by Ashley Lane
A comfortable silence follows as we watch the playground in front of us. Logan grabs hold of a bright yellow rope ladder and hauls himself up to the second level of the fort. With his hands gripping the side rail, he calls out for his mama and waves frantically. Shelly waves back, smiling like Logan is the brightest star in the sky.
A gust of wind blows through the field and before I can reach to hold it down, my shield of hair is lifted, revealing the right side of my face to my bench mate.
My gasp catches in my throat and I turn away from Shelly, giving her my back as I struggle to pull my hood over my head. A soft touch to my arm halts my movements.
My heart hammers in my chest. There’s no way she didn’t see my face. No way she would want to look at me again. I can’t turn around now. I don’t want to see the look of disgust on her face. I should just leave.
“You don’t have to hide,” she whispers, and tears burn my eyes.
“It’s better this way,” I mumble. “I don’t want to scare anyone.”
Shelly releases my arm and from the corner of my eye I see her make a show of looking around. “I don’t see anyone running scared. Do you?” Before I can answer her, she reaches around and gently pushes my hair behind my ear.
Her smile is blinding. “There, that’s better.”
Doubt is chased away and hesitant hope settles in. In the years since I was burned, finding people who aren’t skittish of my scars has been few and far between. Angels Cove is the first place I’ve been where I feel comfortable enough not to constantly hide.
“Please let me know if you’d like me to cover it before Logan gets back,” I offer.
Shelly’s button nose scrunches. “Why would you need to do that?” Her question is genuine.
I shrug. “Sometimes it makes kids uncomfortable.” That’s a lie. It always makes kids uncomfortable. Hell, most of the time it makes adults uncomfortable too.
“It’s sweet of you to offer, but you don’t have to worry about that with him. Logan’s a sweet boy and I’ve done my best to teach him to see that what’s on the inside of someone is what makes them beautiful, not what’s on the outside.”
Before I can burst out into tears, Shelly glances at her lap before meeting my eyes again. Her gaze turns sheepish. “I need to admit something. I work at Corrupt.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, that came out quicker than I expected.”
My back stiffens at the name of the strip club I approached over a week ago about a position they had available. It’s definitely an experience I’ll unfortunately not be forgetting anytime soon. Without fail, every time I begin to settle into my skin, something or someone is there to remind me why I have to keep my guard up.
Who said ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’? Yeah, right. They’re either an idiot or a liar.
Like bullets, words have the ability to penetrate your skin. They dig deep and imbed themselves into your flesh, leaving scarred remains to serve as eternal reminders of their presence. They play on repeat inside my head, warnings, threats, and taunts I carry with me like a weight upon my shoulders.
“Oh.” I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. “So did you…” Shit, I can’t even bring myself to say it. To acknowledge the public humiliation the asshole bestowed on me.
Shelly’s eyes are regretful. “Yeah, I heard what he said.”
My cheeks burn bright knowing this sweet woman witnessed me at such a low point.
“Listen, I know there’s nothing I can say to change what he said and I won’t even attempt to apologize for him because well—he doesn’t deserve it. Malcolm is a vile snake of a man and everything that comes out of his mouth is pure poison.”
I snort. Yeah, you can say that again.
“But don’t let it infect you. Don’t let that blackness seep in and let him win.”
She reaches over and I jolt in surprise when she grabs my scarred hand, wrapping it tightly in hers.
We fall into yet another comfortable silence and not once does her grip falter. Every now and then her thumb brushes over the back of my hand. That simple gesture lights a tiny spark inside me, a glimmer of hope that maybe I’m not completely broken. My mind spins as I wonder what’s happening here. I’m pretty sure I just made friends with a complete stranger, and now we’re holding hands. Weird? Hell yes.
Do I let go? No.
Instead, I take the comfort that she’s offering me and use it as a balm to my bruised heart.
“Did you have any luck finding a job?”
And just like that, my peaceful, happy bubble bursts. One tear then another leaks from my eye and before I can stop myself, I’m full on ugly crying in front of my new kind-of-friend.
“I um, I had a couple interviews, but nothing that stuck.” I shrug. Honestly, even if I had made it past the interview phase, which let’s face it, is a rare occurrence. Any chance of an actual offer was squashed the second I mentioned that I needed to be paid in cash until I could open a bank account.
Essentially asking to be paid under the table puts any respectable business owner on edge. I always did my best theatrics to make them believe the practiced story, but it rarely worked.
Okay, it never worked.
I was fudged. Tonight is my last night at Angel’s Cove, and tomorrow morning I’ll be asked to leave until I can once again pay for a bed.
Shelly turns sideways to get my attention. “Listen, I feel like running into you here was a sign for me. I’ve been thinking about you since that day and it hasn’t sat right with me how it all went down. My bosses are good men. They believe in helping people… women in particular.”
I give her a look… Like, no shit! Because they want you to flash your naked boobies at men, of course they’re nice to you.
Shelly laughs and nudges my shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s more than that. They’re good people and I know if you let me talk to them, I can get you a job there.”
Logan runs toward Shelly, his arms stretched wide. “Mama, can we feed the ducks now?” he shouts before he slams into her, giggling like crazy. “I saw them from the top of the tower. A mama, baby ones too.”
“Want to feed some ducks with us?” Shelly asks.
I glance down at Logan, worried he’ll run away screaming after taking one look at me. He tilts his little head to the side as though studying me, maybe deeming me worthy of his mama’s attention. “You want to feed ducks?” he asks with the beautiful innocence only a child could have.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
Logan takes Shelly’s hand and we walk side by side while Logan practically drags her toward the duck pond. As we approach, I’m caught off guard when Logan’s little hand slips into mine. I smile at him and he gives me a toothy grin. “I love ducks,” he says.
At the edge of the pond, long, spiky reed grass grows along the bank. Shelly digs into her purse and pulls out a little bag of bread for the ducks. She hands a piece to Logan and he begins tearing it up into smaller, miniscule pieces that sink into the water before the ducks realise it’s there. His excitement doesn’t waver though as he throws in more bread.
“So what do you think about me talking to my bosses?”
I rest my elbows on the railing alongside the pond. “I don’t think I’d make a very good dancer to be honest,” I admit. “But I don’t mind doing any other odd jobs that may be harder to fill. I’m a hard worker and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
Shelly pats my hand. “Let me talk to them and I’ll let you know.”
I give her a grateful smile. I still don’t know if this is the best idea, but it’s better than not trying at all.
“Mama, look!” Logan yells, pointing at the pond and jumping up and down.
Shelly and I turn in time to see a frantic mother duck leading her ducklings away from the boisterous little boy who’s just scared the life out of every duck in the pond.
Logan runs over and crashes into his mama, a sweaty, dirty mess. “Can we go t
o lunch now, mama? I want the chip place.”
My brow raises as I glance at Shelly, wondering what ‘the chip place’ is. I don’t have the money to eat out, but I’ve walked every street in town searching for work and I don’t remember seeing a chip restaurant.
Shelly laughs and fills me in. “He refers to restaurants as what he likes to eat there. For example, at Mexican, he likes chips and cheese, so it’s known as ‘the chip place’.”
Ah. I guess that makes sense. After saying goodbye, Shelly and Logan are about twenty feet away when she stops and runs back toward me.
“Sorry, I forgot to get your number! It’d probably be a good idea to have a way to get in touch with you if my boss wants to see you,” she prattles as she pulls her phone from her purse.
My stomach drops. “I um, I actually don’t have a phone right now. But if you want to call this number, you can ask for me and they’ll leave me a message,” I offer before reciting the number to Angel’s Cove. God, I hate lying, but I have to.
Shelly quickly types the number into her phone and pockets it once again. “Awesome! I work again on Thursday, so I’ll talk to them then. See you soon!”
It isn’t until after she’s long gone that I replay her last words over. Unfortunately for me, Thursday will be two days too late.
CHAPTER 5
ANGEL
Minutes bleed into hours and hours into days. A glance at my phone tells me it’s only been five days since I walked out of Jax’s apartment knowing I wouldn’t be going back. But just walking out will never be enough. He’s in everything I do. Every breath I take reminds me of the pure anguish in his eyes when he told me it was over. It’s all my fault.
I haven’t worked at the garage since that day. Instead, I’ve taken over the day-to-day running of Corrupt so that Jax feels comfortable enough to stay on at the garage. Stepping away from Wicked Wrench wasn’t easy, but it was something I had to do. There’s a gaping hole in my life now that can’t be ignored. I loathe the emotion it stirs, but I need to put Jax’s needs before my own. And since Wicked Wrench is Jax’s only form of income, he needs his job.
While Demon was the one to suggest the original idea for Corrupt, he was never interested in the daily running of things. His involvement began and ended with sending women to us that needed our help. With Demon unwilling to take on further obligations, the responsibility fell on the rest of us.
At the time, Patch had just been transferred to the emergency room and was having difficulty adjusting to the grueling schedule. Bullet had zero interest, and Priest had enough on his plate with the garage. That left me. As Corrupt grew, so did my passion and commitment to see it succeed.
But the day I walked into Wicked Wrench and was met with my Hispanic wet dream, Corrupt suddenly took a seat on the back burner, and all my focus was set on him. Jax.
I lean back in the office chair with my feet balanced on the edge of the desk while I check my phone. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing. What did you expect? I toss my phone onto a pile of paperwork and sigh.
My absence at the garage hasn’t gone unnoticed. Though I haven’t come out and said what’s goin’ on, the wary looks aimed my way when my brothers think I’m not looking, tells me they already know. Priest’s life may be busier than ever now with two kids and a wife, but my Prez has the uncanny ability to tune into each of us. It’s only a matter of time before he gets me alone and I’ll be forced to come clean about what happened between me and Jax. It’s something I’m not—and may never be—ready for.
A knock breaks the silence surrounding me and I drop my feet to the floor before I turn to the monitor that shows the camera feed from inside Corrupt. My eyes scan the small squares to find the one situated outside the office. I ignore the twinge of disappointment when it’s not the man I want to see.
“Come in.”
The door swings open to Rhys, one of my part time bartenders.
At the ripe age of twenty-one, he’s the youngest bartender I’ve ever had working for me, but he’s also one of the best. If he plans on staying here for the long term, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll be the perfect candidate for a management position in the future.
He takes a step forward, hesitating until I urge him forward.
“What’s going on, Rhys?”
Unless there’s a major issue, Rhys doesn’t come to the office. He’s a good employee and knows how to handle trivial issues. But today he’s looking a little green around the gills, and I’m instantly on alert.
The last time he came to me looking like this was because he’d seen a customer slip something into a drink and headed toward one of my dancers. Rhys left his station and ran straight to my office so I could handle it. Luckily, the dancer in question had gotten a bad vibe from the guy and refused his drink.
Acting for all the world as if the guy was a VIP and I lived to serve him, he laughed it off as an expected ‘perk’ of being a stripper. As though these women are here to serve his depraved needs. I gave him a dose of his own medicine. Literally. Though it wasn’t until he woke up handcuffed to a chair and surrounded by the Heaven’s Guardians MC that he realized what a huge mistake he’d made.
He’s one of only a few that has lived to tell the tale after a confession with our priest. Fortunately for us, after Demon removed his dick with what was the most innovative use of a bear trap I’ve ever seen, the fear we instilled in him secured his silence.
“Rhys?” I stand and walk around from behind my desk. “What’s going on?
“I um, I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy and you’ve only been back—”
I raise a hand and cut him off, hoping to ease his anxiety, and to stop the reminders of why I’m here and why I now have a gaping hole in my chest. “You know you can talk to me anytime.” Rhys nods and shifts on his feet. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, his fingers twisting together.
His panicked demeanor causes my hackles to rise. “Is someone in trouble? One of the girls?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No. It’s nothing like that,” he starts and stops again. “I wanted to talk to you about Malcolm.”
My brows shoot up. Well, that’s not what I was expecting. “Alright, anything in particular you wanted to bring up?”
Malcolm has been riding a fine line here for some time. He’s been my full time bartender and manager for the past five years. When he started working for me, he was an upstanding employee, but through the years he’s changed. The complaints pertaining to him are damn near constant and the longer I keep him on, the longer I prolong the inevitable.
Rhys nods. “He’s been skimming,” he admits. His gaze lifts to mine. “Any time he thinks he can get away with it, he skims the customer’s change. Sometimes it’s not much, but if they’re really drunk, it can add up to a pretty penny.”
My shoulders tense. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but given Malcolm’s change in behavior lately, there’s not much he could say about the man that would stun me. “And is this a daily occurrence, or do you notice it some days or nights more than others?”
“Daily,” he whispers and glances away. “I should have told you sooner.”
I shake my head and hold up my hand. “Don’t. You’re telling me now and that’s what matters, you understand?”
Rhys nods, but I have the distinct feeling he’s not finished with everything he needs to get off his chest.
“Is there something else, Rhys?”
The poor kid looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. He nods miserably. “He gives freebies.”
When I said there was nothing he could say that would surprise me… I lied.
Freebies. Fuck. Me.
Up until a year ago, we were one of the few strip clubs that didn’t offer exclusive dances in back rooms—that’s not what Corrupt was about. From a business standpoint, we wanted the club to be profitable, but the main reason for Corrupt was far from wanting—or needing—to make money.
While statione
d overseas, Demon’s sister, Sara, fell into a crowd that dabbled drugs and prostitution. They were all each other had, and while Demon was gone fighting someone else’s war, his sister was dying a little more each day in a war of her own. By the time word reached Demon that his sister was in trouble, it was too late. He abandoned his squad and went AWOL. He was willing to pay whatever price needed to ensure his sister’s safety. But before Demon could save her, Sara was murdered by the Demonio de hielo cartel after a debt from her boyfriend went unpaid.
I’ll never forget the state we found her body in, or that way I watched my brother die right before my eyes. Demon’s heart may still be beating, air flowing through his lungs, but any good that was inside of him—any shred of humanity—is long gone.
The first time I saw any semblance of the man I once knew was when he came to us with the idea for Corrupt. From the beginning, it was set to be a safe haven for women who had nowhere else to run. We give them a chance at a new beginning, but not at the expense of their souls. These women have lost enough—we refuse to take more. The decision not to offer private dances or have back rooms available was made to protect our dancers and staff. They come here to work, they dance, they rotate waiting tables, and they leave.
The circumstances of each girl’s situation vary. Some are single moms who got pregnant as teens and have no other recourse to provide for their kids. Others are runaways and fell into the path of drugs and prostitution, much like the path Demon’s sister was on. No matter their story or how it came to be, if they come to us for help, we do everything in our power to help change the course of their lives. Providing the funds for community college or putting them through rehab is all part of what Corrupt stands for.
So when a few of the girls approached us last year with the possibility of opening back rooms, my brothers and I were not thrilled. After sitting down and listening to their proposal, we decided to allow it under strict conditions. The first one being that it would be optional, and no-one would be forced to work the back rooms.
