Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CHARLOTTE
Giving my bottom lip one last swipe of shiny crimson lipstick, I leaned back to inspect my handiwork.
Makeup wasn’t really my thing. I’d always been the bare minimum kind of girl, usually only using mascara and clear gloss or lip balm, but working at Whiskey Dolls required I put in a lot more effort.
It had taken two months and several impromptu makeup lessons from the other girls, but as I twisted my face this way and that to make sure I didn’t have a big, cakey foundation line along my jaw, I thought I might have finally gotten the hang of it.
I’d managed to rock a deep smoky eye, my fake lashes were glued on in the correct place, and even the wing I’d created with the sticky black liquid eyeliner looked pretty damn good.
My long, dark blonde hair hung down my shoulders and back in big fat curls with a ton of volume up top.
The deep red corset adorned with black lace appliqués pushed my boobs up, giving the illusion that I was working with a lot more than was actually there.
My “costume” was completed with teeny tiny black Lycra boy shorts, fishnet stockings, and laced-up biker boots with chunky three-inch heels.
It felt like I was playing dress-up each night I came in and got all dolled up, part of what I loved about working here.
At Whiskey Dolls, I got to be Charlotte, one in a line of talented dancers who seduced and entertained the crowd from the stage.
Not Charlie, the girl who’d made one shitty decision after another and didn’t have much of anything to show for her twenty-five years on this earth.
The door to the dressing room swung open, and McKenna came sauntering in, heading straight for my station.
“Hey, babe. How’s it going?”
Having experienced a trauma of her own—one that was linked to mine in a whole lot of ways—Mac had a tendency to keep a closer eye on me than my other friends.
She never made it obvious, but I knew the reason she came back to shoot the shit with me each shift was because she wanted to check on me.
It was her way of keeping her finger on my pulse to make sure I was good and hadn’t slipped into a dark pit of depression or something.
“Hey. I’m good. You?”
“No complaints here. The club is packed and the drinks are flowing, which means Bruce’ll probably pull the trigger on that diamond tennis bracelet he plans on buying me any day now.”
I arched one of my perfectly sculpted and penciled brows. “How do you know he’s planning on buying you a bracelet?”
She gave me a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin and winked. “I love my man like crazy, but he thinks he’s cleverer than he actually is. He used my laptop to do the search and saved it to my bookmarks.”
My head fell back on a deep laugh. “Well, clever or not, you’ve got a good man. Don’t ever forget that.”
Her eyes sparkled just like they did every time she thought about her husband. “Believe me, I won’t. And speaking of good men, one in particular just came through the doors about ten minutes ago requesting a table facing the stage.”
She gave me a knowing look, causing my palms to grow clammy as a swarm of butterflies burst to life in my belly, their wings kicking up a storm of emotion.
Every time he came in, McKenna made it a point to let me know he was in the audience, and every time, I turned into a bundle of nerves. We hadn’t spoken in six and a half months, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t seen him. He’d become a semi-regular patron of the club, and I had a feeling I knew why.
Even after all this time, he was still keeping me safe.
It never failed that, after each shift, I’d step out the back door into the lot behind the club and spot him leaning against his truck, watching like a hawk as I headed for my car.
He’d stay where he was, completely unmoving, until I got my door unlocked and climbed inside.
As soon as I started it up and put it in gear, he’d climb into his truck and follow me toward the exit.
Then he’d make a left turn out after I turned right, disappear for another couple days, and I’d be left wondering when he’d pop up next, part of me hoping it would be soon while the other part prayed he’d stop. It was a constant internal battle.
Alma, one of the other dancers, came click-clacking over in her sky-high heels and took a seat at the station right beside mine. “Uh-oh. Charlotte’s whole face just turned that sickly shade of white,” she teased, looking at Mac. “I’m guessing you told her that hot hunk of beefcake just came in?”
All the girls I worked with knew my situation before I’d started at Whiskey Dolls.
Hope Valley and the surrounding towns were so small that everyone knew everyone’s business.
What I went through was a big deal. Like McKenna, a lot of these ladies had been strippers back when this place was the Pink Palace—that name was major blech.
Seeing as that place had been shut down when Malachi—the owner at the time—got his ass locked up, I was somewhat of a local celebrity in their eyes since I helped to take down the last remnants of his operation when his shady cop partner took it over.
Because of that, and the fact that they were smart and shrewd as hell, they took notice of my reaction the very first time Mac said his name.
With their curiosity piqued, they started paying closer attention.
It didn’t take them long to spot the fine-as-hell man who, coincidentally, would show up right before my first set and disappear like smoke as soon as my last one ended.
I shot her a cold look. “Keep it up and I’m gonna push you off the stage next time we perform together.”
She puckered her lips and blew me a kiss, knowing my threat was empty. She was mainly teasing in order to help pull my head out of the muddle it became every time Dalton was on the premises, and I appreciated that more than she could know.
The dressing room door flung open, and the girls who had just performed came bustling in. That meant there was only one set left before mine, before I was once again face to face with the man I couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how bad he was for my sanity.
I hustled back into the dressing room after my first performance, unhooking the corset as I moved.
I grabbed the slinky purple negligee I had to wear for my next performance and pulled it over my head before moving back to my makeup station.
I was in the middle of wiping off my eyeshadow so I could change up the colors when someone plonked their bag down on the ottoman to my left.
I glanced over just as Marin scurried around, grabbing a nighty the same style as mine but in peacock blue instead of purple off its hanger.
“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled as she started pulling off her street clothes.
“No problem,” I assured her. “You still have plenty of time.” I watched her closely, noticing something off with the way she was carrying herself, almost as if she was in pain.
Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was splotchy like she’d been crying.
My brows pulled down in a frown and my head cocked to the side in concern as I asked, “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just a bit flustered because I’m late.” She kept her eyes averted as she unzipped her hoodie and slid it down her arms. She reached for the hem of her T-shirt and started to lift it, but stopped to pull in a sharp gasp.
“Here, let me help.”
“Oh no,” she started quickly as I stood and moved to her. “You don’t have to do that.” She struggled to stop me from helping. “I’m fine, really—”
Her words cut off when I lifted the back of her shirt and let out a shocked curse. “What the hell, Marin?” I cried, yanking the material up higher so I could get a better look at the purple and black bruise that mottled her ribs on the left side of her back. “What happened? How did you get this?”
“I fell down,” she muttered quietly as she pulled the shirt the rest of the way over her head. “It’s really not a big deal.”
My vision began to cloud red and my lips pulled in a tight, flat line. “Really? That how you got those finger-shaped bruises on your arm too?”
Her gaze shot down to where I was pointing, and she let out a broken, watery sigh at the sight of the five perfectly shaped fingerprints blemishing her upper arm.
“Please, Charlotte,” she said in a small, barely-there voice. “Don’t make a big deal out of this okay? Just let it go.”
There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening. I might not have known these girls for very long, but I cared about them, and if one of them was being hurt, I had every intention of getting to the bottom of it.
Taking Marin by the hand, I pulled her into a corner, behind a couple folding room dividers. It was a struggle, but I managed to check my rage and lower my voice. “Talk to me, honey. Who gave you those bruises?”
She sniffled, wiping at the fresh tears that had just fallen down her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Someone put their hands on you, Marin. That fucking matters. You matter. Let me help you.”
She gave her head a bleak shake as another tear broke free and slipped down her pale cheek. “You can’t.” She almost sounded grief-stricken. “If you did anything, he’d just hurt you too.”
I clenched my hands into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms. “Wanna bet?”
“I’m serious, Charlotte,” she said in a panicked tone. “He’s got a scary temper.”
I knew all about scary tempers. I’d dealt with men who were downright evil, and something told me the guy taking his fists to my friend was nothing more than a pathetic coward who picked on people physically weaker than he was because he didn’t stand a chance with someone his own size.
“Things I’ve seen, babe, it takes a lot more than some asshole to scare me. Now tell me what happened.”
She inhaled a big, fortifying breath before finally opening up.
“When we first started dating, he was so s-sweet.” Her voice broke on a stuttered breath as she fought to control her tears.
“I thought I’d found the perfect guy, you know?
Then everything changed when we moved in together.
At first he was just mean. Then he got violent.
” Her chin began to tremble. “He doesn’t hit me all the time, but when he does, I can usually hide the bruises better. ”
“What set him off tonight?”
“I finally had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I told him I was leaving, that we were done and I was moving out, and he kind of snapped. He wasn’t as careful as he usually is. He said there’s no way he’s letting me leave him.”
I’d heard enough to make my blood boil over.
“All right. Here’s what’s going to happen.
Tonight, after your last set, you’re coming straight to my place.
You can crash with me, but you aren’t going back to that asshole’s house.
I get off before you, but I’ll still be awake.
Just text me when you’re on your way. Then tomorrow, we’re gonna see about getting you set up in an apartment in my building.
Once that’s done, we’ll go get your stuff and move you into your new place. Sound good?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a second, indecision warring on her face. “I’m not sure, Charlotte. I’d hate myself if something happened to you.”
Reaching out, I took her hands in mine and gave them a squeeze. “Trust me, okay? I can handle your ex. I promise.”
She pulled a big breath in through her nose and gave me a quick nod. “Yeah. Okay. I trust you.”
I smiled and gave her hands a squeeze. “Good. Now how about we cover up those bruises, then later we’ll have ourselves an old-fashioned sleepover, complete with junk food and scary movies and all that stuff.”
I tried not to let my excitement show, but the idea actually had me pretty jazzed. I’d never had friends growing up, so this would be my very first sleepover, and now that I’d said it out loud, I was getting excited. I knew Marin was too when her lips curved into a genuine smile.
“That sounds great.”
I led her from behind the screens and helped her to cover the bruises that were visible through her outfit, and then finished getting ready for my next performance—all the while, thinking of the million different ways I was going to make that shithead pay for hurting my friend.