Surrender (21 page)

Jack Flores is the team captain and in charge of the credit card tab. He smiles at me. “How many girls can you round up in five minutes?” he asks.

“Six or seven,” I guess. “Table dances?”

He grins. “Double shots all the way around.”

I’m enthused by his easygoing nature and quickly leave to try and fill his request. I stop by the DJ booth and open the door. “Angelo, can I see the dance list?”

“Hey, baby,” he greets me. He reaches above the soundboard and unclips the list. He hands it to me.

I scan the names. Most girls don’t show up until eight. I grab a piece of scrap paper and pencil, then jot down seven names. “Can you do a sound check for these girls?” I ask, handing him the paper. “Send them to VIP, please.”

“Sure, baby,” he answers, sliding his headphones on.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re all dancing in VIP. I dance four songs in a row for Jack. He’s a dream customer—he’s funny and he keeps his hands to himself. I finish the last song, then dab my forehead with a napkin. It’s hot inside the club tonight. I dress, then sit down next to Jack.

“Want a drink, sweetheart?” he asks.

I know I shouldn’t, but a shot will take the nervous edge off. I miss Garrick so much. “Sure.”

He signals for a waitress and Morgan arrives. She sets her tray down on the table so she can write the order on her tablet.

Jack looks around. “Five Cuba Libres, three Buds in the bottle, two mojitos, four margaritas, and fifteen shots of Cuervo.”

“Be right back,” Morgan announces as she swipes her tray off the table.

“You guys are heavy duty tonight,” I comment.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. He removes his ball cap, scratches his head, then puts it back on. He studies me for a long moment. “How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

I chuckle and roll my eyes. “Almost twenty-one,” I say proudly. In eleven months, to be exact.

“Damn.” Jack shakes his head. “Just a baby.” He takes a sip from his beer. “What’s a sweetheart like you doing in a place like this?”

“Earning college tuition.”

“That’s good,” he says admiringly. “Stick to a plan—get out of here as quick as you can.”

A few minutes later, Morgan and another waitress arrive with the drinks. After they distribute the order, I sneak my shot of tequila. Jack does the same, slamming the empty shot glass on the table. “Always burns my throat afterward.” He takes a long swig of water.

I laugh.

He swats his thigh. “Ready for another dance?”

I nod enthusiastically, wishing every customer were as nice as him. I stand. Enigma comes on; I like the song and wiggle out of my dress. Before I shed my G-string, I casually peer across the aisle. I freeze. Carlos is staring at me. He wags his eyebrows and throws me a lewd grin. I gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, patting my arm.

I whip around and grab my costume off the table. “I’ll be back,” I whisper in his ear. I swiftly walk away.

Henry’s office is located off the poolroom. I knock loudly. “Come in.”

I open the door and step inside. Darren is sitting on the leather sofa with a drink in his hand. Henry is seated at his desk.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Darren asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I did.” I shut the door, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I
can’t
tell Darren who Carlos is, or why I’m afraid of him. But, I can ask him to be removed from the club. “There’s a guy in VIP I don’t like.”

“Do you know him personally?” Henry inquires.

“You could say that.”

“Is he spending money?” Darren asks.

I draw in a deep breath. My boss judges men by the depth of their wallets, not by their reputations.

“You’re not giving us much to go on,” Henry adds.

“Trust me when I tell you this guy is a real asshole. A dangerous one. Have I ever asked you to throw someone out?” I look at Henry.

“No,” he answers firmly. “You usually punch them and they willingly leave.”

I fist my hands. “I’m dead serious, Henry.”

“All right, all right,” Darren says. He leans forward and sips his drink. He taps the empty cushion next to him. “Sit down, baby. I’ll check this guy out myself. Okay? What’s he look like?”

“Black hair, dark eyes, slim build, pencil-thin mustache. He’s wearing a navy short-sleeved shirt and slacks and Stacy Adams shoes.”

Darren eyes Henry, then looks at me. “Writing an all-points bulletin? Stay here—I’ll return shortly.” He places his drink on the coffee table and stands. “Smile, Robyn.” He leaves the office.

I relax, happy that Darren is going out there.

“Hear from Garrick lately?” Henry asks.

“A couple of days ago. There’s a problem with the sat phones and weather. I expect him back any day.”

Henry nods. “He’s a decent guy. I’m happy for you.”

That’s the nicest thing Henry has ever said to me. “Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, Darren returns, laughing.

“What’s so funny,” I ask, worried.

“I chatted with
Carlos.
” He drops a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills on Henry’s desk. “He’s profoundly sorry for any misunderstandings the two of you have had in the past and requests your company for the remainder of the evening.” Darren makes two piles of money. “Five hundred for you.” He slides mine aside. “Five for me.” He pockets his share.

My mouth drops open. I’m flabbergasted. Nervous. Afraid. “Darren . . . please reconsider. This guy is a snake. Really.” Maybe I should break my promise to Garrick and tell them.

“Come on, kiddo,” he says. He grabs my half of the money and drops it on my lap. “If you can’t kill the bastard, take his money.”

“He’s a serious drug dealer! Hurts people.” It falls on deaf ears.

“I don’t care if he’s the goddamned pope,” Darren snaps. “Sorry.” He lowers his voice. “If we worried about who half the guys are that come in here, the place would close within a couple of months. Unless he does something wrong while he’s under my roof or you have a protective order against him, I can’t ask him to leave. You know the rules, Robyn. Go to work.”

I stand. The money falls to the floor. I’m unaccustomed to Darren’s displeasure. I
should
tell them what happened at Macey’s party, but Garrick has sworn me to secrecy. He’s worried about the cops making a connection between me, Carlos, and Pepper’s death. I understand his concern. Strippers catch all kinds of shit in this town. My legs feel rubbery as I approach the office door.

“Robyn,” Henry calls.

I stop, but don’t look back.

“You forgot your money.”

“Keep it,” I say, opening the door. “It’ll cover my hospital bill.” I leave.

Craig is waiting by the pool tables.

“You’re in on this, too?”

He grabs my hand and pulls me aside. “Don’t do this. Go home. I’ll cover your ass on this one.”

I’m taken aback by his concern. “Thank you, but I don’t think Darren believes me. He basically told me to shut up and dance.”

He shakes his head. “Tell him.”

“I tried; he doesn’t want to listen.”

“What did you say?”

“Enough to convince a normal person that Carlos is bad news. Not enough to break the promise I made to Garrick to keep the attack at Macey’s house a secret. It doesn’t matter—Darren has money on his mind.”

Craig shifts on his feet. “I don’t care what your asshole boyfriend says. I don’t want you to go through with this.
I’ll
tell Darren.”

I place my hand on Craig’s chest. His whole body goes stiff and he closes his eyes. “Please don’t,” I plead. “If Carlos gets kicked out after paying so much money for my company, I’m afraid he’ll retaliate. Think about Macey. He knows where she lives. Hell, he knows where
I
live. Don’t tempt a devil.”

Craig nods and opens his eyes. “I’m trading spots with Rudy right now. I’ll work VIP the rest of the night. If you need anything, if that prick does anything, you tell me. Understand?”

I agree, deeply appreciative that he’s on my side tonight.

Carlos Roberto Cruz is everything I despise in a man. I’m sitting next to him, and he’s feeding me his life story.

“. . . And that’s why my
familia
fled Mexico.”

“Are you referring to your mother, father, brothers, and sisters,” I ask sardonically, “or cartel brothers?”

My words evoke no immediate response. In fact, he eyes his two friends sitting across the table getting lap dances first. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. Not a chuckle or a warm, rolling laugh; it’s menacing. “You are a freak of nature,” he observes.

“Me?” That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me. “Why?”

His gaze washes over me. “Beauty, brains, and guts.”

“Guts? Because I nearly ripped your balls off to keep from getting raped?”

He leans so far back in his chair that the front legs come off the floor. “Rape?” He clucks like a chicken. “That was foreplay,
mamasita.
”

I’m thoroughly disgusted—ashamed to share space with this animal. I’m sure he slaps his wife and girlfriends around. “Why am I here?”

His dark gaze settles on me again. “To prove a point.”

I raise an eyebrow, overly curious to hear it.

“You’re never far out of reach—Robyn,” he threatens. “Didn’t you get my message at Rosario’s?”

He followed me? Targeted me? “Bastard!” I exclaim. There’s a sudden alarming ache in my stomach. I need to vomit. I want to go home,
now.

Carlos levels his chair. “I don’t like loose ends.” He grabs my injured hand and squeezes so hard I yelp. “Right now, I find you amusing. That
can
change.” He raises my fingers to his mouth and kisses them.

I tear my hand from his grasp. “Why?”

“You overheard a private conversation. In my business, that’s reason enough.”

I want to punch this bastard in his face. “Are you going to break my other hand, too?” I can’t get poor Franco out of my mind.

He stares at my cast. “Looks like I already did.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. So he
is
connected to those bastards at the club.

“Did that happen at Rosario’s?”

I nod. Now he’s playing innocent? I can’t figure this guy out.

“Purely accidental,” he says. “There are better uses for you . . .” He coils his fingers under my chin. I jerk away. “Dance.”

Dance? For this unmitigated asshole? A hundred questions come to mind. I want to confront him about Pepper, but I’m too much of a coward to do it. My best friend is in San Antonio burying her roommate because of this lowlife. I know he’s a murdering bastard. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. But I’m helpless. If I don’t dance for him, Darren will fire me. I can’t afford to lose my job. I hate being helpless. I wish Garrick were here; the situation would never have gotten this far. I eye Craig at the doorway. He meets my stare. Even
he
can’t do anything unless Carlos touches me inappropriately. Which he hasn’t. But there are ways to provoke men.

“Are you going to dance?” he asks.

If Garrick ever finds out about this, he’ll lose it. I know he will. I wait for a new song, then stand. Carlos spreads his legs wide.

He adjusts himself and smiles. “All for you, gorgeous.”

I sneer and slip out of my dress. I get halfway through the song before he says something. “Take off your bottoms.”

“I don’t have to,” I inform him.

“You don’t have a choice with me. Show me your pussy.”

I raise my hand to slap him, but he grabs it. “Don’t,” he snarls. He flings my hand down.

Feeling utterly distraught, I step out of my bottoms. Carlos makes a low growling sound in his throat as he stares between my legs. I’d rather get strangled than do this. I keep thinking about Pepper and Macey. Maybe if I tolerate him this one time, he’ll get bored with me and go away. I drop my G-string on the table and wiggle my hips. Carlos snatches my underwear, drapes it over his face, then takes a deep whiff.

“Stop it!” I yell. I push him and he nearly falls off his chair. He steadies himself and laughs. What do I have to do to get rid of him, shoot him?

He drops my panties in his lap. There’s a barbaric look on his face. “Nectar, baby. I bet you taste as sweet as honey.”

“You’ll never find out.”

He throws his head back and laughs again. I look sideways and find Craig hovering nearby. “Give the lady’s G-string back,” he demands.

Carlos sizes him up. “Or what?”

Craig’s eyes narrow. “I’ll
take
it back.”

Carlos turns to his buddies.
“Chinga tu madre pinche gringo.”
They laugh. Carlos glances at his watch. He sighs, then throws my G-string at me. “I’ll see
you
next Thursday.”

Chapter Twenty-one

I blink half a dozen times after I turn my engine off. I glance at my watch. It’s two thirty in the morning and my baby sister, Marisela, is standing at my front door with her guitar strapped across her back, a backpack at her feet, wearing Hello Kitty pajamas and a sweater. I slowly get out of my car. She smiles and waves as if this whole scene is completely normal.

“Marisela?” I say, afraid to ask what she’s doing here.

“Hey, sis,” she greets me. She jumps off the front porch, runs, then throws her arms around me. “Can I stay the night?”

I nervously whirl my keys around on my finger. “What are you doing here?” I unlock the door and shoo her inside.

She grabs her backpack before following me in. She drops it in the hallway and carefully props her guitar case against the wall. I close and lock the door. “Want the long or condensed version?” she asks sassily.

I sigh. A night dealing with Carlos doesn’t scare me half as much as facing my mother. What has she done? “Give me the truth.”

She leans against the wall. “I’m tired of dealing with mom’s crap. Every day she tells me what I’m going to do . . . where I’m going to college . . . what I’m going to major in . . . what I’m going to wear. I’m sick of being treated like a baby.”

“How did you get here?”

“A cab.”

I’m surprised. “Where’d you get the money?”

“All those ones you gave me.” She giggles.

“You paid the driver with ones?” I smile and shake my head in disbelief. “He probably thought you were a stripper.”