Stripped Bounty

by Dorothy F. Shaw

  If he’d ever reacted visibly to her before, Rosie had never witnessed it. But she’d seen it now. And damn if lust didn’t fill her limbs like warm honey because of it.

  She let a knowing smile arch her lips and made eye contact with a few patrons. But as she turned to move to the other end of the stage, she caught another set of familiar eyes.

  What the?

  No. It couldn’t be him.

  Rosie rounded the pole there and hoisted herself up to get a better view— Oh my God. In the back of the crowd, standing in a far corner opposite the bar, was someone she was so sure she’d never see again. Rosie spun, meeting his eyes with each revolution. Nothing but revenge emanated from his expression. That, and hate. Pure, unadulterated hate.

  Lust forgotten, fear settled in Rosie’s stomach like a lead weight as sheer panic raced through her limbs like an inferno. How the fuck had he found her? The music ended, and with that, so had her three-song set.

  She was supposed to head to the small cage stage next, but there was no goddamn way that was happening. Without gathering up her discarded costume pieces or the rest of the money that’d been tossed on stage for her, Rosie stepped off the platform and headed down the back hall in a rush.

  She had to get out of there. Immediately.

  Badger watched as Rosie made her way off the stage and high-tailed it down the back hall like her ass was on fire. Something had happened about three quarters of the way through that last song and freaked her out. In the last four months or so, Badger had done nothing but watch Rosie, and in that time, he’d gotten real familiar with “Arianna” and her many expressions when she was onstage.

  “Freaked out” wasn’t one he’d seen from her before, but, regardless, he’d noticed the change immediately in her expression as well as her demeanor. In a matter of a nanosecond, her eyes had gone from the normal brightness inhabiting them whenever she performed, to—if he wasn’t mistaken—fear. Maybe a customer had made a nasty comment; it wasn’t uncommon. But knowing how Rosie normally handled that sort of thing, it wouldn’t make sense for it to upset her, or worse, scare her.

  From his usual perch near the bar, Badger scanned the crowd. Nothing seemed off from his perspective. Deejay Rick did a second shoutout for Arianna for the small cage stage as the next song played for the girl on the main stage. Badger watched the mouth of the hall, waiting for her to emerge. He glanced at Rick. Rick shrugged. Where the fuck was she?

  Badger gave his guy closest to the back hall a chin jerk, indicating he needed to head down the hall in search of Rosie. Charlie nodded and headed that way. He knew the routine with the girls, knew she was late. As Badger did another scan of the crowd, he moved toward one of the dancers on the floor. Again he found nothing out of the norm.

  Charlie emerged from the hall, shaking his head. The fuck? Something was wrong. Really wrong. Maybe she was sick. Badger clasped the closest dancer not engaged in a table dance by the arm, and asked her to work the cage stage, and then moved down the hall.

  Uncaring who was in what state of dress, Badger walked directly into the dressing room. A couple of the girls gasped and covered their bare breasts. Badger rolled his eyes and turned to Evie. “Hey, where’s Rosie? She sick or something?”

  Evie glanced up from sewing whatever the fabric was in her hands, pink-framed reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Rosie’s onstage, Badger.” She raised the thread and bit it with her teeth.

  “If she was, you wouldn’t be staring at my ugly mug right now, Evie. She ran down the hall after her set and hasn’t come back.” He glanced among the girls in the room and into the small, attached bathroom. “Any of you seen Rosie?”

  “Who?” One of the girls ran a brush through her hair.

  Goddamn stage names. None of the girls really ever knew each other. “Arianna.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “You seen Arianna? About this tall—” Badger raised his hand to show Rosie’s approximate height. “Long, dark hair. Petite tits, pretty much petite everything except for her long legs.”

  “Oh yeah, I saw her.” The girl grabbed a can of hairspray and started fogging up.

  “When?” Tired of this game, Badger stalked to the girl and snagged the can from her hand. “When did you see her?”

  She jerked back from him. “Jesus! What’s your problem?”

  Badger tossed the can down and gripped the girl’s upper arm. “I don’t have a problem. What I do have is a missing girl.” He pulled her closer. “Now, take a second, jiggle some brain cells so they start firing, and tell me when the fuck you saw her last.” The last was said on a growl. Though he hadn’t meant for it to slip out.

  The girl’s eyes got wide before she started glaring. “Take your fucking hands off me.”

  “Badger. Easy now…”

  He glanced over his shoulder to find Evie beside him, her hand resting on his forearm. The look of concern on her face gave him pause, enough to rein his shit in and let go of the ditz he was hell bent on getting an answer from. Badger let out a breath. “I’m cool. All good, Evie. You see Rosie, let her know I’m looking for her, yeah?”

  “Sure, honey.” Evie patted his arm with a meek smile. “Sure.”

  Badger took two steps backward before turning and leaving the room. Where in the fuck was she? He ran back toward the bar. Charlie was still at the entrance to the hall. “She come out?” Charlie shook his head and Badger did a one-eighty and headed for the office. Barging inside, he found it empty. A cold chill zipped up his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  Badger ripped his keys from his front pocket, unlocked the filing cabinet drawer and pulled out his gun. After holstering it in place on his side, he stalked out the back door of the club. Her POS Toyota was still in the lot. What the fuck? He took two steps forward and listened. After a moment, a faint sound of something scraping on the pavement, off to the right near the Dumpster, caught his attention.

  Badger pulled his gun from its holster and racked the slide. Keeping his steps light, he slowly walked toward the big green trash bin. Moving to the side of it, he pressed his back to the hard metal. He paused long enough to draw in a deep, calming breath, and then pivoted around, arms extended with his gun gripped firmly in his hands. Badger’s eyes went wide at what he found.

  “Oh, fuck! Holy shit, Badger. Don’t shoot.” Rosie shrank farther down into the crouched position she had herself in, shivering like crazy, her arms wrapped tight around her bent legs.

  Badger flipped the safety and holstered the gun. “Holy shit is right. What’s wrong? What the fuck are you doing out here, Rosie?”

  “Will you just…” Her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “Fuck!” She gripped the side of the Dumpster, got to her feet and with visibly shaking hands, slipped her platform shoes off. “Just go grab me a T-shirt from the office? Please?”

  Christ, she wasn’t shivering. She was shaking, as in from fear. She looked scared out of her mind and Badger’s protective nature roared to life, setting his insides on fire. Resisting the urge to move to her and pull her close, Badger crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “That wasn’t an answer.”

  “Please? I’m cold.”

  Badger gritted his teeth. The expression in her eyes was about enough to take him to his damn knees. “Fine. But I swear to the devil herself, you move from this spot before I’m back and I will take it out on your ass when I find you.”

  “Where the hell’m I gonna go? All my shit is inside in the dressing room.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  He grunted. “Point. But my warning still stands.”

  Badger turned from her and went back inside. Goddamn drama. Fucking baggage. He had no fucking clue what was going on with her, but he intended to find out.

  Chapter Nine

  Rosie wrapped her arms tighter around Badger’s waist as he exited the freeway off-ramp and made a hard right turn onto the main road. She was fucking freezing, the T-shirt he’d brou
ght her doing very little to keep her limbs warm. The fact that she was on the back of his Harley, pressed up against his hard body, her bare legs spread around his lean hips, had her other parts—the ones she should so not be paying attention to—overheated.

  Rosie had no idea where they were going. The man of many words hadn’t told her. Just tossed the shirt at her, started his bike and ordered her onto the back of it. She’d complied, though it wasn’t like she’d had much of a choice. Running out of the club without grabbing her things—like her car keys and some clothes—hadn’t been one of her brightest moments.

  But she’d panicked.

  Swear to Christ, Alvaro, the fucking drug dealer who’d murdered her husband, had found her. She couldn’t believe it. The last Rosie knew, he was in jail awaiting trial. Without bail. He’d either been let out, or escaped, or—she really had no idea. Rosie swallowed down the wave of fear that rose in her throat. All she knew was the crazy bastard was standing in the far corner of the bar, watching her. And by the look on his face, he hadn’t come to pay his condolences or express his regret.

  Badger turned off the main road into what appeared to be an older but well-kept neighborhood. Forcing the anxiety back, she focused on the houses. Older brick, stone, or wood-sided ranch-style homes lined the well-lit streets and Rosie glanced at each one, taking in their immaculately kept exteriors as they passed by each, making a series of lefts and rights, until finally he pulled the bike into a long, wide driveway.

  He dropped the kickstand and leaned the bike to its side. “Hop off.”

  She did as he said, careful not to catch her too-tall heels on the pegs or fall when she got her feet on the ground. Badger dismounted his cycle and punched a code into a small keypad by the two-car garage door. The panel raised as he mounted the bike again and then rode it inside.

  After shutting down the engine, he got off and removed the folded bandana he’d tied around his forehead, then his clear shades. He glanced over at her. “You coming or gonna stand out there in the cold?”

  Without answering, Rosie blew out a breath and moved toward him. Christ, it didn’t matter if he was being Mr. Quiet-Aloof guy or a dickhead barking orders at her, he was still hot. She hated that. A lot. At least he served as a decent distraction at that moment.

  He was just so fucking…alpha. There really wasn’t a better word for it.

  But what she hated more was the fact that she kinda liked it, too. A lot.

  As the garage closed down behind her, Rosie followed him through a door, which opened into a far too neat laundry room and beyond, into a kitchen. He flipped on a light and Rosie glanced around, grateful for yet another distraction. Three walls were lined with dark pine cabinets—old but in pristine condition. All the appliances were modern, stainless steel and a decent-sized, oval table, with four chairs around it, sat in the center, just past the cabinets.

  Terracotta tile spread along the floor and beyond into what appeared to be an open family room. From where she stood she saw a red leather couch, facing a huge stone fireplace with a rough cut dark wooden mantle. Mounted above it was an extremely large flat screen TV.

  “You want a beer?”

  Pulled from her appraisal of his home, Rosie turned to find Badger with his head stuck in the refrigerator. “This is your house?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Beer?”

  She sighed. “You have anything stronger?”

  He nodded and closed the fridge door. Reached above it, opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Strong enough?”

  “Perfect.” She glanced away and chewed her thumbnail. Good old Jack would get the job done and definitely take the sharp edges off the nerves poking around her insides; would get the residual shaking still wracking her body to stop, too. Jesus, what the hell was she going to do?

  Badger set two stout glasses down on the counter. “Ice?”

  “No. Straight, please.” She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. “So, you have some sweats I can maybe borrow or something?”

  He shifted his eyes to hers, down her body to her legs before looking back to the glasses as he poured. “Not that’ll fit. But I’ll get you something else.”

  After handing Rosie her drink, he walked out of the kitchen and through the attached den. She stared at his back until he disappeared down a hall to the far left of the room. He’d looked at her legs, in almost a clinical way. And as though he really didn’t like what he saw. When he looked at her in that way, she felt more self-conscious than a teenager heading into puberty.

  Shaking off the thought, with glass in hand, she wandered into the living room. Rosie ran her palm over the soft leather of the back of the sofa. Before she had a chance to take more than one sip of her drink or do any further exploration of the room, Badger was back with a pair of boxer briefs and thick socks.

  “Here.” He placed the items on the back of the couch. “Bathroom’s first door on the right.”

  “Thanks.” She watched him as he brushed past her to a sliding glass door she hadn’t noticed yet. After opening it, he stepped outside. “Okay then.”

  Rosie turned on the toe of her shoe and found the bathroom. There was nothing special about it, really. Except that it was clean. More so than she’d have expected. Basic toilet. Older vanity made of the same wood the kitchen cabinets were. Formica counter top. Bathtub/shower combo. Clean towels hanging on the towel bar. Maybe this was the guest bath…she closed the door and made quick work taking off her shoes and G-string and pulling on the briefs and socks.

  Rosie took a moment and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was still caked with her stage makeup. She looked like a damn circus freak. Turning, she found a narrow linen closet and opened it in search of—bingo, a washcloth. After wetting it down, she grabbed the bar of soap by the sink, and lathered the cloth. And set to scrubbing her face clean. Somehow being makeup free in front of him, in his home, felt a whole lot better than all glamoured up like some sort of…well, like some sort of stripper.

  She still couldn’t quite figure out why he’d brought her there to begin with. It was clear to her, from the very start, where she stood with him. Which was to say: nowhere. After all, the man barely talked to her, even now in his home, he barely answered her questions and when he did speak to her, he kept it short. As usual. She was sure he had his reasons, but as far as Rosie knew, she’d never done anything to cross him. At least not anything she was aware of. The man made no sense.

  Satisfied that she’d cleared away the evidence of her employment, she rinsed out the washcloth and draped it over the side of the bathtub to dry. She picked up her glass of Jack and downed the double shot in one swallow.

  She was going to need it to get through the next…well, however long it was she was going to be stuck there.

  After shooting a quick text to Deuce letting him know he’d taken off, Badger stood in the darkness of his backyard. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he stared up at the stars. He was jumpy. His skin itchy. She was in his house, and about to be wearing a pair of his goddamn underwear and socks.

  What the fuck was he thinking bringing her there? He hadn’t been thinking, and that was the problem.

  Every damn time he got near the woman, his fucking brain short-circuited. All rational thought vanished and he got stupid. Putting her fine ass on the back of his Dyna was just that. Stupid. Worse, the feel of her arms around his waist and the fact that she fit against his back so perfect, struck something deep inside him, making him want to just keep riding. At least riding, he didn’t have to talk, he just got to feel.

  “Can I get you more Jack?”

  Badger exhaled the smoke he’d just drawn into his lungs, dropped his head and peered over his shoulder at her. She held the bottle of Jack in one hand and her empty glass in the other. She’d removed all of her heavy face paint and was completely makeup free. Perfect was the only word he could think of to describe her. He had to take another drag off his cancer stick before he c
ould answer, and then another, because in addition to her naturally beautiful complexion, she looked so fucking sexy in that T-shirt paired with his boxers, his socks bunched at her ankles, he worried the instant hard-on he’d acquired might bust through his zipper. His dick was ready to shout out a salute of praise.

  In an attempt to play it cool, he walked over to the small outdoor table and stubbed out his smoke and then downed what remained of his booze. “Sure.”

  She moved to him, refilled his glass and her own. After setting the bottle down she raised her glass to her sweet lips and took a sip. Badger watched. He wasn’t a man of many words, but fuck him if he didn’t trust himself not to say something insane like “So, I got something you can wrap those fine lips around.” Because, yeah, that’d go over about as well as a bride getting caught fucking the best man in the backroom of the church. Jesus. There’s a visual!

  She took a few steps away from the table. “It’s really peaceful out here. What city are we in?”

  “Phoenix.”

  “Oh. It seemed like we’d—”

  “City limits stretch pretty far.” He swallowed a mouthful of alcohol and then lit another cigarette.

  She glanced back at him. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  Right. Perfect timing, and an opportunity to get his mind off of…her. “Yeah. About that.” He leaned his ass against the table. “You wanna share what the fuck happened?”

  She faced him and tilted the glass to her lips, her pretty brown eyes locked on his, and Badger ground his molars together. She was stalling by way of distraction and it was fucking working. But goddammit, he knew in his gut she was in a heap of trouble. Something or someone had spooked her onstage and Badger intended to find out what was behind it.

  Clearing his throat, he took a swig of the booze. After another drag of his cigarette, he blew out a long stream of gray smoke into the sky and then prompted her again. “Rosie, one way or another, you’re going to tell me what happened.”