by Hazel Grace
“Please,” I coo, clasping my hands together. “Just an hour.” I see Bishop’s lips move, but whatever he utters isn’t loud enough for me to hear over the music.
“Bishop has things to do,” Emric responds flatly.
“Then Bishop can take an Uber home,” I deadpan. Both men bore daggers into me, and I’m proud of myself (and the jello shots) that I don’t cower back from my rude comment.
Bishop takes a step forward then, massive arms crossed along his chest, muscles screaming that he worked them too hard, and positions himself directly in front of me.
“One hour,” he pledges, leaning in so I don’t miss what he’s saying. He smells like leather and man, all perfectly wrapped in an intoxicating scent. “And you better make it worth my while to be staying here.”
He dismisses any opportunity for me to speak—not that I was going to—when he motions for the boys to follow him. But Emric remains glued to his spot while Mills faithfully follows, leaving me to deal with the cranky, uptight monster.
Emric crooks his index finger, signaling to come closer. I do, a moth to the flame, feeling the hairs on my arms stand to attention as I get into his space and wait for how he wants to yell at me.
I stop within an inch of his chest, my jaw opening to heave in air with my mouth because I need to stay calm and collected.
I need more shots.
“How buzzed are you?” he asks me, eyes zeroed in on my face.
“How do you measure that exactly?” I don’t know how to answer that question properly. If I’m aware of my surroundings and the songs that are currently playing, how my body is humming to how close Emric is—damn, I think I’m a little more than buzzed if my insides are singing a symphony to his proximity. “I’m fine, Emric.”
“Alright—” He plucks my forearm and loops it in with his. “—let’s go find Beavis and Butthead.”
We pass the center stage that lies to the right of the room, surrounded by men and women of all sorts of bank accounts. Three women, all dressed in silver, sparkly, outfits, seductively dance for the customers lining the edge.
The crowd erupts in cheers, and I glance back over to see the one on the left has removed her top, her breast on display as she rubs her nipples with the pads of her fingers.
My own perk at the sight as Emric leads me to wherever his buddies ended up at. His body rubs and grazes mine from the congested throng of people. At one point, Emric draws me in front of him as we walk in a straight line, his groin lining up to the fringe above my ass.
“Take a seat, sweetheart.” We stop at a secluded booth that doesn’t look like the others I’ve seen. It’s shaped like a “C”, wrapping around a small table centered by a singular lit candle. The lighting overhead is red, casting down on the nicer-looking material of suede that covers the seating as Mills and Bishop lounge next to each other.
The space could fit at least five more people, and I gracefully plop down, immediately being handed a pink drink from Mills.
“It’s a Shirley Temple,” he announces loud enough for Emric to hear.
“The fuck it is,” he responds, stretching out his legs and encroaching on my space.
A young female approaches, arms adorned in colorful tattoos, a Marilyn Monroe piercing, and a lack of wanting to be here. Her expression illuminates that this is just a job, and she can’t wait for her shift to be up.
“What can I get you?” That to Emric as she smacks the gum in her mouth and adjusts her black tank top over her abdomen.
It draws my attention to her anatomy, her boobs are a great size, not too much but not lacking either. Her lips are painted red luring me to high cheekbones and dark eyes.
“Coors Light.” She asks Bishop and Mills if they want anything else then takes off before applause and hollers overpower the music throughout the space.
My eyes run over the crowd to find a voluptuous woman in all pink swinging around a stripper pole at one of the smaller stages in the corner. Her bare ass is accompanied by a thong extended over her hips. Porn Star Dancing by My Darkest Days ironically plays overhead on the speakers, and the men engulfing her space are pouring bills all over her area.
She’s hypnotizing, the way her body moves to the music. Her hands cup around her breast, teasing the crowd as she peels back the material to show off her massive breast. The group around her goes wild, getting more people to notice the show.
She appears lost in her actions, making me wonder how she got here. Does she like dancing, or was she in a crappy situation where she was down on her luck?
I can’t judge her, not when I don’t know her story, but I do wish I had her self-esteem. Especially when Emric makes me the most nervous I’ve been my whole life.
I’d rather redo school along with every pop quiz and the driving academy before I’d step within Emric’s path. Just imagining myself here alone and seeing him from afar would set my body on fire and my heart rate on maximum speed.
Not that he’d notice me.
I’d be in the corner, hiding in the shadows to people-watch because that’s where I feel the most comfortable.
“What’s wrong?” My body cringes to the closeness of Emric’s voice in my ear. His minty breath fills my nostrils, and I feel as though my senses shouldn’t be this heightened.
Maybe it’s the fake Shirley Temple that Mills handed me—which is very strong, by the way—or the fact that I’ve been fighting the way my mind argues with my body on how I’m fatally attracted to him.
I stare at a man in the crowd, nothing is special about him other than the fact that he’s my target to keep me from outwardly shuttering and making an idiot out of myself.
I shrug off my nerves. “I’m good.”
“You uncomfortable?” I quickly shake my head. He would be the last person to know that this place is too crowded, too active, too crazy, and too not my scene. “Then why do you look like you want to crawl in the nearest hole and hide until we’re done?”
My nostrils flare, and I straighten my spine to face him.
When I glance up, he’s right there. That Oakland Raiders cap covering most of his features from the absence of light that can’t get to them, but I’ve already memorized each one.
What I can see perfectly are his lips, imagining them again on mine when my life hung in the balance of his hands. That orange bucket that I clung to so I could pull my head out of the cold water he kept shoving me into.
Warm fingers brush the skin where the corners of my lips met. “Where did you run off to in that head of yours?”
My brows furrow a bit, staring at my tormentor with a mixture of rage and forgiveness. I’m not sure where the latter is coming from because I shouldn’t be in that wheelhouse yet.
It’s too soon.
I’m still here with three killers, hanging out with them like this is a normal thing.
It’s not.
I shouldn’t be here. I should be in my room with my broken headphones trying to keep my dad’s friend’s voices out of my head. To make sure that the dresser is securely placed in front of my door and that Hollis...
No.
I don’t want to be there anymore.
If there is one thing that I can’t shake towards Emric is that I’m somewhat grateful. His intentions of hauling me out of my home weren’t honorable, but they were some sort of a blessing in disguise. My father is safe, alive. He won’t be touched by Emric, Bishop, or Mills anymore. Whatever happens to Hollis is up to the boys, and I won’t feel guilty in not caring. As long as he never graces me with his presence again.
“Fucking yes,” Mills beams next to me, snapping my brain to the reality of where I am.
I crane my neck, prying out of Emric’s fingers and find a blonde in a sexy schoolgirl outfit and white pumps that would add a foot to my height. She’s feeding off Mills’ energy, already in his personal space as she bends over to say something in his ear.
The shortness of her skirt displays her butt and black lacy panties underneath. It
also exhibits that she’s not as curvy as the girls I’ve seen here, probably having to work harder to make money.
She twirls on her heels, touching her toes to give Mills a full view then proceeds to sit in his lap. When she brushes her hair to the side, our eyes meet, and they both widen in surprise.
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, resting her hand on her chest. “Stormi?”
Oh crap.
“Hey...” I can’t remember her name right now for the life of me, but we went to high school together. We shared a few classes, ate lunch through mutual friends, but other than that, her and I were acquaintances."
“It’s Claire.” She points to herself, then giggles. “Wow, what are you doing here?”
“Hanging out with her boyfriends,” Mills fills in for her, lips hoisting in a mischievous grin. He rests an arm on the headrest of the couch and flicks his gaze down Claire’s body.
“Boyfriends?” she repeats with wider eyes. “Damn, Storm, how did you get so lucky?”
“I...” Didn’t. Did. It’s complicated.
“She literally had us busting the hinges off her front door just so we could get our hands on her,” Mills continues to add in.
I glance at Bishop for help, but he’s too busy overlooking the place. Then there’s Emric, but I’d rather not get knocked out of my serene phase right now.
“Damn,” Claire quips, promptly standing from Mills’ lap. “Then I shouldn’t be grinding on your man then.” I grin at how Mills’ face falls due to his own big mouth.
“It’s alright,” I consent. “I came to take them out for a good time.” Bishop lifts a brow, and Emric scoffs at my side. “You know what, you came at the perfect time.”
“I did?” Claire asks.
I cross my legs. “Absolutely. My man–” I point at Bishop. “—has been having a really rough week at work and could use the outlet.” I give her an innocent and genuine smile. “Would you mind?”
Claire peers over at said man who is glowering in my direction.
Serves him right for being an asshole all night. And, hey, I might not be wrong.
However, his menacing stare isn’t very inviting, but this “Shirley Temple” is making me withstand it with zero problem.
“Are you sure?” Claire’s voice sounds more timid and not as confident anymore as she pulls her face back to mine.
Too bad Bishop isn’t going to get to play broody I-hate-people tonight.
“Positive,” I deadpan.
“Stormi,” Emric warns next to me, more than likely wanting me to leave his buddy alone.
But we all don’t get what we want in this life and I sure as heck didn’t have an option to leave without them.
“Don’t worry, lover,” I quip, patting his thigh lightly but keeping my eyes averted. “I’ll make sure you get a turn.”
Claire holds out a hand for me. “C’mon. You can help me not get melted to the ground by your other man’s stare.”
I begin to rise from my spot, but Emric’s hand grips the back of my tee and hauls me back down.
He readjusts his body so that he’s close to my face as his palm gently cups my chin.
“If you grind on Bishop’s dick,” he leers, keeping his face complacent while his thumb brushes my flesh. “I’m going to go back to torturing you, sweetheart. Understand me?”
I nod because I understand.
But not because I’m necessarily going to listen.
My weak threat towards Stormi had her bouncing out of her seat quicker than I’ve ever seen her move. It was as though I never uttered the words as she stood next to her friend, and they whispered something to each other.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like how Claire just put her hand on Stormi’s hip, more than likely encouraging and about to get her ass in trouble with me.
One of the most dangerous conversations in the world are two females together. They’re diabolical and as ruthless as men because they can be pettier than we could ever dream of being.
And if Mills keeps encouraging Stormi to shake her ass and grind on this Claire chick, I’m going to pummel him until his head caves in.
As if on cue, he slides over to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. As if Stormi finally taking center stage in anything for his viewing pleasure is the best thing since condoms and sliced bread.
“Quit staring at her like you’re casting a spell to burn her alive,” Mills chimes in next to me. “She’s just having fun.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I retort. “You wanting her to dance for you is ‘fun’, Mills?”
“More for all of us,” he replies off a sigh, kicking his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “What do you think is going to happen? Chill out.”
“You getting a hard dick. And speaking of, get the fuck away from me.” My so-called buddy—and I used that term very loosely—chuckles.
“Don’t worry, bruh, you’re a boner killer.”
I watch both girls stand next to each other, facing Bishop like they are about to go to war with him or something. I can’t see him, they’re blocking my view, but I can only imagine his face.
It’s probably shooting lightning bolts and daggers right now.
A new song plays, and Claire begins to take off, hips swaying and arms raised in the air.
Stormi though, she’s in a stare-off with Bishop.
I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to do, but she’s not going to sway him to do a damn thing he doesn’t want to do. And I’m sure Claire rubbing up on him isn’t his idea of fun right now either.
Not that she isn’t cute, but Bishop never veered towards blondes—thank fuck—and he likes girls with meat on their bones. Claire looks like she should start a Go Fund Me for a McDonald’s gift card to gain a few pounds. I already have to beat Mills off with a stick to fuck off, I don’t need to pull a gun out to warn Bishop to keep his hands to himself.
“Go check Bish,” I tell the moron next to me before a real weapon is pulled out from Bishop’s holster and causes a commotion of panic.
Thankfully, Mills doesn’t argue, knowing that Bishop isn’t afraid to throw caution to the wind and goes to cuddle up with him. Bishop’s arm extends, shoving him away, and Mills chuckles then pats his lap.
Oh, hell fucking no.
Stormi doesn’t see him because the waitress comes back with another drink for Stormi and she downs the fucker in one swallow.
I’m not her guardian, she’s grown and can do what she wants to do.
Except my brain doesn’t make it down to my fists that are now clutched at my sides or my jaw that is about to shatter if I grind it one more time.
Claire somehow is able to put both of her knees on either side of Bishop’s body without there being any ruckus started. Her hips swirl over his lap provocatively, while Mills’ eyes are locked on Stormi.
He makes no move to sway her again in any direction or cause. But when her fingers skim the hem of her t-shirt and slowly lifts, I’m about to fly off this couch.
She inches closer to him, her hips doing the same thing Claire is doing, but she bounces on the tips of her toes as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
As though I nor my idol threat exists anymore.
And I shouldn’t.
We should be done and over by now. I should’ve done what Bishop mentioned and let her go because I wasn’t getting paid for keeping her safe. The only thing I received was her arguing with me, my dick getting hard when she was just herself and me getting irritated in moments like this.
It’s karma in a way.
She won’t end up with me, I already know and have repeated this in my head thousands of times. So seeing her with someone else that isn’t me, is the reality of the situation. And my payback is that I get front row seats for the shit.
Problem is, it’s Mills.
I see this sick fuck practically everyday of my life. And I refuse to deal with him trying to get down her pants to where I get to remember tha
t he had.
Why, because he’s gentler than me?
Because he attempted to help her when I wouldn’t and just wanted to hurt her every chance I got. In a way, they both betrayed me or so I thought. Then the truth pelted me in the head along with my sister’s hand.
Stormi wasn’t guilty of anything, but Mills was because he didn’t know she wasn’t. He was feeding and showing compassion to someone that I thought planned to murder my sister.
Stop, it’s his nature, and you’re trying to pick a fucking fight.
The saying “ don’t get your panties in a bunch”, I’m starting to understand it. It’s annoyingly accurate and something I never thought I’d ever berate myself for.
The skin of Stormi’s back illuminates the red lights of this shithole, and I know her stomach is on full display for Mills. I’m aware that he’s probably in heaven right now. That he may have had his own fantasies about Stormi in his dreams, with a bottle of lube or just when he saw her, made him hard.
I’m not happy with either of those.
In fact, I’m thinking about planning an accident for him if I were to find out that his eye-fucking her goes further than that.
Stormi suddenly pulls her long hair out of her ponytail and lets it cascade down her back and shoulders. Raking her fingers through it, she begins to lower her body as her hips pendulate back and forth in a hypnotic motion.
I can’t pull my attention from her, she’s all I ever see, and it makes me uncomfortable. It’s becoming some sort of addiction. A thing I can’t knock off with a few hits of hash and a beer, submerging herself into my skin, and it’s not a safe place for her to be.
Mills’ eyes catch mine, but there’s no cocky smirk or edge to his expression that’s jabbing. No, it’s fucking worse.
He’s turned on.
It only proceeds to go downhill when Stormi pivots on her heels to face me, giving Mills a perfect view of her ass. It keeps going as she backs up for him to be able to put his hands on her. And when she sits in his laps, her blue eyes latch on to mine.
My back hits the couch, watching her next move, and expecting her to pry her focus from me.
