by Mia Knight
“There’s nothing worse than a woman’s tears.”
“I’m sorry.” She shouldn’t be apologizing since it defused him. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“I do. Did you tell that fuck you love him?”
She stiffened. “I don’t love him.”
“Women don’t cry like that for men they don’t love.”
“I’m just having a bad week,” she said hoarsely.
“When you’re over your bad week, we’ll fuck each other’s brains out. You’re not into it tonight, so I’m going to work. You done with the crying jag?”
“Yeah.”
He rolled away and disappeared into the bathroom. She took in his beautiful body before it disappeared. Crisis averted by tears. Who knew that would work on Angel Roman? She took a deep breath and scooted to the edge of the bed. She stuffed her boobs back into her dress and then pulled the short skirt down. Her thong was ruined and no longer wearable. The necklace sparkled in the midst of rumpled bedsheets. She hesitated before she grabbed it.
He came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of jeans and a white tee. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
He tipped his head to the side as he surveyed her. “I haven’t known you long, but I like what I see. If Fletcher isn’t giving you what you need, don’t waste your time.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue anymore.” The look on Marcus’ face when he told her to leave was burned into her mind.
They left the bedroom and started downstairs. Mickey was waiting for them. She could only imagine what she looked like since he sent Angel a murderous glance. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she instinctively looked back at the living area, but Angel grabbed her arm and escorted her through the entrance hall. She glanced at her reflection and saw that she had mascara smeared over her right eye and her eyeshadow was completely gone. She looked pathetic and lost.
He walked her to her car and opened the door. She stared at him, unsure how to feel over what happened.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to keep entertaining.”
“But he’s dead.”
“I have some friends in the basement.”
She shuddered. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
She went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He cupped her nape. “I can still taste you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.
He searched her face. “You can still change your mind.”
“I need to get my head straight.”
He smoothed his hand over her back. “You could be my one. You know that, right?”
She wanted to deny it, but she wasn’t into lying to herself. “We would make each other crazy.”
A spark of humor lit his grim eyes. “That’s how life is supposed to be, right?”
They were two halves of the same puzzle piece, which wouldn’t make a whole. She needed a yin to her yang, and although he might be a fun alternative, Angel Roman wasn’t it.
“We would make each other miserable,” she predicted and gave him a hug. “But thanks.”
He slapped her ass as she got into the car and leaned into her window when she rolled it down. “Call me if you’re feeling suicidal or want to fuck, yeah?”
She shoved his face out of her car and drove off the property with Mickey on her tail. She wasn’t going back to Marcus’s house. She wasn’t in the mood to be berated, and she was too fragile right now for a knock-down, drag-out fight. She needed time to rebuild her walls. Maybe she wasn’t ready for a full-on fuck, but she still needed to be around her type of people.
25
She parked in the back lot of the Red Diamond.
“What the hell is going on?” Mickey demanded as he materialized at her side.
“Girl stuff,” she said as she tucked the necklace and her clutch in the glove compartment.
“Maybe I should call for reinforcements,” Mickey said as he pulled out his phone. “Marcus is calling.”
She slapped the phone out of his hand. “Don’t you dare answer that!” She stooped to pick it up before he could and turned it off. “I just need some time. No big deal.”
“No big deal,” he repeated slowly. “We’re at a strip club.”
“Gentlemen’s club,” she corrected automatically and tossed his phone in the car before she locked it.
“You slept with Angel.”
“I tried, but it didn’t work so…” She knocked on the back door, which Phil opened promptly. “I need my girls.”
Mickey hesitated on the threshold, but she dragged him in with her. A group of women in different states of dress chatted idly, but when they caught sight of her, they rushed to her. She was suddenly surrounded by bare breasts, big hair, and perfumed skin.
“What’s up, chickie?” Mercedes, the woman she shared a kiss with on stage, slapped her ass in welcome.
“Boy problems.”
“Well, you came to the right place. Have a seat.” Cherry Bomb settled her on a seat in front of the vanity and scrubbed her face with a makeup wipe. “I’m going to make you look like a million dollars, and then we’ll dance.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“We’ll get you in the mood. I heard when you were on stage a couple of month’s back, the tips were insane.”
“They were,” Mercedes confirmed. “She’s still got it.”
A petite blonde with large eyes bustled forward. She got the nickname Baby Doll from the customers. It suited her, especially since she had the bubbly personality of a child.
“Hey, Carmen! You want to double team a pole?”
“We’ll see, Baby Doll,” she said and cupped one of her bulging breasts. “You went bigger?”
Baby Doll beamed in her iridescent bikini. “Yup! And I got my nipples pierced. I swear, my tips doubled. Good thing too since my husband left. I have to take care of the kids on my own now.”
“You have two?”
“Four. I had twins on the last go.”
“Damn, girl.”
“I know, but I’m making it work. Now, tell me about this asshole.”
She let them fuss over her while Mickey stood in the corner. He should have been ecstatic to be in the dressing room, but he looked tense and worried instead.
The girls decided to give her a goth vibe. One of the girls offered a cheap cross with red rhinestones, which she humbly accepted. Baby Doll slapped a Katy Perry blue wig on her head, and Cherry Bomb took care of her face. When the girls backed off so she could examine the results, she had to admit that her new look matched her dark mood. She had a heavy smoky eye with a dark lip and fake eyelashes that made her baby blues pop.
While the girls went on stage, she slipped into the club with Mickey at her side. It was busy as usual. The lights flashed, and the women danced as if their lives depended on it. Scantily dressed servers carried food on sizzling platters. Smoke, liquor, and lust permeated the air.
She found an empty table. A server fetched drinks while Mickey stood guard and cock-blocked anyone who tried to approach her. The server brought her a dirty martini and Mickey a bottle of water. She yanked Mickey down beside her since he was blocking her view.
She watched Cherry Bomb, Mercedes, and the others lay it all on the stage. They were on fire tonight. It seemed like a year ago that she writhed on stage without a care in the world. She hoped just walking into the club would perk her up, but it wasn’t working. She ordered another martini.
“What happened tonight?” Mickey asked.
“A reality check.”
“Marcus gave me your clutch and told me to get you home.”
“Fuck Marcus.” She watched a man lick Cherry Bomb’s feet. “Know your place,” she muttered in disgust.
She should have broken Khalid’s nose. At least he would bear her mark for a while and be embarrassed when people asked him what happe
ned. Beat up by a whore. Ha! She had to be satisfied with the fact that he would waddle around for a couple of hours while his balls recovered from her hit. Served him right. She hoped every woman he propositioned gave him what he deserved. Marcus didn’t realize how much grief she saved him. If Khalid talked to all women like that and he was connected to Pyre Casinos, women would flip. She entertained herself by imagining Janice’s reaction to a prick like Khalid.
I like things the way they are. She shifted uncomfortably as an invisible hand used her heart as a stress ball. She thought a good guy wouldn’t hurt her. Wrong. So fucking wrong. She’d never been on the receiving end of the “let’s just be friends” line. She thought they had something special, but he didn’t feel the same… and that stung. Maybe she was just a piece of ass to him. So why the necklace? What kind of man bought a gift like that for a booty call? He gave her mixed signals, but what came out of his mouth was the real deal. He didn’t want to be in a relationship. He wanted to work till he died and never venture out of the desert. Fine.
Would he ask her to get out of the house? She should go on that trip to the beach. Why not? She glanced at her watch. It was midnight. She would arrive in the wee hours of the morning and watch the moonlight reflect off the ocean.
The hard stare from a man sitting several rows in front ruined her fantasy. He was turned in his seat and leering at her. She raised a brow. His eyes flicked to Mickey, and he rose. She tensed and was about to nudge Mickey, but the man walked out of the club. She shouldn’t have left her gun in the car…
“I need to go to the restroom.” When Mickey rose to accompany her, she put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s never a line for the women’s bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
After she did her business, she glanced in the mirror. She was really feeling this goth look with the electric blue hair. Maybe that should be her next hair color. She went red after Marcus because he made her feel vibrant and alive. Now who was she going to remake herself into? What would be her next transformation?
She exited the bathroom and heard a faint scream that was quickly cut off. For a moment, she wondered if she was hearing things, but the faint echo of men’s raucous laughter sent a chill down her spine. She turned in the opposite direction of the club, walked down a dimly hallway, and turned the corner. In front of the janitor’s closet was a group of men. She could only see their backs because they were all watching something. Her skin prickled. She shoved her way through the crowd and was stopped by two men, but not before she saw what held their attention.
Baby Doll was on her knees, being brutally mouth fucked by a man in a suit. Carmen registered that the man looked vaguely familiar before she lunged. The men holding her laughed and hauled her back. The rapist noticed the commotion and smiled at her.
“Carmen Pyre. Of course.” He shoved balls deep in Baby Doll’s mouth. She slapped his thighs in protest as she gagged. “Come to join the party?”
It was one of George Wotherton’s sick sons-in-law. She thought of screaming, but there was no way anyone would hear over the pulsing music. Baby Doll choked, and her vision went red. The fucker pulled out, and Baby Doll puked on herself.
Carmen slammed her stiletto down. The man on her left screeched and released her arm. She turned to the other man and slammed her fist into his ear with as much force as she could. He howled and staggered back. Another man grabbed her shoulder. She grabbed his thumb and wrenched his wrist, so he folded in the perfect position for her to knee him in the face. He fell on his back, revealing a gun on his belt. She grabbed it and turned on the remaining men who put their hands up. There were no smiles or manly chuckles now.
She turned on Wotherton’s son-in-law who still had his dick out. Baby Doll curled up in a ball at his feet. He stood over like a hunter would over a kill, proud and cocky.
“What are you going to do with that?” he taunted.
She shot him in the leg. He dropped, and one of his men lunged for her, she turned the gun on him.
“Back off!” she snapped.
“Are you fucking crazy?” The rapist sounded astounded. “Don’t you know who I am?”
She stomped over to him and kicked him in the thigh over his wound. He screamed and curled into a ball.
“I am so fucking sick of you men telling me who you are!”
She kicked him in the middle of his back. He recoiled and tried to grab her foot. She pinned his hand and ground her stiletto into his fleshy palm. He screamed and tried to dislodge her, but she wasn’t having it. She put all her weight on his hand as she crouched over him.
“Do you know who I am?” she whispered, voice hoarse with rage. “I’m Carmen motherfucking Pyre. You think you’re the only one with money and connections, bitch? Unlike you, I don’t prey on the weak. I try to help people in my city. People like you should be annihilated like the weak pieces of shit that you are.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and pointed the gun in that direction. The man immediately froze.
“You’re making a mistake,” the rapist wheezed.
“I don’t think so. I’d kill your worthless father-in-law if I had the chance,” she said through clenched teeth.
“When I tell Roman about this, he’ll kill you!”
“I don’t think so.”
“You may be his new fuck toy, but Roman can’t afford to lose allies. He’s drowning in enemies. Besides, you’re just Pyre’s leftovers.”
She placed the gun on his limp penis and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes bulge. “How long do you think you’ll survive if I blow your dick off?”
“He’ll bleed out from his thigh wound first.”
The placid tone cut through her rage. She swung her head around. Behind the rapist’s men was a well-dressed hulk leaning against the wall. He stood mostly in the shadow so she couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t been there when she arrived.
“Blowing his dick off would be like cutting off an ear or finger. Painful, but he’ll survive,” the stranger continued casually.
His mild tone knocked some sense into her. She was about to commit murder in a public place in front of witnesses. She wasn’t Angel, who could kill and get away with it. She tried to rein in her wrath and glanced at Baby Doll who huddled in the corner, her eyes flicking from Carmen to her rapist, to the watching crowd.
“Call the cops,” she said hoarsely.
“What for?” the man in the shadows asked.
“H-he was—” She couldn’t think past the haze. “Just do it! Call the cops.”
“Please don’t,” Baby Doll whispered as she used her soiled bikini top to mop up her face.
“Why?”
“I don’t need any trouble. I just want to go home.”
“Baby Doll, if you don’t press charges—”
“I don’t want to. I want to go home.” Baby Doll’s eyes welled up with tears. “I want my babies.”
She turned back to the asshole who thought he got away with this. He didn’t see the blow coming. She used the butt of the gun and swung with all her might, catching him on the temple. He slumped to the ground.
“That could kill him,” observed the man in the shadows.
“I’ll take my fucking chances.” She tried to help Baby Doll to her feet, but the woman backed away as if she were contaminated.
“I’m fine,” Baby Doll whispered.
She held up the gun so the men would part to let Baby Doll pass, leaving her with George Wotherton’s unconscious son-in-law and a handful of witnesses.
“Get him the fuck out of here. If I see any of you in here again, I’ll consider it a challenge to find a creative way to end you,” she said.
The men glanced at each other before they edged forward. They picked up their wounded leader and retreated. She leaned against the wall as the trembling began.
“You move very well.”
She tightened her hold on the gun as the stranger spoke. She hadn’t realized he was still here. “What?”
She tensed. “How much did you see?”
“Most of it. You’re quite impressive.”
“You watched? Why didn’t you help?” she demanded.
“Looks like you had it in hand.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did.”
“Show’s over. You can run along now.” So she could collapse. God, men fucking sucked. Baby Doll was so sweet. She didn’t deserve that. She needed to talk to Kiki, make sure the girls weren’t left alone when they were on the floor. Maybe they needed a guard over here…
“Do you take jujitsu?”
She turned her head to stare at the stranger. “Seriously?”
“I can’t help but be curious. That was some bloodthirsty rage you dished out.”
“He was forcing her.”
“And you’re a trained bodyguard?”
She let out a rusty laugh. After being put in her place by Marcus and almost screwing Angel, this was the icing on the cake. Beating the hell out of that fucking asshole felt good, but it wasn’t enough. If this stranger hadn’t said anything, she would have pulled the trigger. Wotherton’s son-in-law would have been her third kill in less than four months. She was on a slippery slope…
“I’m from out of town. I heard this was the best place for action in the city. I don’t think I dressed right for this establishment.”
The stranger stepped into the light. She pegged him as a middle-aged businessman. He wore a black pinstriped suit with his hair slicked back and a neatly trimmed beard.
“You’re overdressed,” she agreed.
He shifted in his suit as if it was too tight even though it fit him perfectly. “Some acquaintances of mine dress like this, and I thought I’d give it a try. It’s not comfortable.”
“You’re not a businessman?”
“No. I don’t know how they wear this every day.”
“What do you normally wear?”
“Much less.”
“You’re a nudist?” This mundane and slightly bizarre conversation was keeping her from losing her shit.
He threw back his head and laughed. She examined him more closely. He had a slick braid down his back. The beard made him appear older than he was. He was probably in his early or mid-thirties, and when one got past his size, he was quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. He could be a basketball player with his height, but his width made him a better fit for rugby or football. When he wiped his eyes, she noticed his black fingernail polish.
