STRIPPED 2 (A Ferro Family Novel)

by H. M. Ward

“I didn’t. And I’m alive. Besides, I’d never roam around his house uninvited or even go out with some random guy.”

  Jon glances at me, confusion pinching his face. “He’s not some random guy—you know him. At least, it sounded like you did.”

  “I do a little bit. I still wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

  Jon pulls off the parkway and merges into more traffic. His knuckles are turning white as he strangles the wheel. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t.” I don’t see it coming. Jon pulls over, stops the car, and flicks his hazard lights on. “What are you doing?”

  “How many guys have you gone out with since we broke up?”

  “What?” I roll my eyes. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Answer me, Cass. How many?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I fold my arms across my chest and refuse to look at him.

  “How many?”

  “Less than you.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “That’s not a question! What do you want to know? Did I fuck the guys I stripped for? Did I take a few lap dances too far? Did I—”

  He cuts me off, “Did you go out with a guy on a regular date after we broke up?”

  I ignore the ominous pounding of my heart. This is only one shoe falling. The other will drop and kick my ass. I stiffen in the seat. “Yes.”

  “Was it Mark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you go anywhere with any guy alone again after that?”

  I feel sick. A jittering sensation builds in my gut, working its way into my stomach, and trying to come out of my mouth. I lock my jaw and stare straight ahead. I can’t tell him what he wants to know.

  “What did he do to you, Cass?” Jon’s voice is a caress. His hand is about to touch my face, but I snatch it and jerk it away. Jon doesn’t let go. “You can’t tell me, can you?”

  My eyes are glassy as memories collide inside my skull. Pulse pounding, I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. I reach for the handle, ready to throw open the door and run, but Jon’s grip on me loosens and slips away.

  I remain in my seat, rigid, frozen with a fear of memories that feel more like nightmares. The corners of my mouth twitch as I try to hold the fake smile on my face.

  I feel dead inside, and before I know what I’m saying, I’m answering his original question. “None. I’m never alone with men. Ever. I avoid it. You’re my exception.”

  “Why?”

  I glance at him. My eyes sweep his beautiful face and drink in clearly evident concern. His pink lips part in shock. I expected him to want to bury the man who did this to me, but he doesn’t focus on that right now. His full attention is on me, and I know he’s wishing he could erase the past. I know because I recognize that look. I’ve seen it too many times on my face in the mirror.

  I press my lips together and try to put what I’m feeling into words. Something about confidences and trust. He never used me, but that’s not it. It’s not what Jon didn’t do. It’s what he did do. The man wanted me from day one, but he went at my pace and never made me feel like I had to do more.

  Jon waited for me.

  Mark was a monster in comparison. My thoughts are dark, so laced with anguish and regret I fight to force them below the surface. But here they are, displayed in the daylight, making me sick to my stomach. A shiver coats my skin, kissing me with cold that has nothing to do with the temperature. It works its way past the surface and slivers into my heart.

  “You were the only one who didn’t…” I can’t say it. The words don’t come. I press my fingers to my eyes and look down.

  I feel Jon watching me for a long time before turning back to the windshield and staring down the street. Car horns blare around us as my head fills with the sound of Jon’s breathing. I’m so tense, so nauseated, I almost miss it. I almost don't hear him.

  His voice is barely a breath, a soft acknowledgment, “I know what you mean.”

  He glares at the road with hatred on his face. His knuckles are white as he clutches the steering wheel with one hand and the gear shift with the other.

  CHAPTER 10

  JON

  Fuck, I almost said it. I nearly told her everything. Why would I do that to her? She’ll never talk to me again if she knows everything. I can’t lose her, not now. After all of this, when she’s finally starting to trust me, why the hell would I even consider it?

  I glance at her from the corner of my eyes. “Cass?”

  She says, “Mmmm?”

  I want to tell her. I want her to know everything about me and accept me the way I am. I accept her. I understand what she’s talking about even though I wish I didn’t. That fucker ruined her the same way the bitch ruined me. I can’t be with a woman if it’s anything but a good, hard fuck. The thought of letting my guard drop and letting her in—I can’t do it. She’ll find the scars, see the marks, and know.

  Besides, it’ll only cause her more pain, and I don’t want that. I’m attracted to Cass, any idiot could see that, but I can’t ever be with her. I can’t fuck her. It’ll never just be sex with her, and she’s so defensive, so afraid. She’s frozen me out again. Her replies are short, cold. I try to get my Cassie back, with the warm, sexy smiles, the girl in the sundress who thinks sex is affection at its core, but she’s gone right now.

  It’s okay. She’ll come back to me and next time, I’ll get it right, and she won’t run. I won’t lie to her. I won’t hurt her. I won’t fuck her. I’ll keep my hands and my dick to myself. If I love her at all, I know what I have to do.

  Cassie glances over at me. I see the massive golden arches down the street. She still has no idea where we’re going. It’s two o'clock in the afternoon, and I promised the woman breakfast. Thank God for all day menus.

  As I pull into the parking lot, I ask, “What would you like?”

  She snorts and bows her head, hiding a light blush. “I remember the last morning we had McDonald’s.”

  “So do I. I bought you everything on the menu.”

  “Jon?” Her voice is weak, near trembling.

  I glance over at her. “It’s okay, Cass. It’ll always be okay with us. You don’t have to say anything.”

  She looks relieved and settles back into her seat with a soft smile on her face. Cassie, my Cassie is still there. She’s all soft curves and grace with a killer sense of humor and a sharp wit, but that’s not what drew me to her in the first place. It wasn’t her morality, although that piqued my interest, it was her conviction—the dedication she had to follow her beliefs. I didn’t believe in anything then, never mind having the guts to act on it. Cassie has an internal compass that might be shattered, but it’s not broken. I’ll find my way back to her heart. I’ll be there for her until she realizes I’m never leaving her side again.

  CHAPTER 11

  CASSIE

  The other shoe never drops. Jon is there day and night, giving me space when I want it, and crawling into bed next to me when I ask. I feel bad about it, imagining him waiting around for something I can’t give him. He wants sex. I know how to fuck. God knows I learned that lesson a long time ago. Emotional distance is a requirement of survival. At one point, Jon would have been all too happy to jump on that whore bandwagon, but not so much anymore. One night we stayed late at the club, and I told him I wanted to show him my gratitude. I made an ass out of myself, and he shot me down.

  The next day I told him I needed to work again. I couldn’t keep taking his money for doing nothing. As it is, I tried to give back the amount he'd paid me, but he wouldn’t take it. The cash kept appearing in my apartment, in my jeans, or under my pillow.

  When I told him I wanted to start stripping again, it looked like I sucker punched him below the belt. Jon didn’t protest, though. He gave me my old hours back and a slot in the pink room. It was what I wanted. I was ready to fight for it, and I didn’t have to. I felt deflated after that. I worked, silently noticing the same men every night. They ordered
lap dances and over-tipped. While wondering why Jon didn't castrate them on their way out, I realized something.

  Jon never watches.

  He’s not on the floor when I work, and nowhere near the pink room. At first, I was grateful to avoid the awkwardness, but then I noticed he’s not there even in passing.

  I wondered if I'd broken whatever we had, but decided not to dwell on it. For now, I just need to keep surviving.

  In the dressing area, I pull off my sweatpants and sit there on the yellowed wooden bench in a light pink t-shirt, not wanting to get dressed yet.

  Gretchen is cooing in front of her mirror, pursing her lips and grinning. She’s wearing a glittery black pushup bra and G-string, thigh-highs, and shiny black heels. I'm barely listening until I hear his name. Gretchen arches her back and tosses her hair, laughing with a deep chuckle. “Who’d think Jonny would ask for me so many times, but he does. Private pink room party for two.”

  I glance at her. “Jonny who?”

  The other women in the room quickly look away—except Beth, whose eyes dart between us. She stops dressing and becomes deadly still, her hands on her knees, waiting.

  Ruby lips curve into an evil grin as Gretchen rises from her bench, clicking her way across the room toward me in her fuck-me heels. She leans in front of my mirror and preens, adjusting her amazing rack, then straightens to look down at me like she’s so much better.

  “Ferro. Who else would it be? What’s the matter, Princess? Did you think he only liked looking at you?”

  Beth sees me snap and lunges forward to stop me, but she’s not fast enough. My hand pulls back and, by the time she does, it’s too late. My fist is already flying headlong into Gretchen’s face. I catch her cheek with my knuckles. The impact sends the dancer flying backward, and she falls to the floor. I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

  I learned how to take a hit, and I learned how to throw one. Gretchen screams childishly and covers her face, trying to kick me off. “His dick is so big no one can satisfy him. It’s not your fault, honey. He just needed someone better.”

  If she'd shut up for two seconds, I could regain my control. Instead, she elaborates, describing how she's sucked Jon off every night for the past two weeks. I should be crying, but my rage scalds any tears left to fall.

  I’m on the floor, about to bitchslap her, when she drops her hand to taunt me. I have a clear shot at her face, and the girls around me are chanting, begging me to kick her ass. The background sounds dim to a forgettable buzzing, allowing me to focus on her claims of sucking Jon’s cock. I imagine myself pummeling the bitch, and I know I can make her bleed. I know I shouldn't, but I can’t stop myself.

  I’m screaming at her, blasting her with words that make no sense, threatening her with things I’d never do. My hand is open as I swing my arm, intending to smack the arrogant expression off her face, but someone grabs my wrist and jerks me backward.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jon barely touches me. One swift movement pulls me away from Gretchen and to my feet, then he drops my wrist and steps back.

  He’s wearing jeans, no shoes, and no shirt. His bare chest is chiseled and glistening like he'd been working hard. He looks at me like I’m completely broken, attacking that woman without reason.

  We’re both fired. That’s the old rules. Jon hasn't said much about them since he bought the club and plastered his name to the front of it. His mother has been freakishly silent as well. I know it’s unnerving Jon, and he has better things to do than deal with this, but I can’t help it.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Jon takes another step back and holds his hands up, indicating he won’t. He’s breathing hard, and his face flushes. “We can’t have this shit in here. You know the rules, Cassie.”

  I’m breathing so hard my lungs feel like they are on fire. There isn’t enough air. Bruce is there, scraping Gretchen off the floor, and shoving her belongings into a bag. She’s pulling at his arm, trying to stop him, but the man might as well be a tank. “You know the rules. You’re out.”

  Gretchen turns to Jon, eyes wide, full of tears. “Jonny, don’t throw us out. Please.”

  Jon is glaring at me. He turns to her for a moment—we both do. “Why the fuck not?”

  Bruce freezes, and there’s not a sound in the room except Gretchen sniffling.

  “We were just letting off some steam. Club Ferro is the best job I’ve ever had, please. It won’t happen again. Things have been different since you came. I don’t want to leave.” She sways her hips, making it hard not to look at the G-string covering nothing. She approaches Jon, and he doesn’t shut her down. He doesn’t step away or anything. She touches his shoulder carefully, gently stroking his skin with her fingers. “I’ll make it up to you, enough for this whole thing. For both of us.”

  Jon looks like Sean. He’s stone, devoid of emotion, and I hate it. He lets her hang on him, making promises to suck him off for my sins too.

  Screw that. I shove her out of the way and smack both palms into his chest. “No fucking the staff, huh, Ferro? What happened to that rule?”

  “I’m not screwing anyone.” His voice is cold, lifeless.

  I hit him again shoving both hands hard against his chest. Is he with her? I can’t process the thought. It gets stuck in my mind, gagging me, swirling around me and making me sick.

  How could he choose her? I need to get a hold of myself. The little voice in the back of my head is telling me to get a grip, but I’m hysterical again. The veins in my neck pop up as my jaw tightens. I bite out the words and shove him as I say them, “Getting a blowjob is fucking!”

  “Not here.” Jon disregards me and turns away. He refuses to explain himself. It sounds like he’s saying getting head is okay, and it’s not fucking at all. I hear his voice from years ago—that young arrogant boy standing in the mall, telling me sex is a game, something to master. Meanwhile, I said it was about love and adoration.

  In reality, sex is neither.

  Sex is power over another human being. It’s not fun. It’s not sweet. It’s a part of my past I wish I could erase. I still feel Mark’s hands on the sides of my head forcing my mouth over his hard shaft, pushing too far into my throat, gagging me. Tears streaked down my face then, my ears ringing as he yelled at me, slapping the sides of my head as he ordered me to do it right, swallow harder, and suck him off.

  Thinking about Jon doing that to someone kills me.

  It’s not the same, Cassie. Reason tries to call out to me, but it’s no more than a distant echo that no longer holds meaning.

  The same thought replays in my mind, like a CD skipping on a scratch.

  Not Jon. Not Jon. Not Jon.

  I’m too livid to form words. My entire body shakes, and I swear to God my skin will crack and explode. Growling, I race at him and jump on his back. I scream at him, “You’re an asshole! A big stupid asshole who can’t control his cock!”

  Jon peels me off without effort. He holds my wrists above my head and twists my arm behind my back in a way that makes me move with him or get my arm broken. He shoves me back a few paces until my back hits the wall. Jon plasters his body to mine, pressing me into the wall with his bare chest, and holding me in place with his hips.

  I try to twist out of his grip, but I can’t move. My heart beats harder as an icy tendril of fear reaches up from within me. It weaves its way from my stomach, up over my ribs—making every muscle tighten—as it climbs to my throat and wraps around like a sleeping snake. I jerk my head back and forth, trying to kick free, but he won’t move.

  Jon hisses in my ear, “I’m not doing this here. You’re losing it, Cassie.”

  His hot breath pours over my neck. I don’t stop struggling. “You don’t own me.”

  “I know that.” His voice is too light. It registers that he’s not yelling, that this isn’t a fight. It’s me.

  I snap, “I can pay my way.”

  “I know that, too.” He stops pressing on me so hard, and I can breathe
again. Jon’s eyes meet mine and lock. Sadness is buried so deeply within them, that I wonder if he even knows it’s there. Pity clings to the corners of his mouth, and I don’t want to hear those words. His lips part to say something, but I cut him off.

  “I’m not the same girl you met in Mississippi, so stop staring at me like that. I grew up. So did you.”

  “Cass…”

  “Don’t treat me differently.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are!” I try to shove him off, ignoring the tightening sensation in my throat. He’s too big. I can’t make him stop. I can’t…

  “Cassie,” he breathes my name, begging me to stop but I can’t.

  I growl and thrash, screaming, “I’m the same as everyone else here! Stop acting like I’m not! I’m not different, so don’t treat me like I am.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why?”

  He hisses in my face, “Because you are different, Cass! Fucking get that through your head.” He steps away abruptly causing me to fall forward. I stagger and catch myself.

  I watch him retreat. His shoulders are tight, and his hands fist at his sides. He storms away, saying, “Fine, you’re the same as everyone else here. Get your ass on stage in five or you’re fired.” His voice is detached like he doesn’t care about me, but when he turns away, the scars on his back tell a different story.

  CHAPTER 12

  JON

  Cassie is driving me fucking crazy. She lost her mind and went ape shit on another dancer. I can’t take all this estrogen. That blonde, Gretchen, has been coming onto me every chance she gets. I nearly broke last night. She was naked, on her knees and pulling at my zipper, offering to suck my dick and swallow. Most girls catch on, but this one wants to be different. Her tits are tanned and huge. She shoved them in my face when I said no, then shimmied down, pressing them against my chest and slinked towards my hips where she kneeled and went for my fly. She got the button undone and the zipper down. She was about to touch me, to send me reeling with ecstasy when the unthinkable happened.