by Lori Foster
Dim, mellow lights hung over booths in the sitting and eating area. A brighter light shone over the bar and bar stools but didn’t quite reach to the seating area, leaving plenty of shadows to swallow up shady deals and lustful assignations—and with every flashing illumination, he saw a few of each.
Discreetly, he scanned the interior until he spotted Arizona at the bar. As he watched, she knocked back a shot of whiskey. Judging by the shot glasses in front of her, it wasn’t her first.
Damn.
What the hell was she thinking? But when he saw the smiling bartender hand her another, he knew. Someone had already sent her the drinks. Things were moving fast. Too fast.
* * *
SO SHE HAD RETURNED.
He’d hoped she would, but she was so hot, so cocky, and so different from the others, that seeing her here now, within reach, almost surprised him.
It definitely pleased him.
Rubbing his mouth, he scrutinized her face, her body.
She’d be perfect, the best yet, the most valuable. And he would have her.
The power of it surged through his veins.
Oh, she thought herself protected. She thought herself immune.
But now that he’d set his sights on her, now that she’d come back, she would be his.
Nothing and no one would change that outcome.
* * *
SPENCER SEATED HIMSELF at a booth as far from Arizona as he dared to be while still being able to see her.
Laughingly rejecting the proffered drink, she spoke to a waiter. Spencer couldn’t hear what was said, but when the waiter called over a boy with a menu, he assumed she planned to order food.
That would buy her some time—as long as she didn’t actually eat much.
The shot remained on the bar in front of her.
How much whiskey would it take to get her drunk? Probably not much. The way she giggled, she was already buzzed…or pretending to be.
With Arizona, he couldn’t tell.
But he could easily guess how unmanageable she’d be with liquid courage burning through her bloodstream. God help them all, she just might kill someone.
* * *
THE SECOND SPENCER WALKED IN, Arizona knew it. She didn’t need to see him or hear him. He had that kind of appeal, that much presence. With him inside the spacious establishment, the stagnant air seemed to swell and churn.
Every other woman in the joint noticed him, too. Women who danced beneath lights. Women who served drinks and sandwiches. Women with other men.
Yeah, she got that. With his incredible height and those broad shoulders and that unwavering air of control, Spencer was the type of man no woman would ever ignore.
But the men became aware of him, too. Likely they saw him as a possible threat; physically he’d annihilate them, and romantically, well, he hogged the attention of all the ladies.
With just a glance, Arizona saw the big bartender zero in on Spencer with nasty intent. While polishing a glass, he spoke to the dude who’d sent her the drinks, and that idiot nodded. Then the skinny man she now guessed to be her target, Terry Janes, eyed Spencer, as well. When Janes turned to say something to the bartender, he caught Arizona watching him.
She ducked her face but smiled—and peeked at him again.
Of course the knucklehead bought it, hook, line and sinker. Men were soooo damn easy.
Mouth curling and dark eyes warming, Terry Janes eyed her with possessiveness.
Oh, she recognized that look well enough.
Bingo.
Up close, his thinning brown hair was more noticeable, especially with the way he slicked it back. His scruffy goatee with patches of gray gave away his mid-forties age. When he tugged on an earring in one ear, Arizona again saw the colorful tribal tat on his left arm.
Tonight, he looked cruel. He looked like an easy mark.
And Spencer thought this might prove tricky. Ha!
Janes leaned on the bar to talk quietly with the other men, but his intimate attention remained on her.
He was such a repulsive excuse for a human being that acidic disgust burned in her stomach. But she played it coy, letting her smile flicker as she returned his interest.
If it weren’t for the loud music, she maybe could have listened in. But no way would she be able to hear unless she got right on top of them. And that’d be too obvious.
So instead, she watched him.
Not until the same boy she’d seen before approached with a menu did she look away from Terry Janes.
“You came back,” he said, his voice dead, cold.
“I said I would, right?” She smiled at him and slid the whiskey aside with a laugh. “I can’t do any more of that on an empty stomach.”
He rubbed his neck with his uninjured hand. “Something else to drink, then?”
Arizona took in the mop of thick dark hair, the swarthy skin…the cowed shoulders. That the kid wouldn’t look her in the eyes really bothered her. He had to be still in his teens. Too young to be working in a bar, but then, he probably had no one to champion him, no one to care about his mistreatment.
Being on the scrawny side, he was no match for the bullies clustered at the other end of the bar.
On his left hand, two fingers were taped together, but she could see by the swelling and discoloration of the middle finger that it had probably been broken.
When she wrapped this up, she’d repay the bastards in kind—with interest.
“How about sweet tea? Do you have that?” Leaning close to ensure he heard her, she tried to see his face.
He dodged her. “Yes.” He laid a menu on the bar in front of her. For only a second, his white shirtsleeve pulled up…and exposed fresh, purpling bruises above his thin wrist. He quickly retreated. “Do you know what you want to eat or did you need more time?”
The whiskey had burned a path down her throat and into her stomach; seeing the kid’s abuse burned her soul.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go ahead and order now.” To give the impression of desperation, Arizona rubbed her stomach as if hungry and scrunched up her nose. “What’s the cheapest thing on the menu?”
She knew she had the attention of all three men; so did the poor boy, and it amplified his nervousness.
He licked pale, chapped lips. She recognized signs of malnutrition and dehydration, in his dry, flushed skin, the protrusion of his bones and lack of flesh, his obvious exhaustion. “We have chili and bean soup. House salad.” One skinny shoulder lifted. “Maybe a BLT sandwich.”
“Let’s see…” She pretended to think about food, when really she hoped to reel in the men. She wanted Terry Janes to approach her. She wanted him to make a move. “It all sounds so good.”
Janes sent a lackey instead.
Feeling his approach, Arizona handed back the menu. “I guess I’ll just have the salad.”
The same guy who’d sent her the drinks earlier stepped up behind her, no doubt testing the waters. “Get her whatever she wants, Quin.”
“Oh.” Pretending surprise at the intrusive voice, Arizona looked over her shoulder—and had to pull back so that she wouldn’t bump into him. He’d crowded so close, she felt the threat of his presence even though he wore a smile. “No, really. I don’t—”
“It’s on the house.” Music faded. The lights sent demonic shadows over his face as he visually caressed her boobs. “A pretty girl should never go hungry.”
Trying to be objective, Arizona decided that he wasn’t a bad-looking man. Not a troll by any stretch. But she knew who he was, what he did and what he wanted.
That made her want him dead.
“Umm…” She smiled in false appreciation. “Thank you, but…”
�
��I insist.” With a hand on her shoulder, he leaned in closer but didn’t offer his name. “Tell Quin what you want.”
Quin. Was that really the young man’s name? Doubtful. But it’d give her an in for setting up a contact. “If you’re sure it’s okay, then maybe a salad and a BLT?”
He bent a level look on Quin. “Bring her a piece of pie, too.”
Before the waiter could leave, she touched his arm. “Thank you, Quin.”
Haunted eyes met her gaze. He nodded and hurried off, leaving Arizona alone with the mouth-breather.
Great.
Shoring up her level of tolerance, she swiveled on the stool to fully face the douche again. Her knees bumped into him, yet neither of them moved away. He had the attitude of a man used to getting his way.
Now that he’d met her, he was bound for disappointment.
Next to Spencer, this guy looked like a complete wimp. And that brought out other quick comparisons. All around her, the usual drunks mixed, mingled or just nursed their drinks.
The creep in front of her gained power by controlling and abusing others. He gave his allegiance to a trafficker, and so did the bartender.
They were foul where Spencer was pure, and, put to the test, one on one, man to man, she knew Spencer would easily crush them all.
But cruelty gave an added edge; when a man didn’t care who he hurt or how he inflicted pain, he could do a lot of damage in a short amount of time.
Though she knew the answer, she asked sweetly, with just a touch of awe, “Are you the boss?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Pouting in mock disappointment, she said, “You seem so much like a boss that I just assumed.”
He moved to her side and leaned back, putting both elbows on the bar. The pose pulled his shirt taut over a slight gut and emphasized his scrawny chest. “Like a boss how?”
By necessity, they remained so close she could smell his breath. “You know. Very…” She smiled and allowed a slight shiver. “In charge.”
“That’s because I am in charge.” Cocky, full of self-importance, he bragged, “I’m the boss’s number-one man.”
In a show of eagerness, she leaned closer. “You are?”
“That’s right.” His gaze settled on her mouth. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
She’d already thought about this, and said without hesitation, “Candy.”
One brow lifted, and he gave a short laugh. “I can believe that.” With one finger, he touched her chin. “You’re so sweet, I think I’m getting a toothache.”
Oh, puh-leeze. Could he be any cheesier? Wishing she could blush on cue, Arizona ducked her face. “Thank you.”
Finally, he held out a hand. “I’m Carl.”
Aha. One big fish in the barrel. “So nice to meet you, Carl.” Knowing she wouldn’t get it back anytime soon, she gave him her hand.
For a heart-stopping moment, as he lifted her hand toward his face, she thought he planned to kiss the back of her fingers. Already her stomach pitched with revulsion.
She did not want his disgusting mouth on her. Her breath stalled in her lungs, and she waited.
Instead, he examined her short, unpolished nails. “No rings? No manicure?”
Asshole. If she was a young woman down on her luck, he sure wouldn’t make her feel any better.
“No funds,” Arizona said as if confessing a sin.
“Is that so?”
A big sigh brought his gaze back to her chest. It was easier for Arizona to conceal her hatred when she didn’t have to look him in the eyes. “I’ve been job hunting, but so far, no luck.”
“You mean a woman with your classy chassis doesn’t have someone to take care of her?”
She forced a smile at the crude compliment. “I’m all alone.”
Shrewd eyes narrowed in speculation. “No boyfriend?”
“Afraid not.”
He studied her doubtfully. “I find that really hard to believe.”
Damn. She didn’t want him to get too suspicious. “It’s hard, you know? I mean, I’ve met a few good guys who were fun to be around. I enjoyed them, but…”
“But what?”
“They started to get too…well, clingy.” She toyed with the end of a lock of hair that fell over her chest. “I want to make it on my own, see some of the world, not get tied down so soon.”
Guarded, he gave her long scrutiny before coming to some conclusion. “I saw you talking to Quin.”
“I asked about a job.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did he say?”
“That I’d have to talk to you.” Quin had said no such thing, but she wasn’t about to get him into trouble. “That’s why I came back. I was hoping…well, do you need any more help here?”
Slowly, his mouth lifted in a smile. “As it turns out, the boss might be hiring.”
“Seriously?” She perked up. “So, could I meet him?”
“Maybe.” As if mesmerized, he watched the slow, playful movements of her fingers toying with her hair. “What are your job skills?”
“Well…” Speaking over the music wasn’t easy but no way would she suggest they go somewhere more private. “I’m a people person. I promise I’d work real hard. I’m always respectful.”
With difficulty, he got his attention back on her face. “How old are you, honey?”
She didn’t lie about that. “Twenty-one.”
“Hmm.” His eyes glittered in speculation. “Plenty old enough, then.”
“That’s what I keep saying!”
His big grin showed off strong white teeth. “The only job available would be waitressing.”
“Oh, I don’t mind that.” She squeezed his hand and rushed on with gusto. “I promise I’ll always show up on time, and I’m never sick. I swear that I’m a real quick learner—”
“I’ll take it up with the boss.” So saying, he glanced back at Terry Janes and nodded.
So she passed muster? Fools. She couldn’t wait to teach them both a lesson.
Quin hesitated with her food, hovering nearby but not intruding.
Carl motioned him in. “Your meal is here.” He patted her hand one last time. “Eat up, and then you can talk to him.”
“Seriously?”
He tipped up her chin. “If all goes well and he hires you, one of us will show you around the place.”
Uh-oh. She was supposed to stay where Spencer could see her. In the briefest of glances, she met Spencer’s gaze—and even in the darkness, with the crazy effect of the lights, she saw that he did not look happy.
Had he guessed what Carl said? Judging by his ominous expression…yes.
Well, he’d just have to trust her to keep herself safe, because she refused to blow things now.
She pasted on a beaming smile. “I would love a quick tour. Thank you!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SPENCER FOUGHT THE URGE to bodily remove Arizona from the bar. Had she not listened to a damn thing he’d told her?
With every hour that passed, the bar got busier, the clientele more hammered. Fewer people danced now, and even the dancers at the bar grew sluggish, sort of swaying in boredom.
It was bad enough knowing Carl’s thoughts, but Spencer knew the thoughts of every other creep in the place, too. They each took turns watching her, some more subtly than others, some outright leering.
The way she sat on that stool, her heart-shaped backside outlined by the snug skirt, her long, slim, shapely legs on display…
Spencer stopped staring long enough to notice another man burning a hole in her with his hot gaze. He made no pretense of not lusting after her.
Yet another man whispered to his buddy while
eyeing her, both of them chuckling with suggestive grins. Seeing their amusement stirred something dark and turbulent inside him.
He did his best to contain the primal reactions. If he went on a rampage, he’d give up the game, and Arizona might never forgive him.
Some of the men were average—clean, not too drunk. Others had probably been at the bar all day, maybe from the night before given their red-eyed, slouched positions.
One elderly drunk in particular paced the aisle mumbling to himself and reeking of booze and sweat. Another younger guy sat quietly at a small table, doodling in a sketch pad.
Spencer wanted to annihilate them all—for doing exactly as Arizona wanted them to.
Even the barmaids cast her continual glances, some of them envious, some resentful, a few only curious. Though they weren’t in Arizona’s league, the women working inside the bar were mostly attractive, if somewhat worn.
When a redhead approached him, Spencer gladly latched onto the distraction. Mature enough, seasoned enough and definitely a customer, not an employee, put her in the category of safe ground. She’d help him blend in, which would give him better opportunity to watch over Arizona without anyone noticing.
“Hello,” she purred.
“Hello yourself.” With all his attention focused on Arizona, the woman’s overblown assets and painted features didn’t interest him. But he eyed her boobs, displayed in a low-cut, sheer blouse, anyway. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Honey, you can get me anything you want.” She eased a full-size, shapely rump into the seat across from him. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Haven’t been here before.” Using the excuse of flagging a waitress, he looked around and saw Arizona attempting to engage the young waiter in conversation. She looked edgy, even a little dangerous.
Don’t rush it, honey. Don’t push.
Arizona had a natural-born tendency to defend the underdog, so Spencer didn’t trust in her ability to maintain control.
When no waitress approached, Spencer asked Red, “What’re you drinking?”
