club. “Now get your pathetic, woman-beating ass out of here,” she called over her shoulder.
Suddenly the knob was pulled right out of her hand. Her breath rushed from her lungs as her body slammed face-first against the brick wall of the club.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, you dumb bitch?” Johnny growled into her ear. His hot breath burned over her skin like toxic fumes.
She pushed against the wall with all her strength, but she was no match for his steroidal muscles. The skin of her face ground against the hard brick. The pain of a stinging road rash seared through her cheekbone, and her temple throbbed. All she had to do was turn around and then she would gladly use her magic to give this asshole a dose of his own medicine.
“Let go of me, dickhead,” she growled.
Johnny laughed. “Not a chance, you nosy skank. You hoes are all the same, just need a good firm hand before you come around.” He lifted the edge of her skirt.
Vera didn’t have time to scream before the click of a gun’s hammer broke the silence.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHANE HELD HIS Walther PPK steady against the base of the dickhead’s skull. “Move one muscle and I will blow your brains all over this goddamn wall, and I won’t lose one wink of sleep over it. Understood?”
The bastard froze.
Shane nodded. “Very good. Now step away from her. Slowly.” Shane backed up to give the douche ample room. But apparently douche wasn’t an adequate term for this guy. Idiot with a death wish was more appropriate. The imbecile spun around and threw a punch at Shane. His fist connected with Shane’s cheekbone, but only because Shane hadn’t actually expected the guy to be cocky enough to try to clock him when Shane was the one with the gun.
The guy moved to throw a second punch, only for Shane to land a punch of his own straight in the douche’s solar plexus. The guy gasped for air, but Shane didn’t stop there. He drew back his gun and pistol-whipped the bastard straight across the face. Blood squirted from the guy’s nose like a burst faucet. He doubled over, clutching his bleeding nostrils. Shane sidestepped and brought his empty fist down on the woman beater’s kidney. The prick crumpled to the ground in a moaning heap as Shane delivered one hell of a kick to the stomach. The moron gasped for air like a gaping fish.
Shane knelt down beside him as he pressed the barrel of his gun against the guy’s family jewels. He met the bloodied douchebag’s gaze and held it. “Next time you think about hitting a woman, you remember my face and the feel of my gun inches from your steroid-shriveled balls. I don’t ever want to see your ugly mug near here or any of the women who work here again. Next time, I won’t be so kind. Understood?”
The jerk nodded vigorously but didn’t dare say a word.
Shane stood. “Now get out of here.”
The man scrambled to his feet and limped down the alley without so much as a second glance behind him. Shane holstered his gun and looked toward the back entrance of the club.
Vera remained leaning against the brick wall, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. “Th-thanks for that,” she stammered, and stepped toward him. Touching his chin, she maneuvered his head to the side so she could see his cheekbone. “That’s going to need some ice.”
Twenty minutes later he found himself sitting on Vera’s beat-up sofa in her apartment as she sat across from him on her coffee table. She wrapped a pack of ice around his knuckles and held another pack to his cheek.
“You don’t need to do this. I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been a bartender long enough to know from that glassy look in your eyes and the fact that you reek of gin that you’re in no state to drive tonight. You shouldn’t even have driven to the bar. Besides, I couldn
’t very well leave you to tend to your own wounds when you saved me from Johnny the creep. He was lucky I couldn’t turn around and use my magic on him. If you hadn’t gotten there, who knows what he would’ve done.”
Shane frowned. “If he’d done anything more, I would’ve killed him.”
The sight of that asshole manhandling Vera had nearly sent him over the edge. Rage the likes of which he’d never felt had pulsed through him, and he’d been impressed with his own restraint, which had kept him from murdering the bastard then and there. After all the years of seeing his mother pushed around by her show producers, he had no tolerance for men who hurt women. If he was being honest with himself, he had even less tolerance for men who tried to hurt Vera. He was developing quite the reputation at Soft-Tails. The last time he’d been there he had been trying to convince Vera to help him and David in their efforts to save Allsún. That time he’d slammed a drunken patron’s head against the bar top for getting a bit too handsy with a certain beautiful bartender.
Vera let out a long sigh. “That’s one hell of a temper you’ve got when you’re angry, Dr. Grey.” She removed the melting ice pack from his face and crossed the room to her kitchen to refill the bag with fresh ice.
“Only when I’m defending you,” he said, giving voice to exactly what he was thinking. His mind had little in way of a mental filter tonight. The gin was still coursing through him, making the room slightly fuzzy around the edges.
He couldn’t quite interpret the look that crossed Vera’s face at his words. She returned to the coffee table and pressed the bag of ice against his cheek once again. He let out a small groan of pain at the feeling of the freezing-cold cubes against his liquor-warmed cheek.
Midnight Hunter (The Execution Underground Book 3) Page 18
