She looks at me. “Craig.”
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” I say.
“Sorry—traffic. It won’t happen again.”
“Go get ready,” I say, and check her name off the dance list. We don’t allow more than thirty-five dancers a night on the floor. And there’s always a waiting list, girls who want to pick up an extra shift. Unless a dancer calls in, if she’s over a half hour late, she loses her spot for the night.
Twenty minutes later, Marisela emerges from the dressing room wearing a red minidress that zips up the front and black heels. Her hair is in pigtails. I’m standing behind the bar with Glenda as Marisela walks by on her way to the DJ booth.
“You’ve got it bad,” Glenda observes.
I shake my head. “What makes you say that?”
“Need a mirror?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You should see your face, not to mention the fact you can’t keep your eyes off her.”
“Shut up.”
She laughs. “Why don’t you go to the DJ booth, get down on your knees, and swear off women for the rest of your pathetic life?”
Heat rises in my face. Sometimes I want to smack Glenda. “I’m not in love with her.”
“Then what consequences are you so worried about?” She peers at my face. “You still love Robyn?”
I give her a tight smile. Loving Robyn was easy. Getting over her was hard. But for over a year I’ve considered her nothing more than a little sister. I force those dark thoughts away. They call it the past for a reason. Marisela is all I can think about now. Her smile. Those eyes. Her tats. That little body. Her goddamn temper. “No,” I say firmly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I keep hoping you’ll find someone to love.”
That’s a tall order, considering I’ve never dated someone for longer than four months. I glance over my shoulder at the main stage. Two cowboys are squaring off. “Be back,” I say and head for the commotion.
I immediately insert myself between them. “What’s going on, guys?”
The larger of the two is easily three hundred pounds plus. He tips his head back and stares at me. “He swiped my money off the stage.”
I turn to the scrawny customer. “Did you?”
“No.” He’s a defiant little fucker. His eyes are glossy and bloodshot. He’s drunk.
Meredith is onstage. I signal for her to come over. “Did you see anything, darlin’?” I ask.
She nods. “That little asshole keeps switching seats and stealing tips.”
I look at the big cowboy. “How much did he take?”
“Twenty dollars.”
I believe him. I turn to the thief. “Empty your pockets.” He leans forward and raises his hand. I grab it and twist it behind his back. I bend him over the edge of the stage. “Are you going to cooperate or do you want me to turn you upside down and shake your pockets empty?” He kicks his feet and I bend his wrist back a little. A basic pressure-point control tactic. His body goes slack. “Ready to listen?”
He nods vigorously and I let go. He staggers, but doesn’t fall.
“Turn your pockets inside out,” I command.
He does the left first. Empty. There’s a wad of ones and fives in his other pocket. And a twenty. There’s over a hundred dollars. I grab fifty. I offer the twenty to the big guy and give thirty dollars to Meredith. She smiles and starts to dance again.
“Let’s go.” I motion for him to follow me. Surprisingly, he takes a swing. I duck. I grab his earlobe and give it a twist. He howls. I don’t care if he screams. I drag him to the front door, kick it open, and pull him outside. I release him and he drops on his ass. “Don’t let me see you back here for a while, understand? Stay here—I’ll call you a cab.” He’s too drunk to move. Asshole. I go back inside. Mama Beth is at the hostess booth. “Call Yellow Cab.” She nods. When I turn, Marisela is standing next to me.
“Are you okay?” She appears genuinely concerned.
I straighten my collar. “Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.”
She stares at me, unblinking. I’m not sure what’s going on inside her head, but I’d give a small fortune to find out. “Is it like this all the time?”
Should I tell the truth? There are half a dozen altercations a night. At least two serious fights a week. That’s what you get when you mix alcohol, testosterone, and tits together. Not to mention fights in the dressing room. “Not really,” I lie. I wait to see the relief on her face, but she just stands there.
“Marisela, stand by…” The DJ breaks the spell.
“Ready?” I ask.
She folds her hands on her stomach. “Sure.”
Two minutes later, “Love & Meth” by Korn comes on. Marisela gets onstage. The DJ turns on the strobe lights and taps the smoke machine. As the mist clears, I’m shocked to see her emerge with a long bullwhip. She cracks it. The customers applaud. She cracks it again. I’m beyond intrigued. A tipper stands and she kneels in front of him, looping the lash around his neck. She uses it for leverage to arch back. Her hips pump air. She surges up, lets go of the whip, and unzips her dress halfway. Her breasts pop out. She squeezes them together and bites one of her barbells. Where in the hell did that little girl learn to do that?
I walk farther inside so I can get a better view. She retrieves her strap and moves downstage to another waiting customer. She folds her whip in half, bends him over the stage, and whacks his ass three times. The customers sitting nearby scream and clap. She lets the guy up and I watch, amused, as he digs inside his pocket and pulls out more money. This time he voluntarily hunches. She strikes again. Over and over.
The second song begins. It’s a classic—“This Love” by Pantera. Angry fuck-you music. I know the lyrics all too well. Just like I know the intended target of the song: me. The stage lights dim. She drops her prop, faces me, and rips her dress off. She swings her long hair wildly, then gives me a sultry look before she turns around to entertain her fans. Wow. Now I know for certain she’s nowhere near over me. I smile. A little disturbed by her violence, and equally turned on. I have a perfect outlet for that angst. In my bedroom.
I walk to the bar. Glenda throws me a look.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Why not?” she asks. “That girl is screaming at you and you don’t even know it.”
“Just give me my first drink of the night.” Bartenders, waitresses, bouncers, and managers get three comp drinks. Dancers and DJs are free to drink as long as they don’t get sloppy drunk. Glenda gives me a shot of tequila instead of my regular rum and Coke. I raise an eyebrow. “This isn’t what I like.”
“I think you need a little hair of the dog.”
“I’m not hungover.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
I look back at the stage. Maybe I am. That’s the best description yet. The front door opens and Elias, our lot attendant, waves at the DJ booth. Shit. Cops. I run for the booth. Dave flips the blue light on.
“The blue coats are here,” he announces as he turns down the music.
I get to the front stage and warn Marisela to mellow out. She heads for the pole. As I get to the bar, the front door swings open and five Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission officers stalk inside. They wear their department windbreakers like war medals. I know several of them personally from my days on the Corpus Christi police force. Alexander Dubose is the senior agent on duty tonight. He heads straight for me.
“Alex.”
“Craig.”
We shake hands for appearances only. Once a cop, always a cop. That’s the general idea. Even if you’re caught getting a blow job in your squad car. “What’s up tonight?” I ask.
“Making rounds.” He motions to his team.
I watch as they invade the club, moving table to table with their flashlights on, shining them in people’s eyes.
“Not very constitutional,” I comment.
“Got any better ideas to keep drunks off the road?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Try field sobriety te
sts outside.”
He slants his head. “Changed sides already? Why don’t you reapply to the academy? I’ll put in a good word for you. It’s been long enough. We all make mistakes.”
I’ve considered it before, but facing the scrutiny of the oral review board again doesn’t appeal to me. Or being forced to explain my departmental violation of moral turpitude. Although getting my badge back does interest me. I was a good cop. “I’ll think about it.” I scan the main floor. Two TABC officers have six of my dancers lined up near the catwalk, Marisela included. “Come on, Alex, that’s bullshit. It’s not even legal.” I leave him standing alone and head for the stage.
“Social security number?” the female officer asks Cinnamon.
Marisela’s eyes are as big as saucers. I give her a reassuring look. “Listen,” I address the agent. “At least take it to the dressing room.”
She stares at me. “Officer Hanson—remember me?”
I don’t. Blond hair—brown eyes—big hips. Fairly attractive for an agent. Holy shit. Anastasia Bullock. We went through academy together four years ago. We also fucked a few times in the women’s locker room. “Ana?”
“Yeah,” she says dryly. “Why should I do anything for you?”
I smile. “Don’t do it for me, baby,” I answer sardonically. “Do it for you.”
Her eyebrows arch. “What?”
“This isn’t departmental procedure—it’s harassment. One phone call will get you a one-on-one with your sergeant. Elections for the city council are right around the corner—trying to make a point?”
She snorts, then gazes at the girls. “In the back,” she orders.
I catch Marisela by the arm. “I’m right behind you, darlin’. You don’t have to give them any information. Understand?”
She nods and walks away.
I sit down at a table in the dressing room while Ana examines each dancer’s identification. When she gets to Marisela, she starts questioning her about her motorcycle endorsement.
“Did you complete an MSB-8 course approved by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation?”
I’m getting pissed. I stand. “Come on, Ana. She’s new. This is her first night.”
Ana stares at her, then nods. “All right.” She gives Marisela her license back. “You can go.”
I sigh. Marisela mouths thank you as she walks by. She leaves the dressing room.
A minute later, Ana hands me her business card. “My cell number is on the back.”
I grin. Another one. Thank God Marisela isn’t here to see this. “Not married yet?”
“Engaged,” she replies. “But that never stopped us before.”
“You were single during academy,” I remind her. I don’t want to think about it.
“I wasn’t.”
“What?” That’s news to me.
“Separated.” She runs her fingers through her bobbed hair. “After he found out about us, we divorced.”
I fight the urge to look away. Rule number one: never come between married couples. Never. She lied. Rule two: if a woman isn’t honest—run. “I don’t mean to be rude, Officer Bullock, but I need to get back out on the floor.” I drop her card on the nearest table and walk away.
Someday my past is going to bite me in the ass. Hell, it’s going to swallow me. That was a close one. I spot Marisela by the DJ booth. She looks rattled. She’s had an eventful first night. I join her.
“Okay, baby?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You were a cop?”
I stare at the floor. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
I feel the icy fingers of my past slowly strangling the life out of me. I look her directly in the eyes. “Three years ago I submitted my resignation after getting busted for having sex while I was on duty.”
“With who?”
“A girl I met on a domestic abuse call.” I swallow, waiting for her to punch me in the face or scream.
Instead, she laughs nervously. Then she levels her gaze at me. “That’s extremely disappointing.” She walks away.
Strike two, asshole, I say to myself. I’m starting to think I’ll never get another chance with her.
Chapter 10
It’s Saturday morning. I survived my first week at the Devil’s Den. I made $1,800 in three shifts and managed to avoid Craig as much as possible. Even the girls backed off after they heard how I blew him off. I’m sure Macey had something to do with it, too. She’s a force to be reckoned with in that place. I pad downstairs, hoping to make a cup of tea before Robyn and Garrick get up. I jump when Robyn surprises me in the hallway.
“Grab a quick bite,” she says. “We’re driving to Odem.”
“No. I’m. Not.”
“Yes, you are.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
I’ve managed to evade a phone call until now. What makes her think I’m ready to see our parents in person? “I’m truly sorry, Robyn. I know you’re a peacemaker. And I love you for it. I do. Trust me when I say there’s nothing constructive or positive for me to share with Mom or Dad right now. I’ll let you know when it feels right.”
“I already called them.”
I watch her fidget with the buttons on her pink cardigan. “Good,” I say. “You saved me the trouble.” I open the cabinet next to the sink and rifle through several different flavors of herbal tea. “Don’t you have anything with caffeine?”
“God, you’re good at avoiding the subject.” She nudges me out of the way, reaches inside, and pulls out a box of Earl Grey. She drops the package on the counter. “They know you’re back. You owe them that much. Mom paid your tuition and room and board for a year, Marisela. And the car and guitar…What about the private music lessons? And the gym membership? And…”
I sigh. I don’t need her to keep inventory of what my mother paid for. If I had enough money right now I’d write them a check. I don’t like being beholden to anyone. “I told you two years ago I didn’t want to go into the pre-med program. I hate Biology—I hate Baylor. It’s a snob fest up there. I’d have settled for a program out of state if I could. Hell, Del Mar College if they had a four-year music program.”
Robyn hands me a clean mug from the dishwasher. “Then why did you ever consider coming back here? Wouldn’t it have been easier to transfer to the school of your choice while you were still enrolled at Baylor? What’s your standing GPA?”
Frustrated, I wave my hands. “It’s meaningless at this point. But if you must know, 3.86.”
She smiles. “Marisela—you’re so smart. Brilliant. Don’t you see where you’re headed if you don’t go back to school?”
“I’m no worse off then you were.”
“Garrick is the only reason I finished. Without his support, I’d still be a part-time student working at the club.” She watches me for a few moments. I stir sugar and milk into my tea. “You need Mom and Dad’s financial support.”
“No,” I say. “Give me a chance to work things out on my own.”
“Like you are with Estevan and Craig?”
It’s over with both of them, and I haven’t heard from Estevan in days. Robyn doesn’t know my ex is in town. I’m not sure what Garrick would do if he found out. I’m starting to think the wisest thing is getting my own place. Maybe an apartment, or if one of the dancers needs a roommate…I’ll call Macey. “I have some errands to run, sis.” I kiss her cheek, suck down the remainder of my tea, rinse the cup, set it in the sink, then run upstairs.
I dial Macey. She picks up on the second ring. She’s excited. “A party?” I ask. Macey won’t let me get a word in edgewise. “Where?” North Beach? That place is a hellhole. “The Radisson Hotel? Rooms 2201 and 2203? Five o’clock?” She confirms and hangs up.
My plans have suddenly changed. I’m not sure what to expect. Maybe a bonfire, barbeque, and hot guys. I need a diversion. I want a new boyfriend, someone I share common interests with. Maybe a guy who rides a motorcycle and plays guitar. I’ll wear one
of my new outfits, skinny jeans and a backless leather halter top.
I’m on the road by four thirty. North Beach is located on the north side of the city, over the Harbor Bridge. The weather is perfect—bright sunshine, little wind—and the traffic is light. I arrive at the hotel within twenty minutes and park. I enter the building through a side entrance, walk into the lobby, and take the elevator to the second floor. It’s a clean hotel. I admire the gold-framed photographs lining the walls—a collection of native bird species. I find room 2201 and knock. There’s loud music coming from inside. Macey answers with a can of Budweiser in her hand.
“Girlfriend!” She grabs ahold of my leather jacket and yanks me inside. “So glad you made it.”
I give her a bear hug. “Thanks for getting me out of the house. Robyn is driving me crazy.”
She grins. “That’s because she wants you to make all the right choices.”
“I know.” I can’t disapprove of my sister’s affection or concern, but I can try to escape it once in a while. I scan the suite. There are ten people in the living room. “Introduce me?”
“Of course.” She takes me by the hand. We stop in front of one of the most enormous men I’ve ever seen—built like an NFL player. “Marisela, this is my boyfriend, Wesley.”
He stands and offers his hand. He’s even taller than Craig. I shake his hand gently. “Robyn’s little sister?” he asks.
“Yes.” I’ll never escape that label. “What gave it away?” I smile.
“Your brother-in-law is my best friend.” He gives me a sappy grin. It’s a small world—proof of that two-degrees-of-separation theory. “If you have any problems tonight, darlin’, find me.”
He’s nice—just like most Texas boys. I envisioned someone completely different as Macey’s boyfriend, not a jock. We have similar taste. “Not bad,” I say to her as we walk toward the wet bar where two guys are standing.
She giggles. “Yeah, remind me to tell you the story of how we met sometime. This is Robert and Justin.”
They both smile.
“Want a drink?” Justin asks.
“Sure,” I say. My limit is two for the night. Better to indulge early and have my second in a couple of hours. “Any wine coolers?”
Seduction Page 8
