With a Twist

by Sawyer Bennett

  As I said, I let my mind drift away when I'm on stage, but once... just last night as a matter of fact, I happened to lock eyes with Raze. My blank eyes had passed around the club, vaguely tracking the men waving the money and dutifully bending when appropriate at the edge of the stage so they could slip ones, fives, tens, and sometimes twenties in my garter. My eyes passed right over Raze and for a split moment, kept right on moving. But then a jolt went through me, and I looked back at him.

  He was standing in a corner, leaning one shoulder against the wall, with his arms folded over his chest. He was watching me dance with glittering eyes and a hard line to his jaw. Our gazes melded and held firm, and for several seconds, I was dancing just for him. I saw him suck in a deep lungful of oxygen and hold it while he watched me.

  My skin started tingling, and my nerves hummed. He was across the club, yet I could feel the intensity of his presence as if he were inches away from me.

  It was easy to get lost in that feeling. Get lost in Raze's stare. Or was it Wyatt's stare I was succumbing to, because while he was putting on an act, I knew his true identity. I knew he wasn't a slimy, flesh-peddling scumbag.

  I know he is dedicated and loyal, and if I'm going to go ahead and lay all of his golden attributes at his feet, I might as well admit that he is freakin' gorgeous and sexy as hell, and he makes me long for something that I know I have no damn business longing for.

  I've thought that from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  It was reiterated to me when I had my audition dance. While I played the part for Simon's benefit, and I focused my eyes on him, I couldn't help but pour every ounce of sexiness I possessed into my performance. I did that not for Simon, but for Wyatt.

  Yes, Wyatt.

  Not Raze.

  Wyatt.

  For some compelling reason, I wanted him to be attracted to me. I wanted him to get that raging hard-on I threatened him with. I wanted his eyes to be fevered as they gazed upon me, and I wanted him to succumb to lustful thoughts.

  I did all of that, knowing it was wrong, knowing that it didn't have a damn thing to do with my job, and knowing that it was dangerous to let those feelings flow.

  But I did it anyway.

  And all of those feelings overwhelmed me last night as I held his gaze while I danced, and he watched me from a darkened corner with something other than a law enforcement partner's interest. I felt it straight down to my toes.

  After the dance, I tried to analyze my feelings, and then I thought of David. He was the love of my life... or so I thought, and yet in the almost eighteen months we had been together, I don't ever recall having such an electric connection to him such as I felt when Wyatt was watching me dance. That was fascinating to me, and the mere fact that I don't have a shred of guilt over that connection makes me wonder if I'm beginning to finally accept that David and I are really through.

  Padding down my short, narrow hallway that houses just my room on one side and a small, dingy bathroom on the other, I start pulling off my clothes... micro-stretch denim skirt, off-the-shoulder rayon shirt, slutty red bra. By the time I reach into the shower to turn on the water, I'm ready to shimmy out of the matching, bright red panties and wash the heavy layer of scummy job off my body.

  The water is pleasant and soothing, but I make quick work of it, as the hot water doesn't last more than five minutes. Another ten minutes and my body and face are moisturized and my hair is dried to a sufficient level of dampness that I don't mind going to sleep on. I cross the hall into my bedroom and slip on a pair of cotton pajama shorts and a matching white camisole, then turn toward my bed for some much-needed sleep.

  Just as I reach out to pull back my blanket, I hear a knock at the door. Instantly, I go on high alert, because there shouldn't be anyone at my door. Best-case scenario--it's a neighbor needing a poorly timed cup of sugar; next best--a potential rapist; and worst-case--it's Simon Keyes, who has found out that I am not Nikki O.

  I walk softly toward the front door, pausing at my couch, where I reach under the cushion and pull out my Glock 22 .40 Caliber handgun. A quick pull on the slide to chamber a round, and I have it cocked.

  There's no safety on this gun so I hold it loosely at my side, my forefinger grasping around the stock rather than the trigger. I walk to the door and curse to myself that there's no peephole.

  "Who is it?" I call out.

  "Raze," I hear back, his voice low.

  I reach up and slide the safety chain off, unlock the door, and open it. And God... how can a man be that gorgeous, particularly at 2:45 AM, after spending all day and night in a slimy strip club. His hair is perfectly spiked, his black t-shirt pulled tight over a broad chest, and a darkening of scruff over his jaw and chin.

  "Gonna invite me in?" he asks, and I blink at him stupidly.

  "Andrea?" he prompts, and I blink once more before I give a slight cough and step back from the door.

  "Yeah... of course. Come in."

  He walks past me and I shut the door, relocking it but foregoing the chain. He turns, and his eyes glance down at the gun in my hand. "Good girl," is all he says.

  I give him a nod of my head and then eject the magazine. A quick pull of the slide and the lone round pops free and clatters to the floor. I deftly pick it up, push it back into the top of the magazine, and slide it back home. Now I have a fully loaded gun but without a round in the chamber, that I can safely store back under my seat cushion and not worry about it inadvertently discharging and shooting me in the ass while I watch TV.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask as I turn away from him and walk back to the couch to hide the Glock.

  "Just needed to touch base... fill you in on some things. See how things are going on your end."

  "Should you be here?" I ask him skeptically. "I mean... what if Simon had you followed or something? That would look suspicious."

  Wyatt shrugs his shoulders and walks over to sit in the old recliner, his fingers idly smoothing the patch job over a hole in the armrest that is repaired with duct tape. "Nah... I'd just tell him I was sniffing around you, hoping to get laid."

  I sit down on my couch, feeling the lump of the gun under me, and cock an eyebrow at him. "He doesn't care if you bang the hired help?"

  "Nope," he says candidly. "He sort of expects all the guys to sample. Sort of a perk of the job, so to speak."

  "And have you sampled?" I ask before I can even help myself.

  His eyes appraise me, even raking over my body to take stock of my pajamas. I pull my bare legs up under me, suddenly self-conscious, which is ridiculous. He's seen every inch of my naked body, a thought that causes my face to flame red as I sit here in close proximity to him.

  "Undercover work is hard," he says with a smirk. "We have to do things to maintain that cover. Play a role, so to speak. Sacrifice our principles."

  "And I suppose you're all about the role play?" I ask candidly.

  Wyatt gives a low chuckle and scratches at his chin, his eyes lowering to the floor. When they rise back up, he looks me dead in the eye. "I didn't sample. Didn't sacrifice my principles. Wasn't necessary, as it's not something Simon watches, per se. But if it was required of me to get this job done, I'd sample the entire stock."

  I give him a dim smile, although I'm immensely relieved for some reason that he didn't sleep with any of the other girls. "I get it. This operation is too important. I mean... we've all heard of the undercover cop that has to use drugs to get in good with the drug dealers. It's a necessary evil."

  "Did that evil," Wyatt mutters, and my eyebrows shoot sky high.

  "You did undercover narcotics?"

  He nods with a hard glint in his eye. "For an operation that lasted almost a year. Was in pretty deep but it was a successful bust."

  "Did you have to...?" I start to ask, but then let the words taper off. It's none of my business.

  "Yeah, I did," he says quietly. "There's not anything I wouldn't do to see it through."

  "I'm the same way," I tell hi
m. "There's not anything I won't do now that I'm in to see this through."

  I see something flick through Wyatt's eyes... maybe respect... maybe fear... and he grimaces.

  "Look... that's what I want to talk to you about. You're doing a phenomenal job so far... playing your role perfectly. If we're lucky, things will continue on as is until your sale can be arranged, and you won't have to suffer anything more than baring your body to those douchebags."

  "What do you mean... if we're lucky?"

  Wyatt takes a breath, leans his head back to look at the ceiling, and then lets it out. When his eyes meet mine again, he says, "Simon has your buyer locked down. They're planning on making the exchange next week."

  "Okay," I say carefully. This is good news, but something about his voice causes my skin to break out in chilled goose bumps.

  "Simon told me today that he wants to do a little sampling of his own before the sale," he says, his voice sharp as a knife's blade. "The lap dance you gave him during your audition was just a little too good."

  "Oh," I say, lowering my eyes to my hands, which are clasped in my lap.

  Simon Keyes wants to fuck me. Dismay and disgust course through me. I had imagined something like this could happen, even imagining worst-case scenario that I get sold, our bust gets foiled, and I endure being raped by my captor. But no amount of imagining really prepared me to accept the cold, hard reality of my situation.

  Yet, we are too close to let this all go down the drain. It won't mean anything if I have to do it. I can let my mind drift away as it does while I'm dancing, and I can compartmentalize that horror away from my psyche. I can do this.

  Squaring my shoulders, I raise my gaze back to Wyatt's. "I'll do whatever is necessary so this doesn't go down the drain. You don't have to worry about me holding up my end."

  Wyatt surges up out of his chair and glares down at me. "For fuck's sake, Andrea. You are not fucking Simon Keyes."

  "But we can't get him angry... or suspicious. I have to--"

  "You are not fucking him," Wyatt snarls at me. "We'll figure something out, but I just wanted you to be aware of his thoughts. I don't know if he'll approach you. For all I know, he could have just been spouting off. But I want you to be alert and careful."

  "But--" I try to say, and he cuts me off again.

  "Starting now, I'll cash out your tips first each night so you can hurry up and get the hell out. He normally stays locked up in his office until all of that accounting is over with."

  "But don't you think--?"

  "And you do not open that door for anyone that knocks on it," he rolls right over me, thumbing back at the door over his shoulder. "If I have to see you again, I'll always tell you it's me when I knock. Otherwise, you keep silent and pretend you are not home for anyone that knocks. Understand?"

  "Wyatt, you have to consider--" I try again, but he lunges at me, taking me by my shoulders and leaning his face in close to mine.

  "Just shut the fuck up and say you understand," he commands in a deadly voice that causes a shiver of dread... or is that desire... to race up my spine. "It's not negotiable."

  "Okay," I whisper.

  Wyatt releases his hold on me and starts to turn away, but I make sure to hastily add on, "But if I'm in a situation where I have to make that decision, you have to know I'll do what's best for the operation."

  Spinning back on me, Wyatt starts to say something, but then slams his mouth shut. He glares at me a moment, and I lift my chin higher to him in defiance. His eyes bore into me, trying to cow me into submission.

  I lift my chin higher, and then something shutters over his eyes.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, he says, "Whatever. It's your body... do with it what you will."

  "I'll do what's best for this mission," I reaffirm.

  "I'm sure you will," he says softly before heading toward the door.

  "Is that it?" I ask as I jump off the couch to follow him. "Is there anything else we need to discuss about the sale?"

  His fingers work at my locks, but he says over his shoulder, "I don't have any details on the time and place yet. Once I get that, I'll get with you and we'll have to come up with a fast plan of action. But there is one thing I need you to start doing."

  "What's that?" I say, and my breath catches as he turns to face me. Again, I'm struck with just how beautiful he really is.

  "Start wearing more casual clothes when you come in to work. Not the hooker wear. Jeans, baggy t-shirt, running shoes."

  "Okay, but why?"

  "Because if Simon follows the same pattern, the abduction will happen after you get off duty... at the Club. I'll need you to be wearing clothes where we can conceal a weapon on you. There's nowhere to hide that Glock in those skirts you wear that barely cover your ass."

  "Got it," I say, marveling over his foresight at this point in the game. He's not telling me this to be prepared for an unexpected abduction. No, he'll have notice of when that's going to occur, and I'll have time to be dressed accordingly. He's telling me to start wearing casual clothing now so that it becomes my norm... my habit... and it won't seem out of place later on down the line.

  Wyatt turns away and opens the door. He turns to me after he steps into the hallway. Our eyes lock, and his gaze flits for the barest of moments down to my lips and then back up again. "Lock up. And stay safe, okay?"

  "Okay," I say. "You stay safe too."

  I start to shut the door, but Wyatt's hand shoots out and stops the progression. I look at him in surprise.

  "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?"

  "Okay," I whisper, and then he's gone.

  Chapter 7

  Wyatt

  Almost a week to the day after I went to Andrea's apartment, I push on the handle to the back door from Simon's office and step out into the parking lot behind the club. When the door closes behind me, the music is immediately drowned out and I don't waste any time, because right now... it's a precious commodity.

  Pulling my phone out, I dial Mike Gomez and he answers on the first ring. "Talk," is all he says.

  "It's going down tomorrow night," I tell him while I keep my eye on the back door to make sure no one else comes out. "Simon just left about five minutes ago to iron out the details with the buyer."

  "Where will it go down?" he asks, his voice now on high alert.

  "No clue yet, but I will try to call or text the minute I find out," I tell him.

  Chances of me being able to do that though are nil, and I tell him that as well. While Simon is going to utilize me to help make the transfer, he told me he'd fill me in on the details tomorrow night. This tells me, that while I'm in the circle of trust, I'm really only standing with one foot in and the other foot still hanging out.

  He had just met with Lance and me not fifteen minutes ago in his office and told me that Andrea's buyer had committed. Unbeknownst to me, he was apparently in the club tonight and watched her dance, liked what he saw... very much, according to Simon... and made a tentative offer.

  Lance and I were told to make arrangements to get her into Simon's office tomorrow night after she gets off duty, and then the only other thing I was made privy to was that I would go along with them to make the transfer. Simon was nervous about drugging her, especially after what happened with Carla, and I suggested maybe something a little less dangerous. A small dose of Ecstasy to make her compliant and to take away her inhibitions.

  He thought it was a brilliant idea, and he clapped me on the back like a proud father.

  My adrenaline spiked with the knowledge that this bust was very close to going down. It also spiked with fear for Andrea's safety, and my mind started whirring, trying to come up with some type of game plane. But unfortunately, we were going in blind and I figured we'd be winging much of this.

  One other emotion coursed through me, and it took me by surprise.

  I was immensely relieved when Simon said that he was leaving to meet with the buyer in a quieter place where they co
uld continue negotiations on the price and maybe have a celebratory drink. That meant that I didn't have to worry about Simon trying to fuck Andrea.

  While he had made mention of it last week, and part of it was done in a cocky, egotistical manner as he, Lance, and I sat around after the club closed--shooting the shit--I decided I was going to take him seriously over his interest in Andrea. While she made it clear she would do whatever was necessary not to screw up this operation, I was going to move heaven and earth so she wouldn't have to sacrifice her body... probably her soul... in that manner.

  True to my word, I cashed Andrea out first every night since our talk, getting her out of the club as quickly as possible before Simon could come out of his office to make a move on her. And now that Simon was gone from the club this evening and wouldn't return tonight, it meant that she was safe from his clutches again. Temporarily, of course, because tomorrow night the stakes were going to be astronomically high and she'd be in more danger than ever before.

  Still, I welcomed the relief that Simon wouldn't know her body.

  A body that I have been constantly obsessing about... fantasizing about.

  It's absolute fucking torture watching her on the stage, night after night... her skin glowing, her body undulating, completely fucking naked and moving so provocatively. It causes me to have to go home each night and jack off my frustration.

  I have never in my entire career been attracted to another fellow law enforcement officer. Not that there haven't been some beautiful women that I've worked with, but I've never chosen to look at them as anything more than an extension of myself.

  But Andrea's different. While she's playing her role to perfection, it doesn't mean that elements of her true personality don't shine through at times. It may be in the way that she gives a soft smile to one of the few patrons that actually treat the women with respect, or the way that she jokes around with some of the bouncers. Sometimes, it's even in the way that I watch her on stage, and she's entrancing every man with her eroticism, yet I can tell by the look on her face that she's far away in a safe place. I admire the way that she can compartmentalize, and that shows me a lot about her moral fiber and her dedication to the job.