Chapter 8
Samantha
I spent Sunday trying to avoid Jack, most of it spent in the bathroom, trying to cover up the shiner I had around my left eye. It was bruised and tender, turning dark shades of purple and black by the hour. I hoped like hell that it disappeared before I worked again on Tuesday.
Jack never mentioned once what had transpired the night before. He acted no differently than usual.
He sat me down in the afternoon to show me how he handled the bill payments on line. Jack was extremely organized with his file folders, Excel files, and logging payments in with confirmation numbers provided by the bank, once remittance was scheduled. He was meticulous and expected no less out of me, now that this household task had been relinquished to me.
He packed his suitcase and his garment bag late in the afternoon. Giving me a peck on the cheek, he was off to the airport. He told me he would be calling to check in. No mention of anything else. No apology. No explanation - as it there could possibly be one.
I phoned Becky and chatted for a while, trying to take my mind off of the obvious. I didn’t dare mention what had happened between Jack and me, because she would’ve gone off about it and yelled at me for not reporting it to the police or getting the fuck out immediately, both of which were sane reactions. I needed to think this through on my own, to handle it in whatever way was best for me. I hadn’t been up against anything like this before.
Tuesday finally came, and I was in the chair while Margo was doing her best with applying a heavy concealer around my left eye. She was being gentle, which told me that this wasn’t the first shiner she had needed to conceal for one of the girls.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked cautiously, as she gently dabbed make-up over the concealer.
“Not really,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s always a big deal, sweetie, but I respect your right to privacy, so I won’t push. Hopefully, your perspiration won’t wash it off.”
I got through my first couple of dance routines without a hitch. Tuesday was generally a less-crowded evening. It was mostly regulars in during weeknights.
I’d just changed into another costume. It was shiny gold boy shorts, with a matching sleeveless gold vest. I accented it with four-inch black leather boots, and a glittery, sequined cowboy hat.
Kevin poked his head around the corner of the dressing room.
“Front and center, Diamond. There’s a dance request for you, followed by a customer-purchased drink.”
I prayed it wasn’t Harry.
I knew immediately when the first chords of the tune blared out from the speakers that this request hadn’t come from Harry. It was Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild.’
I took the stage and, immediately, my eyes met with Slate’s incredibly blue ones. I saw the shadow of a smile cross his sensual lips as I took the pole and twirled to the beat of the song. My heart fluttered as I watched him watching me. None of his biker buddies were around. He must have been flying solo.
The song ended, and I descended the three steps from the stage to the main floor. Slate was on his feet, nodding toward a table near the back. I saw Vince nearby. He was making sure Slate didn’t touch me. Vince seemed much more attentive when the gentleman was a biker instead of an old geezer, like Harry.
He held a chair out for me, as any perfect gentleman would have done. Renaldo took our drink order. Slate ordered bourbon straight up, and I requested my usual club soda. I was nervous, for some reason. His presence unnerved me.
“You have some nice moves, Diamond. Did the song justice out there. I like that.”
“Glad you got your money’s worth, Slate,” I said in my husky club voice.
I watched as he cocked an eyebrow, a slight smile gracing his lips. “I’m not sure about that, Diamond Girl. I guess that remains to be seen.”
I gaped at him, feeling myself flush. He didn’t talk like any biker that I’d seen around the place. There was a quality to his voice. His choice of words hinted at something more than biker lingo. I was certainly no expert on bikers. And maybe I was basing my opinion on stereotypical impressions.
The several moments of silence between us was making me more self-conscious.
“So, Slate, tell me about yourself? Where are your biker buddies tonight?”
“I really don’t give a shit where they are. We have separate lives, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… . . .”
“Insult me? You didn’t. I’m used to the stereotypical comments. I’m sure you’re used to them in your line of work, right?”
Point well taken.
“Yeah, you got that right,” I said with a throaty laugh.
“How long have you been dancing in clubs like this, Diamond?”
“Not long,” I said with a sigh, “kind of new to this circuit.”
“You’re not from Indy?”
“No, Kansas,” I replied, “And then Chicago, and now here. How about you, Slate?”
He took a sip of his drink that had just arrived and shrugged.
“I’m from all over. I really don’t call anywhere home for long.”
It almost seemed as if Slate had a script.
Like me…
Or maybe it was a macho biker thing.
“So, are you a member of the Outlaws?”
“Do you see an OMC patch on this jacket?”
“No, but then, I’m no expert on biker gangs, either.”
“They’re called clubs, not gangs, Diamond.”
Whatever.
They were mostly criminals, from what I’d observed.
“So, what do you do outside of the club?” I asked, cautiously.
“I manage,” he replied with a shrug.
“Well, you must work. How else can you afford to make special requests and buy a dancer a drink at these prices?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You aren’t going to get rich off of me, baby. Maybe that old geezer can hook you up. He didn’t seem to lack for money.”
“Fuck off, Slate.”
His blue eyes were locked on my green ones. All humor had left his face. His eyes were as cold as ice instantly. He perused me up and down, and I saw his jaw twitch as his gaze came to rest on my left cheek bone. His eyes darkened.
He lifted his hand to my face. His thumb lightly caressed my outer cheekbone underneath my eye. Vince was immediately in the vicinity.
“It’s okay, Vince,” I called over my shoulder. Slate removed his thumb from my cheek.
“Who fucked you up?” he asked.
His gaze was now burning into me, waiting for an answer. I didn’t owe him a response, let alone an explanation. I finished my club soda, turning my face away from him.
“I asked you a question, Diamond. Who the hell left that mark on you? I want to know who it is that I need to fuck up.”
“My husband,” I replied, returning my gaze to his. “It was my husband, okay?”
I saw a quick look of disbelief cross over his face. He turned his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.
“Christ,” he muttered. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Diamond? You put up with shit like that from your old man?”
“It’s none of your concern, Slate. Is our time up yet? I need to have my make-up touched up before the next set.”
“Yeah, babe. We’re done here.”
I scooted my chair back and hurried away from him. He was making me feel like trash. How in the hell could some biker dude make me feel like trash? But he had. I was certain he hadn’t meant to, but at the moment, it was how I felt. I also felt out of sorts with my departure. I realized it was when he said we were “done here.” What had that meant?
I quickly banished those thoughts from my mind. What the hell did it matter? I was certainly not going to get involved with some young biker. I headed into the dressing room as Margo was finishing up with Jade.
“Need a touch up, hon?”
I nodded, too frazzled by the brief time I’d spent one-on-one with Slate to try and make small talk with Margo.
“I saw you out there with the hottie biker,” she said, as I took the chair that Jade had just left. “I poked my head out when I knew your number was up to see who your admirer was. Just so you know, I can be nosy that way with dancers that I care about.”
I eyed her warily. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the way she fussed over me like a mother hen. We had to be around the same age.
“Is he a regular here?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve seen him in here before, though. He just started hanging around with the others, I don’t know, maybe around last spring, I guess. The dancers here sure are crazy about him, especially Garnet. I think the old Diamond used to hang with the bikers before she was fired. Hell, that was probably her downfall. She started living a different life after she got involved with Slash.”
“Who’s Slash?”
“I think his real name’s Jamie. He’s one of the Outlaws, been in the club for a while. He took to the previous Diamond. He still comes in with the others sometimes. I think he’s one of the higher-ups in the Indy club. He acted like he owned her. That was her fault for letting it happen. I know he used to take her tips from her, the lazy son-of-a-bitch. Then he used to bruise her up nicely, if he thought she was dancing too provocatively for one of the customers. That girl was in a no-win situation. Janine banned them all from here for a while. She lifted the ban once she fired Diamond. She won’t stand for any of the dancers getting involved with that bunch, though.”
“I don’t intend to get involved with anyone,” I said to her bluntly.
“This is the first time I’ve seen him ask for a private drink with any of the dancers, though. He might have plans for you.”
“Please, Margo. He’s got to be a twenty-something biker. What could he possibly want with me?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one. Couldn’t be your looks or your body. I bet it’s your money he’s after,” she said, snickering loudly. “Yeah, that must be it.”
I gave her my version of a dirty look. I wasn’t especially good at those yet. I was still learning.
“Bikers around here are bad news, Diamond, even after hours. I don’t think you’re the type to fit in with that group. I’m no expert, but I’ve done enough time in clubs like this to know a little something. I don’t see you as a biker bitch, not even for someone as hot as Slate. He seems to have earned the respect of his colleagues, but I’ve heard stories about how bikers treat their chicks, you know? Pass them around to their buddies, discipline them in violent ways. Of course, maybe I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, by the looks of that eye. Did a biker do that to you?”
“Of course not, Margo. Damn, give me some credit, please.”
“I’ll be glad to, darlin’ just as soon as you tell me that whoever gave you that shiner is missing a gonad.”
I lowered my eyes from her expectant gaze. Now, I was not only feeling like a piece of trash, but a pitiful one at that.
“There, finished,” she said, spinning the chair around so that I could see the repair job.
“Thanks, Margo,” I replied, softly. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I don’t intend to let it happen again.”
“That’s my girl,” she said, smiling for the first time at me this evening.
End of Teaser Chapter