Awakened

by Virna DePaul

  Someone had just come up to tell her to get ready and deal with the arriving reporters. She was mostly done and her gown, borrowed finery from the Club Red wardrobe, looked good and fit perfectly.

  In a few minutes, the stage bell sounded and they decamped in a clatter of high heels and a swirling cloud of scented body mist, leaving her coughing.

  Barrett looked in her bag for a throat drop, finding one that had come unwrapped and was fuzzy with lint. She popped it into her mouth anyway and instantly regretted it. A movement in the doorway behind her made her turn around.

  The thin girl was back. Not in the room. Outside it. Waiting. In the dark. Someone had switched off the dangling lights in the corridor.

  Her eyes shone, reflecting the light in the mirror Barrett was facing.

  “Hi,” Barrett said. She found a tissue and took the throat drop out of her mouth, wrapping it up. “What’s up?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  Barrett scooped up the markers and pencils and the pad, and put it all hurriedly into her bag. “Of course.”

  “Not here. In the parking lot? Around midnight?”

  “Of course. But what’s going on? Can’t we talk now?” The girl shook her head and backed away. Barrett wanted to stop her. Shake her. Ask her if she knew anything about Jane. Instead, she let the girl go, not wanting to risk scaring her off.

  She got to the hostess station just as Vlad walked by, giving him a fluttery wave and a breathless smile. He stopped to admire her borrowed finery, gave her a thin smile, and kept on. His second in command, Gil Mansfield, followed, barking out orders when he wasn’t shaking hands with media guests.

  Barrett hid her bag on the shelf inside the hostess station and scanned the screen with the guest list. She recognized several names.

  Thatcher Clapp from the Atlanta Newshound show. Melanie Khan from the WeWatchTheWeb blog. The one and only Vincent Hurok from the Times-Tribune.

  There were more names she didn’t know, from social online sites devoted to the latest and trendiest. Barrett snorted. From what she’d heard, those reporters got paid next to nothing and would jump at the chance for a free minivacation. By the length of the list, they had arrived in droves. Behaving badly was the idea.

  Club Red was angling to compete with the decadent luxury of the hottest clubs in Atlanta and the rest of the U.S. Justine had explained that the business wasn’t that local once a club took off. Rich execs really did fly in from around the country. Famous athletes showed up, trolling for new additions to their harems.

  The media bash was meant to get the ball rolling.

  She could hear Sam warming up the first arrivals with naughty jokes and then a song. Her rich contralto voice rolled out to where Barrett was standing.

  It was a couple of hours before she could leave her station and go in for a peek. By then Barrett had missed most of the show. No big deal. She’d seen it in rehearsals, however briefly.

  Several more girls came down the runway, wearing just about nothing, doing some of the same moves. They were greeted with lusty roars from men on the verge of drunkenness and some well past it.

  The atmosphere in the main room was hazy and suffocating, thick with expensive scent and sweat. Dozens of onlookers, tanked up on comped drinks, had abandoned the small tables to get up and writhe to house music that was so loud Barrett could almost see it pulsing in the air. The bottle-service girls were working the crowd, squeezing between knots of people to deliver free champagne and pricey booze. All the flesh on display made male eyes glaze over and male hands wander, copping a squeeze or a feel until the girl in question managed to wriggle free.

  Barrett had been to a male strip club once. The women who paid a premium for front-row seats so they could grab at the guys just seemed pathetic. She’d left with a friend, feeling sorry for the performers.

  The gender mix of this crowd was about fifty-fifty, but the men seemed to be a lot older than the watching women, who looked bored. Some seemed to be already posting, tapping on their tablet screens to send a live report from the scene.

  What she wouldn’t give to take a peek at a scathing blog review or two. But that wasn’t possible. Barrett swept her gaze around the main level, searching for Nick without seeing him. She looked up. The top balcony was as empty as if it had been sealed off. The glass walls of the balcony below it revealed lots more guests milling around, many dancing to the deafening music or getting wild with attractive strangers or some office hot-tie they’d been lusting after.

  Then she spotted him, right above her. His back was turned to her, smashed against the glass. She knew that stance and those big shoulders, although his hair was different, streaked a color between blond and brown. Some reporter had her press pass draped over Nick’s shoulder and her leg wound around his as she slid up and down.

  Barrett headed for the stairs, scooping up the folds of her long evening gown to go faster. What he was doing was not part of the plan, even though they’d never nailed down the details, and did not qualify as winging it.

  What he was doing was pure horndog freestyle humping while her back was turned.

  She pushed open the door to the first balcony, banging it so hard against the wall that the bouncer stationed near it jumped.

  Barrett calmed herself, nodding to the startled man before she located Nick a second time. Whoever the reporter was, she was glued to him and giving him sloppy kisses that landed randomly all over his face.

  She strode over and planted herself directly in back of Nick’s new friend. Barrett’s hands fisted on her hips. Nick’s eyes widened as he peeled the reporter’s hands off his body and turned his face away from her sucking mouth.

  “Hey. Stop it,” he told her.

  “No,” she complained. “Ish fun.”

  Nick dragged her press pass over his shoulder and looked at the name. “Mary Nesbit, I think you’ve had enough.” He opened the lanyard into a circle and hung the pass around her neck.

  Barrett gave the high sign to the bouncer, who made his way through the crowd to gently lead the reporter away, probably to the ladies’ lounge, where someone else would see to her before she puked.

  Nick followed Barrett to a circular glass table for two and sank into a chair. She took the one next to him, so he could hear her and no one else would.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Barrett hissed at Nick.

  “I’m working,” he said, defending himself.

  “Oh really.” Her contemptuous glance took him in from head to toe. The outfit, she had expected. It was the bad dye job and the cheap shoes that were awful. The black-framed glasses did make him look like Clark Kent. “Under what name? Dare I ask?”

  “Does it matter? I’m not going to do this again.”

  “I guess I should be grateful.”

  He folded his brawny arms across his chest, rumpling the canvas jacket. The big pockets held a lot of gear, including a camera and a tablet.

  “I got bodycam pictures of that door you saw, Barrett. And two other doors that look just like it on the other side of the club.”

  “Which door do we want?”

  “Good question—and by the way, the exterior recon didn’t show them.”

  She knew how good he was at remembering things like that. Barrett let him talk, even though she was still pissed as hell.

  “That means they don’t lead out but in, and probably down to another level. I hid micro electronic-pulse readers by the keypad. The next time those numbers get punched in we receive a readout.”

  Barrett nodded. You could always trust Nick on the tech stuff. But not necessarily everything else.

  “Did Mary Nesbit go with you?” One last jab. He deserved it.

  “No. I just met her when I came up here to get an inside aerial view, so to speak. And don’t accuse me of getting her sloshed. She was sloshed to begin with. That’s the idea. We’re all supposed to be having a great time and enjoying the show.”

  “So I noticed. I just wis
h you—” Barrett fell silent as a cocktail waitress she didn’t know came over.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked cheerily, bending over to display breathtaking cleavage for Nick’s benefit.

  “Two Shirley Temples. Charge it to the house. I’m Barrett Klein.”

  The waitress straightened up immediately. She might not know Barrett’s name, but she understood that tone of voice. Barrett knew the waitress would ask who she was the second her darling little tray with the boob-print napkins slammed down on the bar.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Being ma’am-ed grated on her nerves even more than Nick’s outrageous behavior. Barrett rested a hand on the glass table and looked down through it. It was obvious that he had a hard-on, even though it wasn’t as stiff as it had been five minutes ago. She pulled her gaze away, really riled now.

  “One more thing,” Nick said. “The area of the parking lot where Aura did the most indicating is where Vlad parks his car. It has vanity plates that said red spell. I think we have ourselves a vampire.”

  She’d suspected as much herself, but she said, “That’s not quite concrete proof.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. His cock was definitely getting smaller. “Guess you’re not done frosting my shorts.”

  “No,” she replied, her tone honey sweet.

  “So finish what you were saying before the cocktail waitress came by. You just wish I … what?”

  “Nothing.”

  She rose and started to walk away, then practically hissed when Nick’s fingers clamped around her wrist.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” she ordered even as she smiled and turned back toward him, a hostess dealing with an unruly customer.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  She shrugged and pulled away from him, banking on the fact that he wouldn’t make a scene. She was right. He immediately released her. “I was going to ask you the same thing last night when you were acting all cold and distant.”

  His expression closed up.

  “That was a question by the way. I know we don’t have a lot of time here, but I’d appreciate a quick explanation.”

  “You want quick? I was worried about you all day, Barrett. I don’t like worrying about you. I’m trying not to repeat the past and go all overprotective on you, but I’m sorry if me struggling with all that was a downer for you.”

  She just stared at him openmouthed. “Jesus,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Then he threw himself back in his seat. “Yes, I was an asshole, but I wasn’t trying to be. I just haven’t got the hang of all this quite yet—loving you, knowing you love me, and still letting you be your own woman. I don’t want to fuck up and lose you again, Barrett, and my way of ensuring that was to go quiet. It’s just my way.”

  And it was probably the same reason why he never talked about Gary. Not because he wasn’t hurting. But because when he hurt or struggled, he got quiet.

  Jesus, she was an idiot.

  She rubbed her arms and looked around to make sure the bouncer hadn’t come back yet.

  “You could’ve just told me that,” she said, knowing she sounded childish.

  “I just did,” he said wearily.

  She bit her lip, not liking that tone in his voice. Not liking that she’d been the cause of it.

  He sighed. “So what now? You gonna leave me to do what I need to do, or you gonna keep on punishing me for a crime I didn’t commit? I can take it. I might even deserve it.”

  Barrett thought about it, then brightened slightly. “Thanks for the invitation. Would you like me to tell you in advance what your punishment is?”

  He gave her a wary look. “Go ahead.”

  She put her palms on the table and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “First of all, you learn a few tricks working in a joint like this. When women get naked, men get stupid.”

  “That’s true. Your point? My punishment?”

  “I’m going to tease you until you can’t stand it. Starting with a private strip, just for you.” She glanced down. His cock was responding. She raised the stakes. “But you’ll be tied to a chair. And all you’ll be able to do is watch while I take off my clothes.”

  “Uh-huh.” His dark eyes glowed. He didn’t mind the game so far.

  “Remember, you can’t move. I’m down to nothing but superhigh heels and a sparkly G-string.”

  “I can see it. So far, this is not torture.”

  Barrett cleared her throat and went on whispering. “Then I turn around. I wiggle my ass and spank myself until my cheeks are rosy red. Begging to be kissed.”

  Nick didn’t respond. But she could see a faint flush rising over his strong cheekbones.

  “You want me. But you can’t have me because I’m standing and you’re sitting in a chair. And you can’t touch me because your hands are tied. Now close your eyes.”

  He obeyed. Barrett stroked his face with utmost gentleness. “That’s right. How do you like it so far?”

  She could see for herself that talking dirty was getting amazing results. His cock was straining against the material of his pants. No one could see. Just her.

  “Stay with the fantasy. Think about it. Think hard.” She stroked and patted.

  “I am.” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

  “Now you have a big, throbbing erection. And I bet your balls ache.”

  “Good guess,” he muttered hoarsely.

  “There’s nothing you can do about it. You have to save the hurt for me.”

  “Fuck. But okay. Sign me up.”

  Barrett gave him a final, much harder pat that was pretty close to a slap.

  “What was that for?” he asked, opening his eyes.

  She nodded toward the approaching cocktail waitress. “We have company.”

  Nick crossed his legs and winced. Then he frowned and stood. “Shit. It’s Vlad.”

  Seconds after he spotted Vlad behind the approaching cocktail waitress, Nick left by the opposite door. Barrett was alone by the time the club owner appeared at her table.

  “Barrett. Are you enjoying yourself?” He glanced at the two Shirley Temples the cocktail waitress placed on the table.

  She rose to greet him. “Yes. I was just grabbing a few drinks. I get thirsty at my station.”

  “I will escort you back.”

  So he had come to find her instead of sending an underling. That seemed strange. And courteous. In a creepy way.

  She disliked the feel of his hand touching her elbow. There was a forcefulness to the way he guided her that was very different from the subtle way he’d played with her hair after it had been cut. He seemed to enjoy the admiring looks other men gave her as they walked together.

  When they got to the hostess station, he slipped a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. “This is the club’s updated schedule, which you’re going to need. We only have a few more things to deal with before the opening. The first is some repairs to the upper tier. Construction workers will be coming in the day after tomorrow to take care of them. That evening, I’m also hosting a special VIP event. I’d like you to be there if possible.”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile.

  He studied her for a moment, then said, “You’re doing a wonderful job, Barrett. Keep it up.”

  Barrett smiled until she thought her teeth were going to crack, relieved when he finally wandered off. Her “wonderful” job for the next couple of hours basically amounted to telling guests where the restrooms were.

  The dancer from the dressing room strolled by, on the arm of Thatcher Clapp, whose bow tie was askew. Barrett made no comment as the pair headed in the direction of the staircase to the private rooms on the second floor. But she quickly checked the time on the monitor in front of her.

  Almost midnight. She was supposed to meet the other girl, the thin one she’d sketched. Barrett looked around.

  She wasn’t going to ask permission. She
grabbed her bag and left.

  The girl was nowhere in sight when she got outside. Barrett put the bag over her shoulder and started walking around. In ten minutes, she’d gone around the whole building. Since it seemed she’d been stood up, getting a better look at the outside and making a mental comparison with Nick’s thorough recon and surveillance was worthwhile. But she couldn’t stay out indefinitely.

  She was almost at the front door again when the heavy sound of approaching footsteps crunching over gravel made Barrett whirl around. It was one of the bouncers.

  “Joe—you scared me.”

  “Sorry, Miss Barrett. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. We’ve had prowlers around this side of the club. The guy on the morning shift showed up early and I decided to come check on you.”

  “I’m fine. I was just—” Barrett looked over her shoulder. There was no one there. But she couldn’t quite escape the feeling that someone, maybe the thin girl, was watching.

  “Just, you know, sneaking out for a smoke,” she covered. “I take a few puffs and that’s it. I keep telling myself it counts as quitting. Which is crazy.”

  “No, it isn’t. I do the same thing myself.”

  She walked back inside with him.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  An hour after the media circus was over and Club Red was once again quiet, Vlad looked for Tamsin. She was not to be found in her usual haunts. He had covered most of the club in long strides, walking faster as his impatience increased. The dressing room, normally abuzz with the chatter and gossip of the dancers, was empty and quiet. Most had left for the night.

  Vladimir pricked up his ears, hearing a faint moan echoing from somewhere. His sensitive nose smelled woman—his woman. Was Tamsin pleasuring herself again?

  She was constantly hungering for sex, greedy for his company. The self-control exhibited by the much younger Jane was far more to his taste. In part, he silently admitted, because breaking Jane would be much more challenging.

  Tamsin thought it was just another game, begged to be badly treated if it didn’t mess up her makeup. She couldn’t get enough of his careful cruelty and liked to urge him on. But she had ceased to interest him, outside of the fresh blood she was eager to provide.