The Spark (Carolina Connections Book 2)

by Sylvie Stewart

  This was Monday night in Atlantic City? I was suddenly pissed we’d missed the weekend goings-on.

  With my eyes darting around so quickly to take everything in, I didn’t immediately notice the very large mustachioed man standing to my right. He wore black pants and a tight black t-shirt that could have given one of Mark’s a run for its money.

  “ID and fifteen-dollar cover,” he said to me. Then he looked Mark over quite thoroughly and said, “No charge for you.”

  I had to stifle a laugh as I reached into my bag for my money and license, but when I went to hand it to the bouncer I saw that Mark had already paid my cover and was trying to pay for himself as well. The bouncer wouldn’t take the extra money so Mark scowled and put it back in his pocket.

  “Hey, is it always this busy on Mondays?” I asked loudly as he checked over my ID

  The large man bent down to be heard over the noise of the club. “Nah, just once a month on Manaconda Monday.” He gestured toward the platforms. “Go-Go Boys.”

  “Gotcha,” I responded when he handed back my license. Then I remembered we’d better get down to business. “Is Angie around tonight?” I asked.

  That got me a sharp look. “Whaddya want with Angie?”

  I gave him my best smile, the one that got me out of trouble at work all the time. “I’m a friend of a friend—just need to ask her about something.”

  He looked at me with suspicion. Apparently, gay mustachioed men from New Jersey were immune to my charms. Huh. Well that sucked.

  “Angie doesn’t have friends, and we don’t need any trouble here.”

  Shit, this was going to be harder than I thought. And now this guy was going to be watching us like a hawk.

  Out of nowhere Mark grabbed my hand and said, “No worries, Toots! Let’s get our fine asses on the dance floor.” And then he dragged my stunned-as-hell ass into the crowd.

  “Holy shit! Did you really just say that?” I laughed and shouted up at him once we were safely away from the bouncer.

  “I had to do something—you were painting giant bullseyes on our backs!”

  “Oh my God, wait until I tell Nate and Laney—oh, and Jake too—I have his number now. Could you maybe say it again so I can take a video? It would just be easier if I could send out a mass text,” I pleaded with him but just got a snarl in return.

  “Look, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to get into the staff room without being caught. Any ideas? I would say we could go with distraction but this whole fucking place is one big distraction.” He scowled as he looked around.

  Okay, this was clearly not his scene. Fair enough.

  “Well, there’s always at least one straight bartender at gay clubs so I could try to find one and flirt my way into the staff room with him,” I suggested.

  “No fucking way.”

  So, that was a firm no. I guess he had a strong opinion on that idea. “Well, why don’t we just look around? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  It turned out my choice of words could not have been more perfect. As we made our way around the club, I couldn’t count the number of times Mark got hit on and/or had his arms groped. His face was beet red by the time we got to the back of the club where the bathrooms were, but it was unclear if the color was from embarrassment or fury. I didn’t ask.

  We ventured into a darker hallway that had four closed doors. Two were restrooms, although it was impossible to tell if they were designated for any specific gender since they were both just marked with abstract paintings of penises.

  Hmm, the painting style was actually quite nice—I wondered if the artist took on any other subjects besides dicks. I’d have to file that thought away for later.

  The other two doors in the hallway were unmarked. One of them had to be the staff room.

  I casually wandered by the first door and tried the knob. Locked. Mark saw what I was up to and blocked me from view as I tried the second. Unlocked. I slipped in and closed the door behind me before Mark could object or utter a syllable.

  “Staff only, sweetheart,” came a voice from behind me. “You don’t like dicks in the bathroom with you then this ain’t the club for you.”

  I turned around and saw one of the bartenders from earlier leaning against a locker and eying me. I flipped my hair, hoping I had managed to single out a straight one, but it had no effect.

  “No offense, sweetcheeks, you’re all kinds of adorable and those boots are hot as shit, but you need to turn around and scoot.”

  Damn.

  “Oh, sorry,” I giggled and worked the hell out of all the dumb blonde I had in me. “I thought this was the girls’ room.”

  It got me nowhere. He stayed put. “Like I said, across the hall—just pick a penis.”

  Had I not been desperate to get to the very lockers he was leaning against I would have found this situation hilarious. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the right time.

  “Right,” I said, giving up the ruse. “Later.” I turned the knob and walked out, slamming right into a very firm chest belonging to a very annoyed Mark.

  “Stop doing that!” he demanded.

  “Okay, fine. But that was definitely the staff room. There’s a bartender in there and he does not mess around.”

  Mark scowled at me again. Somebody sure was grumpy.

  “Give me the key and make yourself scarce. I’ll take care of it.”

  I put my hands up in the air in surrender. “Fine, if you think you can do a better job then be my guest.” I handed him the key. “The lockers are along the far wall and from what I could see there were only a few with locks.”

  “Got it. Now go hide in one of the bathrooms in case the guy comes out.”

  “Wait, don’t you need a bag or something? That’s why I brought this.” I held up the satchel.

  “Shit,” he grumbled. I could totally understand him not wanting to carry a woman’s bag, but it wasn’t very girly—in fact, it was pretty utilitarian. And given where we were…

  Mark snatched the bag from my grip and I snuck into one of the penis rooms, entirely unsure what to expect.

  Huh. Well, it turns out it was just like any other bathroom. I was sort of disappointed—I kind of felt the door treatments promised something a bit more exciting. Oh well, may as well pee while I was there.

  I did my business, washed my hands, ran my fingers through my hair to smooth it and did as much primping as possible without my bag, all while chatting with the guys and girls who came in and out. But there was still no sign of Mark. At this point it had been ten minutes, so I chanced a peek into the hallway. No Mark—just a group of drunken guys making their way to the back exit for a smoke.

  Where in the hell was he?! I closed the door again and leaned against the sink, tapping my fingers on the surface.

  Just then, the door burst open and in came Mark, looking flushed. He grasped my hand and pulled me so hard I almost lost my balance. He practically sprinted out of the bathroom and made a beeline for the back exit, with me stumbling along behind him. Crossing the threshold, I begged for him to slow down and only then did he seem to realize I wasn’t capable of moving like a cheetah, heels or no heels.

  “Sorry,” he said as he slowed his pace a touch and rounded the side of the building toward the front parking lot and his truck.

  “Well?” I was dying to know what happened.

  “I got it,” was all he said.

  “Seriously?!” I jumped up and down and squealed. “Oh my God. This is so awesome! I can’t believe you did it. How did you get past that guy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said as he opened the passenger door and lifted me up into the seat, not waiting for me to assist at all. He slammed the door and stalked over to the driver’s side.

  Uh oh.

  As soon as he got in, he cranked the ignition and we sped out of the parking lot. I don’t think either one of us had any idea where we were going, but I was just as happy to escape as he was. I had to sit on my hands and bite my tongue
really hard to keep from quizzing him, but I was dying to know what had happened.

  Five minutes later, he pulled into the empty parking lot of a grocery store and cut the engine. “Now don’t get too excited until we count it—I don’t know how much is there.” He handed me my satchel and I opened it, peering inside.

  In addition to my own things, there was a plastic grocery bag filled with stacks of cash. Now, I may come from money, but to me that meant credit cards and vacations and awesome clothes. I had never actually laid eyes on this much cash in my life. It was so strange. I pulled out the grocery bag and handed several stacks to Mark. We both began counting.

  Forty-seven thousand dollars. Forty-seven thousand dollars!

  We looked at each other once it had been tallied and I finally got a grin out of him. I returned it and then his morphed into a full-on killer smile. “We did it, Shortcake.”

  I couldn’t help it. I jumped across the bench seat and kissed the shit out of him.

  After he got over his initial surprise, Mark joined right in with gusto. Even though the position was awkward with the bag and money between us, we managed to engage all the right parts. His tongue swept across mine and had me moaning as I grasped the back of his head, wishing for the first time that he had longer hair so I had something to hold onto.

  One of his hands traveled down to my waist and he effortlessly lifted me over the contents of the seat and onto his lap. I squeaked a little in surprise but he quickly silenced me with his mouth over mine again. I breathed him in and let out an inner sigh as my hands started to wander. They didn’t make it very far, however, because just as things were getting good there was a tap on the driver’s side window.

  My first thought was that we’d been caught by cops making out like teenagers in a steamed-up truck. But then it occurred to me that cops probably wouldn’t knock on a car window with the muzzle of a gun.

  Shitballs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trip to Jersey: $200, Road Snacks: $30, Conning an Asshole: Priceless

  MARK

  “Sorry to interrupt your little make-out session, but we need a word,” came the voice of the man holding the gun. A man whose name I knew to be either Lou or Terry.

  Dammit.

  I’d been so thrown by the events at the club I hadn’t given thought to anything other than getting the hell away with the money. I had to try to smooth this over and protect Fiona. I suppose the good news was we had the cash so I hoped like hell that would be enough.

  Fiona’s mouth was agape and she was staring at the gun, speechless. I lifted her gently off my lap and placed her as far from the weapon as possible.

  “Shortcake, look at me,” I coaxed.

  She finally tore her eyes from the window and held mine. Her gorgeous green eyes were wide with terror.

  “It’s gonna be okay. I’m just going to give them the money. You stay in the truck, do you hear me?”

  She must have been in a bit of shock because for the first time in her life she didn’t utter a word. She just sat there and gave one jerky nod.

  I opened the door and looked back at her one more time before stepping out to face Lou and Terry. “Stay here.”

  I closed the door behind me, bag of cash in hand, and stepped as far away from the truck as I could without alarming them.

  They were both dressed in leather jackets and jeans, just like any other guy. Just like me, in fact. The only glaring difference was that the goateed guy held a gun.

  “You amateurs can’t spot a tail for shit,” he said, and then thankfully tucked the gun in the back of his waistband.

  Somehow I didn’t feel so bad that I lacked that particular skill. I was hopeful that this was the one and only occasion in my life where I might give someone cause to tail me.

  I put my hands up in a defensive pose. “We don’t want any trouble. We have the money.”

  “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think we were tailing you? Now put your hands down before somebody sees us and thinks this is a car-jacking.”

  I did so immediately. While this might have been my first time working a “deal,” it was obviously something Lou and Terry were way more practiced at. I deemed it prudent to go with the voice of experience here.

  “We figured your old man would spill the beans to someone sooner or later. It was just a waiting game. Now, you mind handing it over so we can get outta here?”

  “No problem,” I said and reached into the bag.

  “At least step behind the truck, kid. Jesus, it’s like you’re begging for the cops to show up,” the second guy said. “Fucking amateurs, Lou,” he mumbled.

  Again, I did not feel the least bit inadequate for not knowing the appropriate etiquette for this situation.

  And, bonus—now I knew which one was Lou and which one was Terry.

  I moved behind the truck and they followed. I mentally counted the stacks as I walked so I would pull the correct number out on the off chance they’d let us keep the rest.

  I unexpectedly heard Lou say, “Sorry about scaring your girl with the gun. Just had to make sure you weren’t going to try to skip town with the money and disappear.”

  I turned to him. “Do we look that stupid?”

  “Well, no, but given who your old man is, the odds weren’t in your favor if you get my meaning.”

  “Point taken,” I responded since that did indeed make sense. “So, if we hand over the thirty-two grand you’ll just let us go?” I was afraid there was too much hope in my voice.

  Terry scoffed as if offended and Lou said, “Yeah, kid. Despite how it might seem, we’re really not all that bad. We run a business just like anyone else.”

  I wasn’t about to argue the point. I just wanted to get the hell out of here. I started to hand over the bundle I’d gathered when Terry cut in.

  “The price actually went up to thirty-three. Gas money, you know.” He scratched his chin.

  “Of course,” I said as if I were an idiot for not thinking of it myself. I reached into the bag for another thousand and handed it over.

  Terry counted all the money and nodded to Lou before putting it in a Health Foods grocery sack, of all things. Apparently bad guys liked to eat organic.

  Lou held out his hand and I had no choice but to shake it. “Nice doing business with you, kid. If you ever need a loan…”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep you in mind.” I began backing up toward the driver’s side, unwilling to turn my back to them until they were gone.

  “But you best tell your old man if we ever see his face again he won’t be as lucky as he was this time.”

  “If I ever have the displeasure of speaking to him again I’ll be sure to pass that right along,” I responded.

  Lou grinned and they turned and walked to their car. I waited until they’d pulled out before getting in the truck and closing the door.

  “Did that just happen?” came Fiona’s incredulous voice from the other side of the truck. I looked over and noticed she had her window open—she’d heard the whole damn thing. Her green eyes were wide and wild.

  “Yup, pretty sure it did.” I held up the bag with the remaining cash. “And we just became fourteen thousand dollars richer.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

  She lost the shocked expression and returned my smile. “Well, big man, I’d say you damn well earned it!”

  The first thing we did once we were safely back in the hotel suite was call everybody and tell them that the situation had been taken care of and we could all breathe easy. It felt fucking great to share that news. We did not share the bit about the gun and the extra money, however, since we didn’t want anyone to worry about the first and we had no idea what to think about the second.

  The next thing we did was order a bottle of champagne from room service. I didn’t even particularly like the stuff but it seemed obligatory given how much we had to celebrate.

  After the server popped the cork and was appropriately tipped and ushered o
ut, Fiona turned to me for a toast.

  “To conning a con-artist,” she said, and I had to laugh as I clinked my glass with hers and we each took a sip.

  “Now,” she continued with a grin, “are you going to tell me what happened in that club?”

  I cringed. I so did not want to talk about this, but since she was the most tenacious person I’d ever met, I knew she’d get it out of me sooner or later. I had an inkling she was even worse than Bailey.

  “Fine,” I gave in.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Fiona said. “I need to get comfortable for story time.” She proceeded to set down her champagne flute and practically undress. First to go was the leather jacket and then came the boots. She had absolutely no clue what a turn-on this whole scene was—with the descent of each boot’s zipper my dick responded in the opposite direction.

  This girl was going to kill me.

  By the time she finally settled on the sofa in just her slinky top and skin-tight jeans, I was a fucking mess. I sidled my way to the other end of the sofa where I plopped myself down and immediately snatched up a throw pillow to hide the bulge behind my zipper. I was wishing I’d at least thought to keep my jacket or button-down on. My t-shirt and pants didn’t hide much.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said, taking a sip from her drink.

  “Right.” Thinking back to the club helped my awkward situation resolve itself. “It really wasn’t a big deal—I was just way out of my comfort zone, that’s all.”

  She glowered at me. “That’s not how you tell a story. A story involves details and must contain any dialogue that was exchanged.” She gestured as if addressing a small child. “Adjectives and adverbs are also much appreciated. Try again.” She nodded encouragingly.