by Jennifer Ann
My entire body vibrates with hatred as I hold his stare. “Your family broke mine first.” I rise to my feet, taking slow in-and-out breaths until I’m certain that I won’t be throwing the old man through a wall. “You wasted your time by coming here, Dryden.”
He holds my gaze. More threats aren’t necessary since he made himself perfectly clear. My stomach surges as I’m led back to the dormitories. How the hell am I going to get a message to Jack without Dryden intercepting?
I know what needs to be done, even if it hurts like a motherfucker. One way or another, I need to let Alexa know it’s no longer safe to visit.
9
Alexa
The morning after my last visit with Michael, Tatum paces the wooden floor in my small apartment living room. Both her hands fist in her blonde hair at the back of her head, and whenever I catch her pinched expression, I inwardly cringe. After I brought her up to speed on everything that’s happened with Michael, and how I plan to accept Jack’s offer to help me go after the Four Brothers, she spent ten minutes reaming me a new asshole, telling me she was sure I had lost my mind.
Until I saw the situation from her point of view, I hadn’t realized how badly I had romanticized my relationship with Michael. It’s really freaking me out, because I’m not that kind of girl. I’ve never believed in happily ever after. Being an unwanted kid buried in a system where overworked children’s advocates and underpaid social workers were my only constant role models didn’t allow for those kinds of fairytales. I grew up cynical, cautious of anyone who showed even the smallest bit of kindness.
The only real relationship I’ve ever had with a man involved a fellow officer during the last year I was enlisted. Despite being together for several months, the word “love” had never been exchanged. It was more of a sexual relationship that formed out of convenience. I never imagined there’d be a “someday” that involved us planning a life together. But for some reason, the idea of a future with Michael falls into place naturally.
Taking in the view across a public parking-lot of the clear blue water, I slump back into my fake leather love-seat as I try to imagine Michael living here. I keep the decorating simple, almost non-existent. Maybe it’s almost too prison-like and could use a splash of color beyond the taupe-colored walls. The conservative set of couches was my first purchase
after signing a lease on the one-bedroom apartment a mere two weeks into my new job. It was a gamble to assume that Vaughn would keep me on long enough to afford my own slice of heaven, but I had always wanted to live close to the ocean. Hearing the waves beating on the sand at night almost always lulls me to sleep. At least it did before I met Michael. I’d like to think the sound would be comforting to him as he readjusts to civilian life. Now that I’ve felt his arms around me, I often lay in bed at night and imagine I’m cuddled up with him, listening to the swoosh of water lapping against the sand.
In just over a month’s time, I swear I know Michael better than I’ve known anyone in my entire lifetime. And he’s trusted me enough to place his fate in my hands. Whether planning a future with him is ridiculous or not, I have an obligation not to let him down.
“Are you hearing a word I’m saying?” Tatum asks, stopping directly in front of me.
I cross my arms with a great sigh. “Are you done acting like a raging schizo so we can talk this through?”
Her eyes become wild. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into! You’re going to end up alongside this guy in prison, ‘Lex!”
My eyes roll to the ceiling. “They don’t house women in the Glades.”
“Smart-ass! You know what I mean!” Throwing her hands out at her sides, she collapses at my side. We both stare up at the ceiling for a moment. Then she asks, “You really had sex with this guy behind an unlocked door?”
“Several times.”
“And how many orgasms did he give you again?”
“Too many to count.”
Tatum buries her face in her hands. “Christ on a cracker, Alexa Mae. Did you even bother checking for security cameras, or can I expect to see an encore on some new prison reality series?”
“It’d be a breach of inmates’ rights if the prison recorded anything in the attorney conference rooms.” I click my tongue. “Give me a little credit, T. I haven’t completely gone over the deep end.”
“Are you sure? Because the Alexa I know wouldn’t give convicted felons unlimited access to her vagina.”
“Have you heard a word I’ve been saying? He’s a war hero, not a felon. He’s only in there because the Four Brothers wanted him to go down for what he knows. He could singlehandedly bury that club.”
“Again, I really wish you wouldn’t have gone quite so far into the details of his case. We’ve both crossed so many professional lines that I’m beginning to feel vertigo.”
“I’m only telling you this because you’re my person,” I say, nudging my ankle against hers. “My lobster. Remember?”
“Okay first of all, there was an overabundance of tequila involved that night. We both know my cousin shouldn’t have legally or ethically accepted us as customers. Secondly, we’re both lucky we still managed to score professional jobs after you tricked me into getting that horrid tattoo. And, I feel it’s necessary as your person to point out that from the sounds of things, I may no longer be your lobster. It seems there’s a new one in town with more muscles…and tattoos.” With a dreamy smile, she turns to me, a funny little expression pulling at her pink lips. “Couldn’t you at least have gotten a selfie with this guy so I could see just how hot we’re talking?”
The idea of getting a picture with Michael had once crossed my mind too, but I decided it would be too painful to see his face again if we can’t be together. It’s hard enough whenever I come across the cold, hardened expression he’s wearing in his mug shot on file. The man I’ve come to care about is nothing like that persona.
“Again, you’re going off on a tangent,” I tell her. “We need to remember that those young women in that basement and Michael’s freedom are what’s most important. My sanity can be taken into question later.”
Tilting her head back on the couch, Tatum pulls a pillow into her lap and hugs it to her stomach, huffing with another deep sigh. “So let me get this straight. You’re getting Michael’s surrogate dad involved even though you know it’s not what Michael would want. You won’t let this go to the local sheriff because Michael’s convinced they’re dirty. You want me to go over my supervisor’s head and get him a deal that would protect your boyfriend if he’s released. Oh, and you’ve decided to go undercover in a strip club to expose these dangerous criminals, and you want me to somehow help you on the down-low the same time my office will be launching an investigation into Michael’s claims. Did I miss anything?”
“I won’t let you get into trouble for this.” I pat her leg, trying to calm the anxiety building in her tone. “You’ll simply be on the sidelines, making sure I don’t get in too deep over my head.”
“You have to trust in the system, ‘Lex. My agency knows what they’re doing. We can help those girls.”
With narrowed eyes, I shake my head. “You mean the same way someone helped me?”
Tears spring to her eyes, but she doesn’t say a word. She’s well aware of the painful truth behind my reasoning. She knows the motivation behind my decision to do this my way.
“I won’t sleep until I have tangible evidence that proves Dryden is up to no good.” I lean against her shoulder and sigh. “I know you have good intentions, T, but you know why I have to save those girls and can’t leave it up to someone else.”
Setting her head against mine, she whispers, “How could I forget? It’s the same reason I chose this line of work.”
The plan is probably more dangerous than anything I faced in the Army, and could very likely get me killed. But with Tatum and Jack backing me up, it just may work.
Twenty-four hours later, Tatum and I are at Jack’s. He sta
nds squared in front of me in the living room of his little house, scowling at my tacky mini skirt in a way that reminds me of Michael when we first met. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this idea of ours. If MJ knew what you was plannin’—”
“He doesn’t,” I remind him curtly. “And he won’t, because no one is going to tell him. We need him to behave in there so there aren’t any setbacks to his release. If my motion isn’t granted, we’re going to need something else to fall back on, and I have a feeling the truth of what happened to Rambone is tied in to the club’s trafficking business.”
“Don’t even try to talk her out of it,” Tatum tells him, waving a hand through the air. “I’ve tried, and I’m normally the only one she ever listens to. There’s no changing her mind once it’s been set.”
With one hand on my hip, I give Jack a flirty smile just like Tatum had me practice a hundred times. After countless hours of listening to her go over every possible scenario that could go wrong, I’m eager to put the plan into motion. “What’s the matter, sugar?” I ask Jack in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Don’t I look like I’d belong in a strip club?”
The old biker rubs at his wrinkled forehead. “Ya look pretty enough. No offense, but I liked you better as a brunette. But I don’t think they’d ever suspect you’re an attorney, especially dressed like that.”
“That’s the point.” I run a hand through my freshly straightened hair while trying to calm my nerves.
As much as I’ve always loved my naturally dark hair, it was painful to have it bleached and cut shorter. Still, I knew going undercover would require more than a simple change of clothes even before Tatum set it up, and Dryden seems to have a thing for blondes based on his three ex-wives. Anyways, it’s just hair, and mine grows quickly. I kept it above my shoulders in the Army for awhile, and when I decided to grow it out again, it was down to my elbows in no time.
“How’re you gonna explain the new look to MJ?” Jack asks.
I draw my eyes away from him, guilt-ridden for failing to disclose all the details of the agreement made with Tatum’s agency. My heart twitches painfully, knowing there’s a slight chance I won’t ever see Michael again.
“I’ve arranged for someone else to represent him at the upcoming hearing,” I say quietly.
“I still don’t know.” Jack shakes his head slowly. “If those bastards get rough with you…or try anything…how’re you gonna protect yourself?”
“You and I will be keeping a close eye on the situation,” Tatum assures him. “I’ll be staying in a motel down the street from her, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting anything happen to her.”
I shrug and wave my hand at them both. “No one has to worry. I’m applying as a waitress at Spinner’s, not as one of their dancers. Once I can get the girls at the club to trust me enough to let me into their circle, I’ll be out of there. Besides, I have the burner phone to use in case of an emergency.”
Jack shakes his head again, apparently refusing to accept my plan. “Dryden’s men will follow you around and dig into your past, make sure you’re really who you say you are. When it comes to their business, they don’t let anything fall through the cracks.”
“We’ve already covered that,” Tatum tells him in a reluctant tone. “I pulled some strings with a few of my most reliable contacts. Valid credentials have already been put in place. She’ll be staying in a safe house. Neighbors will attest that she’s been living in the area for several months if questioned. I’ve done these types of operations before, and believe me, I’ve thought of everything. The last thing I want to do is put my best friend’s life in danger.”
“Until this is over, Alexa Darrington is out of state visiting ill family members,” I tell Jack. Then I link my arm with Tatum’s. “It will all work out, and we’ll bury these fuckers.”
Jack’s frail hands run through his thinning hair. He mutters something to himself before meeting my gaze once more. “We have no idea how long it’ll take. Could be weeks, months…hell, even up to an entire year. Are you sure you’re that committed? What do I tell MJ? He’ll lose his damn mind if you don’t come to see him.”
A tumultuous wave of guilt and sadness crashes into me, almost bringing me to my knees. Taking a deep breath, I answer with, “Tell him I’m doing everything in my power to clear his name.” And, I silently add to myself, if things go as planned, tell him I said goodbye.
The inside of Spinner’s Row isn’t quite as rundown as the outside would indicate. It’s clean and modern despite the stench of cigars and cigarettes that clings to the crisp, overly cool air. State-of-the-art speakers blast gangster rap as the hostess leads me on a path through the round tables gathered around the small stage. As it’s late morning, only a few customers occupy the seats, their focus glued to the small redhead shaking her g-string covered ass on the stage. I try not to openly stare as I try to assess the girl’s age on our way through.
The hostess continues leading me down a dark hallway, past a set of bathrooms to a third door. She pauses, giving me a once-over before rapping her knuckles against the door. The shapely brunette is easily ten years older than I am, possibly more when considering the bags underneath her eyes. Though she’s pretty, she’s obviously exhausted. At least I don’t wonder if she’s one of the young girls Michael told me about.
“Archer, there’s someone here to see you,” she calls out.
The door swings open a moment later. A man nearly as large as Michael looms in the doorway, dragging his dark eyes up and down my body. I consider aborting my mission with the all too familiar feeling of being objectified as his lips pull back to reveal a row of crooked teeth. “You brought me a present?”
“Fuck off, Freddie,” the hostess snaps. “She’s here to see Archer about a waitressing job. Let her in.”
“Sure thing.” His dark, suggestive gaze doesn’t leave my body when he steps aside and licks his lips. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
Normally I’d shake it off, being used to assholes like him, but knowing it’s likely he’s part of the human trafficking ring, I shiver. These creeps should be taking Michael’s place in prison.
The hostess spins on her heels, calling out over her shoulder, “Good luck!”
The confidence I started out with is knocked down a notch as I step into the dark room. It’s warm and carries the stench of body odor mixed with tobacco. There’s a dim, yellow light shining on a desk at the far end of the room where a relatively slim, middle-aged man sits.
“Brought you some fresh meat, Archer,” Freddie announces.
Every feminist bone in my body pleads with me to knock the disgusting man on his ass, but somehow I hold it together as Archer rises from behind the desk. He comes around the desk, ogling me in a lewd way that has me suddenly longing for a shower. Archer’s around my height, dressed relatively classy in a sport jacket and slacks, and not necessarily too hard on the eyes. But there’s something about the glint in his beady eyes that has my skin crawling.
“You looking for a job?” he asks in a tenor-pitched voice.
When he steps up right in front of me, I swallow down a lump of fear and hold my chin up higher. “Yeah.”
“You ever dance before?”
Oh hell no. “I—ah—came to apply for the—”
“No matter,” he snaps. “Someone as hot as you could bring in a lot of money on the stage. What’s your name, sugar?”
“Brandi, with an ‘i’.” I answer, inwardly cringing at how easy it is to turn on the bimbo act.
“Hmmm, I like me a good glass of brandy.” He leans his head in close to my neck, inhaling my scent. “And you smell every bit as good as you look.” When he stands straight again, his lips twist in a menacing grin. “How about it, Brandi? You ready to make us both some serious money? Why don’t you lift up that pretty little shirt and show us what you’re hiding underneath?”
If Michael was in this room, he’d completely lose his shit. I quickly shake the thought from my head
, knowing it’ll only make me weak to think about him in this moment. I have to be strong if I want to be with him one day. I have to be strong for the girls who are being forced by these rat-bastards to do things against their will.
With shaking hands, I reach for the end of my tank-top and lift it up over my head. Archer and the bouncer pull in a sharp breath once my red bra is exposed, barely containing my nipples.
“My, my!” Archer sings as the other man whistles. He circles around me like a vulture ready to pick apart its prey. The fighter in me secretly wills him to do something that will warrant a throat punch. “It would seem you were born to get men hard, sweetheart. What do you say we get you set up in something nice and see what you can do on that stage? If you have even the slightest ability to properly shake what looks to me like a fine ass, you have yourself a job.”
Sickness surges in my stomach. It’s not the stripping part that worries me, because dancing alongside the others could have serious advantages, providing me with a sure ‘in’. It’s the fact that if Michael ever discovers what I’ve done, I doubt he could contain the rage that would follow. And if these men even attempt to pimp me out like Michael suspects they’re doing with the others, Archer and his bouncer are as good as dead.
“I can dance,” I assure Archer.
His thin lips spread with a disgustingly pleased grin. “Then let’s get you into something more comfortable.”
10
Michael
With the close of the fourth day since Alexa’s last visit, I’m unable to get even a minute of sleep. I stew in my cot all night long with scenarios of what could’ve happened racing through my mind. I called Jack the day before to let him know of Dryden’s visit and threats. He caught on to the implications immediately and in a roundabout way he let me know that Alexa was busy preparing for the upcoming motion.
