by Laura Kaye
Since, you know, men were paying for the fantasy of perfection at the club. And while the whip marks she bore probably were a fantasy for some of the sickos that sat around ogling the girls night after night, Confessions didn’t exactly advertise their support for that kinda thing right out there in the open. No, those dark proclivities could only be provided for in the shadows.
Say, in the club’s basement . . .
Forcing her attention back to her reflection in the dressing-room mirror, Crystal blew out a shaky breath. Wallowing in those memories did absolutely no good. Except maybe as a cautionary tale to help guide her through her screwed-up life. As she stared at herself, Crystal had the fleeting thought that her life was a house of cards, one light blow away from falling to pieces and disintegrating to nothing.
“Enough,” she whispered under her breath. If she didn’t get her head together, she was going to mess something up and get herself in trouble around here tonight. But between the head-spinning deliciousness of kissing Shane and the fight with Jenna—not to mention being compared to their father . . . Crystal felt as fragile as cracked glass.
She gave herself one last look. Hair—curled and sprayed. Makeup—dramatic. Jewelry—costume crap she didn’t care about losing. Uniform—skanky and scanty as always. Slipping her feet into the killer heels, she bent over and assembled the little silver buckles. Back in character for yet another shift.
The club had been open since noon, but it was still quiet when Crystal took the floor at seven. Which just figured. On nights when she might’ve considered giving all her tips to another waitress for ten minutes off her feet, business never let up. On nights when all Crystal wanted was to be so busy she wouldn’t have five minutes to think, time crawled by.
Tonight, the last place she wanted to be was in her head with the memories of all the ways she’d screwed up.
Confessions’s shift manager Darnell Parsons waved her over to the bar. “Prospective bachelor-party clients coming in to take a tour of the private rooms at eight for a party Friday night. You want to host them?” he asked, eyeballing her. With his warm brown skin and light eyes, the man was attractive enough, but he was possibly the most humorless, uptight man she’d ever known. “Well?” he asked, annoyance plain in his tone.
“Yes. I would. Thank you.” The clients could request certain girls to work a party, so making a good impression during one of these visits could result in getting booked for parties where the tips ran way bigger than what you could earn on the main club floor.
Darnell nodded. “Go get the rooms up and running so everything’s ready when they get here,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” Crystal darted toward the curtained doorway to the back hall. The minute she stepped through, she remembered how Shane had pressed her up against the wall right there, trapping her with his strength and his heat and his charm.
God, how could that have only happened a few days ago? If she thought on it, she could recall his scent and the way it had wrapped around her. Or, maybe, despite the long shower she’d taken after they’d gotten caught in the rain this afternoon, a part of him still lingered on her skin even now. Either way, one thing was clear. Shane had invaded her head and unsettled her body.
Crystal huffed an annoyed breath at herself and marched down the dim corridor. Feelings like that were exactly why Crystal needed to keep her distance from the man. He made her lose focus. He made her wish things could be different. And he made her want to throw caution to the wind and, for just once in her life, take what she wanted.
Openly. Wantonly. Unapologetically.
Which would be a freaking disaster. Or worse.
Past the door to the rear parking lot, a hall with black carpeting and red, padded walls stretched out like a long arm, the party rooms located along both sides.
Crystal entered the first room on her left and set about turning on the lights and the sound system. Despite variations in size and décor, the rooms were essentially the same. A small square stage sat in the center with a pole that extended to the ceiling surrounded by groupings of leather couches, chairs, and tables. Mirrors on the ceiling and along one wall. All the rooms had a private bathroom and wet bar in the rear of the space, though clients had to pay extra to have someone tend the party en suite.
She repeated the same setup in the other two rooms, knowing Darnell would want to take a chunk out of her hide if the client arrived before they were ready to begin the tour. Thankfully, Crystal was ready to play hostess with minutes to spare.
Soon after she’d taken up position by the bar, four men walked through the front door, two of whom she recognized. One of the men who’d been in the hallway with Shane the other night. And Shane, plucking a cowboy hat from his head.
He and his friends were approaching the bar not far from where she stood.
Oh, God. What the hell was he doing here?
Feigning nonchalance, she smiled at the men, forced her body to remain relaxed, and glanced away like two of the four of them weren’t on the Church gang’s most wanted list.
“Hey, buddy,” one of them said to Walker, who’d been shooting the shit with a few regulars from his position behind the bar. Crystal peeked at the men from underneath her lashes. “We’re here to see Darnell. Is he around?” The man who’d spoken was tall, bulky in the shoulders, with longish brown hair and an expression that hinted at a smile.
“I’ll call him out here for you,” Walker said. He gestured toward Crystal. “In the meantime, Crystal would be happy to show you to a table and take your drink orders.”
She turned on her inner flirt, smiled, and batted her eyelashes. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, please.”
Her heart pounding as loud as the bass of the music around them, Crystal guided them to a table near the curtained doorway. When it wasn’t too loud or crowded, Darnell preferred to introduce clients to the club out here so he could discuss the public amenities before showing clients what was available in the private spaces.
“What can I get for you boys?” she asked with a smile. And for the first time, she had a moment to soak them all in. And . . . what the hell were they wearing? Plaid shirts, big buckles, blue jeans, boots. The African-American man wore a beat-up John Deere baseball hat pulled low on his forehead. Shane balanced his cowboy hat on one thick thigh.
Looking at him, the men’s appearances suddenly made sense. Disguises. Because Shane looked different yet again from the way he’d been every other time she’d seen him. That first night had been so hurried, but the next night when he’d shown up at the club, then at her apartment, he’d had a hard-edged, bad-ass vibe about him. Earlier today, his look had been more casual. Not average, exactly, because Shane could never be that. But now . . . well, let’s just say he played country boy very convincingly, right down to the pronounced drawl with which he ordered his whiskey.
She couldn’t meet Shane’s gaze, though, because she really wasn’t sure which of the competing emotions might bubble to the surface if she did. Hysteria. Anger. Maybe even humor at the getups.
By the time she’d returned from the bar with the men’s drinks, Darnell was introducing himself and shaking each of the men’s hands. As unobtrusively as possible, Crystal delivered the drinks.
“Now, who’s the bachelor?” Darnell asked.
“That would be me,” the friendly-faced man said, offering his hand. “Darren Morrison. Getting married on Saturday.” They shook.
“Celebrating your last night of freedom?” Darnell said. Crystal had to resist rolling her eyes.
The man nodded. “You got it. When my boys suggested there was no better place to have a send-off than Confessions, I had to agree.” The guys all smiled, including Shane. She had to admit, nothing about them flagged these men as being anything other than what they seemed. Good ol’ boys out for a night of fun.
Crystal would just need to make sure her performance was as strong.
As Darnell dove into his spiel, Crystal stepped to the side of the group as far from Shane a
s possible. Soon, her manager was leading them into the back of the club, down the long hallway, and into the first of the party rooms. Inside, the men milled around, poked their heads into the bathroom, and tried out the couches while Darnell described how parties typically worked: one waitstaff, two dancers, special attention for the bachelor of various sorts, and the room itself for three hours.
Standing near the door, Crystal watched the men explore the room, totally convinced they were just a group of ordinary guys planning a party. They answered Darnell’s questions about number of attendees, types of food and drink they wanted on hand, and the groom-to-be’s preferences in girls like the subject matter totally engrossed them.
All of which led Crystal to wonder what they hell they were really doing here. Even if Mr. Groom was, in fact, having a bachelor party, it made absolutely no sense to do it here given that Shane and the other man had been involved in the rescuing of Church’s hostage. No matter how she turned it around, she couldn’t get their presence to make any sense.
“Mind if I use the john?” Mr. Groom asked Darnell with a smile.
“No problem,” Darnell said.
As the man disappeared into the bathroom, her manager grabbed the remote and demonstrated the video system. A screen eased down along the one wall, and a menu of movie choices filled the screen. Sports, action/adventures, thrillers, war movies, and, of course, porn.
The guys laughed and joked around about the cheesy titles.
When the man rejoined the group from the bathroom, Darnell continued the tour into the next two rooms. Along the way, Crystal offered to refill drinks, answered the rare question directed toward her, and generally tried to fade into the background.
“Do you have a preference between the rooms, gentlemen?” Darnell asked as he finished showing the last room.
Shane led them in a conversation of the pros and cons of rooms until they agreed to reserve the first, biggest room. Crystal was almost bored as she followed the group of them up the private hallway toward the main part of the club.
The back door flew open and Bruno stepped inside. “Hey, baby,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his body, so that she almost stumbled.
“Hey,” she said, blinking away the sense of calm she’d managed to achieve. She had to go and tempt the fates with thinking the night was boring, hadn’t she?
In that moment, Shane looked over his shoulder and caught what unfolded next. As he watched, Bruno pushed her against the wall. Grasped her jaw. And kissed her aggressively. Crystal felt like the kiss moved in slow motion.
Worse, she had to kiss him back. A biting sting sprang to the backs of her eyes as she sank into the kiss and threaded her arms around Bruno’s neck.
Shane’s stare was a physical caress against her skin. And his rage suffocated the very air she was trying to breathe around Bruno’s invading tongue.
And, oh God, as if the man she wanted watching her kiss another man wasn’t soul-killing enough, Bruno’s hands started wandering. Down her sides. Pausing at her breasts. Cupping her ass.
She’d never felt cheaper in all her life.
Vomit made a slow crawl upward from her stomach.
From down the hall, the men’s footsteps receded, then disappeared out into the main club altogether.
No doubt Bruno had just made her decision about whether to shut Shane out a hell of a lot easier. Because there was no way Shane would want her after seeing that. Not six hours ago, she’d stood in the woods in the rain and lost herself to Shane’s touch, his scent, his kiss.
And now here she stood doing the same thing again with someone else. Or, at least, that had to be the way it looked to Shane.
Bruno patted her on the ass. “Gotta go, babe,” he said, as if his actions hadn’t just left her feeling gutted.
She forced a smile. “Okay. See ya.” She watched him strut his way down to the offices and disappear inside.
Half-afraid she might really be sick, Crystal bolted. She pushed through the dressing-room door so hard it banged off the wall behind it. Across the room. Into the stall. Onto her knees.
As her stomach rolled, she stared at the placid water in the old, stained toilet. A cold sweat broke out across her brow and under her uniform, but the urge to hurl receded. Thank God.
She slumped on the floor next to the john, her back against the scratched and dented light blue wall of the stall. At least no one had been in here to witness that lovely scene.
Forcing herself onto her feet, Crystal breathed deeply a few times to make sure her tummy had really settled. Then she applied some new powder and blush to remove the sheen from her face. “Good as new,” she said, hoping a little positive thinking would make her feel better. Not so much.
Damnit. She had to get her head on straight. This was exactly why her gut kept saying Shane McCallan was so dangerous. Frankly, there weren’t many people whose opinions of her mattered. In fact, before Shane, she’d been able to count those who mattered on just one finger. Jenna.
She couldn’t afford to let some man she barely knew scramble her wires like this. There was too much at stake.
With one last deep breath, Crystal pulled the dressing room door open. And walked right into a big, male body.
Crystal gasped. “You can’t be back here!” She grabbed Shane’s shirt with both hands and hauled him into the dressing room, then locked the door. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to get me killed.” She’d meant the words figuratively, of course, but in point of fact, they possessed some literal truth.
His gaze was hard and lethal as steel. “I saw you run past the door.”
“And?” she said, exasperation using up every bit of her patience.
“I was worried.”
He was . . . worried? Even after he saw me . . . ? “Why?” she said.
He muttered under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I take it that was Bruno?”
Crystal’s gaze dropped to the floor, the one she wished would open up and swallow her. She nodded.
“Well, I saw him grab you, Crystal. He might as well have mauled you—” Shane raked his fingers through his hair, messing up the neatly combed style that highlighted the blond.
Crystal grabbed his hands. “Don’t do that. You’re messing up your comb-over,” she said. Using her own fingers, she straightened his hair, all the while the realization sank in that he wasn’t mad because she’d kissed Bruno, he was mad because Bruno had kissed her.
Shane went still under her touch. Her face heated and, sure enough, his gaze blazed at her. She yanked her hands away. “You have to leave—”
“Not yet.” A raw, aggressive masculinity poured off him, and Shane shook his head. “Not until you hear what I have to say.” He stepped closer.
“But, Shane—”
“No. What he did out there, that wasn’t okay with you. Jesus. I could see it in your eyes, your body, the way your fucking hands shook.” He heaved a deep breath, like he was attempting to calm himself. “And if it wasn’t okay with you, it’s sure as hell not okay with me.” Closer, yet. So close his chest brushed hers. “In point of fact, I have a major fucking problem with a male forcing a woman to do anything,” he said, his eyes burning with molten silver. “But let me be clear, Crystal. Seeing him all over you like that would do bad things to me even if you wanted his attention. So my intentions here”—he pursed his lips and shook his head—“they’re not all honorable. Because I want you. I want you so bad I can hardly breathe.”
The room spun around Crystal, and butterflies looped within her belly. “Shane,” she whispered, dumbstruck by his declaration. Nervous energy exploded within her until she thought she might burst into a thousand pieces. “Please. We can talk later,” she rushed. “You have to go.”
“You promise? Because I’m not done here. Not by a long shot.”
The dark temptation of his words rushed heat through her blood, but the longer he remained, the more fear drowned out all her other reactions.
“Yes, yes. Just go.”
He nodded, anger receding from his expression, but something just as hot rolling in behind it. Desire.
Shane leaned down . . . and kissed her on the forehead.
And as much as she freaking longed for his kiss on her lips, what he’d done was even more perfect. The exact opposite of Bruno’s aggression. He didn’t just talk the talk, he walked the walk, too. And in her world, that meant everything. Words were cheap and easy.
Shane peeked out the door and took off.
Staring at the closed door in front of her, Crystal pressed her hands to her chest. Not wanting to lose the feeling suddenly expanding within. Because the constant sensation of emptiness that had left her cold for so many years was gone, replaced by something new. Foreign. Scary.
Something she should try to ignore.
Something she should push away.
Something that could hurt her in ways Bruno’s hands and Church’s possession never could.
Crystal—no, Sara—was very likely falling for Shane McCallan.
Chapter 12
Shane ducked through the curtain and held up his phone to the bouncer doing a fortunately piss-poor job of guarding the back of Confessions. “Found it,” he said with a nod. The guy barely acknowledged him, but it was no skin off Shane’s nose, because Crystal had promised she would talk to him.
And that promise had calmed some of the cyclone of rage that had whipped up inside him when he’d seen Crystal run past the curtain after Bruno had manhandled her. Goddamn but it had taken every ounce of discipline he’d ever had to restrain himself from marching back that hall and tearing the big goon off of her. Only the certainty that doing so would’ve been a disaster for their mission and for Crystal had held him in check. Still, the fact that Crystal had said she had no choice but to work here put her relationship with that asshole in a whole new light. And not a good one.
Shane threaded through the growing crowd in the bar, and their table came into view. Except . . . “Where’s E?” he asked as he sat.
“Never a dull moment,” Beckett said as he nodded toward the bar.
