“Hmm, a few years ago some of the townspeople wanted to rename it. But nobody could agree on a name. The winning contender was Somewhere. But in the end Nowhere stayed well, Nowhere.”
She noticed everyone was giving her strange looks. She started to feel flushed and self-conscious. Those looks told her they all thought she was bonkers.
It doesn’t matter what other people think of you. Only what you think of yourself.
Still, she could feel her shoulders hunching. Maybe she should learn to be less. Less talkative. Less friendly. Less impetuous.
Less ridiculous.
“I owe you some thanks, Miss Millie,” Mr. Steele said, moving closer to her. He reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face so she was staring up in those pale blue eyes. They reminded her of the sky on a sunny, cloudless day.
“You do?” she asked, feeling flustered at having his entire attention on her. Wow. This guy packed a punch.
“Yes, I do. You helped save one of my staff. I try to take care of everyone that works for me and it seems in this instance that I’ve somehow failed.”
“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” she reassured him.
“I’m not so sure. You see, that man should never have been allowed entrance. Someone let him in. Someone who answers to me. And it also should have been made clear to Tawny that if she had anyone who might be a threat to her that she should have informed my manager. That didn’t happen either. So it is very much my fault that you were nearly harmed.”
“I’m fine. It was Tawny that was in danger.”
“Hmm.”
Suddenly, a looming presence appeared next to them. “Let go of her.”
She turned shocked eyes to Spike. He had a muscle tic by his left eye. And he looked furious as he glared at Mr. Steele. She took a shocked step back but Mr. Steele just stared at Spike, looking almost . . . amused? But that couldn’t be right.
“Tawny, Chardonnay, you’re excused for the night. I’ll have someone take you both home. Tawny, do you have somewhere safe you can stay? I wouldn’t advise going home.”
“I have a friend I can stay with,” Tawny said quietly.
“Good. Tomorrow, come in early. We need to have a chat.”
Tawny nodded then stopped by Millie, giving her a strange look. “Thanks. For helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what.
Chardonnay slipped past her as well, giving her a small smile as she handed over Mr. Fluffy. Millie felt a stab of disappointment. Somehow, she didn’t think the other woman was going to give her those dance lessons. Her shoulders slumped.
Making friends had never been hard for Millie. But keeping them? That was a completely different thing. Oh, she had all the people back in Nowhere, but since ninety percent of the population was over seventy, that wasn’t quite what she needed or desired.
She gave a soft sigh and to her shock, she felt a heavy, hot hand land on her lower back. She startled, but the hand didn’t budge.
“What’s wrong?” Spike asked her quietly.
“Oh, nothing.” She forced a big smile onto her face.
But the look he gave her told her that he knew she was faking it.
Before he could say anything more, though, the man who’d come in earlier with Spike and Mr. Steele returned.
“Damon, need a word,” he said, then his gaze caught on her. “Is that a dog?”
His eyes roamed over to the table to where she’d laid out her tools. “And a gun? A pink gun?”
“Hmm, it seems Miss Millie here carries around quite the arsenal,” Mr. Steele told him. “She’s fully prepared for any eventuality.”
The other man gave her a somber look. “Yeah, well, she might need it.”
“What is it?” Mr. Steele asked in the voice of a man who was used to reoccurring fires, but was running out of water to dampen them.
“Asshole has a very distinctive tattoo on his inner forearm.”
“Oh, the devil one?” she asked. She’d noticed that.
Both Spike and Mr. Steele turned to look at her. Mr. Steele looked thoughtful; Spike looked angry. But she was starting to wonder if that was normal. Some people had resting bitch face. Spike had resting grouch face.
“Yeah, he’s a member of the Devil’s Sinners. And pretty sure when he wakes up, he’s gonna be gunning for her blood.”
Uh-oh.
8
Millie looked around the long room in interest. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Well, she wasn’t sure what to expect and really, she shouldn’t make assumptions about someone without meeting them.
Just because he owned a strip club didn’t make Mr. Steele a bad man. Of course that guy that tried to rob her the other night had implied he was a gang leader. Well, she’d just come to her own conclusions. But so far, he seemed nice.
At least he was talking to her. Unlike the grumpy hulk standing in the corner, glaring at her.
“This is nice. Not at all what I’d expect to find in a strip club.”
She’d been trying to get Spike to speak ever since Mr. Steele had asked her to kindly wait upstairs for him.
Kindly wait.
So polite. Definitely not what she’d expected.
Spike didn’t react at all. She sighed. As though sensing her mood, Mr. Fluffy looked up from where he was sitting in her arms and yawned. He really was a lazy thing.
After she’d repacked her stuff downstairs, Spike had snatched her handbag out of her hands and escorted her up here.
And when she said escort, she meant he grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her beside him. She’d had to jog to keep up.
Remember her opinion on running? It hadn’t improved any. And running upstairs? Even worse.
“Not that I’ve been in many strip clubs, of course. Well, none actually. Still, I’m sure few are as nice as this.”
You’re rambling, Millie.
Well, he was making her so nervous just staring at her like that.
“Do you think Mr. Steele will mind if I let Mr. Fluffy down?”
“Mr. Steele doesn’t mind at all, sweetheart.” She whirled, one hand resting on her heart.
Mr. Fluffy let out another exaggerated yawn. She had a feeling he wasn’t going to be much of a guard dog.
Mr. Steele gave him a slightly skeptical look which belied his words. “Is he toilet-trained?”
“Oh, he’s pretty good,” she said vaguely. She placed him down, hoping he didn’t make a mess. “Do you have any newspapers by chance?”
Mr. Steele gave her a slightly horrified look. She swore Spike snorted but when she looked over at him, he was still glaring at her. Huh.
“Here you are.” Mr. Steele handed over some newspapers.
“Thank you, Mr. Steele.”
He gave her a strange look. “Please, call me Damon.”
She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, though, instead he just studied her. That was slightly strange.
Spike grunted. She risked another look at him, not sure she could withstand many more of his scowls. To her surprise, he was glaring at Damon this time. Weren’t they friends? If they weren’t then why was Spike here?
Maybe he’d come to watch the dancers? Hm. That thought didn’t sit too well with her. Why? Was she actually jealous? She didn’t even know him. And what she did know wasn’t that flattering. He seemed to intensely dislike her or at best, be constantly annoyed by her.
She laid the papers down on the linoleum floor by the bar area then she walked over to Spike. “Bag please.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my bag.”
He arched a brow. “You planning on using the stuff in it?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then no.”
She huffed out a breath at him, all too aware of their audience. “It’s my handbag. I want it back.”
“No.”
He didn’t even look regretful. In fact, he turned away from her to look at D
amon. “What will you do with him?”
“Grady will be up in a moment. Then we can all have a chat about what to do next.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. “I want my bag, Spike.”
His gaze flicked back to hers. His eyes were a mix of colors. Green. Hazel. Blue. They would have been quite beautiful if he wasn’t such an ass.
Oh, who was she kidding? They were beautiful despite the fact he was an ass.
“Darn it, why’d you have to have beautiful eyes. Why couldn’t you have mean, ugly eyes?”
“Did you just call his eyes beautiful?” Damon asked with amusement.
“Urgh. Said that out loud, did I?”
“You did.” Damon looked from her to Spike. “Just how do the two of you know each other?”
“We met last night,” she said at the same time Spike spoke.
“We don’t.”
Ouch. That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Technically, they didn’t know each other. But he could have said it nicer.
She sighed. “Just give me my handbag and I promise, after tonight you won’t ever have to see me again.”
“If only I could believe that.”
With a narrowed gaze, she started tapping her foot.
“Uh-oh, that’s the look of a pissed off woman, man. You sure you want to keep on this path?” Damon asked.
“With what’s in her bag, she’s likely to shoot someone or herself.”
“There’s no bullets in my gun!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “How am I going to shoot anyone! Give me my bag.”
“No.”
“Urgh.” She stomped her foot. “You are so infuriating.”
He leaned in; his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel his breath against her skin. She froze as tingles of awareness ran through her. What was that about? Was she attracted to the big meanie?
“Stomp that foot again and you’ll find out what happens to naughty little girls who throw tantrums.”
She stumbled back from him, would likely have tripped over her own feet if Damon hadn’t materialized behind her, steadying her with his hands on her hips.
Spike looked over her shoulder at him and growled. Actually growled. Like a caveman.
Okay, so she didn’t think she was well prepared to deal with him. Maybe with any man. Which was fine, since she didn’t intend to ever fall in love again.
Not. Happening.
Damon didn’t immediately let her go, which she thought was odd. It felt like the three of them were in a stand-off. She was frozen, uncertain whether moving would make things better or worse.
A throat clearing startled the men out of their frozen state and she chose that moment to slip away, stepping over to the bar to search for something to put some water for Mr. Fluffy in. She found a small bowl, filled it and placed it down next to the paper.
When she rose, she was grateful to find both men standing on opposite sides of the room. The man who’d arrived downstairs with Damon earlier was now standing there, watching them with amusement on his face.
“Millie, this is Thomas Grady,” Damon introduced.
“Hello,” she said politely.
He gave her a regal nod back. “Please, call me Grady. Most everyone does.”
“You spoke to Mitchell?” Damon asked Grady who walked over to the bar.
“Yes, of course. He’s going to look into things. Our intruder is under guard for now. Can I make everyone a drink?”
She slid past him and walked towards where Mr. Fluffy was pawing at Damon’s shoes. He was staring down at the dog like he’d never seen one before.
“Come here, Mr. Fluffy.”
“Interesting name,” Damon said as Mr. Fluffy turned and with clumsy steps, managed to make his way over to her.
She scratched him behind the ears and he settled with a big yawn.
“Maybe I should have called him Mr. Lazy.” She smiled up at Damon. He gave her another curious look.
“Drink?” Grady prompted.
She grew red at her lack of manners in not answering him earlier. She tried to stand and nearly tripped over the bottom of her skirt. All three men jumped towards her. She grew even more red.
“Sorry, I can be a bit of a klutz.”
She looked away. All of them were gorgeous in their own way. Grady, refined and almost genteel with a sharp edge. Damon, deadly but with a charming exterior. Then Spike, how to describe him? She couldn’t even find the words. He was stubborn. Angry. There was nothing sweet or charming about him. Yet, she felt this pull towards him. Like there was an invisible string, connecting them.
You’re being ridiculous, Millie.
“She’ll take a soda,” Spike told him.
“I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri please,” she replied, sending Spike a look.
She’d never had one, but it sounded nice.
Grady gave her a surprised look.
“Oh, unless you don’t know how to make it.”
He’s not a bartender, Millie.
“I know how to make one.”
Spike scowled and went to open his mouth.
“But are you able to make it without the alcohol,” she added.
“So a virgin daiquiri?” Grady asked.
“Yes, please. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Grady said smoothly.
“If you’re both finished, can we get onto the important stuff?” Spike barked, making her jump. Even Mr. Fluffy gave a small woof of surprise.
Damon turned away from where he’d been staring out the viewing window to the strip club below. She wondered how late it stayed open. She already felt fatigued and it wasn’t even midnight.
“What are you going to do with him?” Spike asked.
Steele looked over at Grady.
“It’s tricky. We let him go and he’s likely a danger to her.” Steele nodded to her.
“To me?” she asked.
“Yes,” Steele replied. “Assholes like that don’t take kindly to people getting in their way. Especially women. Plus, you tasered him.”
“Spike punched him.”
“Yes, but Spike is a man,” Grady told her.
“Well, that’s hardly fair.”
All three men gave her incredulous looks.
“I’m just saying that he should hate us both equally is all,” she muttered.
“So get rid of him,” Spike said sharply.
“It could create issues with the rest of them,” Grady commented.
“You cannot let him leave, not when he’s a threat to her,” Spike countered.
Steele nodded. “You’re right. We’ll deal with him.”
Grady handed her a drink in a gorgeous glass then handed everyone else their drinks.
“So . . . umm . . . by take care of him, what exactly do you mean?” she asked.
None of them answered her. Which was an answer in itself. Oh shoot. That was what she thought.
Damon gestured for her to sit on a sofa. He sat on the one opposite while Grady took an armchair. Spike remained leaning against the wall.
“Do you know who the Devil’s Sinners are, Millie?” Damon asked, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his legs.
“No, should I?”
“They’re a gang. They’ve got a nasty name for themselves. They’re trying to move in on Montana and more specifically into this city. My city.”
“A man I met the second night I was here said that he didn’t want to linger around because we were on the outskirts of Steele territory. He seemed scared.”
“That so?” Damon drawled. “What man was that?”
“Oh, just this guy who wanted to steal my handbag. It’s a one-of-a-kind. My friend made it for me.”
Damon looked over at the handbag still hanging from Spike’s hand. It was a patchwork of material in various shades of red and gold. “Since you’re still in possession of it, he obviously wasn’t successful.”
“No, I suppose he thought
that his gun gave him the upper hand.”
“He pulled a fucking gun on you?” the voice came from right behind her and she jumped. How had Spike gotten so close and she didn’t even notice? For the size of him, he should sound like a stampeding bull when he moved, not a light-footed ballerina.
She had to grin at the thought of him in a pink tutu, now that would be hilarious.
Millie always dreamed of being a ballerina. But instead of being svelte and sure on her feet, she was chubby and clumsy.
“You think it’s funny that some guy held you up at gunpoint?” Spike asked incredulously as he came to sit beside her. His big thigh was pressed up against hers. She had to suppress a shiver. What was wrong with her?
She took in a steadying breath and slid her gaze over to Damon. “I didn’t find it funny at all . . . it was . . .” terrifying, frightening, a sign of how unprepared and naïve she was. But she didn’t let any of that show because . . . because those emotions were all too real. They were dark. Scary.
And she didn’t deal with dark and scary well.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m here.”
“I’m sorry?” Damon asked with a confused look. “I don’t understand. How does you nearly getting robbed lead you here to Pinkies?”
“Oh, not that part.” She waved her hand. “It was the bit that came next.”
“What came next?” Damon inquired.
She licked her lips, looking over at Spike. Why was he sitting so close to her? Sure, he was a big guy but there was plenty of room on the sofa for the two of them to sit without being pressed up against one another.
“This is what I tried to tell you last night, but you wouldn’t listen to me,” she said to Spike.
“Really?” Damon drawled. “Why don’t you tell me, Millie. I’ll listen.”
Spike grunted.
“See, the guy who tried to rob me had just run off—”
“Why did he run off?” Grady asked.
“Oh well, I might have drawn my gun out and aimed it at him.”
“Your gun that has no bullets in it,” Spike stated.
It wasn’t a question so she didn’t reply. “He ran off and I was turning to leave when I spotted Mr. Fluffy huddled by a dumpster. I was bent down, coaxing him towards me when a backdoor into the alley opened and two men walked out.”
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