Chapter Two

Scotch

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This was not how I’d expected my Monday to go.

I couldn’t recall the last time someone had tried to feel me up in this club. It would have been early on, when everyone thought I was green and naive. It only took a few sharp knees to the groins to cut that behavior off.

These days, the men who came here knew to keep their hands off of me.

But this man—no, this wolfish creature—he was something else. There was no fear in his eyes when I challenged him, only confidence and wild, unadulterated lust.

The last bit was my fault. Definitely.

Stupid, I scolded myself, even as I ground my ass against the front of his jeans. Really stupid. My goal had been to throw him off so I could bolt for the door. I’d already tried shouting at him, and it hadn’t worked; anyone else would have backed off.

Costello Badd wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.

“Wait,” I managed to croak. Gathering myself, I tugged against his grip on my wrists. It didn’t budge, his long fingers easily holding both my arms over my head. The locker I was crushed against should have felt chilly. With how hot my body was, it didn’t.

He yanked my skirt down again, further exposing my black underwear. Had the dressing room always had a draft? Goose bumps rippled over my skin; some were from Costello’s breath on my neck.

A small noise rumbled in his chest. I felt it more than heard it. Aware of how close we were, I tried to push my knees together; Costello kicked at my heels, driving his leg between mine. “No,” he said sharply. His pause went on too long; it made me bite my lip. “Stay. I’ll make this quick.”

I didn’t know anymore if I wanted him to be quick about it.

His fingertips ran down my legs, front to back, as he searched for a wire that wasn’t there. As if I’d ever be so insane as to squeal on the Badds. But he hadn’t listened to me.

If he had, I wouldn’t be feeling his skin-melting touch right now, I told myself. Costello was working me up like it had been his plan all along. The rigid bulge pushing into my lower back wasn’t his gun. It couldn’t be.

“Are you almost done in here?”

It was Hawthorne’s voice that echoed through the room. He stood in the doorway, his arm propped up on the frame as he squinted at us. I knew what he saw: me half-naked, skirt pulled down and shirt tugged high, while his brother was cupping my hips.

Costello flew backward like my body had become literal fire. Had he realized how inappropriate he was being? I should have been relieved that I was free of his determined, expert touch . . . but I wasn’t.

The absence of his heat was too obvious. It left me feeling more exposed than having my skirt around my ankles had. I need a drink after this. Too bad I didn’t drink on the job. It would have made life much easier.

Thorne looked between us with his eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?” he asked.

Yanking my skirt up quickly, I fixed my clothes while stomping toward him. He had the grace to wince. “Did you really think I would wear a wire in here?” I snapped. “After all these years?”

Thorne threw up his hands in self-defense. His smirk slid on too smoothly, like a favorite pair of jeans. “Costello was just being safe. Take it easy.”

“Oh, tell me to take it easy again,” I said, poking him in the shoulder. “Let me hear you say that while you’re getting defiled.”

He blinked at me, then at Costello. “Did you defile her?”

The blue-eyed brother didn’t look at either of us. “No.” Then he shoved through the door, leaving me and Thorne alone. If I hadn’t just spent several minutes with him whispering in my ear, I might not have known Costello had been in the room at all. The man was a ghost when he wanted to be.

“Huh,” Thorne said, rubbing at the side of his neck. “He’s acting weird. Don’t you think so?”

“I wouldn’t know. That’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me.” Spoken and so much more. The man’s abrupt exit had taken the wind out of my sails. Crossing my arms, I asked, “What are you two so scared about the police overhearing?”

Thorne’s smile fell away at my question. “I told you, we’re just being safe. Doesn’t have to mean there’s anything going on tonight.”

“Tonight? As opposed to at all?”

“I mean—fuck, give me a break here. Just treat this like any other shift, okay?”

I tightened my arms. “That’s not reassuring.”

Thorne folded his hands behind his neck with a loud sigh. “Are you mad because it was Costello ‘defiling’ you and not me?” I shoved him as I walked by; he laughed, following me into the club. “Scotch, all you have to do is ask me nicely next time! I’ll happily do anything to you, don’t be shy!”

His acting like a jackass was typical, and it made things feel more normal. After my encounter with Costello . . . normality was a state I desperately wanted to return to.

The Dirty Dolls was in full swing. Which is to say, less of a swing, more of a limp. Monday nights bring in a quiet kind of crowd, the “One more drink before I go home” after-work types.

A lone dancer stretched on the tip rail while a customer fed ones into her thong. Where are the other girls? I wondered. There should be at least six more, including Gina. Are they all giving lap dances or something? I spotted them in the darkened room; what I saw cut my stride in half.

A group of men were lounging with the giggling dancers on the roped-off leather couches reserved for high-end clientele. One of them had slid out his gun and was showing it off to the woman clinging to him.

What made my heart stop wasn’t the weapon, it was the ring on the man’s finger: a gold band capped by a single bullet casing. All at once I knew who these men were. Why Costello had been running around making sure none of us were snitches.

The Badds might run this state . . .

But the Deep Shots were a dangerous gang with their own place on the food chain.

Last I knew, I thought uneasily, these guys weren’t welcome in this club. Or any club owned by the Badds—which was all of them. The frustration the smaller gangs felt with their inability to push drugs or prostitution through Badd territory wasn’t a secret if you were part of that industry.

People feared Costello’s family, but I kind of respected them. I mean, I worked in one of their businesses and, thanks to their rules, none of the dancers—including my best friend—had to resort to sex for cash. Every club in the city was clean.

Why are they here? I had a million questions. The rock in my stomach grew as I watched the gang members. This was too weird; why would the Badds let them inside?

“There you are!” Gina piped up, making me jump. I’d wandered toward the bar on autopilot and nearly bumped into the dancer, who was sitting cross-legged on a stool. As I clutched my chest, my best friend gave me a knowing look. “Oh, gosh. He did it to you, too.”

I followed her eyes and spotted the he she meant. Costello was a sentinel, straight and solid where he hovered in the shadows beside the Deep Shots. I’d missed him initially because he’d been so still.

When his eyes flicked up, finding mine, I spun around and knocked a serving tray off the counter. “Ah—dammit,” I mumbled. Gina handed it to me before I could kneel and grab it. I had no clue how she moved so fast in heels taller than most beer kegs.

Her long, painted nails came my way, patting my forearm. “Poor thing! Did he scare you that badly?” Her gesture was sweet. It flustered me even more.

“Something like that.” Trying to explain would have been a wasted effort; I wasn’t sure what had happened in that dressing room myself.

Standing straight, Gina adjusted her silver bikini. It did little to hide her overflowing breasts, which we both knew the customers adored. “Anyway, I’m heading over there.”

“What, there?” I blurted, trying to look at the group of dangerous men without being obvious. “Why there?”

Her forehead creased. “It’s where the men are? Men who have this thing called money? You should consider getting some, it’s good for buying things.”

Clutching my tray, I whispered, “I get the impression those guys have more on their minds than boobs.”

Gina laughed loudly, doubling over. “Are they alive? Then they’ve got boobs on their minds.” Her blue eyes became gentle ponds. “Scotch, honey, baby doll, listen to me. Tonight is going to be great.” She gave me a dorky thumbs-up. “Forget about being groped earlier. Besides, he was pretty professional. It was over in a blink.”

Professional? Again I looked across the room at Costello. That’s the last word I’d use to describe how he was with me.

Thorne had joined his brother, and from a distance I found myself comparing the two.

No one would doubt the men were family, but they had plenty of contrasting features: frosty blue eyes versus dark inky pools, sun-kissed hair beside deep mountain coal, and that jagged scar next to the other’s laughing, unblemished face.

I wondered how he’d gotten it.

And how it might feel as I traced my fingers over it.

Hawthorne said something, clapping one of the Deep Shots on the shoulder while chuckling. The man was like a cattail waving without care in the wind, but Costello . . .

Costello was the wind.

It would sound insane if I said it out loud, but it was true. The man shifted and the world moved because of him. He was mostly subtle, a winter breeze, but I had no doubt he could become a storm if needed.

Or a tropical monsoon, I mused, helplessly recalling how he’d made me sweat. All he’d been doing was searching me, and even so he’d created a pull between us in just a few short seconds.

Gina approached the group with her hips swinging. The men cheered at the sight of her; she did a little twirl, draping herself across someone wearing a well-fitted navy-blue suit. She could smell money.

My fingers curled at my sides. I was doing my best not to reach out and stop her. But like my inaction was a high beam, Thorne spotted me by the bar. Not one of the Deep Shots had a free hand—each of their hands was either on a girl’s ass or gripping a beer—but he still waved me over.

I hesitated. This wasn’t about Costello; the tickle going up my spine to my neck hairs was warning me about these men. Mr. Blue Suit was whispering in Gina’s ear, but he was also sending looks my way.

Thorne’s knitted brow said, Get your ass over here and do your damn job.

He wasn’t my favorite tonight, that was for sure.

Bending over the bar, I started stacking my tray with random beers and a bottle or two of high-end whiskey. The bartender—Cindy, she went by tonight, but she’d been switching out name tags for a week now—glanced at me. “Wait, shouldn’t you take their orders first?”

Shouldering the heavy tray, I grinned. “Even if they wanted something else, they won’t care once I show up. If it burns going down, they’ll drink it.”

She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. I grabbed on to her amusement, using it to relax the tiny voice that kept screaming in my brain, Stay the fuck away from these guys!

My eyes tracked over to Gina. I’d followed her here when she’d decided to audition years ago; what kind of friend would I be if I left her alone with the very people my intuition was warning me about?

No. I wasn’t the type to abandon anyone.

Plus . . . maybe my gut was wrong.

It’d never been before.

But maybe.

“Hey, boys!” I chirped, stepping over the ropes and setting the tray of drinks down on the table in the middle of the group. “Looks like you could use some more liquid fun!”

“Finally,” Thorne growled in my ear. I ignored him and kept my smile solid.

“Oh-ho,” Blue Suit purred, sitting forward so suddenly he knocked Gina off him. She recovered, perching on the couch and pretending it hadn’t happened. “And who’s this pretty thing?”

My smile twitched. Thing? Nope. “Here you go.” I nudged the tray closer. “If you need anything else, just—”

The man snatched my wrist, keeping me where I was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Costello’s jaw tighten. Blue Suit kept on grinning, saying, “I asked who you were, sweet cheeks. I’m guessing you don’t know who I am, or you’d have answered.”

All eyes were on us. Gina was giving me her “Say the word, I’ll step in” stare. Patiently I smiled down at the guy holding me. My knees locked so he couldn’t yank me into his lap, like I suspected he was planning to. “Scotch. I’m Scotch. Now, you boys drink up and—”

He cut me off again. “I’m Darien. And I’m buying you for the night.”

Acid swam over my tongue, but I tried to keep it out of my voice. “Sorry. I’m not a dancer. One of these other girls would love to spend time with you, though.” I was positive they would, too. Now that I was closer, I could see those weren’t ones, but tens and twenties stuffed into the dancer’s thong. Darien was generous.

And an asshole.

He tightened his hold on me. “I want to play with you. Get it?”

That fucking tickle in my brain became a hammer. Bracing myself, I decided I was done being polite. He wanted to play? Fine. I had a favorite game called kick the dick in.

Costello’s shadow fell over us both. His voice was low and dark, and it went into my bones. “She isn’t for sale.”

Darien grimaced; the other men shifted uneasily. “Excuse me?”

Costello grabbed my shoulder, staring down at my captor; he could win a staring contest with a statue. Where Darien’s hand was a sucking whirlpool, his was a solid safety line. “She’s not here to entertain you.”

Static crackled between them. Thorne stepped forward, the bottle of whiskey from the tray in one hand, shot glasses in the other. “Why the fuck are we talking?” he asked. “Drinks are on me! Suck it down before I start charging, this shit is worth thirty bucks a shot!”

A guy with a red fauxhawk snatched a glass, bellowing, “To future good times!”

Someone else cried, “Deep Shots forever!”

“Tits forever!” Gina countered, jostling her own. That brought out more cheers.

Darien was a foot away from me. He wasn’t blinking or breathing, just looking deep into my eyes—maybe waiting for me to crack. I knew his kind, the sort used to getting their way. Between my own stubbornness and Costello’s blunt support, Darien wasn’t going to win.

I just kept smiling, especially when he let his hand drift away.

Costello’s fingers dug in—a silent way of saying I’d done a good job. That I was a badass. Or maybe I was reading too much into his presence. Either way, Gina had been right. Tonight was going to be great.

Then Darien turned his cool green eyes toward my best friend.

And my smile drifted away.

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