“I got money! Name your price.”
“You don’t have enough, trust me,” I growl back, but I can tell he’s not listening, his other hand disappearing below the bar, likely to adjust his growing arousal. I want to gag. I imagine he’ll be rough when he finally corners a poor, desperate, and obviously blind woman. “I’d let go if I were you … sir.”
From my peripherals, I see Nate and Ben’s looming frames moving in to save me. The idea of that bothers me for some reason. I don’t need them to protect me.
I don’t need anyone.
And I want to hurt this guy.
I half-lean, half-jump forward to hook my free hand around the cowboy’s sweaty neck. I yank down hard and fast. He grunts as his face slams against the bar. I hold it there, my fingers digging into the base of his spine. My heart is hammering against my ribs as blood rushes to my ears. This feels good. I feel alive. “How do ya like this tight ass now?” I hiss.
Nate’s hands slam over his shoulders and I hear his low rumble over the music as he drags the cowboy away, bleeding from a cut to his bottom lip. “You’ll have to leave now, sir.” The guy’s also got a bright red mark on his forehead. Definitely a bruise tomorrow. He doesn’t resist though. I doubt even the Incredible Hulk would resist Nate.
Ben hangs back to ask,“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him as Storm sidles up to my side with a worried look. My attention trails after Nate and I cross glances with Cain sitting at a table off to the side. A sinking feeling settles over me. He must have watched the entire scene unfold. It dawns on me that maybe he doesn’t want his customers’ heads slammed against the bar. Maybe I just got my ass fired.
Cain gives me a thumbs-up sign, and I release a huge sigh of relief.
“I told you to smile, not get yourself into a bar fight,” Storm jokes, nudging me in the ribs.
“He wanted a private show,” I explain, my adrenaline still pumping blood through my body. “I gave him a public one instead.”
Ben leans forward, elbows resting over the bar, an impressed smirk on his face. “You sure know how to handle yourself.”
“I was raised by wolves. Had to fight for my food.”
His head tilts back and a throaty laugh escapes. “Sorry if I was a douche bag earlier. I’m just used to seeing pretty, fresh girls come in here and leave worn and jaded. I hate it.”
“Well then it’s your lucky day. I’m already jaded.” I give him the once over. “And maybe you shouldn’t work in a strip club.”
“Yeah, that’s what they tell me. But the money’s too good and I’m putting myself through law school.” He catches my raised brow and his grin widens. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”
“You don’t give off lawyerly vibes.”
Ben turns his body and rests his elbows on the bar so he faces out into the crowd while he talks to me. “So I hear you just moved here?”
“Yep.” I busy myself with wiping the counter down and stacking freshly washed glasses.
“You’re a big talker, aren’t you?”
“Us fully-dressed girls have to work extra hard for our money.”
His head falls back to look at me. “Fair enough. Listen—next time you’re at the gym and I’m there, come get me. We can go a few rounds.” He saunters away, not waiting for my response.
Oh, I’ll go a few rounds with you, but probably not the kind your crotch brain is offering. I follow his movements, about to holler, “You got it, Lawyer Boy!” but the words die on my lips.
Trent is sitting at a single top bar height table.
And he’s not watching the naked pretzel on the stage. He’s watching me.
Check that. Staring at me.
Trent is here and he’s staring at me.
“What the hell …” I grumble to no one in particular, ducking my head. I can’t deal with him and what he does to me now. Here. Tonight. Fuck!
I sense a form step up to the bar and I cautiously look up. It’s Nate, thank God. He’s back from the cowboy eviction already. “Is that guy bothering you, Kacey?”
I swallow. “Nah.” Yes, but not for the reasons you think.
“You sure?” He pivots his massive body to check the table. Trent’s still there, leaning his long body back into his chair, sipping on his straw, his focus now on Cherry. “He’s been there for half an hour. He’s been watching you.”
“He has?” I squeak and then quickly add in a normal tone, “he’s my neighbor. It’s okay.”
Nate’s dark orbs wander the rest of the room, looking for grabby guys that he can toss out the door, no doubt. “You make sure you tell me if he bothers you, okay, Kacey?”
When I don’t answer, he looks down at me again, that thunderous voice of his a little softer. “Okay?”
I nod. “Yup, you got it, Nate.”
With a curt bob of his head, he wanders back to stand at his post like a sentry. One who could rip a guy’s legs right out of their sockets if he sneezes too hard.
“What was that about?” Storm sneaks up behind me.
“Oh, nothing.” My voice is still shaky and I can’t get my tongue to work properly. I hazard another glance over at Trent. He’s leaning into the table, toying with his straw, while Mediterranean Barbie—Bella, I think she goes by—presses her scantily clad body against his thigh. I watch as she gestures toward the V.I.P. room, her hand slipping over the back of his neck affectionately.
“You okay? You look like you’re trying to choke someone.” She’s right, I realize, as I notice my fists wringing the dish cloth in my hand like it’s a neck. It is someone’s neck right about now. Bella’s …
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I toss the cloth down and hazard one more peek at Trent, the same second his gorgeous blue eyes dart back to touch mine. I jump. He gives me that teasing smile that peels away my defenses, leaving me as naked as the dancers on stage. Why does he affect me so? It’s unnerving!
“Uh, that’s not ‘nothing,’ Kacey. Are you looking at that guy? Who is that?” She leans over my shoulder to catch my line of sight. “Isn’t that—”
My hand goes up to gently shove her face back. “Turnaround! Now he knows we’re talking about him.”
Storm doubles over, laughing. “Kacey’s got a crush,” she sings. “Our neighbor’s eye-humping you. Go and talk to him.”
“No!” I growl back, throwing my best set of icy eye daggers at her.
She ducks her head and busies herself by clearing glasses off the bar. I can tell she’s stung by the venom in my tone. Guilt instantly swells inside me. Dammit, Storm!
I struggle to ignore Trent’s table, but it’s like passing a train wreck. It’s impossible not to look. By the end of the night, I’m exhausted and annoyed by the seismic waves of jealousy crashing into me as the parade of strippers visit his table, touching him, giggling, one of them sliding up onto his lap to talk. My only relief comes from the fact that Trent politely declines them all.
Reaching into her purse that sits between us in the console, Storm tosses a thick envelope on my lap.
Without much thought, I tear it open and flip through the bills. “Holy shit! There’s got to be, like …”
