Where She Belongs (The Forever Collection Book 1) (2 page)

The low vibration of the bass from the club floor comes through the open office door. I’m usually gone by midnight, but between dealing with Claudia and sticking around to interview a few new dancers, I’m beat. Tuesday nights, the club is quiet and we do our Men’s Only night. We also do a thing called, ‘Open Tryout Night.’ Similar to open mic night at comedy clubs or the like, but we let girls who aspire to dance or work here come in, strut their stuff and show us what they’ve got. So I usually stick around to see if there are any worthy applicants coming through the door.

After a few minutes, Allister steps back into the office as I twist my head around on my neck, trying to relieve the pressure.

“All set?” I ask.

“Yeah. That girl is . . . colorful. Had some unique parting words for you.” He licks his lips, then adds, “And me.”

I shrug. Insults don’t mean a thing to me. “Yeah? I wish her well. It’s a shame.” My stomach roars again, and I push my chair back and stand up.

“You done for tonight?” Allister shoves his hands down into his front pockets, regarding me with a wry smile.

“I think so. I’m going to go have the kitchen make me something to go. Anyone else coming in tonight?” I straighten up the loose papers on my desk into a stack and file them in my drawer. I put my Dunhill pen in my top drawer too, remembering when the staff gave it to me at Christmas. I’m a hard fuck to buy for; I don’t want for anything and don’t want much in general.

But I do appreciate quality and rarity, and they all chipped in and bought me that pen. Probably the best fucking pen in the world. I exhale louder than I expect. I guess I’m just a little tired of all this. I finish by brushing dust off the walnut top of my desk until everything looks in order.

“A few gals are still here to try out.” Allister reaches for his back pocket and pulls out three Polaroids, starts flipping through them. Then he looks at my face with mock concern. “You get some ice on that?”

“It’s fine.”

“Uh huh. You’re not twenty anymore. Next time call for back up.”

There is a low throb coming from under my left eye where I took a punch earlier. It will be purple by morning, but right now it’s just an irritation.

“I got the job done.” My voice sounds gruff. I hate fucking fighting, but I also don’t back down when the situation calls for me to get physical. And when someone lays a hand on one of my girls, the situation calls for it.

“You know we hire bouncers for that shit. You take on three at a time, old man, just at least let me stand behind you. Got it?”

“I haven’t lost a fight yet, have I? Who got carried out of here calling for their mommy? Me? Nope.” I’m pissed because if the bouncers were
doing their job
, I wouldn’t have to jump in when I see that shit going on. “New subject.”

Allister stares at me and then nods. He knows when I’m not messing around. “No problem.” He flicks one of the pictures against his palm, black Sharpie scrawled across the white strip at the bottom of the photo.

We always take the girls’ names, phone numbers and a quick picture as soon as they come in to apply. Even if they don’t end up working here, we try to establish we are here to help, if they need any help, and get some basic information right up front so we can keep track of everyone that comes in.

He steps toward me, ready to show me the photos, but I’m already up, coming around toward him. I’m grabbing my briefcase off the floor before he can even get close, taking my jacket off the hook, marching for the door.

Allister and I have been friends since we were in boot camp together a thousand years ago. We didn’t end up serving together, but those first weeks of hell bonded us, and we’ve been as close as family ever since. We’re even in height, his build being slightly leaner than mine. Besides working with each other, we work out together four days a week so there is not much we don’t know about each other.

“Here.” He jabs the photos toward me as I work my way to the door. Some guys might get off on the young women that come in for tryouts, but I’m not overly eager to look. It’s all work, we don’t play here. I’ve never touched one of the girls that works for me.

Fuck, I haven’t actually touched a woman in more years than I can count. And when I say touched, I mean as in an arm around the shoulder, or a kiss. No one but Allister knows this, and I doubt anyone would believe me, but that’s about all I’ve done with a woman. Nothing below the belt has ever happened.

Virgin.

Even the word sounds unbelievable to me, but it’s true. I’ve never been overly outgoing, except when it comes to running my business and getting shit done. I’m on the shy side and have never felt comfortable with women in general as far as relationships go. I gave up years ago thinking there was someone out there for me. I figure that part of life just isn’t in my stack of cards.

I know most of the guys that come in here sit there with their dicks hard, watching the harem of beauties that work here. They probably think that as the club owner, my cock samples all the goods. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I don’t even remember the last time I stroked off. If it’s not the real thing, I’m just not all that interested. And I guess I just haven’t met the real thing. And I probably never will.

So I stay focused on work. Not just making money, though that part isn’t awful either. But the other part. Seeing so many of these girls come in over the years looking for work, thinking it was just another seedy club where they would take their clothes off and bang customers in the bathroom for extra cash.

Then when they see what I’m doing here, they see a glimmer of hope for a different future. Since I had started my first club, I’ve gladly paid for my girls’ rehab, attorneys, GEDs, college tuition, and I’ve bashed in some pimps’ faces when they’ve tried to come get back what they think belongs to them.

It’s become my life and I’m proud of each of them when they go off into the world to become whatever is next. Some are now lawyers, PTA mothers, social workers, even doctors.

I take the pictures from Allister’s hand as I pass by and look down at the top photo as I step into the hallway, heading for the club floor.

I’m too tired to care much right now about what wayward young woman we may be able to help, but I pull my shoulders back and try to focus. This is important to me, I remind myself. I love the money I make, but I want to matter. I want to make a difference in someone’s life. That’s what gets me off.

There’s a tug on the skin covering my chest as I pull my shoulders back and the muscles stretch over the scars, reminding me of why I retired when I did from the military. I roll my neck around, trying to loosen the tightness as we get closer to the end of the hallway.

“I can handle it, boss.” Allister says from just behind my left shoulder, sensing my fatigue. “Just get your food, take off, leave it to me. Two of these girls look like they won’t last a day with your rules anyway. And the third,” he makes a noise in his throat, “she looks like she’s never been outside her nursery before. Although, you know, that innocent one has a rack on her. And a fucking ass for days. A little on the thick side, but different strokes for different folks. I guarantee she’s never seen the inside of a club before.”

I chuckle under my breath. Allister enjoys looking, and he and I don’t necessarily have the same taste but he’s a gentleman to his core.

“Who’s on the door tonight?” I ask, rubbing my chin with my other hand.

“Buzz,” he says with a huff.

“He’s on his last warning.” I second his huff. We try to help out everyone, guys as well, but I’m harder on them. I expect the men that work here to be gentlemen at all times as well, and Buzz seems to think this is his own private dick playground, and that shit does not fly.

“Yeah, I know. He’s trying my patience, and there isn’t much of that to begin with. When that little doe arrived I gave him the stare. He was looking at her like she was a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

Allister never touches any of the girls that work here either, but he’s a bit more outspoken than me. As we’re making our way down the hall I bring the three photos he stuffed into my hand into my line of vision.

I shoulder open the swinging door that separates the offices from the club floor, then glance down absently at the top photo just as I’m losing the bright light of the hallway for the dim flashing lights of the bar. And I feel like someone just shoved a taser down my pants.

There she is, standing across the room, same face as the one in the picture. She’s got her arms crossed, eyes looking around like she’s just landed on Mars.

I know it’s fucking impossible, but I swear I can smell her and it’s like some long forgotten scent suddenly bombarding me with feelings about this tiny, lush creature—a complete stranger.

My pace quickens and I’m making a beeline for the three girls standing where Allister left them waiting. Except I only really see one.

“I got this, old man.” Allister urges me to make my way home, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving now. “Like I said, that little one isn’t half-bad, it’s just—”

“Shut up.” The anger in my voice shocks me.

All he’s doing is talking about her and I’m worked up like this. What the fuck is wrong with me? Thinking that he’s looked at her, that he’s had lustful thoughts about her, has me ready to turn against my best friend. I don’t know what this reaction is, but I do know; I don’t want anyone’s eyes on her except mine. The mere fact that she’s here applying for a position as a dancer has me ready to split heads.

“I’ll send the other two home. I’ll talk to this one.” I look down at the picture in my hand, then back up and my cock is filling my pants, something that has not once happened in all the years I’ve run these clubs and been around these girls. Whoever this little sweet-tart is, she’s managed to move things inside me I wasn’t sure were still moveable.

A rush of blood through my ears blocks out the music and ambient sounds of the club. Heat radiates from my core and I’m drawn into a vortex of something long forgotten. I want her in ways I didn’t realize I could want. Some primal part of me stirs and I know what I’ve been waiting for is right here.

Right now.

Now I have to go and make sure she knows she’s claimed.

May

“Y
ou are not sneaking out!” Leah shouts, doing her best to sound threatening.

We are in my bedroom. Tapestries hang on the walls beside oil paintings framed with ornate gold-leaf. And among them hang my posters and torn off magazine covers. When I was younger it was all boy bands, but now they have been replaced by covers of Bon Appetit and a truckload of retro ’80s band posters I found in the attic.

Simon, our guardian, took the posters down over and over as I grew up, but I would usually get one of the staff to get me more. They feel sorry for us. Most of the estate staff stayed on after the accident, and Miss Henrietta and Mr. Fredby are like grandparents to us.

I would get more posters, save them up, then stay up all night covering my walls all at once, because seeing Simon’s stupid face turn fire-engine red when he would see it was almost as good as having the posters back up.

He was my father’s right hand man. His confidant and advisor. Now, he’s just an asshole.

“Shhhh!” I hiss as I pull on my thigh-high white socks and take a deep breath. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”

My sister, Leah, gives me her best motherly glare. She looks so much like Mom it’s spooky. I mean, I don’t remember Mom that well, but from what I do remember–and from the scrap book pictures I’ve worn out over the years–it’s almost like looking at my Mom’s face when I see my sister.

“No, you’re the one that’s going to get in trouble.” She lowers her voice to an agitated whisper and inches her wheelchair forward in an attempt to intimidate me.

It doesn’t work, I’m determined.

“No one is coming to check on us. Besides, they are out for the night.”

You would think it would make me mad that my fiancé is out almost every night without me, but ours is not a match made in any sort of heaven. Couple that with the fact that he’s the son of our guardian, who hasn’t been the most nurturing soul over the last twelve years, and the weirdness factor is off the charts.

“This will never work.” Leah presses her palms down and rubs the tops of her thighs with a wince. They get sore during the day and by evening she is in the chair, which I know she loathes.

“It will work.” The tenacity in my voice is as much to convince myself as her. “It might work.” I temper my bravado and slip my feet into a pair of sparkly, pink and purple, patent leather ballet flats. I pop up from the edge of the bed and grab my favorite sweater, which I picked out just for tonight.

“You are
not
wearing that.” Leah groans.

“What? I love this sweater.” I pick up the lime green, polka-dot cardigan and hold it out, regarding it. “It’s fun.”

“Like we would know what fun is?” Leah snorts and spins in a slow circle in her chair.

“Like you would know what
style
is? For all we know, striped kimonos and chef’s aprons are what girls our age are wearing.” I look at the sweater again. “Dad would have liked it.” I push one hand into the cashmere sleeve and pull it up over my shoulders and the opposite arm. Before I start to button it, I walk over to the enormous mirror which stands above the antique dresser, flanking the door to the ensuite bathroom. I’ve got on a white bra and panties. At least they match. And they are as fancy as anything I have. But they do not say ‘stripper.’