Free Me
BOOK 1 IN THE FOUND DUET
by Laurelin Paige
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2014 by Laurelin Paige
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First edition December, 2014.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
Free Me
Chapter One
I wasn’t supposed to be working the night I met JC.
Jana had called me at the last minute to fill in for her. I knew it was serious before she even started talking. Jana never called in sick.
“They said I need twelve stitches. On my chin, Gwen. Jesus, I hope it doesn’t scar.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” I really wanted to tell her it was surprising she hadn’t gotten hurt before this—roller derby wasn’t exactly a safe sport, after all—but I managed to refrain from chiding.
“Ah, that’s so sweet.” Her Long Island/Puerto Rican accent seemed heavier over the phone. Or maybe it was the pain pills they’d given her. “I’m fine, really. I could come in when I’m done.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take your whole shift.” What was I going to do anyway? Watching The Voice with Norma was pretty much the only thing on my agenda, and I could still catch the first half before I had to leave. It was our sisterly bonding ritual as she ended her day and I began mine. Lately, TV night with her had been less than fantastic, though, as if her mind were elsewhere. Which was weird. Where the fuck else could your mind be when Adam Levine was onscreen bantering with Blake Shelton?
But we had DVR. I could catch the rest in the morning before I went to bed.
“Thanks, babe,” Jana drawled in my ear. “I didn’t have a chance to call Matt, but I’m sure he’s cool. I’ll pick up your Thursday, that way you can still have your weekend.”
I hoped she wasn’t too doped up to remember that. I prized my “weekend”—my two days off from the Eighty-Eighth Floor where I worked. Not that I had anything exciting to do with the time off, and not that I really even needed the break. I’d work every shift if the law allowed. But I was the only manager at the club that had secured regular, sequential days off, and I valued what that meant. It meant I was good at my job. It meant I deserved the reward.
It meant there was something in this godforsaken life of mine that was actually worth something.
“You’re going in?” Norma asked as I clicked END on my cell. She didn’t look up from the papers spread across her desk tray. Norma was a workaholic, and although she tried to put it away on our nights together, it wasn’t unusual when she simply couldn’t. I didn’t resent her for it. Her job at Pierce Industries as a financial manager was earned by hard work and relentless ambition. That was my sister—ambitious to a flaw.
But her ambition got us out of the ghetto. It paid for the high-rise apartment she shared with me. It paid for my brother and his life on the other side of the country. It paid to keep us away from the past we didn’t ever want to go back to.
“Yeah,” I said, already stripping from my jeans. “Jana’s in the ER.” I paused as I debated whether or not to inform our general manager, Matt, then decided against it. He was on vacation for the week and didn’t need to be bothered with our minor changes. “She’s switching me for Thursday. So I’ll still have two days off in a row. We could watch Project Runway together this week.”
Norma lifted her eyes from her work and furrowed her brow, as if looking at a calendar hanging in midair before her. “Uh, I’m not sure Thursday will work for me. I have…something.” She disappeared into her work again without even remarking on the part where I said ER.
I shrugged as I gathered my clothes and headed to the shower. She probably had a fundraiser or another one of those fancy events she was always going to. Even my older sis of five years had a better social life than I did. So what that it was all related to her job? She still got out.
As the hot water streamed over my body, I swallowed back my impulse to envy and reminded myself that I could get out too if I wanted. I just hadn’t ever decided that was what I wanted. And if I did decide it was what I wanted, I’d have no idea at all how to go about doing it.
***
Working on a Tuesday was odd only in that I kept forgetting what day it was when I went to write it on my paperwork. The Eighty-Eighth Floor was one of the hottest clubs in Greenwich Village. Hell, it was one of the hottest clubs in New York City. We were nearly as busy on weeknights as we were on the weekends. Tonight was especially hopping because of the nearness to the holidays. Colleges were out, people were visiting friends, it was too cold for outdoor activities—though you wouldn’t have known that from the outfits most of the girls wore. Everywhere I looked there were breasts peeking over bikini tops and asses hanging below skirt hems. Perhaps I’d feel differently if I were liquoring up and shimmying on the floor, but I was covered and comfortable in my gray slacks and cowl-neck maroon tank top.
Maybe I was just too old for the club scene. Thirty was approaching. Was it normal to prefer a quiet evening on the couch to a night of dancing at this age? Norma had never been a partier, so I couldn’t compare myself to her. Our little brother, Benjamin, had lived on the West Coast since he was eighteen, so I wasn’t aware of his habits. And friends…well, I didn’t really have those.
That was the real problem, of course. I’d probably like clubbing just fine if I had someone to go with. Or maybe not. It was hard to know for sure.
I did like my job. It was steady and rhythmic. Managing gave me the opportunity to be no-nonsense and harsh. It was how I preferred to be. Cold. Hard. In charge.
The night was off to the usual start. All four of our floors were full, and we even had a small line at the door by eleven. The bars were all staffed well. The cash drawers all had sufficient change. Our best bouncer was working head security. It was starting out to be a predictable shift.
I knew better than to settle into the comfort of predictable. It was more important to be prepared. I should have been prepared.
But nothing could have prepared me for JC.
I’d only been on the clock for a couple of hours when I overheard the murmuring of the waitresses. They hushed the moment I came near, which wasn’t unusual. I was their boss, not their friend. Normally, I’d ignore that kind of buzz amongst the staff. Most of their gossip was about the hottest new employee or even where to score a quarter, which was not any of my concern as long as their job was done well.
This time, I heard two words that piqued me—Viper and cigar smoke. Okay, three words. A word and a phrase that automatically sent alarms sounding in my head.
I stepped closer to the women. “What’s that you were saying?”
Bethany’s eyes went wide. “I have to deliver this.” She took off toward the lounge with her tray of appetizers before I could stop her.
The other waitress was still entering her order into the register. She didn’t have an excuse to run.
I leaned against the counter next to her, grateful that the registers were off the kitchen in a quieter part of the club where I didn’t have to shout to be heard. “Alyssa, what did she mean about cigar smoke in the Viper?” It wasn’t that unusual to have patrons mouth the damn things without lighting them—helped with that oral fixation thing that so many people had—but the actual smoking of cigars was not allowed in the club. The Eighty-Eighth Floor was a smoke-free establishment, and if that rule was being ignored, then I had to address
it.
Alyssa didn’t look up from the computer right away. I saw her throat move as she swallowed. Then she met my eyes, a bright smile on her lips. Too bright of a smile. “Oh, you know. Just talk. I’m sure there’s not really any smoking going on.”
I narrowed my stare. “Uh-huh.” Alyssa was one of the more reliable employees. But like I’d said—I wasn’t her friend. “Who’s got the room booked tonight, anyway?”
The Viper wasn’t really the name of the secluded area that the club offered to elite guests. It was officially called The Deck on our marketing material—the club’s official VIP Room. But on all our paperwork, Matt always wrote VIP R., and with his sloppy boy handwriting the R usually ended up closer to the P and soon the whole staff called it the Viper.
Alyssa shook her head, her ponytail swishing with the movement. “No one special. A white collar group.” She was dismissive. Then, seeming to realize that tactic wasn’t working with me, she said, “I could go check in up there. If there’s anything sketchy going on, I’ll let you know.”
Yeah, like I was falling for that. “How about we go and check on it together?”
Her face fell visibly, but she nodded an agreement and headed toward the spiraling metal stairs that led up to The Deck.
I followed. Adrenaline was already sizzling in my veins as I climbed up toward the Viper. I wasn’t scared of what I’d find—we had a good security team, and I’d seen enough in my life to set my fear threshold high. But there was something exciting about the prospect of something different. The thrill that maybe the night wouldn’t be typical or predictable. The delicious raising of goose bumps on my pale skin as something inside me wished for the unexpected.
Not that I’d do anything other than correct the off-course situation. I might have longed for variance, but I didn’t know how to live with it when I found it.
At the Viper door, Alyssa paused and waited for me to join her. “Maybe we should knock?”
Fuck that. Managers had carte blanche to the entire premises. I wasn’t going to give our errant guests a chance to hide their coke and cover their cocks. Especially since I could already smell the Cubans.
I swung the door open and stood in the threshold to survey the scene. What I saw surprised me. Or, some of it surprised me. The smoky air and half-smoked cigars I’d been expecting. And where one club violation was found, there were usually more, so the half-dressed women didn’t completely catch me off-guard either. Nor did the three men playing poker in the corner with actual money laid out on the table.
It was the men. The way they carried themselves, the way they behaved like the respected businessmen that their expensive suits said they were rather than a house of drunken frat boys. There were a dozen or so of them—young, single. At least, I didn’t see any bands or tan marks from removed rings. The snippets of conversation that passed my ear were intelligent and intelligible, not like the hundreds of twenty-something guys I saw come through the club on a weekly basis, the ones who focused on the waitresses’ tits when they ordered and were too wasted to remember where they left their iPhones.
Then there were the women.
A room full of debauchery wouldn’t be complete without hookers and sleazy call girls. That was routine. But these women, five in total, were definitely not sleazy. Even as they draped themselves over the men—even though three of them were topless and another was dressed only in a French lace bra and panties—they gave a definite air of refinement. They exuded polish and class. Sexy, yes, but not trashy.
One of the topless women, a brunette sitting on a man’s lap, looked up at me. Her eyes lit with recognition. She smiled and mouthed a hello before returning her attention to her fingers as they combed through the man’s hair.
My brows pressed together as I tried to place her. Pure shock washed through me when I realized it wasn’t from my seedy past that I knew her, but from school. She’d been a graduate student teaching a commercial kitchen resource class that I’d taken. Now she managed a five-star restaurant uptown.
And she was here? Part of this…this…
I didn’t know what this was actually. It was a party that broke the rules, but it wasn’t unruly or sordid or out-of-hand. It was naughty and sensual and…enticing. I would lay down the law—of course, I would, how could I not?—but for a moment, I hesitated. For a moment, instead of wanting to admonish, I wanted to join.
“You’re welcome to sit.” The voice came from behind me. It spoke with insight. As though it understood my conflict. As though it knew what I really wanted.
Which was bullshit. It was just a fucking invitation. Nothing more.
I turned to deliver my what the hell is going on speech, until my eyes landed on the man who had spoken. At the sight of him, I lost the words. He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the wall behind the door, which was why I hadn’t noticed him at first.
But now that I noticed him, I really noticed him.
It was impossible not to. Sex appeal and charisma oozed off him as if he’d dressed in both. Well-defined muscles pressed against his snug dress shirt. His dark blond hair was severe—the sides short and the top sculpted to look like a hot Italian mobster from the nineteen twenties. He wore stubble that I suspected helped keep him from looking younger than he was, an age that I put around thirty.
And his eyes…
I couldn’t see them clearly in the darkness, but I felt them. Felt the way he studied me with earnest. Felt the flicker of yearning in them. Felt the heaviness behind that, where hurt lay, or bitterness perhaps.
Like the slack of a rope that is suddenly tightened and taut, my own gaze was drawn to him. I couldn’t look away, and as he continued to peer at me—peer into me—a hum began to vibrate through my body, setting my every molecule on high alert. Even my girly parts, which had been hibernating, wakened in his presence—expanding and buzzing, tingling with awareness of him.
This was all for him, I realized. The partying, the entertainment—it was his. Everything was centered on him.
Except, in my periphery, where the others continued with their previous activities, I realized everything really wasn’t centered on him. The party might have been his, but no one was giving him any mind. It was me that was centered on him. Centered like the whole room was a ship on rocky waves and this single man was the axis. A solitary point of balance in a space of chaos. It was unusual because I was used to being the point of balance in chaos. I was stability. I was order.
Under his intense scrutiny, I was knocked off-kilter. As if one heel had broken and my foot had scrambled for purchase and he had been there to give me an arm. He both tripped me and steadied me all at once.
I don’t know when he started talking again. I saw his lips moving before I registered the sound. “Come on. Join us,” I think he said.
“What?” I had now completely zeroed in on his mouth—his teeth were perfect, straight and white. His bottom lip was plumper than the top, pale and inviting.
It curved up into a slight smile. “Pull up a seat. Alyssa will get you a drink. Maybe Luke will even give you a backrub. He’s great at working out muscles. You’re so tight I can see your knots from here.”
“I don’t…I can’t…I’m…” I was flustered. Flabbergasted. He was the mobster asking the cop to dinner. Who even did that?
Plus, he was really attractive. And while really attractive men usually had no effect on me whatsoever, this one did. And that…scared me.
So much for having a high fear threshold.
The man motioned to someone behind me. “Jennie, can you get our guest a chair?”
The underwear-clad woman pushed a chair closer to me, and automatically I sat, my knees pointed toward the stranger like a compass pointing north.
Then, realizing that wasn’t what I should be doing, I popped back up. Back to myself. Back to my place of authority where I was the one in control, the one with the poise.
“Thank you,” I said, firmly, steadily—at
least I hoped firmly and steadily—“but no. I actually have to ask you to clean this act up.”
“Clean what up exactly?” His casual demeanor threw me. Again. Usually when a manager busted a patron, the guilty party became apologetic and full of excuses. Unless they were too drugged or drunk to care, and this man seemed to be neither.
Surprised that I was, I tried to keep it together. “There’s no smoking in the club. Or gambling. Or stripping. Tell your friends to extinguish their cigars, put away the cards and put their clothing on or they can leave. Or do all those things and leave. That would be another, even better option.”
While most of the room remained unaffected by my speech, one of the men tapped my waitress on the shoulder. “Alyssa, who is this chick?”
Irritated that Alyssa obviously knew more about this party than she’d cared to share with me downstairs, I gave her a searing look that said both don’t answer that and we’re going to have to have a talk later.
Maybe my annoyance was misplaced. Male customers commonly learned the names of their waitresses, sometimes innocently, sometimes not so innocently. Matt had a strict rule that only first names were used at the club for exactly that reason—so that no one could find themselves stalked online or their home address searched for on findsomeone.com. It was a safety precaution that I one-hundred-percent supported.
Still, the way Alyssa exchanged glances with the questioner, it seemed she knew this crowd much better than she’d let on. It dawned on me that they were regulars.
But I wasn’t a regular. Not on Tuesdays, so I was more than a little stunned when the charismatic stranger said, “This is Gwen. She’s our manager on duty tonight.”
“How did…?” I cut off, but not before I’d given myself away. There was no way he couldn’t tell how easily he derailed me.
“You’re wondering how I know all that.” He sat back in his chair, placing his ankle over his opposite knee. One of the topless women came to perch on the arm of his chair and draped a hand around his neck while he spoke, but he didn’t throw her so much as a glance as he continued speaking. “I’ll tell you how I know. It’s my business to look out for my guests, and that includes knowing the staff on duty. Alyssa here informed me earlier you were in charge tonight. She did a pretty good job describing you, too.”
Free Me Page 1
