Facing Home (The Clover Series Book 4)

by Danielle Stewart

  “Twenty bucks,” a large, dark-skinned man with a shaved head barks at me, his palm out flat to collect my money.

  “I’m not a customer,” I bite back, stepping by him.

  “It ain’t amateur night so you ain’t dancing. That means if you pass through this door you pay me or you get a one-way ticket to the curb.”

  “You think you can get me back out that door, try me.” My teeth gnash together and I can see the man’s lip curl into a smile. This is likely his favorite part of the job. As his hand comes up to grab my shirt collar I clamp down on his wrist and spin it until his knees buckle from the pain.

  “Click,” I hear Jordan shout, and suddenly her nails are digging into the flesh of my arm. It doesn’t hurt enough to make me instantly stop, but the sharp edge of her eyes on my face does the trick. I let the man’s arm go and take two steps back.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jordan demands as she shoves me back another step, a fire flaming in her eyes. “Bianca is here. She’s just starting her shift, but she’s not a dancer. She’s just waitressing.” Jordan gestures toward the bar where a few of the other cocktail waitresses are standing, waiting to fill their trays with drinks. For some reason looking at their lace outfits that barely cover the essentials doesn’t make me feel any better. Jordan’s tugging my arm, but I’ve cemented my feet to this dirty floor.

  “She’s done,” I declare, shaking Jordan off with a harshness I regret, but not letting it distract me. I charge up to the bar and shove two drunken idiots out of my way and start shouting my sister’s full name. “Bianca Theresa Marie, get your ass over here and make sure you have some damn clothes on.” I’m directing my voice to the door that looks like it leads to the back room.

  I know my sister, she’s not going to take this invasion lightly, but I don’t give a damn. I feel two large hands slam down on my shoulder and I know the bouncers aren’t taking my disruption well either.

  “Get the hell out,” an ape-like man demands as he pulls me backward. I stumble a bit but regain my footing and spin skillfully out from under his grip. As I raise my arms, ready for hand-to-hand combat, I hear my sister’s familiar scolding tone behind me.

  “You had better have a damn good reason for being here. Someone better be dead, and I mean really dead, because if not, I’m going to kill you.”

  I spin to face the most dangerous person in this place, turning my back on the men who want to throw me out. Bianca is far more frightening than they are. “You’re leaving, now,” I assert and I’m grateful to see she’s wearing a long robe and holding it closed tightly. My worst nightmare would be having to sling her over my shoulder if she wasn’t decent. I reach my hand out and grab her arm but instantly feel the two men who I’ve thoroughly pissed off latch onto me again. One is back on my shoulders and the other is pulling my arm off Bianca.

  “Stop,” Bianca calls, charging forward and pushing the men off me. She’s about to go nuclear, I can see it. I’ve been mapping the warning signs since I turned ten years old. Both my mother and Bianca have fierce tempers; once they’re ignited they’re not easily defused. When I was a kid this would be right about the time I’d run for the hills. “Get your hands off him, he’s my idiot brother.”

  “Well he didn’t pay the cover, and he’s causing shit, so I’m kicking his ass on the way out,” the man says, cracking his large hairy knuckles at me.

  “Good luck with that, Todd; he’s Special Forces. He can kill you before you can beg him not to. But he is leaving,” Bianca says, tugging my arm as we shove past the two men. We collide with Jordan who’s cursing me out in Spanish.

  “Just come outside,” I plead with Bianca, and we all stumble outside and into the dimly lit parking lot. The door closes behind us, trapping the thumping music and commotion inside.

  “I swear I am about to rip your throat out and stomp on it. How dare you come to the place I work and embarrass me like that? I am not a child.” Bianca’s words are spoken with such emphasis that I can feel my cheeks heating up like a kid being reprimanded. It isn’t until I remind myself what this place of work is, that I fire back.

  “A strip club? Really, Bianca, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I told you not to go in there, Click,” Jordan snaps, shoving my shoulder back angrily.

  “Who the hell are you?” Bianca asks Jordan, and it hits me that these two women have a remarkably similar ability to cut through bullshit and tell you you’re an idiot. What I didn’t consider is how terribly they may get along.

  “I’m Jordan,” she explains, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m the person trying to keep him from acting like a complete asshole tonight.”

  “You’re doing a terrible job,” Bianca responds, her voice softer, and I’m relieved to see her dial it down slightly.

  I take advantage of the moment and try to reason with my sister. “Bianca, tell me what’s going on. How did you get here?” I ask, my eyes full of disgust as I gesture toward the club. The look that spreads across my sister’s face brings me as close to tears as I’ve been in a long time. I’ve just wounded her. Badly.

  “Don’t you dare look at me like I’m trash. How did I get here? You think any of the girls in there are just living it up and having a good time? No, they’re here for the same reason I am. Money. I need it. This is how I’m going to get it. So you can get the hell out of here. I don’t need you judging me.”

  “I’m not judging you,” I lie, and she can read that instantly. “Can you get in the car with us and get out of here? Let’s just go talk. We can figure this out together.”

  “I know this is hard for you to believe, but you can’t fix everything. You can’t save everyone. I’m going back in there, and I’m finishing my shift. You are going to your car and leaving. And you,” she says pointing at Jordan, “are going to make sure he does. If you still want to talk to me tomorrow I’ll text you my new address here in Chucksville, and you can come by. The girls would like to see you; they miss you.”

  “Where are they now? I can go be with them for you. Are they safe?”

  “Are they safe?” Bianca parrots back, full of indignation. “Yes, my children are safe right now. Just because I’m serving drinks here doesn’t mean I’ve started neglecting the most important things in my life. The only person who’s hurt them is their father. I’m sure you think Jonah can do no wrong but you misjudged him. We all did.” Bianca pulls her robe tighter and turns on her heels. I have a thousand questions, a million demands, but as I feel Jordan’s hand squeeze my bicep I know there isn’t anything else I can say tonight.

  “We’ll go see her tomorrow,” Jordan whispers and I hang my head, feeling at first sad and then filling again with anger.

  I get back in the car, this time not thinking to open Jordan’s door for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s quiet, and I know that isn’t an easy thing for her.

  “Don’t you want to tell me I was wrong? Isn’t this your cue to tell me I screwed up?” I feel the urge to argue with her as if it might bring me some release but she’s too smart for that.

  “We’ll go see her tomorrow,” she repeats as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail and buckles her seatbelt. “It’ll all work out.”

  Even though I know I shouldn’t let my thoughts go there, my mind reels with the idea that my sister has just walked back into that strip club. My anger hasn’t subsided, my emotions are still rubbed raw, but I have no choice but to put the car in reverse and leave her here. As much as I hate it, Bianca is right. For a long time I’ve been learning this lesson the hard way. I can’t save everyone. That’s becoming abundantly clear.

  Chapter Three

  Jordan

  I’m depressed that this is the first time in my adult life I’ve cared enough about someone to hurt when they hurt. It’s like late onset empathy. How did I live so long being so selfish? Watching the tumultuous conflict raging inside Click tonight has my heart aching for him. I’ve painted myself the ultimate problem solv
er in business, but in matters of family I’m clueless.

  His rhythmic breathing next to me in bed is not one of sleep. It’s one of restlessness while staring at the ceiling. I know because I’m doing the same thing. We’ve been checked into the hotel a couple miles from the Apple’s Bottom for nearly two hours but neither of us can sleep. Every time I consider speaking, I realize I have nothing productive to say.

  So instead, when all words and sleep escape me, I roll toward him and press my body to his side. He lifts his arm and welcomes me below it, tucking me in tightly. I brush my hand across his bare chest, looking for the perfect spot to rest it.

  “You’re heart is racing,” I whisper, and even in a hushed voice it cuts through the silent room.

  “I’m so pissed.” He exhales as he covers my hand with his. “I still want to go back there and beat the hell out of every single person. I don’t even want to tell you what was going through my head tonight. The things I wanted to do, they aren’t good.”

  “I think it’s justified, considering the situation,” I try to reason, but I have a feeling he’s not just talking about tonight.

  “There are moments I feel like I’m back in the war. I forget I’m not in the desert anymore. I sometimes have a hard time separating that. It bothers me.”

  His words come reluctantly. It’s easy to tell he doesn’t want to have this conversation, but I think he knows he needs to. There were signs in Clover that the time he spent in a warzone had him carrying an extra burden.

  “Have you talked to anyone? There must be resources for you when you come home, right?” I actually have no clue what I’m talking about. I’ve had a pretty steadfastly stubborn view about the military and war over the years, so I haven’t really concerned myself with the support system provided for returning soldiers. The buzzwords are all over television and in the news. I know there’s an epidemic of post-traumatic stress out there, but damn if I know what you’re supposed to do to help.

  “I’m fine,” he says, patting my hand. “Things get bad, and then they get better. It’s not something I can explain or talk about. I’m not sure you’d understand.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I admit, feeling like being honest is the only option I have. “I don’t think people can understand what it’s like over there if they haven’t been through it. I’m always here to listen, but I’m not going to pretend that I’ll say the right thing. I probably won’t.”

  “It’s not really about saying anything,” Click explains as his arm closes in tighter around me. “Sometimes I just need to feel here, instead of still over there. Do you know what I mean?”

  “No,” I confess, angry with myself for my ignorance.

  “I need to be rooted in something. I need to feel connected because over there that didn’t happen. Survival was about being disconnected. Physically and emotionally. But with you, touching you and loving you—it reminds me that that part of my life is over and this part is my reality.” His hand lifts and comes to my cheek, brushing it lightly. His fingers swirl in a circular motion, moving slowly toward my mouth. I feel his thumb brush across my lips and I meet it with a kiss. In an instant, I’ve gone from not knowing what he needs, to knowing exactly what he’s telling me. He wants to feel. Because feeling reminds him of being here, and if he’s here, he isn’t still over there.

  As he strums his thumb again over my lips I part them and he pushes it into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around it, eliciting a moan from him. I release his thumb from my lips and bring my body on top of him. I strain in the dim light to read his face, cautiously trying to make sure I haven’t misread the situation. For the first time tonight the veins in his neck aren’t pulsing and his jaw is finally relaxed. This is what he wants.

  I pull my long hair to the side and twist it back over my shoulder to keep it out of my face. His hands are gripping my hips tightly then sliding up my ribs and back down again. Slipping my shirt over my head, I feel his hands clamp down on my hard nipples, drawn there like magnets. The pinch and pull is enough to soak my panties as I grind myself against his firmness. Pleasure has never been so easy to attain. A few hard strokes against him and I could easily be shuddering. But I don’t. I pull back and slip off my wet panties, all I had on with my T-shirt. He works his way out of his shorts, and I see his firmness spring up, ready for me.

  I lean down and press my full body against him, kissing him with a passion that feels as much like home to me as I hope it does to him. His hands get twisted up in my hair and I love the tug and force he handles me with tonight. There is urgency in his movements. He doesn’t just want me, he needs me, and every move proves it. It’s different and unfamiliar but it’s actually heightening my excitement.

  Rather than let me ride him, he quickly scoops up my legs and shifts himself upright. In a quick and dominant motion he’s on his feet and I’m in his arms. My legs grip around him, his hardness still rubbing against me as he drops me down on the desk in the corner of the hotel room. Though it’s cool beneath my skin, the heat we’re creating keeps me from caring. I shove everything below my hands off the desk and let it crash to the floor. He parts my legs, unapologetically pushing them open. Gripping my hair tightly between his fingers he tips my head back and his mouth devours my neck as he plunges inside me. I gasp at the force of it, but clutch my legs around him tightly before he can back out. His piercing depth is a mix of pain and pleasure, and I don’t want to let go.

  I want to elicit the same feeling in him. As he thrusts deeper and deeper into me I lean forward and bite hard on the flesh between his shoulder and his neck, making him tug even more at the handful of my hair he’s still grasping.

  Click is grunting as he moves at a frantic pace. He pushes my legs even wider and yanks me closer to the edge of the desk. The new position has me so close to ecstasy I start chanting his name. Reading my readiness, his hand releases my hair and cups my breast, pinching my nipple as I cry out in pain, but I hold his hand in place, begging him not to stop. As my body tightens around him, I shudder and let my nails drag deep into the skin of his back as I ride out the wave of pleasure he’s given me.

  My body relaxes and he scoops me up again and spins me toward the bed. I’m on my back catching my breath as he plunges back inside me, and stares into my face. After a few deep hard strokes I feel him come, his hand on my shoulder, bearing down on my body and taking every last ounce of pleasure he can. I’m thrilled to be able to give it to him. If he’s forgotten the conflict raging inside him for even a few minutes, I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

  Chapter Four

  Click

  Whatever stress and anxiety Jordan lifted from me last night has crept its way back in. I’m knocking on the faded beige door of the address Bianca texted me, and I still have no clue what I’m going to say to her. Everything I talked out with Jordan on the ride over, she vetoed. No, I could not tell her she was raised better than this. No, I could not accuse her of losing her mind or just wanting attention. And most importantly, I could not tell her that she had to quit. Jordan told me everything I couldn’t say but she stopped shy of telling me what might actually work.

  My sister huffs loudly as she pulls open the door barely enough for her head to stick out. “I told you to come over today, not first thing in the morning.”

  “Are you letting us in?” I ask, meeting her attitude tit for tat.

  Without a word she swings the door wide open and rudely walks away, back into her tiny apartment. She bends down and grabs a handful of toys then a single sock on her way to the living room.

  A thundering herd of tiny feet comes racing around the corner, and before I can blink there are two little nightgown-clad girls jumping into my arms. The sweet smell of shampoo reminds me how much I love them. They both favor Jonah; they inherited his sandy colored hair and slightly too big ears. But they have Bianca’s smile, even though I haven’t yet seen hers on this trip.

  “Girls,” I chuckle and pretend they are choking me, “you’re so
big I can barely hold you up.”

  “Daphne and Penny, go clean up those toys in your room; I’m not going to tell you again. You can come play with your uncle when that’s done.” I see a stern and tired scowl press across my sister’s face and I know she’s at her wits’ end. As the girls scurry away into the other room, Bianca gestures toward the plaid out-of-date couch, and Jordan and I take a seat.

  “I’m not interested in a lecture, so save your breath if that’s what you’re here for.” Bianca doesn’t sit. Instead, she folds her arms across her chest and cocks a goading eyebrow at me, daring me to say something stupid.

  “Where is Jonah?” I try to keep my question direct and free of the overwhelming emotions I feel.

  “Damned if I know. A month ago he comes home from work and tells me he’s leaving. He gives me the house and the kids and drains our savings account. Literally doesn’t say a word to me as he grabs a bag of his clothes and leaves. That’s it. One day everything is fine, the next my life is over. My best friend leaves me without a single explanation.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. He would never just abandon the girls like that. Has he even called? Have you tried to find him?”

  “Why would I try to find him? He’s a bastard for what he’s done. I never want to see him again.”