Artillery
Two days later . . .
I WAS AT THE CLUB, sitting at the way back around the corner of the bar, three stools next to me empty, Brutus standing against the wall guarding me.
Unfortunately, he needed to do this. I hadn’t danced for long and I hadn’t danced in a while, but still, Rue the burlesque dancer was a Vegas legend.
And I worked the house.
This meant I hired, fired, scheduled and managed the waitresses, the bartenders, the bar and the floor.
Part of me managing the floor was getting tricked out every night, putting on amazing dresses that exposed a fair amount of flesh (in a classy way, I thought, and so did Lash, considering he chose and bought all my dresses for me), high-heeled, fuck-me shoes and expensive jewelry. Often, I wandered the floor smiling, touching men’s arms, shoulders, hands, leaning down and brushing their knees or the outside of their thighs with my fingertips all the while inspecting their tables and the state of their drinks. If they were half done, I’d give the high sign to a scantily-clad waitress and convince them with a practiced, come-hither smile that, even though they were only halfway done with their drink, they needed another one.
I sold a tremendous amount of booze. Lash told me that within a month of me taking over the floor, the bar’s turnover doubled.
This was why he paid me a shitload and kept me in amazing dresses, shoes and jewelry. This and the fact that the waitresses and bartenders worked his nerves. They were always screwing each other then getting in fights, breaking up and taking that shit to work. When I took that off his shoulders, he was beside himself.
This was also because he adored me.
So I was visible. You paid your money, there was a chance you’d still see Rue. She wouldn’t be dancing on the stage in high heels with fans, but it was better. She would be working the crowd and she might come close, you might see those bedroom eyes, that hair and that smile right in front of you, and if you were lucky, she might touch you.
Men were pretty stupid on the whole, I thought. Dropping that kind of money to see women dance nearly naked (that said, Lash’s girls were the shit, no one in Vegas was better than them and even I had to admit there was an immense sensual beauty to it) and getting wound up because some woman touched your thigh and bent over so you could look down her cleavage . . .
I mean, really?
Whatever. It kept Lash in the lap of luxury and Lash kept me in the lap of luxury so who was I to complain?
“Ivey, beautiful, got a sign from Patrick,” Brutus said in my ear, hand on the flesh at the small of my back exposed by the low dip of my dress. “May be trouble across the floor. Gonna give him backup. Be right back.”
I looked from the notes I was making on the schedule on the bar, a martini glass filled with straight-up cranberry juice next to it, twisted my neck and smiled over my shoulder at him, giving a nod.
His hand pressed lightly into my back and then he moved through the tables across the floor.
My head bent and I went back to my schedule.
I liked it back here. The lighting was dim and it seemed far from the crowd. It was the farthest place in the room from the stage so no one wanted back here. With Brutus at his post, the darkness, the distance from the stage, which was why everyone paid to be there in the first place, I had privacy.
Not that night.
I would learn this ten seconds after Brutus left when a voice came in my ear.
“Do not stick your nose in with Cody.”
My neck twisted and I stared in shock at Buddy Sharp standing next to me wearing a hard expression, his eyes glittering mean even in the dim light.
Yes, Buddy Sharp.
What the fuck?
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“Small town. Word travels. Janie’s a stupid bitch. I know she’s called you. Do not stick your nose in that business with Grayson Cody.”
I felt something snake across my skin, it wasn’t good. In fact it was really, really bad.
He’d come to Vegas to warn me off personally. He lived in Colorado, not Italy, but still, it wasn’t an hour’s drive.
And I did not think this boded well. I didn’t know what it boded but I had the distinct impression something was going on, something I didn’t know or get and it was something very, very bad.
Very, very bad for Gray.
I stared into his eyes.
Then I told him, “What I do or don’t do is none of your business.”
He got closer, threateningly closer, and there was no mistaking it. His face was all I could see and the mean shown from his eyes, wetting the air all around with acid.
“You step in for Cody, you’ll wish you didn’t. Stay the fuck away from Cody and Mustang. You get me?”
Yes, something was happening and it was very, very bad.
For Gray.
I held his eyes, I held my space and I held my shit when I ordered, “Step back, now.”
He didn’t step back.
“Do not try me. Do not fuck with me. You do not exist for Cody and you do not exist in Mustang. You make even a single move to change that, you’ll regret it,” he warned.
“Step . . .” I hissed then leaned into him, “back.”
“Do not fuck with me,” he whispered and the way he did, the acid in the air saturating those four words, I felt true fear.
“Rue, we got a problem here?”
Thank God, Brutus.
I didn’t take my eyes from Buddy as I answered Brutus.
“Yes, this gentleman is no longer welcome in the club. Please escort him out, Freddie. Now.”
Freddie put his hands to the back of Buddy’s shirt, clenching in, and Buddy tried to shake him off but no way in hell could Buddy shake off Freddie. Hell, the Incredible Hulk would have some issues shaking off Freddie.
My eyes moved from Buddy to Freddie, they locked with his and I said softly, “Eighty-six. Life. You see him, you take him down and I’ll deal with the police later.”
Brutus nodded, jerked Buddy around and I watched him frog march Buddy to the door.
Then I swallowed.
After that, I breathed deep.
It was there, insidious, crawling through me, I felt it.
Worry.
And if I didn’t get a lock on it, I knew it would consume me.
I took a sip of cranberry juice and another deep breath.
Then I got a lock on it.
I went back to my schedule.
Seven twenty the next morning . . .
The phone rang. I opened my eyes and saw an ivory satin pillowcase and my body felt Lash’s curled into the back of it, his arm wrapped tight around me.
Yes, Lash and I slept together. We didn’t start this way, but the minute I moved in was the minute his mother started showing up unannounced in the morning, using her key and surprising us. A life-long Vegas resident, an ex-showgirl (hence her naming her son Lash), she was beside herself with glee Lash hooked up with me, the Vegas showgirl to beat all Vegas showgirls.
She was not beside herself with glee catching us in separate bedrooms.
Questions were asked, nosy ones, and after the fourth time it was clear she wasn’t buying Lash’s excuses that we’d had a rip-roarin’ the night before.
So Lash talked to me.
I got him. He loved his mother and she was unfortunately the kind of mother who would not accept who he was. Growing up, his dad was a trucker and not around a lot, his mother a showgirl and therefore mostly on her own, she took care of him. Being a showgirl, this wasn’t easy but she did it, she did it well, she liked doing it thus she didn’t complain. She loved her handsome boy.
She just didn’t want him to be gay.
This was coupled with the fact that Lash’s father was a man’s man. I got the impression that Lash’s dad would be more approachable on this subject but not by much. He was proud of his son, his son’s occupation, his son’s reputation and his son’s success. I got that Lash loved his dad and was loath to take that away and I got why he didn’t.
Lash also worked the hotshot, playboy angle for business. Many of his VIPs would not be down with hanging with a gay guy but instead preferred to think they were tight with someone who was just like them, ambitious, wealthy, aggressive and sexually predatory. Lash, of course, was all that except the last part, his prey was a different gender.
And anyway, I loved Lash. He took care of me in a variety of ways. If he needed this, it was my small way of returning the favor.
I didn’t mind sleeping with him. We whispered to each other before falling asleep, talking about our days, what the next one would bring . . . whatever. It was nice.
And he cuddled and I liked that, the affection, the closeness.
And he had satin sheets and they were the freaking bomb.
I felt Lash shift, his arm going from around me. I heard the beep of the phone and his deep voice sleepily saying, “’Lo.” There was a pause then, “Right here.” He rolled back and said sleepy-growly to me, “Gotta say, not a big fan of takin’ a call for my girl from a man at just after fuckin’ seven in the fuckin’ morning.”
When he sounded sleepy-growly like that, it was one of the few times I wished he wasn’t gay.
I saw the phone in front of me and, sleepy myself, I took it without hesitation.
I put it to my ear and greeted, “Hello?”
“Ivey?”
My heart stopped beating.
Gray.
It was Gray.
I shot up to my forearm and asked, “Gray?”
“Yeah.”
Oh God.
I felt Lash’s chest press to my back.
“Gray, what—?”
“Know Janie called you. Don’t want your money. Stay out of it.”
My heart started beating again but fast.
“Gray—” I began.
“Don’t want your fuckin’ money, Ivey. Stay the fuck out of it.”
My temper started rising.
“Gray, it isn’t—”
He cut me off again. “Fucked, Janie phonin’ you. Totally fucked. I do not need this bullshit and I do not want your money. Stay out of it.”
My temper shot to the stratosphere.
He wanted to be a macho man rancher cowboy without a ranch or horses, fine. Pride goeth before the fall.
Whatever.
His problem.
Not mine.
Not mine.
“Fine,” I snapped.
“Fine,” Gray clipped back.
I wasn’t done.
“And, do me a favor, you want me out of it and everyone wants me out of Mustang, keep Mustang away from me.”
“Not a problem, Ivey. Janie won’t be phonin’ you again,” Gray assured me.
“I’m not talking about Janie. I’m talking about Buddy.”
Silence, then, “What?”
“Buddy,” I hissed. “He showed at the club last night, got in my face, threatened me, told me to keep my nose out of it just like you just did. Except, even though your voice isn’t filled with peaches and cream right now, he was a lot less nice about it and his meaning was clear. So clear, I had to have him forcibly removed from the club. So, Gray, you want me out of it, keep me out of it not only with you and Janie but also that hideous troll. I don’t need his kind in my life. Do you understand me?”
“Buddy came to your club?” Gray asked quietly.
“Yes. He came, got in my face and threatened me. And he was not joking. He meant it. I didn’t like it. If you want me out of your shit, keep your shit away from me.”
Gray was silent.
I wasn’t.
“Good luck, Gray. I hope you sort it out. Have a nice life.”
I beeped the phone off.
I threw it on the satin comforter.
Then I exploded, “God!”
“Babe?” Lash called.
I shifted and flopped down on my back.
His eyes caught mine and his hand came up to cup my jaw.
“Babe,” he whispered.
I felt the tears wet my eyes and again I deep breathed.
“Oh my girl.” Lash kept whispering, handsome face soft, eyes warm and worried. I’d eventually told him about Janie’s call. This was our way. I eventually told him everything. He also knew about Buddy’s visit last night.
I went on deep breathing.
Then I got a lock on it.
“I’m okay,” I finally whispered back.
Lash’s head tipped to the side. “Sure?”
God, I loved him.
“Sure, honey.”
He studied me. Then he leaned in and kissed my forehead. He settled back down and adjusted me so we were spooning again.
“Go back to sleep, babe, yeah?”
We were never home before two in the morning and we were never up before nine.
Lash was right, we needed sleep.
“Yeah,” I agreed softly.
Lash’s arm pulled me closer.
It took a while, it was tough, too much happening in my head, too much worry gnawing my belly, too much artillery battering away at the walls around my heart.
But eventually I found sleep.