Find Me : The Poison Ivy Series Book One

Chapter 13

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Istep out of the cab and onto the familiar gravel parking lot, heading into work early to help check all the stock behind the bar before my shift. Since Poison Ivy doesn’t open for another three hours, I’ve dressed in ripped jeans, old running shoes, and a black T-shirt. The last thing I wanted to do was to spend more time than necessary in my more-than-uncomfortable outfit for tonight—a black faux leather corset and six-inch heels to match.

I pay the cab driver and make my way towards the front door, smiling as I notice Alex’s and Red’s cars already here, excited to know I’ll have company during the rather mundane task of taking stock.

I can’t help but think of how quickly life changes. Under my parents’ roof, I had multiple cars to choose from, and now it’s a luxury I can’t afford. I used to rely on private drivers to get where I wanted to go, and now I rely on the bus system, cab drivers, or occasionally Sam to get where I need to go.

Sam. Thinking of her name and our conversation this morning causes my emotions to flare at lightning speed, the oxy working hard to keep any semblance of euphoria in my system. Hurt, quickly replaced by anger, flashes through me, and tears threaten to start running down my face. I blink quickly, reigning in my emotions at breakneck speed, no doubt thanks to the drugs coursing through my body. I take a deep breath as I walk towards the front doors, still rattled by the words Sam spoke earlier today.

I don’t have time to think about this, I think to myself. And for once, I am looking forward to the dull task of sorting through bottles and the hours of distraction it will provide. I start to open the large wooden door when a loud rumbling sounds from behind me. Turning around to see what could be making so much noise I see a matte black motorcycle race around the bend in the road before abruptly slowing down and pulling into the parking lot. Its low reverberation vibrates throughout my body. I must be staring because the guy riding it nods his head in my direction as he drives toward the back of the building. I blush and continue pushing the heavy door open, wondering who the stranger on the bike is.

Within a few minutes, I’ve already started taking stock of what we have behind the bar, meticulously counting bottles and kegs to make sure we have enough alcohol to get us through the next few days. I’m already bored, and with Red and Alex nowhere to be found, I’m left alone with my thoughts, something I was really hoping wouldn’t happen today. I kneel in front of the bar fridge, and as my bruised knees shout their discomfort at my choice in position, a memory surfaces from last night. Me getting down on my knees trying to fit all of Rhett in my mouth, the sound of music and people laughing loud in the background.

I bring a hand to my mouth as a wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly, accompanied by the disbelief that I was so out of it I couldn’t remember doing that. I take a deep breath, willing the nausea to subside. Box your shit up, Evi. I think to myself as I lose count of the bottles in front of me. I stand up, annoyed at having to start counting from scratch, and grab a glass of water, taking a minute to try and refocus.

With no windows and low lighting, shadows dance inside the bar despite it being the middle of the day. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. There he is—the guy with the motorcycle—having an in-depth conversation with Mike. His jeans are slung low on his hips and his white shirt hides what I can only imagine is a perfect body. His hair is dark, and the stubble on his face only helps to further define his strong jawline. He’s wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and white shoes. His outfit choice seems odd to me, but then again, I haven’t really seen any bikers up close before. Red floats up to the bar, standing beside me and following my gaze, looking at the interaction between the mysterious man and Mike.

“Oh shit, Jax is here,” she says quietly beside me, “that can’t be good… He rarely stops in.”

“You know him?” I inquire, without looking at her.

“Yeah, he kind of owns the place.”

That gets my attention, and I turn to stare at her.

“He what?”

“He owns the place… Kinda,” she repeats.

“I thought Mike owned the place,” I press.

Red sighs and looks at me. “Technically speaking, Mike owns the place… But Jax—Mr. Turner—owns Mike, so…”

“Okay, you’ve completely lost me.” I put my drink down and turn to Red fully, hanging onto her every word.

“No one is supposed to know this, let alone talk about it, but I overheard them years ago. He got Mike out of a very sticky situation, and since then, he has had the final say in everything that goes on here. I’m not really sure what business he’s in, or how he was able to pull so many strings to help keep Mike out of trouble, but it’s nothing good, Evi. He has connections that most criminals would be envious of. So, keep your head down and focus on your work. Even if he’s easy on the eyes, do not go there. All roads lead to trouble with him,” she warns.

I nod solemnly, taking her warning seriously before I glance back at Mike, wondering just what kind of trouble his acquaintance gets into.

As I’m looking at them, lost in thought, the stranger—Mr. Turner—looks away from Mike and our eyes meet. I panic, turning around quickly to feign a conversation with Red, but to my surprise, she’s no longer standing beside me but walking back to the dressing rooms.

I drop to the floor instead, the cover of the bar and the shelving around it acting as the perfect hiding spot for now, and resume counting bottles until the coast is clear.

Shit.I think to myself. This is the second time this guy has caught me blatantly staring at him. I probably look like such a creep.

I get lost in the boring task of counting stock within the bar fridges, placing a dishcloth under my knees to dull the ache and prevent them from being too uncomfortable.

A while later, I give into my knee’s protests and slowly raise myself up to stand.

I jump back in surprise when I come face to face with Mr. Turner, who has chosen to take a seat at the bar in front of me.

“I was wondering how long you were going to spend down there hiding,” he says with a twang in his voice.

“I wasn’t hiding, I was just counting bottles and organizing,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn bright red with embarrassment.

“Is that what you’re calling it? You practically jumped for cover when I looked at you,” he says, not unkindly.

“I did no such thing,” I retort.

“If you say so, love,” he replies, his accent noticeable on his tongue as his lips form into a relaxed smile. It’s hard to believe that this is the guy Red warned me about moments before. Whatever I expected he would be like up close, it isn’t this. His body is relaxed, but I only need to look at him to know his muscles are hard under his clothes. And I can’t help but wonder what something else would look like hard.

I blush as I offer my own greeting, tentatively introducing myself to him, the stranger on the motorcycle.

“Hi, I’m Evi,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

“Evi,” he muses, and I love the way my name rolls off his tongue.

“Is that short for something?”

“Evangeline. But everyone calls me Evi.”

“Nice to meet you Evi, I’m Jax.”

“I know.”

“Do you now?” A coy smile lights up his face.

Shit.“I mean, I’ve heard about you, but just your name.” I try to recover “—I don’t know anything about you, except your name I mean, and that you kind of own the place…” I trail off as I look at him, and he seems to find my discomfort amusing as I stumble over my words, but there’s still no hint of the danger Red warned me about. I take a breath and try to steady my heartrate, which has climbed since I tried to make small talk with a supposedly dangerous man, doing exactly what Red warned against.

We stare at each other for a moment longer, and I might be imagining things, but I swear the electricity between us is making the air buzz.

“Have a drink with me sometime,” he says, leaning forward.

My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, and I can’t help the smile that spreads to my eyes.

“I…” I start, an image of Rhett flashing through my mind. All excitement fades as quickly as it appears. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m kind of in a… I have a… I’m with someone…” I stammer, not sure how to really explain what Rhett and I are, especially to someone I don’t even know.

“If you’re seeing someone else, then that’s truly a shame,” Jax muses, amusement sparkling behind his eyes. “You might change your mind though; I can be very persuasive.” He winks.

“Probably not persuasive enough.” I shoot back at him lightly.

“Fair enough,” he lilts.

I take a deep breath. Trying to steady my breathing before turning around to keep counting stock, not sure of what else to say.

Surprise flutters through me as Jax keeps talking.

“So, how long have you worked here?” he asks innocently enough.

“Shouldn’t you know if you own the place?” I ask jokingly, unable to help myself.

His laugh sounds like a melody and I can’t help but grin at him, enjoying the lightness of our conversation, a distraction from my thoughts.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“And what’s that?” I press, grabbing my glass of water and taking a sip.

“That, love, is a conversation for another time.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes at him as I put my glass down on the bar. The perspiration leaves a ring of water on the wooden surface once again.

“I started working here at the start of spring.” I look at him playfully. “Now, do you want a drink, or are you just here to distract your employees from getting any work done?”

His laughter sounds again. “I’ll take a whiskey—neat—please.”

I feel his eyes on me while I make his drink, carefully measuring the whiskey as it pours into a glass. I slide the glass towards him on the bar, jumping slightly as his tattooed hand grabs a hold of mine before I can let go of the glass, his touch gentle but firm.

I suck in a breath at his touch, looking at him, the playfulness in his face replaced by concern.

“Are you okay, love?”

I think I detect worry in his voice.

“I’m fine, Jax,” I respond, keeping my voice steady, trying hard to ignore his touch.

“You know,” he continues, “I’m never one to judge, but that fire within you has changed since the first time I saw you.”

The fire within me?I don’t know what he means by that, and I have no idea how something about me could change so drastically since he saw me in the parking lot.

“Umm, okay?” I respond, not sure of what else to say.

“You seemed free, you know?” he muses. “Like you were dancing for no one but yourself, and you weren’t afraid to live. But last night, last night you danced as if you had just been let out of a cage and you were trying to impress those who were trying to keep you tied down, practically begging for them to give you more freedom.”

I freeze. Trying to connect the dots, the words feel as though they are on the tip of my tongue. Memories flash through my brain at the speed of lightning.

He saw me last night dancing at Heat, and not for the first time.

I look from his eyes, down to his hand on top of mine. The memories click together suddenly.

The rose tattoo.

This is the guy from the bar earlier this year, the one who left me the note after making sure I got home safely.

“You,” I start, pulling my hand away in shock.

“Me,” he confirms, a playful sparkle in his eyes.

“You…” I paused. “I don’t like those pajamas you know,” I say indignantly.

Shock crosses his face, followed by a quick chuckle. “I wasn’t exactly going for a fashion show, love. I just wanted to get you into something more worthy of your bed.”

I flush at the idea of him getting me changed.

“So, we didn’t, did we?” I ask, looking at him intently.

He raises an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“The night you brought me home,” I continue tentatively, my cheeks flushing even more. “We didn’t do anything… together, did we? Like you got me changed and put me in my bed, but that’s all?” I question, feeling shame stir within me at another hazy memory.

“I also left you a note,” he interjects.

“Right, a note with no contact details on it. Super helpful,” I say sarcastically. “But seriously, did anything happen between us?”

“Necrophilia really isn’t my thing,” he explains with a shrug. “I like a more… active participant in the bedroom, and you were way too drunk.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure of what else to say as I fiddle with my fingers. “Well, thank you.”

“No worries, love.”

“My name is Evi.”

“Alright, love,” he retorts, flashing another grin.

I can’t help but smile back at him.

I open my mouth to ask him what he means about the fire inside of me, but before I can get any words past my lips Mike appears, carrying a heavy duffel bag.

“Here you are Mr. Turner,” Mike says, nervously looking between the two of us, no doubt trying to assess the situation. “Thank you for… everything,” he continues vaguely.

“I’ll see you next week at the same time,” Jax responds, his tone clipped, with a hardness that couldn’t be more different from how he was just speaking to me. And I see a flash of a person I would not want to cross.

He locks eyes with me. “And I’ll be seeing you around too, love,” he says, with a wink only I can see.

“Okay, Jax,” I respond overemphasizing his name, a not-so-subtle reminder that I also have one, and it’s definitely not love.

He pauses, smiling at me before turning to leave.

I turn back to the bar, opening the fridge and picking up where I left off counting stock. I look up a few moments later only to find Mike staring at me, with his mouth open and a shocked expression on his face.

“Close your mouth, Mike, before your teeth fall out,” Red says jokingly, appearing again seemingly out of thin air.

“What?” I ask Mike, as he runs a hand nervously through his graying hair.

“You called him Jax,” he says, surprise in his tone.

“Tell me you did not, Evi.” Red chimes in, putting her hands on her hips.

I shrug. “What’s the big deal? He introduced himself to me as Jax, so I’m obviously going to call him by his name.”

“He told you to call him Jax?” Red exclaims, surprise in her voice.

“Can someone please tell me what the big deal is? Because I genuinely don’t know what all the fuss is about,” I ask earnestly.

“I have never—and I mean never, Evi—heard him introduce himself by his first name. Let alone heard someone call him by it to his face. Guys have been knocked out for less in his presence,” Red continues, “The fact that you’re on a first-name basis with him is not laying low, Evi.” She scoffs.

The way Jax spoke with me definitely doesn’t match the reputation he has with everyone else here, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone was able to trick me with a fa?ade of friendly smiles. I decide to heed their warning, making a mental note to lay low the next time he comes into the club.

“And do me a favor, Evi… call him Mr. Turner next time he’s in here, before you make me die from heart failure,” Mike requests.

“You’ve got it Mike,” I say, nodding my head as I process everything that just happened, turning back to the bar to finish counting bottles and tallying numbers.

I replay the conversation with Jax in my head repeatedly, even after I’m done prepping for my shift and the club is open, the loud music and rowdy conversations filling the space around me. I can still picture his face, hear the twang in his voice, and feel his hand on mine.

That fire within you has changed.

I mull the words over in my head, trying to figure out the secret meaning.

I debate whether I should say anything to him the next time I see him, or heed Red’s warning and keep my head low, but suddenly I’m distracted from my thoughts as I notice Rhett walk into the room, followed closely by a group of guys. The panic I had suppressed earlier comes to the surface once again, my hands shaky and my breathing rapid, the smile on my face vanishing quickly.

“Hey, Evi,” Rhett drawls as he approaches the bar. In all the time that I’ve worked here he’s never come in during my shift.

“I tried calling you earlier,” I say, trying to keep the suspicion and hurt out of my voice.

“I was busy with my boys, you remember them from last night, don’t you?” He gestures to the group around him.

I glance at them all quickly, not a single face looking familiar. “Oh… yeah, of course,” I lie. “How’s it going?” I ask, ignoring the laughter that escapes their mouths, glances passing between them like an inside joke I’m not privy to.

“I’m surprised you look so put together after the night you had,” the one in the cream polo says as he leans on the wooden bar. The smell of his cologne hangs heavily in the air between us. A sinking feeling in my chest takes a hold of me in response.

“I’m surprised she’s even walking,” another says to the group, the laughter growing louder in response.

I look at them all, my memories from last night failing to resurface in the least, and embarrassment floods through me, knowing that I was so out of it I can’t even remember meeting them, or anything else that I did last night.

I wait anxiously, not sure of what else to say and knowing they could call my bluff at any moment. I look to Rhett, hoping he will save me from the shame I’m feeling.

“Don’t worry Evi, we all thoroughly enjoyed your company, right guys?” He laughs. “Now, let’s get some drinks!”

I breathe a sigh of relief as the conversation changes abruptly, and I listen carefully as they each tell me what they want to order.

I busy myself making their drinks as they migrate towards a cluster of black leather chairs, all of them appearing to have stumbled out of the nearest yacht club with their polo shirts, loafers, and Rolex watches. I worry that they will cause a scene, not knowing Rhett to do anything except go hard when alcohol is involved, but to my surprise they entertain themselves for the next couple of hours, sipping on the first round of drinks I carefully delivered to their table. They leave me to my work, chatting with customers and serving drinks, and I’m relieved that they aren’t here to get wasted, not knowing how I’d even go about explaining their behavior to everyone I work with.

As the crowd thins and the night starts to wind down, Rhett approaches the bar.

“Rhett, we need to talk about last night,” I say quietly, panic giving an edge to my words. “What the fuck happened? I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s funny how fentanyl can do that to a person,” Rhett says nonchalantly.

I freeze. I couldn’t have heard him right, glancing at him as dread and confusion start to consume me.

He smiles at me and continues talking.

“You were going on and on about how the coke was taking too long to kick in and you wanted something stronger. It was incessantly annoying to listen to you complain, so… I gave you something stronger. Perhaps a little too strong.” He adds with a shrug.

I shush him, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards me so he’s leaning across the bar, his face only a few inches from mine.

“You gave me… fentanyl?” I whisper angrily, trying to keep my voice down to make sure no one overhears.

“Well, technically, you asked for it, and I gave it to you… you had no complaints about it last night, so don’t even start with me, Evi. I’m not in the mood.”

And now I’m certainly not in the mood either.

“Rhett, I don’t remember anything from last night.” I hiss quietly. “I don’t remember meeting your friends, I don’t remember getting home either. I woke up naked, in my bed, alone—thank fuck—and I’ve got bruises everywhere. Help me fill in the blanks… please.”

“You worry too much, you know that right?” he says, leaning away from me. “You need to relax a bit, but don’t worry, you were fun to be around, and we all enjoyed the night. And as to why you woke up naked… How am I supposed to know what you do in your own house?” He pauses, looking at me intently. “Maybe you need to stop worrying about what happened last night and start worrying about taking care of yourself. It’s not healthy to party so hard. I’m worried about you.”

I look at him, deciphering everything he just said. For some reason his words are anything but reassuring, and the look on his face doesn’t come close to making me think he cares about me.

“While we’re on the topic about discussing you,” he adds, “let’s discuss us.”

Shit.

“You haven’t made any payments, Evi… I haven’t seen a single dollar of what you owe me.”

“I don’t really know what to tell you. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. You know how much I’ve been working, but even with tips, I still have to afford my current bills and rent, and by the time I pay for that there’s not much left to pay you back.” I fluster, trying desperately to explain myself, not wanting this conversation to blow up here.

“That sounds like an excuse, Evi. Just get me my money back and we won’t have any problems.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I reassure him that I’m on top of it, wishing this conversation was happening anywhere except here, praying that none of the dancers milling around overhear us.

He pushes back from the bar, the space between us growing, before pausing for a second. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a baggie filled with little pills, handing them to me.

“I almost forgot. Since you were so much fun last night, I brought you a gift. You deserve it… But maybe only stick with one at a time, they’re a little strong.” He chuckles.

Panic floods through me as I snatch the baggie from his hands, if only to get it out of sight.

“Jesus Christ, Rhett, are you trying to get me fired?” I hiss, as I hide the baggie in my pocket.

He laughs, not dignifying my question with a response, before turning around and walking back to his friends.

The pills feel as if they are a hundred pounds, weighing me down for the remainder of my shift, leaving me unable to ignore their presence. I’m torn between never wanting to do drugs again, not wanting to risk experiencing what I’ve been feeling, and wanting to take them all if it means having a moment of silence in my head, finding an escape from the emotions that are causing so much turmoil within me.

As my shift ends, I trade my heels for my running shoes, and my corset for my T-shirt, leaving everything except my purse in my locker.

To Toni’s dismay, I decline his offer to call me a cab, and I start walking across the parking lot until I reach the road, needing a long walk home to clear my head.

The night air is cool, but I feel warm, my heart racing as I try once again to make sense of everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours. I am so overwhelmed that I don’t even care where I’m headed, I just want to walk until I’m too tired to move anymore, and too tired to feel anything.