Chapter Four
Lily
? “Howlin’ for you” - The Black Keys ?
My stomach churns as Jace races through the streets of New York.
This is the most traumatizing afternoon I have ever experienced.
Jace drives as if there is no one on the road beside him.
Not only am I getting car-sick, but I am also starting to worry about Celeste.
She called me from an unknown number, which means she probably doesn’t have her phone.
And Jace is holding me hostage as if the Boogieman were out to get us. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes.
I will not throw up in this man's car.
I will not throw up in this man's car.
I will not throw up in this man's car.
I pinch my eyes tighter since I’m sure I just heard a lady scream as we drove by.
I would not doubt that he almost ran someone over.
If I continue to keep my eyes closed, then I won’t see anything more traumatizing—like his shoulder easily ramming through two of my doors in the house.
Or the way his large arm felt around my hips as he picked me up like a rag doll and shoved all my schoolwork to the ground, then proceeded to get way too close for comfort.
God, he smelled good. I had to close my eyes just to gather myself.
And when he smiles, I feel my heart stop as if I have never been smiled at before.
His teeth are perfectly straight, white, and his anterior teeth are insanely sharp—like vampire sharp.
No more watching True Blood for me.
I open my eyes when I no longer feel the sun beating on my skin, and look around to see we’re driving through the underground parking garage of Club Opal.
I turn to Jace, asking, “How do you have passage here?” You have to have a key card to enter, and you must pay the yearly fee on top of the club entry fee.
“I know Axel.”
“How?” Axel, my boss, that I have never met before, tends to stay locked in his office located on the top floor.
He has a large window that faces the club floor so he can watch all his little demons run around.
Anytime we need something from him, we are met by his assistant, Roxxie.
Roxxie hands us our checks and new contracts every year.
The contract always states “no phones, no speaking of anything you hear or see in the club outside of work,” blah blah blah.
I don’t care what the contract says. I sign the dotted line every year once I read I’m getting paid fifty dollars an hour, plus tips.
“History,” Jace says.
We turn to face each other at the same time. Why is he so secretive about everything? I am an open book, but with this man, you obviously have to beat the shit out of him with a hammer just to have him pony up a secret.
Ignoring him, I roll up my knee-high stockings and pull down my deep V-neck shirt, lifting my breasts up to my neck, then switch from my slippers to my heels. When I look back at Jace, his freckles are slightly covered in a pink hue and he clenches his jaw before turning away from me.
We enter the club from the back and see Roxxie standing behind the red rope, stopping anyone from going upstairs. She guards those stairs like a Bloodhound.
“Good evening, Mr. Cook. Axel is waiting for you,” Roxxie says.
Jace turns away from Roxxie, grabbing my arm, and mouths, “Do not run.”
I roll my eyes, pulling my arm out of his grasp, and walk away. His parents must hate him if they named him Jace Cook. As I walk deeper into the club, I see Marge sitting at one of the sectionals, working on the floor chart.
“Hey baby,” she says to me while grabbing my arm, pulling me down to sit next to her.
Marge is the mom of all of us at the club. She has worked here the longest and keeps all of us in check. Today she is wearing a see-through, all-black leotard that cuts deep in the back and the front, with knee-high strappy boots.
“Hi Marge.” I squeeze her hand, leaning in to peek at the floor chart.
“Do you want the L or six through eight?” she asks.
“Give me the L. I need the money.” I wink at her as she goes to write my name on the seating chart.
I swear I am her favorite. I don’t ever see her asking any of the other tenders what sections they want.
We are called tenders because we are not technically bartenders, and we are not servers.
We tend to our customers’ needs. Sometimes we bring drinks, sometimes we sit with our customers to keep them happy, and sometimes we take the customers in the back to “relax.”
Secretly, of course.
Most of the men who come here are some of the richest men in New York.
They have reputations, wives, kids. That is why everything that happens in this club cannot be spoken about.
I have never taken anyone back, and don’t ever plan to.
All my regulars know this and don’t even bother asking me.
I’ve witnessed tenders take customers into the back and within weeks, the customers become jealous and overprotective.
That’s why I stick to the saying, “Don’t shit where you eat. ”
“Look what the skank dragged in.”
I turn my head to see Rebecca walking up to me and Marge. I pinch the bridge of my nose and say, “I knew I smelled fish.”
Rebecca punches me in the arm with a smile on her face. She leans in and kisses my cheek. “How you doin’?” she asks with her Jersey accent.
“Oh, you know, just peachy.”
“What is peachy is that ass of yours. You look good today.” She bends down to look at the floor chart. “And you’re in the L. You here to make money today, aren’t you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “A girl has to pay rent somehow.” I stand off the couch, pulling my shirt down more and lifting my breasts while giving Rebecca a wink. I walk away to the locker room and grab my phone from my waistband, tucking it into my locker.
Shit. Jace had me so distracted trying to be a macho man that I forgot my headphones at home. Which means I will have to listen to some snotty rich men talk about their lives over the blasting screamo music all night.
I sit down on the bench, fixing my shoes, and turn my head to see the other tenders in the corner near a table.
They pass around a rolled-up dollar bill, snorting.
This job isn’t hard, but it’s not easy, either.
We practically act like therapists to grown men, but instead of being in a professional setting where the therapist is ten feet away from them in a suit, we are half naked, serving them alcohol while they rub their clammy fingers on our bodies.
If we allow it. Marge and I are some of the only tenders who are off limits.
Marge only allows certain people, if she likes them. And I’m a “look-y don’t touch-y.”
The lights start to dim, and I can feel the vibrations through the floor in my feet.
Show time.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to force the pressure out of my head.
Tonight was not the night to forget headphones.
I’m sitting next to a group of older men as they laugh and choke at whatever they deem funny.
I have my elbow propped along the top of the couch with my head in my hand, fake laughing and smiling on cue with them.
I need a drink. I lean in, whispering to—fuck what was his name? “I’ll be back with a new bottle,” I say, smiling.
“Okay, Candy, don’t take too long.”
I stand off the couch, turning away and rolling my eyes.
Candy? Where the fuck did he get that name from?
I start walking toward the back of the club, passing by the VIP section.
I glance around and land on Jace’s open curtains.
His elbows are leaning on his knees while he types on his phone.
As if he could feel me staring, his eyes jump up to look at me.
I use my middle finger to rub the tip of my nose.
Slowly, he leans back along the couch, throwing his arms over the top and spreading his legs open. I look away, rolling my eyes. Maybe this is why I have a headache. All the shit I’ve dealt with the past two days could put me in a hospital for brain damage.
I walk past all the VIP sections into the back room where we hide all the liquor. At Club Opal, there is no bar. So, we are forced to come back here and get the bottles ourselves. The collection is insane. I have never had a customer come in here and ask for a bottle we don’t have.
I grab a bottle of vodka and a glass, pouring myself a double shot. It tastes so good and so bad at the same time.
After choking it down, I turn to search our wall of liquor until I find the two-hundred-dollar tequila bottle. I grab it by the handle and turn to leave out the door, but almost fall on my ass when I run into a wall.
I bend my neck back, seeing Jace standing in front of me. “Jesus, Jace, what are you doing?”
His eyes travel from my head to my toes and his jaw tenses. “Come to my section.”
“No. I have a section. That you can clearly see me from. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on running,” I snap, taking two steps back.
“I know you’re not. I know I can see you.”
“So, what is the problem?” I ask.
He takes two steps forward, then another, backing me into the wall.
I can feel the cold bricks on my back, sending chills down my body.
He plants his hands on both sides of my face, leaving no room for me to move around him.
His biceps are so large they could squish me like a bug.
His blonde hair shags over his forehead and fades on the side.
I try not to breathe. If I breathe, I will smell him, his spicy, woody scent—and god, it smells so good.
I hold the bottle to my chest, trying to separate him for me, trying to leave room for Jesus.
My breathing starts to become erratic, and I feel extremely vulnerable back here as he continues to stare at me, not saying anything.
I watch his blue eyes move from mine, down to my lips, down to my chest. I swear, if he kisses me, I will slap him.
“Mr. Cook, Axel would like to see you again.”
I bend to look under Jace’s arm to see Roxxie standing behind us with her hands behind her back.
Her hair is always in a perfect short pixie cut.
She has strong, defined features and beautiful, tan glowing skin.
Yet she acts like a robot. No emotion. It’s quite terrifying, yet attractive, and I would so kiss her right now for saving me.
I stand up straight, still pinned under Jace. “They’re calling you, dog,” I say with a smirk. He is always being told what to do and where to go. “Jace come here, Jace go there.” Someone get this man a collar and a leash.
His lip twitches in response and a grunt comes from his throat, making my heart stop and my face fall. He pushes himself off the wall, puts his hands in his front pockets, and turns to follow Roxxie out of the room.
I lean my head against the wall and press my body further against it, needing it to swallow me whole.