CHAPTER 1
CHARLA
“She may be fast, but she’s certainly not cheap.
Gentlemen, get ready for the ride of your night.
The Library’s very own. Give it up… for Porsche!
” The music thumps to life, its beat thudding in my chest. Drunken cheers go up as the curtains part, and Porsche glides through the velvet, one silk-clad limb at a time.
I pop the top off the final beer bottle and situate it on the tray with the other drinks.
“Alright, Sylvia. Those are ready to go.”
“Perfect!” Sylvia whips back toward me, her black pigtails bouncing against her shimmery clavicles. She grips the top edge of her bra and wiggles, adjusting for maximum cleavage, then shoulders the tray. “Thanks, Chuck!”
Xavier strolls leisurely toward the bar, the tattoos on his neck flashing under the neon lights.
He settles onto a stool and slaps on the counter.
“Bartender! A bottle of your finest clear!” Without a word, I snap open the mini fridge and slide him a bottle of water before turning back to tidying up the counter.
“Aw, you’re no fun, Chuckie,” he complains jokingly, but he swigs from it graciously.
“Never said I was,” I retort. “Full house tonight, huh?”
Whistles and shouts erupt from the stage, and I turn to watch Porsche teasingly tug the ends of the ribbon loose around her chest, her back to the crowd.
Her hips sway tantalizingly to the music and the ribbon flutters to the floor.
She was right about Santa Baby being a hit with the customers; pair that with the fact that they get to watch her unwrap her body like a present, and they’re in heaven.
“Yeah, that’s no joke.” Xavier swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes surveying the group flocking to the stage. “Who’d have thought that Santa Baby would do it for them? And this soon after Thanksgiving?”
I nod, studying the clientele. Even though the crowd is smaller than normal with most of the soldiers on leave, it’s still a full house.
They vary in age, but if I had to guess, probably 90% of the guys here are military age, and of that 90%, a solid 75% of them are actually in the military judging solely by the haircuts and 70’s-style pornstaches that have survived the tail end of No Shave November.
I’m well aware that they have to wear their facial hair like that to stay in regs, but dear god, I hate those stupid mustaches.
Xavier interrupts my thought. “All in all though, seems like a pretty decent group tonight, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “I mean, things seem pretty—”
“Ah! Ah ah!” Xavier interrupts. “Don’t you dare say—”
“Quiet.” I finish, a smirk on my face.
“—it.” Xavier shoots me a glare, the corners of his mouth pulled into a deep frown.
“Now, why would you do that? You know damn well—” His chastising is cut off by a commotion from one of the private booths.
By the time he gets up from his seat, I’ve already rounded the bar and am headed toward the noise.
The curtain to the room rips open, and Topaz storms out, trailed closely by a stumbling mustached man who she has firmly by the ear.
She towers over him in her heels, making him look every bit like a petulant toddler.
Topaz’s fiery gaze lands on me and she makes her way over.
They’re trailed by three other men who appear substantially less intoxicated than the man in her hand and their chorus of apologies can barely be heard over the music and cheers.
“This motherfucker—” she drags the man up next to her. “—won’t keep his fucking hands to himself. I want him out, Chuck!” Topaz shoves him at me then stalks off in the direction of the dressing room.
The man stumbles, his shouts slurred as he grabs clumsily at his ear.
“Fuckin bish. Iss nah liiiike I dint pay fer it.” He rises to his full height and levels his gaze over my head at Xavier.
Well, almost his full height. Between the swaying and the way his head lolls to the side, he’s standing about as tall as he can without ending up on the floor like a downed tree.
“Chuck,” he slurs, pointing his finger at Xavier. “Chuck. C’mon man. C’mon. Itsss not even li’ tha. I meeeean, your th’owner this place. Jus tell’er to chill.”
The men behind him wince; even they know he fucked up. One tries to grab his arm. “Coop, let’s go, dude. It’s not worth it.”
“Don’ fuckin’ touch me.” He yanks his arm away, throwing him off balance and causing him to stagger straight into me. “Oh shit,” he hiccups. “Sor—sorry. Here.” He shoves a wad of cash at me, then extends his hand toward my chest. I step out of reach, and he falls flat on his face.
I nod at Xavier wordlessly and he snatches the man off the ground. His limbs hang limply in Xavier’s hands as he tries to look at me, his head bobbing dizzily. Blood pours over his mustache and onto his shirt. “Hey! Why joo shove me?”
“I didn’t shove you. Coop, is it?”
He nods.
“So, Coop, here’s the thing,” I start, my voice low.
“Here, we don’t allow touching, no matter how much you pay.
We don’t allow you to demand things of my security, and we don’t allow you to make an ass out of yourself, because in my club?
” I grab his chin and lift his gaze to meet mine.
“We play by my rules.” By the way his head drops when I release my grip, I doubt he heard anything that I said, much less is going to remember it, so I turn my attention toward the three men behind him and hold out my hand. “IDs?”
One of the men stammers as he digs in his pocket for his wallet, his eyes darting between me and Xavier.
“Your club?” His eyes dart from Xavier to me then back again, as if what he’s hearing doesn’t make sense.
“Wait… you’re Chuck?” They set the plastic in my hand, one at a time, and I skim over the names: Dominic Adams, Amir Phillips, and Samuel Reese.
Suddenly, the three of them seem to be a lot more sober than they were a minute ago.
I ignore the question and jerk my head toward Coop. “And his?” One of the men reaches into Coop’s back pocket and fishes out his wallet. He tries to swat at their hands but misses.
“Here,” he digs it out and holds it out toward me.
Coop’s full name appears to be Marcus James Cooper.
He’s twenty-five (ish. I’m bad at mental math) and from Iowa.
Definitely military then. If not, then he’s on the world’s lamest vacation.
The man who handed me the card clears his throat and asks again, “You’re Chuck? ”
“I am.” Without lifting my gaze to look at any of them, I hold their cards back out toward them.
I’m not sure if they’re trying to be friendly, but I’m not exactly in a friendly mood right now.
Coop might not remember this conversation in the morning, but these three certainly will.
“And right now, the four of you are trespassing. Xavier.”
That ought to jog his memory a bit. Or at least it will when he’s got the ability to have any sort of memory at all.
Xavier is close behind me as I turn on my heel, dragging the ragdoll in his arms, and his friends follow, their heads hung low. As we exit the door, they take their plastered friend and start toward their vehicle. One of them drops him, and I’m almost certain that it wasn’t an accident.
“Let me know when you’re ready to apologize,” I call after them. “I still won’t let you in, but I might call the other establishments in town to retract my previous statements so that they might.”
The three men turn to look at me, Coop in hand, confused. “Previous statements?”
“Yeah. The ones that they’re about to hear. You know, about how you allow each other to assault women even after you know the rules?” I smile sweetly then toss a wave over my shoulder. “Toodles!”