by KL Donn
Crossing her arms. “Nothing,” she told him stubbornly.
“That bruise ain’t nothing, Kitten.” He tried to gentle his voice so the anger didn’t ring through, but he was failing miserably when Dom finally came over with another man.
“What’s this, Evelyn? I told you no boyfriends. They cause problems.”
Casey’s back was instantly up in arms. “Say what, now?” he asked at the same time Evelyn—the girl they were looking for—said, “He’s not my anything. I don’t even know him.”
“The hell I–” Fucking Dom reeled him in before he could lose his cool. “I need to speak to you, Evelyn.”
“Who the hell are you?” She was wary now.
“My name is Dominic Slade. You know my fiancée and son from a Mommy and Me class.”
Blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, and he was even more curious about what was going on.
“Gentleman, I have a club to run. I’m sure this can wait. Evelyn is our spotlight dancer and has to make her rounds.” When her boss went to grab her arm, Case automatically pulled her to him, not wanting his greasy paws on her.
The protective way this man kept his hands on her was nearly enough to have Evelyn melting into a puddle at his feet. She didn’t know what it was about him, but there was an electric chemistry running between them that was hard to ignore. Except she had to. She wanted nothing to do with some overbearing man trying to control her. She didn’t want to be that girl.
“I don’t care who either of you are, leave me the hell alone.” Walking away from them without even knowing her protector’s name was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Not turning back for one last look took Herculean effort on her part.
Sweaty hands on her hips had her tensing momentarily until she remembered she had a role to play, money to make, and a family to support. As much as she hated everything about her job other than the dancing, she was just oil in the cogs. Eye candy, arm candy, however you wanted to paint the picture. She was used for her body, and that was it.
“That was a real nice dance, Eve,” the sleazy patron murmured in her ear. Spit flying out of his mouth as he did.
“Thank you,” she whispered huskily. Hiding her disgust from his touch, his spit, just him.
“How about one just for me?” She didn’t do private lap dances, same as she didn’t strip all her clothes off. She danced, she flirted, she made men feel on top of the world for the short time she was with them. End of story.
They never learned, though.
“I’m sorry, I don’t do those. But Cynthia,” she pointed to a perky if not slightly slutty brunette rubbing all over some man that looked like the cartoon character Porky the Pig, “has some great moves.”
“I don’ wan her,” he slurred, rubbing his nose up her neck.
“You need to back off.” Is the club full of pigs tonight or what?
“Not till I get my dance.” His fingers dug into her sides painfully. When he wouldn’t let her go, she signaled to one of the bouncers watching her, waiting for his chance to rip the slime ball away from her.
Carter started to walk over to where they were standing in the middle of the club, on-lookers everywhere, and she recognized the near hatred in his eyes as he saw the grip the man had on her.
“There a problem here, Miss Eve?” he asked like he was supposed to. It was the one and only warning the customers would get before he tossed them out.
Holding her breath, she waited for the man to release his grip on her. When he didn’t, she felt an almost electric crackle in the air as he was ripped from her back.
Once again, the stranger from before had pulled yet another man off of her. Turning to him, she said, “This is getting old.”
The look he gave her should have had her wilting. There was anger and heat in his dark brown eyes as he responded, “Maybe if you stopped letting strange fucking men put their hands on you this wouldn’t be a problem.”
His tone of voice, the possessiveness, the ownership in it blew her away. She was nobody to him. She didn’t even know his name, yet he seemed invested in her. A total of maybe twenty minutes in each other’s presence. How the hell could he be so invested?
“Evelyn, we need to talk.” His friend—she couldn’t remember his name—demanded again.
“Look, I’m sorry Deedee sent you on some wild goose chase for me; I really am. But as you can see, I’m fine. I don’t know what you want nor do I care at this point.” That was a lie. She wanted to know but felt it safer to let it all go. “I can’t do this, okay? I’ve got people to take care of, and that doesn’t include nosey neighbors and shit.”
“The black eye tells me differently,” the man who’s name she still didn’t recall spoke up.
“You have a lot of nerve, buddy. Leave me alone!” She almost stomped her foot walking away, but thought better of it at the last moment, not wanting to look or sound like a little girl.
“Evelyn!” That wicked voice had her halting mid-step without even meaning to. A sliver of awareness slid down her spine. Almost a craving of the dark need she heard in that single world.
She waited, remaining rooted to the spot in her refusal to speak to him or his friend.
It wasn’t long before she felt his heat at her back, his hand in her hair, his body engulfing hers. “Please, Kitten?” he whispered in her ear.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” she said only loud enough for him to hear.
He seemed to take a moment to ponder her question as he placed both hands on her hips, rubbing the tops of her thighs with his thumbs and turning her around. When she didn’t immediately meet his gaze, he placed a finger under her chin, lifting up so he could see her. “Tell me what happened here,” he ran his thumb under her blackened eye again, “and I’ll leave you alone.” She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Why would he even want to know?
When she went to open her mouth to answer, he blurted, “And not a lie either.”
What was he, a fucking mind reader?
Shooting him a scathing look she told him, “I had an accident,” hoping he’d let it go.
“Too vague.”
Fuck.
She didn’t want to tell him. Marcus was angry enough with her. She knew if someone found out he’d hit her after she and Andy left his Mommy and Me class early a few days ago, then there’d really be hell to pay. He’d decided to move himself into their tiny one-bedroom apartment where she and Andy now shared the bedroom. Thankfully, it had a lock on it so she could have the pretense of safety while he was there. But she had no doubt that if he wanted in, he’d get in.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” his look was skeptical.
No matter how much she hated it, she had a unique connection to this hardened man and lying to him wasn’t something she wanted to do. “Please don’t make me lie to you.” She could feel the sadness in her own eyes, so she knew he saw it.
Casey could see the emotions swirling in her eyes. Fear was prominent, but there was a burning anger in her, too. He wanted to know what caused those two things to clash so violently that they rolled off her in waves. Permeated the air so he was nearly suffocating in it.
“You can tell me anything, Kitten.” Lowering his head towards her, he heard her subtle intake of breath. Just when she would have thought he was going to kiss her, he turned his head, running his cheek alongside hers. “Anything.” He breathed in her ear again, needing to reinforce his vow to her. Flexing her hands in his shirt, he pulled back slightly to see her give a small nod. “Tell me who hurt you, Ev.” He let a note of steel run through his voice, so she knew there was no choice. She was bruised. It was crucial he knew who did it, so he knew whose knee’s he’d be breaking.
Just when he thought she was finally going to tell him, her spine stiffened and resolve colored her eyes.
He lost her before he even had her.
“I don’t even know your name. How can I tell you
my secrets?” The inflection in her voice gave away her nerves. She wanted to trust him, but her apprehension held her back.
“My name is Sergeant Casey John Risley, retired U.S. Army Ranger, born and raised in Baltimore. I eat pancakes as often as I can, live off MRE’s when Dee refuses to cook for me, and I have a soft spot for a certain dancer I just met. That enough for you?” She cracked a small smile, that had to be a good thing.
As she searched his eyes, he was confident she would open up to him.
“No.” He could hear the regret in the single word.
Frustrated beyond belief, he let her go, stepped back, and did the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do—turn his back on her. Meeting Dom’s steely gaze, he told him, “I’m out.” As he began to walk away from her this time, he thought he’d heard a small gasp of despair but refused to look back. Refused to keep putting himself on the line for her.
Admittedly, they’d known each other for an hour, but if she couldn’t open up to him even a fraction, then what was the fucking point?
Slamming through the front doors of the club, he walked to Dom’s truck, sitting on the tailgate. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he waited for Dom to come back out.
Regret for walking out churned in his gut. He would be back there was no doubt.
“What the fuck are you doing, Casey?” he grouched to himself.
Of course, she doesn’t trust you; she doesn’t fucking know you!
“Fuck!” he screamed into the night air. His voice echoing off the buildings.
“What the fuck are you yelling about?” Dom’s question startled him enough to jump off the truck and tweak his brace so he almost fell.
“Don’t fucking do that, man,” he bitched, standing up straight.
“Whatever, dude. What the fuck’s got you up in arms tonight?”
Grumbling, nothing, he climbed into the truck. Not intending to talk about the woman he didn’t want out of his sight, let alone leaving her in some club with barely anything covering her body around a bunch of horny fucking men.
Laughter from Dom had his head swiveling to glare at his friend. Raising his hands in surrender, Dom said, “You have the same look in your eye, I’m sure I did when I found Deidre again.”
Shit.
He couldn’t believe he was so damn transparent.
“Tell me something, Case?”
“What?” he snapped not meaning to.
“How are you?”
Confused, he looked at his friend, asking, “What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, Casey, you’re not. Look at you. You can’t sit still; you won’t come to the house. You were on edge more tonight than I’ve seen in a lot of years. What’s going on?”
How did he tell the man who’d saved him that he fell? That killing a woman to save his family sent him spiraling straight to Satan’s door, and he felt lost? How did he admit to his failure?
When no answer came, Dom drove away from the club, sharing with him, “She was shattered when you left.”
Thanks, dude. I fucking needed that.
He wasn’t giving up, no. He would be back.
He would show her he could be trusted.
For two weeks, Ev’s dream man had shown up with his hulking friend every night. They would sit in the middle of the room, order beer after beer but never drink. Just watch. His eyes never left her when she was on stage or in the crowd. He never strayed to watch another girl.
At first, it was unnerving but slowly, she got used to it. So used to it that she began to imagine herself dancing just for him. She would sway her hips seductively so he’d itch to hold her, to bend her to his will. She would climb his body the way she did the pole, only she knew he would catch her if she fell. She knew if she danced for him, he would be her strength so she could have her freedom. The way he brought not only her body to life, but her emotions had her curious to find out as much as she could about him.
Trepidation held her back, of course. She was so afraid of being hurt. He had this look in his eyes, a darkness that appeared as if it might swallow him whole. She didn’t think it would take much to push him over a ledge and into the abyss.
“Evie!” one of the other dancers called for her. Pixie was the nicest girl she worked with. She was a good foot taller than Ev, had hair as black as night, and never wore makeup. Her features were that of an angel. Ev always teased her that perfection was her name and seduction was her game.
Looking around the corner of her small vanity, she asked, “Yeah?”
“Hardy says a man is demanding a lap dance from our spotlight girl.” Before she was even done talking, Ev was shaking her head no. “I know girl, believe me, I know. But he’s paying a huge amount for it, and Hardy is giving you seventy percent.”
If anyone knew her aversion to having men that close to her when she danced, it was Pixie. She’d been the one showing her the ropes of Hardy’s Dolls when she first started three years ago. As the time to practice a lap dance on one of the bouncers arrived, Ev had a panic attack. She couldn’t do it. The thought of a man having such easy access to her body petrified her.
No one ever made a fuss about it before. Sure, there’d been people interested in having her give them one, but Hardy always shot them down before they finished asking. He wasn’t a bad guy, but come down to it, he was all about the money, so this person must be paying an extraordinary amount for Hardy to even ask her.
“C’mon, girl, you need this money. You have to get into a better place. You need to get away from Marcus.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she muttered.
Rock meet fucking hard place.
She was in a bind, and she knew it. Marcus had ramped up his attention lately, and she was barely able to shower without him coming through the locked door by accident.
“I can’t,” she whispered brokenly to Pixie.
The other woman came to her side, wrapping Ev in her arms. She held her for a moment before saying to her, “I will be right outside that door, and you know for shit that Tony won’t let nothing happen to us girls, yeah?” At Ev’s nod, her friend began to play with her hair, pulling it up and talking about how she’d do it and her makeup provocatively enough that the client wouldn’t recognize her outside of the club.
After getting ready, Hardy finally showed his face. He knew she wouldn’t be happy that he was making her do it. Leading the way to one of the VIP rooms, he opened the curtain for her to enter.
Her signature song Earned It by The Weekend started. The lights dimmed, and her hips automatically began to sway. When the music played, she always managed to lose herself, but this was the one time, she wouldn’t be able to. This was the one time she’d have to be completely aware of her audience, of their pleasure in her lithe moves.
When he spoke, she realized he wasn’t someone she would ever want to dance for. “About time you show me your moves, Evie,” Marcus breathed out from the chair in the middle of the room.
Walking into Hardy’s Dolls for the first time alone, Case saw one of the girls his woman was always talking to standing sentry beside a bouncer near a room that said VIP. It gave him pause at first, but he knew Evelyn was supposed to be on stage for her spotlight in five minutes so she couldn’t be behind that door.
Besides, he got the feeling she didn’t like the attention a lap dance would give her. He sat at his usual table in front of the main stage. Two rows back so he could see everything. As the waitress brought him the beer he no longer even had to order, he waited.
Ten minutes passed, and she still hadn’t seduced her way onto the stage. He started to get antsy. As the waitress passed him again, he asked her, “Where’s Evie?” When she looked to the side and over to the owner, he knew immediately that her quick I don’t know reply was a lie.
Pushing his chair back, he stormed over to the owner, Hardy, demanding, “Where the fuck is she?”
He refused to answer. It was then that
Case heard a slight commotion behind him and knew she was in the VIP room giving someone a fucking lap dance.
“You slimy piece of shit! Even I know she’s not comfortable with that.”
Fuming, he walked over to where the girl and bouncer were trying to get in the room. “What the fuck is going on?” he yelled, beyond pissed.
“The door’s locked,” the dancer told him angrily, but he could see the worry in her eyes. Which only further pissed him off.
“The door shouldn’t even lock,” the bouncer huffed.
Not bothering to answer, Casey slammed his shoulder into the piece of wood with his entire body, flinging the chair that had been holding the door closed across the room and splintering it into the wall.
A quick survey of the room told him who the dead man walking was that had been terrorizing his woman. Evelyn huddled in a corner with her arms covering her head; her body shaking.
He saw red. His blood boiled with rage.
Charging at the man like a wild animal, Case was on the guy before he knew what hit him. They landed on the ground with a hard crack of the other man’s head hitting the carpet. Fist after fist plowed into his face, rage built up to the point he could no longer see straight.
A soft hand and a whispered, “Casey?” was a plea he couldn’t ignore.
Turning, he stood so fast Evelyn nearly fell. Catching her, he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and carry her out of the club except he didn’t think she’d let him. It wasn’t until she started screaming another man’s name that it penetrated his wrath-filled brain that she was struggling to be let go. When he finally released her, she ran to the other man.
“What have you done? Oh my God! What have you done!” she yelled at Casey.
He didn’t understand what she was so upset about. She had obviously been terrified of the fool when he’d come in, and now she was upset Casey had beat his ass? Just fucking fantastic. He couldn’t win with this woman.
