9. Vanessa
Chapter nine
Vanessa
I’ve been trying like hell to get ahold of Russ. Every text, every voicemail, has gone unanswered. Seeing Braxton beat to shit when he walked through the clubhouse doors last week hurt more than I was prepared for.
I’m such an idiot.
I should have known there would be bloodshed.
I should have known Russ wasn’t just going to steal from them then go on his merry way.
I should have known that there was no way in hell I could sleep with Braxton, get to know him, actually like him, and not start catching feelings that went beyond anything more than physical.
But it’s not as though I’ve had much experience in the matter.
Every man I’ve dated before was nothing more than a blip on my radar—a relationship that ended, and I moved on.
I should have fucking known that wouldn’t be the case with Braxton after that first night five years ago.
Maybe I did. Maybe that’s why I ran. I didn’t have time for anything, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the man, it’s that he can so easily become all-consuming.
That’s why I’ve been desperately trying to get in touch with my piece-of-shit stepbrother.
I want out.
I want to leave Shine, leave all of this. I can’t keep pretending I’m not starting to fall for the man I was sent here to betray. And I can’t watch him hobble into the clubhouse again like I did last week. Or worse.
I’d rather he hate me for running than hate me for being a part of bringing down his club.
“Damn, baby. What did your phone ever do to you?” Braxton asks, walking into the kitchen as I lean against the counter after having cleaned the breakfast plates.
“Huh?” I ask, sliding the device into my pocket.
“You’re looking at it like you want to throw it against the wall. Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” My mouth tips into a smile. “My mom isn’t answering her phone. I get worried when I can’t get ahold of her.” The lie falls effortlessly from my lips, but it hurts nonetheless.
“Do you need to make a trip to New York? I can take you. We could have some drinks with Clyde, but this time you have to let me take you out for a real dinner, not a slice from the corner.”
Braxton places his hands on the counter on either side of my body, caging me in.
Usually, I wouldn’t be comfortable with any man in this position towering over me.
But with Braxton, I have to temper the urge to wrap my arms around him and climb him like a tree.
Especially when he presses his front against mine, and I feel what the proximity of our bodies is doing to him.
It’s been five days since he showed up beaten and in pain, and in those days, we’ve done nothing more than share a few kisses and lingering touches.
I told him I was afraid of him further injuring himself if we were to resume our activities.
He rolled his eyes but never pushed. He knew I was full of shit.
Braxton isn’t a stupid man. After the night we spent in New York, wrapped up together when we woke in the morning, something shifted.
And I’ve had to work double time to keep him and our arrangement in that neat little box in my mind.
Letting him out would be a mistake of epic proportions, and I’m not at all ready for the fallout.
“Maybe,” I answer noncommittally, and Braxton bends, pressing a kiss to my lips. Just as I feel he’s about to deepen it, the door to the kitchen opens, and Jude walks in.
“Alright, lovebirds, break it up. We need to get to the shop.” He sits at the table and leans back in the chair.
“Can I have a moment to say goodbye to my—to Vanessa, please?”
“Nope. If I leave you in here, then who the fuck knows when you’ll be finished with your goodbye. Lucy has been a little needier than usual lately, and I don’t want to spend all night at the fucking shop working on a bike.”
“You’re a selfish prick,” Braxton tells him, and Jude simply shrugs.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He stands and walks to the door, holding it open for Braxton with an expectant look on his face.
Braxton shakes his head and turns his face back to mine, giving me another kiss on the mouth. “I’ll see you after your shift?”
“I’ll be here.”
The club is busier than usual for a Thursday night, which is good for my pocketbook and my mind. It’s easy for me to fall into the role I play here. Effortless. I’ve danced two sets and I have two more to go, but right now I’m working the room.
Since coming back to work after the other dancers saw me beaten up, there’s been a camaraderie between us I never had at any of the other clubs I worked at.
When I danced in New York, all of the other girls knew who Russ was and about our relationship.
I’m not sure if they were afraid to get close to me, and letting something slip about being unhappy would get back to Russ.
Or maybe they just didn’t like me because Russ was an asshole, and they figured I was some sort of plant to weed out anyone who wasn’t towing the company line.
Either way, I never made friends with the other dancers. Not like the girls here are open to.
“How’s life with the Black Roses?” Chantel asks as we’re both at the bar, grabbing drinks for some customers. It’s not necessarily our job to get drinks for people, but it helps out the other girls who don’t dance and makes a little more money for everyone.
“Good. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying there, though,” I reply.
“You planning on bailing?”
“No.” Yes. “But I should get my own place. Things here seem to be working out pretty well, so I’ll probably start looking for an apartment.”
“Things here or things with Braxton?” she asks, her mouth tipping up in a small smile.
My eyebrows draw down. “What are you talking about?”
“Girl, don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. I saw the way he reacted to you a couple weeks ago, and small towns are full of rumors. Especially small town strip clubs,” she says with a laugh.
“What are people saying?” I try to keep my expression neutral, but the heat is rising in my cheeks. I’m not a fan of anyone talking about my business.
“That the last single brother isn’t going to stay that way much longer.”
I smile tightly at the bartender when she sets the beers on my tray. “Have you um…have you and Braxton ever been together?”
Chantel laughs and shakes her head. “Listen, I don’t think the man is a saint, but no, I’ve never hooked up with him.
Barrett and I used to mess around. He was a hell of a lot of fun, but nothing ever happened with Braxton.
I know he’s messed around with dancers; I think pretty much all of the brothers have—except for Ozzy.
But none of them have ever lived at the clubhouse or had one of the brothers look like they were ready to throw one of us on the stage and fuck them into oblivion—like he did with you that first night you were back.
” Chantel waves her hand in front of her as though she’s trying to cool herself off. “That was so hot.”
I laugh, feeling instantly lighter. It really wouldn’t have mattered if she and Braxton messed around or what people are saying.
I can’t control any of it. And really, it’s the last thing I should be worrying about.
Chantel grabs her tray, winking at me as she heads back to the men sitting at a table close to the stage.
Walking back over to the group I’ve been chatting up with another round of drinks, I catch sight of four newcomers walking into the club, and my stomach drops.
Russ and a few guys I’ve never seen before walk over to the last available table furthest away from the stage. The same one Braxton sat at last time he was in the club.
One of the servers hurries over and takes their order while I hand out glasses of bourbon and beers, trying like hell to make it look as though I’m unaffected but keeping one eye on Russ and his friends at the same time.
“Thank you,” one of the men says, holding a fifty-dollar bill between his fingers. I smile as I take it from his hand and slip it into the waist of my little skirt, shooting him a flirtatious wink.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say, then put some extra sway into my hips as I make my way to Russ’s table.
I give the server who is just finishing setting their drinks in front of them a smile as she walks away to help another table.
“What are you doing here, Russ?” I ask with a smile on my face and a bite to my words.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I thought I’d come check on my dear stepsister,” he replies, looking me up and down. “Dig the outfit.”
Russ’s disgusting gaze travels over my skirt with the sheer blue fabric strategically looped through the belt and over the triangle bikini top I’m wearing.
I was going for a sexy genie vibe tonight with my blonde hair wrapped in a tight ponytail at the top of my head, but I’ve never felt more naked—and not in a good way—as I do now with Russ’s beady little eyes leering at me.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for five days,” I tell him.
“Huh. Oh, I had to ditch that phone.” He waves his hand as though it’s no big deal. “I’ll text you with my new number. Do you have more information for me?”
I sit down in the empty seat next to him and lean close as though I’m flirting with a customer. “I want out, Russ. I did what you sent me here to do, and I want to be done.”
Russ chuckles low in his throat and shakes his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. We’ve only just started with them.”
“Russ, they’re going to get suspicious if they aren’t already. I show up, and all of a sudden, their deliveries start getting hijacked? If they find out who I am, everything is going to blow up in our faces.”
“Not our faces,” he says. “Just yours. So I suggest you be a good little actress and make sure they don’t see behind the curtain.”
My jaw clenches, but the fake smile stays firmly in place. “You aren’t seeing reason.”