Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “No,” he replies, his face growing more solemn by the moment. “From what I’ve read, you have a bounty on your head. You somehow survived a crime spree that wiped out families at random. They were dubbed the Valens Murders, but that was an assumption made by the tabloids in the heat of the scare. However, after you and this boy survived, they died out. Almost as if the suspicion was too much and they had to cull what was going on. From that, though, if the press were right about who’s involved, then you’d be a target for life.”

  Well, that’s just fucking great. I feel my body slump as he passes me the file with all the gruesome details of my past. The top photo is a younger me, smiling with my parents and sister. Beyond that, I work out that the photos take a more sinister turn as I notice the blood splatters on the cream kitchen cabinets. My stomach starts to recoil, and I know I don’t need to see the mess that my once idyllic life became.

  Immediately, I feel the scar on my shoulder burn, reminding me of the starting point of my spiraling life. I have markings from my past, some that others ridiculed me for, and others that had men turning away, repulsed by my scars. The ache in my heart ebbs to life, crippling me in my seat.

  In my line of work, I should be confident in my own skin. To a degree, I am, but it’s all an act. I leave my body when I’m center stage, all eyes on me. I take myself to another world entirely, one that’s free of all the hurt and pain I’ve experienced. But when it comes to real-life situations filled with men who want to have a one-night stand or want to pursue a relationship, I buckle. It’s why I keep to myself most of the time. No questions asked means I have a chance to breathe.

  Shaking off the demons that haunt me, I direct my attention back to the file. There it is, in black and white, the death of my family. After that night, I became lost in a system meant to save children and give them a new shot. I never got that. Instead, I was offered a multitude of differing forms of abandonment, and now, I know it was never my fault. I wasn’t ever an unwanted child; no one gave me up for some reason. I survived, and in doing so, I was given an eternity of desertion.

  My life spiraled as a result of a callous monster who set out to make me a sole survivor. The scars will never fade, the memories will only continue to darken, but at least now, I know there's a source to the woman I've become. I might not like her, but that's not my doing. I am who I am as a result of a horrific past that now has a face forming before my eyes.

  “Who was behind it?”

  “No one knows,” Derek tells me. He sits back in his seat, the hinge it rocks on creaks as he tilts it back. “As I said, you were part of a crime wave. It all ended just after the boy.”

  “Who is he?” I ask, close to begging.

  “Again, no one knows,” Derek replies. There’s no disappointment reflecting in his voice at how he failed at his own job, just absolution that he’s done his part. “There’s no name linking him. He was a James Doe.”

  “I got named,” I start, my tone coming out furiously. “How does he not?”

  “It happens,” Derek says, giving me a shrug.

  I don’t tolerate that excuse. Things like what happened to my family do not just happen. They’re driven, motivated, lusted for. I won’t allow a man of Derek’s reputation to sit there and meet me at a dead end. He can try all he likes, but I will not rest until I have every last gory detail and a name to place to the face I remember leering at me as I cried for my father. I throw the file back at Derek, my temper flaring. I’m paying him good money; I won’t allow him to give me a final statement like that.

  "I want more." I stand, pointing at the file on the desk. I'm a woman with a mission forming and no other end but vengeance. "I don't care your price. Find me a name to who I can pin this on. It's time I finally got what I deserve." My eyes lift to meet Derek's, and he flinches at the woman I've morphed into after getting some semblance of honesty. "I’m ready for some sort of revenge.”

  ***

  My walk mirrors my current mood – angry, fierce, and taking no prisoners.

  I don’t want to start my shift this way, but after a longer argument with Derek than I cared for, he finally caved. In doing so, I now have to find five grand to pay him, and he’ll only give me the information according to what I pay him at each instalment. He’s reluctant to aid and abet a potentially criminal activity, but as I told him, my life was the result of one. I’m just a ticking time bomb.

  I toss my bags aside in the staff quarters and head further back into the club. I feel my heart rate begin to decrease when I see I don’t have to wait to verbalize my new course of action.

  “I need more shifts,” I declare, standing at the open door of my boss’ office.

  “You’re late,” Jackson tells me, not looking up from the paperwork he’s signing.

  “That’s because that private detective you recommended was an absolute waste of my time.”

  I walk a little into the room, my mood starting to dissolve as I begin to vocalise the stressful afternoon I’ve had.

  “But did he find anything?” Jackson asks, finally looking up to give me a questioning look. When I don’t reply but begin to chew my lip, he leans back in his chair. “What did he find? You’re some secret heiress and really need to quit your job to go sit pretty in a castle?” He chuckles at his own joke before furrowing his brow to think of more worthless assumptions. “You’re the product of immaculate conception?”

  “I’m the survivor of a crime wave,” I reply, my tone and my expression remain deadpan. “I’m the lucky son of a bitch who survived a killer’s fetish when I was four. While I might not remember a lot of it, I now know I’m a fucking statistic.” I give a weak smile, trying to hide the maelstrom within. “Sole survivor of a horrific family massacre, neglected foster child, winds up working as a pole dancer with no future prospects. I think there are textbooks written about me, Jackson. I could be a case study and not even know it!”

  “Hey!” Jackson argues, standing up. “I know most of you girls aren’t proud to work here, but we are a family. Whatever anyone else thinks is irrelevant. One day you’ll find your place, Ryleigh.”

  “When I’m too old to enjoy it?” I ask, cocking a brow and crossing my arms over my chest. “For now, I need to get some more money so that Derek can give me information that I can work with. I have to know every detail and I’m feeling a little desperate over it. There’s more to it, and I have to know.”

  Noting my desperation, Jackson slumps to sit at his desk. He watches me, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Not the one he usually offers to us girls. We all have similar backgrounds but never pity one another for it. It’s just another part of what I love about Jackson. We are never misfortunate souls; we’re people who deserve saving, and that’s the part he plays.

  Jackson St. Claire is not your typical club owner. He’s well built, with hair so long it should conceivably ruin his masculinity. However, it only adds to his persona, the one he mastered growing up. I know an unconventional family raised him, and his ‘brother’ owns the majority of the bars. But having only worked with Jackson, I’ve come to understand him as a caring, foul-mouthed hunk.

  However, no one makes advances. Jackson is married to a woman who rivals him. He married the female version of himself, and they’re perfect for one another. They’re a power couple, both adored and both holding a sense of power.

  They’re a love story to envy.

  “Right.” Jackson breaks the silence, clapping his hands together as if to show he means business. He stands up straight, walking back around the table, and starts to shift through the schedules on his desk. “I can offer you extra shifts at Dynasty. You can take that, and we’ll work it all in with your shifts here. I’m sure Bethany will make sure you get the slower pace so you’re not working yourself to the bone.”

  “I don’t care about that. I just need the money.”

  I feel I sound desperate, but I know if it were any of the others in the clubs, Jackson would make sure they got this option.
If I work hard for a few months, then I can triple my wages and find out who is really behind my family’s murder. I’d even beg for the name of the boy who survived. He could be the key to it all.

  “You can come to work with me.” A new voice breaks into the moment. “Don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I could use more help around the store. Or do what I do all day and read instead of work.”

  “Remind me again how you actually get an income?” Jackson asks, his tone all-knowing and sarcastic.

  “With my colorful language and beauty,” Jodi replies, smirking as she speaks. “It brings in the customers like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Jackson crosses his arms over his chest, issuing her with a pointed look. “And how do you get work done exactly, princess?”

  “With other workers, that’s how,” Jodi admonishes, ignorant that she sounds like a lousy boss. “You can’t expect me to stack fucking books when there’s a hot new one waiting for my attention, Jax. Why do you think I’m always so happy when I come home, babe?” she asks, grinning a little. “It’s because my book boyfriends help me get off when you’re stuck here.”

  I giggle, rolling my eyes.

  Jodi St. Claire – loud-mouthed, sarcastic, married to the boss, and the best friend of every girl here. She’s a blond bombshell and loves to wind up the men who come to the club because she knows she is untouchable. If one man even breathes at her the wrong way, Jackson will have them by their throat, declaring every way he could kill them and get away with it. With a figure to die for, she knows how to rile her husband up, and while doing so, she keeps the men who flock to the clubs happy. All she ever does is aim to please her husband, and she does so while remaining mutually exclusive to him. Aside from the odd threesome we’ve had the delight of learning the details of, she never has a need to stray.

  “Come on, Ryleigh, what do you say?” Jodi asks, ignoring her husband. “If you like it, we can look at making it a full-time commitment.”

  “Er, no, she’s one of our best dancers here,” Jackson interjects, dragging my attention away from Jodi’s proposition. “She wanted extra shifts, not a new job.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a career change,” I meekly reply.

  Again, my own insecurities rile up, flaring to demons that have chased me for life. It’s not often I feel rocked by my own job choices, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I had become a better version of myself. I got lost at a young age, and I’m still trying to find the right path. I’ve yet to find it, and after this morning, I feel like I never will.

  “I mean, I want a chance to know this isn’t my only option,” I add on. Inwardly, I curse myself, hating that I have seemingly sunk to the victim. Closing my eyes momentarily, I gather my fucking courage before it drips away forever. “Just give me a chance. I won’t quit, but I need the money and I’d love the opportunity.”

  We slip into a casual silence, all eyes falling upon Jackson.

  “Jax,” Jodi softly begins to initiate, forgetting about me to focus wholly on her husband. “You have to realize that these girls don’t want to be here forever. It’s why Beth and Jade were promoted to managers. It’s why Dante made moves to make the business grow.” She goes to stand before him, a force to be reckoned with, and I remain silent. “When you two started this, you were young and just wanted some fun, but you two have evolved. Likewise, your girls will, too. Let Ryleigh work with me and at the other clubs and see how she does. It’s time to really see what these girls are capable of because I have a feeling some of them are fucking gems waiting to be discovered.” There’s a moment of silence while Jackson ponders her points, so Jodi steps forward, and I watch as she places her hands on her husband’s tense biceps. “There will be other girls. Let Ryleigh have this opportunity, and if she wants, she can drop back into this job.” She then leans in, her hand splayed across his chest, her head leaning down to press her lips to his ear. “I’ll give you a month of blowjobs... morning, noon, and night. Hell, I’ll even give you one after every meal as an added dessert.”

  I know she didn’t mean for me to hear that, but if there’s one thing we all know well, it’s that Jodi doesn’t know how to do quiet.

  Looking past his wife, Jackson narrows his gaze upon me. “Are you good to work your two weeks’ notice with us?”

  “Er, yeah, of course,” I say, not realizing he’s actually letting me go.

  “I’ll have to run it past Dante. But if this is what you want, Ryleigh, then I’ll do anything to help you out,” Jackson tells me, a sliver of a smile beginning to bring itself out on his face. “He’ll be in later, so I’ll get the ball rolling.”

  Dante – the silent – and pretty damn invisible – partner to Jackson. The two grew up together, or so I was told, but Dante has other business around Brooklyn that isn’t something anyone but Jackson and Jodi are privy to. I know he focuses more on the other clubs and only comes down when there’s an issue, but even then, I’ve never seen my other boss to know what he looks like.

  He’s a creeper, a shadow among greedy men.

  “Jackson!” A voice travels up the corridor. “You have to come quick! It’s Clarissa,” Alex says running into the room – no knock, no introduction, just an air of terror. “Her ex turned up and refuses to leave the back room without her. He hit her when she refused to see him before deciding he wanted to give you her resignation and take her with him. She’s fighting him, but he won’t let her out of his sight!”

  “I’ll kill him,” Jackson mutters. “Okay, I’ll handle this.”

  “He wants to talk to you and Dante, not security.”

  “Good! You get Dante here now!” Jodi exclaims, putting her hand on Jackson’s chest to stop him from going anywhere. “You’re not going in there without Dante being here. We all know what her ex is like, and I won’t have you going in there without security and Dante. Do you hear me?”

  “He won’t touch me,” Jackson argues, trying to step around her.

  “We also said he’d never touch Clarissa while she was here,” she begins, trailing off as her tone becomes heated. “That was a fucking lie. So, no Jackson, I won’t allow it.”

  There’s a tense moment between man and wife, but he quickly relents, listening to the voice of reason.

  “Fine. I’m calling Dante in for this,” Jackson announces as he pulls his cell out of his pants pocket. He’s quick to dial, but when he holds it up to his face, he notices how I’ve froze to my spot. Pulling the phone away from his ear to instruct me, he gives a little gesture hoping it’ll move me. “Ryleigh, go get ready. I’ll handle this issue, but business runs like always!”

  I nod and start to back out, more so when Jodi senses the urgency and turns to leave. She ushers me out of the room, and all I hear is the dire tone of Jackson’s voice.

  “Dante,” I hear as I leave the room completely. “Yeah, I know you’re busy, Dante, but we have a problem at the club.”

  “Come on,” Jodi comments. She’s quick to close the door and give her husband privacy. As we walk away from the office, she puts her arm around me to usher me away from the potential anarchy that’s about to manifest. “I’ll help you get ready.”

  ***

  Blinded by the lights – it’s my favorite moment to get lost to.

  This is my one true escape from the world that has never been very giving to me.

  As I swing around, I slow, my body snaked around the pole. I notice a lone figure sitting in one of the far booths, arms splayed out as he sits comfortably watching me – a regular, I know that much. It’s while he watches that I strive to be the best girl who’s ever hit the stage. It’s under his watchful glare that I’m in no eager rush to leave center stage. I want to see the uncomfortable ache take him over once more.

  Under his alert gaze, I strive to work hard for my wage. I want to see him squirm in his seat and shift to ignore the sudden rush of blood to his groin as I work my body to make him horny.

  With each motion I make, I ignore him, until I’m facing
front and have a chance to take in a bit more of his appearance – tall, dark, and handsome is about all I have right now. Tonight, I seem to have learned more about him than ever before; I know from his stance that he’s the same one who gazes on silently, but never, until today, have I taken the time to watch him. The lighting is dim, and he’s sitting perfectly in the shadows. I think I notice a small smirk, and it only encourages me.

  As I continue, I watch him sip his drink and even take a call, but his attention never strays. I know my time is almost up, but that handsome stranger has me never wanting to leave my podium. Even after he’s ended his call, I want to remain, transfixed by his attentive gaze.

  However, he’s now wearing an entirely different persona.

  I now only see menacing eyes watching me through the dancing lights, but it doesn’t discourage me. Instead, I find myself ignited and aroused by it. The intensity with which he watches me is harsher, leaving more to be desired.

  I don’t care how angry he looks.

  For tonight only, he gets a free dance.

  3DANTE

  I fix myself a glass of Macallan whiskey and begin to stalk my way out of the kitchen.

  It’s Wednesday, which means there’s a business meeting. It also means I have to be bored with the new ways in which the Valens are going to seize total control of Brooklyn. It’s not that I’m not invested, but there are only so many times I can gloat about my kill list, boast about which man I shut up, or which new family I destroy.

  It’s a downfall of my job.

  I act as if I’m a warrior within the family, but my past paints me with a sense of compassion no one is privy to but myself. I know the hell that can rain down on earth; I’ve lived it, I’ve survived it, and I remember it. It causes me to have a heart while I kill, but I have enough sense to bury it so deep that its beat is almost a silent thud in the night.

  I take a sip of my whiskey. The delicious burn ignites my taste buds before I swallow and allow that delectable fire to roll straight into my chest. I love that about this whiskey; the after burn stays within, holding onto me so I suffer the slow burn.