10. Braxton
Chapter ten
Braxton
“What’s up, Sylvie?” I answer when I see the Midnight Rose manager’s name flash on my screen.
It’s not too late, around eleven, and I’m expecting Vanessa to be home in about an hour or so.
Since I came home hurt from our run-in with the Russians, Vanessa hasn’t let me do more than give her a few kisses here and there.
I’m not going to complain about that too much, though.
It tells me she’s beginning to accept there’s more to us outside of the bedroom.
“I’m not too sure, honestly. You said to let you know if anyone came snooping around—”
“Did that motherfucker show his face?” I ask, and she knows exactly who I’m referring to.
If Vanessa’s ex found her, I’m going to really fucking enjoy driving the point home that he is to never contact her again.
As far as he’s concerned, she no longer exists.
And I’ll make sure he thoroughly understands that—with my fist pounding into his face.
“No, nothing like that. We’ve had a busy night, so the dancers are working the floor a little more than usual to help out the servers.
Four guys came in, and Vanessa spoke with them.
She seemed a little tense during the conversation, from what I could tell on the cameras.
One of the guys got a private dance, so I was watching the room.
Before you get upset, nothing happened. But Vanessa was off. ”
“Off how?” I ask.
“Like it was the last place she wanted to be. Like he said or did something to piss her off, but she was trying to hide it. I’ve spent a lot of time in this business, and honestly, if I saw her act like that with customers, I wouldn’t have hired her.
And probably would have told her that she’s not cut out for dancing.
The thing is, she’s never acted that way, which is why it struck me as funny.
There’s a fair amount of acting this job requires, and she’s usually phenomenal at it. ”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“I asked if she was feeling okay, and she assured me she was. I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but I thought it might be something you’d want to be aware of.
This job can be tough on a girl’s mental health, and not all of us are meant to keep doing it.
She might be getting there,” Sylvie says with concern in her voice.
“Are the men still there?”
“No, they left before she took the stage again. She seems fine now, but I just have a tingle in my brain about this.”
“I’m going to come down and take a look at the cameras,” I say, standing from the barstool at the clubhouse.
“Okay. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Sylvie hangs up, and I slide my phone back into my pocket before heading over to the couch where Logan and Danny are watching a baseball game.
“I gotta head to the club,” I tell them.
“Everything okay?” Danny asks.
“Yeah. Just need to look over some camera footage. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”
“Okay, Dad,” Logan says with a cheeky grin.
I roll my eyes and head to my bike. Rocky opens the gate for me, and I take off down the highway.
When I park my bike in the employee lot in the back, Jake greets me with a wide smile.
“Hey, Braxton,” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake.
“How’s tonight been?”
Jake nods. “Good, man. Busy night.”
“That’s what I heard. Have you seen Vanessa?”
“Yeah, when I was breaking Jason inside.” He nods toward the door that leads into the club. “Looks like she’s raking it in tonight.”
“She seem okay to you?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side. “How do you mean?”
“Did you notice any particular customers making her feel uncomfortable? Hear anything from the other girls?”
“No. Business as usual as far as I could tell, but I’ve been out here most of the night.”
“Okay, thanks. I’d appreciate it if this conversation stayed between us.” Nothing blazes through a strip club faster than one of the bosses asking questions.
“Of course.” He shakes his head. “No need to even say it.”
I shake his hand and head inside. He’s a good guy, and though it’s usually the dancers who talk and gossip, it never hurts to make sure the security guards are keeping things to themselves.
After making my way to Sylvie’s office, I knock and she calls for me to come in.
“You got here fast,” she says with a half smile.
“It involves Vanessa, so yeah, I came right away.” No use lying to her. If Vanessa hasn’t told her or any of the other girls that we’re a thing—even if she thinks we aren’t—then that’s on her. I have no qualms about making my position known.
“I have the video cued up.”
Sylvie presses play, and four men on the screen walk into the club.
They have a seat at the table farthest from the stage and order from one of the cocktail waitresses.
It isn’t more than a couple minutes before Vanessa comes over and sits next to one of them, and they begin talking.
Right away, I can tell her smile is forced.
I’ve seen the real one, and I’ve seen the one she uses on stage.
This is a different kind altogether. They talk for a few minutes, then Vanessa holds out her hand and leads another man away from the table.
Sylvie switches the video feed, and the one from inside our VIP room begins playing. The man sits on the couch, and Vanessa starts her performance on the stage. The man says something to her, but I can’t make it out since the music is playing loudly—I can tell Vanessa is annoyed, though.
“I’ll get someone in here to fix the sound. I don’t like that you can’t isolate what customers and dancers are saying with the music on,” I tell Sylvie.
We’ve never had cause to look over the footage in our VIP rooms, but we keep cameras in there anyways, just in case we find a reason. And tonight I’m glad Trick thought to cover our asses when he opened the club during his time as president.
I watch her walk over to the man and he tries to grab her, but she shuts it down right away.
She straddles his lap, but she doesn’t face him.
The camera shows the discomfort on her face clear as day, and I can see what Sylvie was talking about when she said if any dancer who came to the club and looked like that with a customer, she’d tell them to find a new profession.
But this isn’t like Vanessa, at least not from what I’ve seen and heard about her time here.
When the man leans in and says something to Vanessa, she stops moving for a beat. I’d really like to know what that was. The song finishes, and Vanessa promptly gets off his lap and tells him she has to get ready to go on stage.
It’s strange seeing this side of Vanessa, especially with no context. She’s always presented herself as someone who’s confident in her work as a dancer and in handling customers. To see her flustered and acting out of character has my mind running away with questions.
Who the hell were those guys, and what did they want?
Were they simply some assholes who Vanessa felt like she had to deal with because it’s her job, or is it something else?
I don’t know much about the clubs she worked in New York, but I’d like to think all of our dancers know that if they feel uncomfortable at any point with any man who comes in, they can say something and have them removed. Especially Vanessa.
“And she said she was fine afterward?” I ask Sylvie when the video ends.
“Yup. I watched her next set, and she seemed back to her usual self, though by that time, those men had left. It could be nothing, but I thought you should know since you two are seeing each other.”
“I don’t know if that’s how I would label it, but thank you for letting me know. I’ll try to talk to her and get a read on where her head is at.”
That’s a hell of a lot easier said than done. Vanessa is far from what I would call an open book. Whenever she gives me a crumb of something meaningful, like talking about her dad or her mom and sister, I eat that shit up. But those moments are few and far between.
I head out of the office with every intention of going to the front and getting the information from the IDs that our security would have scanned before those guys made it inside. When I turn the corner, I run smack dab into Vanessa.
“Oof,” she huffs out, and I instantly put my arm around her. Her hands flatten against my chest before she looks up and sees it’s me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, the corner of her mouth tilting into a smile.
“Talking to Sylvie about some security upgrades. With the Russians openly targeting us, Ozzy wants to make sure the club is protected.”
“Gotta look out for the club’s investments,” she says.
“Looking out for the employees, sweetheart. Big difference. Buildings and shit we can rebuild and replace. People? Not so much. We want to make sure everyone here is safe. You know you can go to Sylvie or me if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable or if something doesn’t seem right, don’t you?”
One of the dancers rounds the corner, nearly knocking into Vanessa from behind.
“Shit, sorry,” she says, stopping just in time, then smiles at Vanessa before turning toward the dressing room.
I grab Vanessa by the hips and move us against the wall. She leans back and rolls her eyes.
“We’re about to be the hottest gossip in the club,” she says as I place an arm above her head and lean toward her.
Dipping my head, I place a kiss against her lips then pull back a fraction. “Is that the worst thing in the world?”
Vanessa chuckles and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
“It does to me.” I arch a brow. “You embarrassed to be seen with me?” I joke.
She laughs and wraps her arms around my waist. “Not at all. I don’t particularly care for people talking about me, but it has nothing to do with you.” Then she reaches up and presses her lips against mine. “How are you feeling?” Her fingertips slip under my cut, running the length of my ribs.
I lean toward her face and graze her lips with mine. “I feel like I’ve been missing having you in my bed.”