Chapter 24
S CARLETT
Twenty minutes later, who walks down the corridor with crimson lips, smokey eyes, and feathers artfully placed in her hair, click-clacking her heels?
Me.
I’m sure the feathers won’t stay clipped to my hair, but, hey, it’s not my show.
They wanted feathers?
Feathers they got.
My short shorts hug my hips and lift my butt, and I wear a camel toe concealer in the front to make sure my lower lips don’t part for the audience.
Fuckers.
Glitter makes my skin shine, and my bra gives my girls a perfect round shape.
The manager stands in the doorway, checking his phone.
“It was about time,” he says, not looking at me when I pull up in front of him.
He finishes typing a message and presses send before sliding his phone into his pocket and running his gaze over me from my shoes to my chest and face.
It all goes smoothly until he gets to my face covered in makeup, and he turns to stone.
I can’t help myself and talk.
“Yeah, I get that reaction all the time.”
“What did you do to your face?”
“You mean you like it?” I say, dripping with irony.
“You look different.”
“Like a woman who’s about to dance for cash.”
“Like, um––”
I flick my finger up.
“You better not say what you are about to say. I don’t need any of your disparaging comments. You can fire me if you wish. I won’t cry over that. I promise. You’re here for the money. I’m here for some cash. Let’s pretend we don’t need to talk to each other.”
He purses his lips, pondering, and I expect him to comment because he seems the type.
Instead, he rolls his lip under his teeth and keeps his mouth shut, dragging his curious stare over my face.
It’s a full face of makeup. Of course I look like someone’s wet dream with my smokey eyes, plump, juicy lips, and skin that shines like a Christmas ball.
“What is your regular job? What do you do for a living?” he asks, moving his eyes to me.
‘I teach little boys how to become well-mannered men when they grow up’ ––I’m tempted to say––but something else flows from my lips.
“It’s none of your business. So…” I plop my hands onto my hips. “Have I passed the test? Can I go now?”
He flicks his head toward the main room.
“Go. And no kicks in the balls tonight. You’ll make good money if you don’t do that. The room is full.”
Moments later, I enter the stage, not giving a damn who is in that room, who’s watching me, or if they’re watching me.
Yes, the place is animated, and the energy is high, but I focus on one thing and one thing only. Dancing. And I consider it a workout.
EWAN
If someone had told me I’d be sitting in my truck in the parking lot of a small town in Long Island with my headlights turned off, surveilling some local gentlemen’s club, I would’ve laughed my ass off.
I check the time on my phone.
The show must’ve started.
The hostess was nice, confirming a new girl was scheduled to dance tonight. Call me smooth, but I know how to extract information even when I’m not using any particular tool to make people talk.
I still don’t believe this is my best option.
Watching the place like a creep, trying to come up with a plan, an explanation.
I thought I had a brilliant idea when I talked myself out of bedding this woman before I knew exactly what I wanted to do with her.
Boy, did that backfire or what?
I pussyfooted around the idea of her for so long that now she thinks I’m a mobster––she’s right––and she’s not happy about it, while I’ll have to live with the idea that some loser jerks off under the table while staring at her tits.
Fuck me.
My fist hits the steering wheel.
I could burn down this place for her.
I could.
I truly could.
And I would walk.
Nothing would happen to me.
She’d be safe, too, but man, would she be angry and never in her life eager to talk to me again?
I could have this place closed by the local administration. I know people. I also know how to use my connections and pull some strings, but what would I accomplish by doing that?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Looking back, I should’ve fucked this woman when I played Santa that night.
How many times have I thought about that?
Yeah.
When everybody left, I could’ve easily talked my way into her panties. She would’ve said no to me, and maybe she would’ve thrown a fit, but one hand placed on the low of her back and her having her tits crushed against my chest would’ve helped her change her mind.
And I could’ve had her after her car broke down and she sat in my truck, right next to me.
I could’ve stared at her a little longer, served her some stupid line, narrowed my eyes at her, and looked at her like I’d never seen pussy in my life.
And if I didn’t lick her, I would’ve died.
And she would’ve lifted her hemline, opened her legs, and offered me the sweetness between her thighs.
And then I could’ve fucked her at her place.
The woman invited me in and offered me a cup of coffee. She probably wanted to offer me more.
I played the good guy and did the gentlemanly thing, and look where it’s gotten me.
The moment I kissed her could’ve been the start of our story.
I would’ve taken her that night in any way known to man, and she would’ve sung my name the next morning.
But then again, I needed time.
I needed time? What the fuck?
Why did I have to need time?
Because I was afraid that stepping into something with this beautiful woman and rushing things, I might learn one of two things.
That I wanted more than a one night stand.
Or that I wanted not to have anything to do with her because she didn’t deserve another jerk who left her high and dry.
I may have committed many sins. And I may have occasionally done horrible things, yet in her case, I didn’t want to be that man.
And finally, I could’ve turned things around and made her stay at the hotel. I could’ve asked the girl at the reception to take her to one of the luxurious apartments I often use upstairs. And then ask Scarlett to wait for me and give me a chance to explain myself to her.
The idea that I’d do that and talk to someone who’d already made up her mind made it a flawed plan, so I pulled back and let her go.
Her using my car and my driver was a good sign.
I thought it was only a matter of hours, maybe a day or two, before we could talk for real, go over the unpleasant truths, and I could perhaps ease her in.
It’s not easy to bring an outsider into a life of crime.
Usually, we marry women who have no choice or are highly interested in getting married to men like my brothers and I.
Sometimes, they are offered to us to cancel debts. The money that their families owe us. Or another type of debt.
And sometimes, they’re forced into making that step to consolidate their families. And then there are reasons that have nothing to do with love or pleasure.
After I lost Margot, I swore I wouldn’t take another wife. ‘Why would I do it?’ I thought to myself.
I was married.
I had a son.
My son is now all grown up.
I don’t need a woman in my life.
With that being said, I can’t get this woman out of my head. I went back and forth with her, and now I’m seeing red, forced to face the unpleasant consequences of not finding the proper way to handle this when the time was right.
So how am I supposed to get angry with her now?
Who am I to tell her how to live her life or make her money?
Really, who am I in her life?
And if I want anything from her other than her body, how can I make her open to the idea of me? The real me?
The gangster?
The man who handles some of the nastiest situations in this world?
Grunting, I run my fingers through my hair and check the parking lot in the rearview mirror, fully knowing that I’ll end up going inside and bad things might happen.
I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea she’d dance in a bar tonight had I not tasked one of my men to surveil her house for me.
This morning I drove by her house like a pussy whipped sucker. And I haven’t even seen her pussy.
That says a lot.
Clearing my throat, I pivot in my seat and climb out.
The cold air hits me in the face with fists of icicles. I ignore the cold, a meek thought in my head imploring me to go back and talk to her in the morning like two adults.
Maybe apologize to her?
Come clean?
Yeah.
I know that’s not gonna happen.
If anyone touches that woman tonight while I snooze at home, trying to play cool, or if I smell someone’s cum on her tomorrow, not only will I burn this place down, but dead bodies will be all around.
So, yes. I better go inside.
And that’s exactly what I do.