- CHAPTER THREE -
SCOTCH
Fifteen minutes had passed since Gina had tugged Darien into the champagne room.
It wasn’t so much a room as a curtained-off booth on the upper level. If you looked straight up in the club, past the metal stripper pole extending from the bottom stage to the ceiling, you could kind of see it through the railings. Kind of.
I stared intently, wishing I’d suddenly gain X-ray vision so I could know what was going on in there.
“Are you okay?” Costello asked.
I gave him a quick glance. The couches had been abandoned; the men were all getting lap dances in various alcoves. Thorne was sitting at the bar; I saw him with his head close to a big, beefy member of the Deep Shots—Rush, I think someone had called him.
“Why aren’t you over there?” I asked, nodding at his brother. “Looks like important business talk.” What is Darien doing with Gina?
Costello didn’t turn away from me. That had me fidgeting, and if I wasn’t so worried about my friend, I would have enjoyed it. “I’m not missing anything,” he said.
My nod was slow. “So the important stuff isn’t being discussed yet.” His shoulders squared at my observation. “Celebrate first, then hash out the details later. Smart.”
Costello let his attention roam up to the champagne room above. “You’re worried about her.”
“No,” I said on impulse. “Okay. Slightly. I just get a bad feeling from that guy.”
He folded his arms; I saw them bulge through his leather jacket, the front of his shirt straining where the parted zipper didn’t hide it. Besides the scar that ran from his right eyebrow to his nose, was there anything imperfect about this man? “The guy has a bad attitude, that doesn’t make him a threat.”
“It’s just a feeling.” I rocked in place; my eyeballs were starting to throb like my sore legs. “Maybe you could assure me that I have no reason to worry about Darien.”
“I don’t know that man.”
My stomach shrank. “But you invited him here.” I waved at the couches, at the men getting lap dances in the corners. “Him and the other Deep Shots. I can’t imagine your family would do that without knowing who they were letting in!”
He was moving his head from side to side. “You’re presuming a lot about what me or my family has planned.”
I wasn’t sure if I should reveal the obvious, that there was clearly some kind of truce or working relationship forming between the Badds and the Deep Shots. I wasn’t stupid, but letting Costello think otherwise was probably better.
But I did need to know one thing. Carefully, I asked, “You really don’t know anything about Darien?”
His attention flashed upstairs. “Tonight was the first time I’d met him.”
My mind became a laser, cutting with pinpoint accuracy until all I could think about was how someone with an aura of danger was a mystery to me and Costello Badd.
Darien was an asshole.
What if he was something even worse?
“What are you doing?” Costello asked behind me. I didn’t answer. I kept going, climbing the stairs to the upper level one by one and finally two by two as the landing grew near. Something was wrong and I knew it.
And if not, I rationalized through my hot anxiety, I’ll just pretend I was going to ask if they needed some drinks in there. Yeah. That was a good lie that didn’t make me seem like a crazy person.
Marching toward the thick red curtain of the champagne room, I noted that the security guard who was supposed to keep an eye on this area wasn’t around. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to pay extra for the illusion of privacy.
I ran the rest of the way to the room. “Gina?” I asked, tapping the booth’s wooden side. No answer. Straining to listen, I heard rustling, then the heavy breathing of two people—no. Just one person. The other noise was the pitiful wheeze of someone struggling for air.
Throwing the curtain back, I stared down at a sight that made my insides twist like a sponge being drained of water. Darien was sitting on the large stuffed couch. His shirt was open; all his muscles writhed as they worked to keep Gina trapped on his lap with her face between his thighs.
She was turning a shade of purple that skin should never be.
The laser in my skull exploded. Everything blended red. Darien gawked at me, his eyes bulging with fury. Sweat stained his throat from the exertion of smothering my friend on his crotch. “What the hell are you doing in here?” he snapped at me.
On the tiny table beside me was a bottle of champagne in a bucket. It came complimentary with the room, but the two glasses were clean and dry; the bottle hadn’t been touched. Darien had been focused on his goal of getting Gina to suck him off. I knew she would have said no—and Darien did not like being told no.
He started to stand. I was faster, a ball of fury angry at herself for letting her friend down. Too blinded by despair to think her actions through.
I grabbed the champagne.
And I swung it into the side of his head.
“Fuck!” he grunted, pushing Gina off him as he jumped to his feet. Huffing, I let my arm hang at my side, watching Darien as he stumbled sideways. He was gripping the couch, facing away from me as he swayed.
I didn’t see any blood. Maybe I should have hit him harder.
On the floor, Gina whimpered. Instantly I dropped the bottle and crumpled beside her. “Gina! Gina, are you okay?” She wasn’t purple, but squash yellow isn’t a much nicer color. Gently I shook her, checking her breathing.
She needed help. Both of us did. I knew the quickest way to get some; inhaling, I prepared to scream. Darien whirled on me, his formerly discarded jacket in one hand and his pistol in the other. The safety clicked loudly over my terrified silence.
“You little bitch,” he chuckled. “Are you nuts?” Dropping his jacket—he didn’t need it now that he’d gotten to his gun—he gingerly touched his temple, where I’d smacked him with the bottle. It was swollen like a beehive. “You can’t attack someone like Darien Valentine and walk away.”
My eyes darted to the champagne bottle. He saw me look, clucking his tongue. He said, “Don’t.” Casually he waved his gun at Gina. “If she’d just given me a BJ, everything would have been fine. Though now that I think about it . . . you were the one I wanted to play with in the first place. Come here.”
On stiff legs I rose. “Don’t shoot me,” I whispered.
Darien’s eyes went thin while his mouth went wide. “Do as I say, and I won’t.”
My sneakers moved inch by inch toward him. I mouthed an Okay. There was no sound. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want Gina to die. In the fibers of my heart I knew that this man was going to kill us both, no matter what he said.
“Good girl,” he chuckled, reaching for me. “Don’t fight me. Don’t try and be a hero.”
It was good advice.
But being a hero happens to be my biggest flaw.
Shoving forward so fast that my calves cramped up, I jumped onto the pistol. Darien hadn’t expected that; men who get their way are always surprised when they don’t.
Gasping, I scrambled to push the muzzle away from me. I knew about guns, but even if I hadn’t, it’s common knowledge that where the bullets come out is the bad part.
“What—” he grunted, falling backward onto the floor with my weight. He was strong, but I was fighting for more than my life. I’m not sure if this man had ever had to feel such fear for another person . . . but I have.
I for sure fucking have.
My ears whined as I drew in air to scream. “Hel—”
Darien drove his knee into my stomach. I retched but didn’t let go of the gun, scratching his knuckles as I swung on top of him. We were close, inches apart, and his green eyes could have been the Grim Reaper’s. Baring his teeth, he rolled us over to try to mount me. I kept him rolling, shoving my feet into the couch to give me the momentum I needed to stay on top.
We bumped into the tiny table; the two champagne glasses shattered around us.
The hardness of the pistol dug into my chest. We both felt it, and I didn’t know anymore what was up or down. Darien wore a terrible grin of triumph. We were both squeezing and pulling.
I’m going to actually die. The filthy tile floor of a strip club would be my deathbed. Anywhere would have been better, less dreadful. I didn’t want to picture my family reading about this in the newspapers, but I was, and it was in my head and all I could see.
Bang.
Pain kicked through my ribs, pressure creating an ache so immense I was ready to throw up. The reverberation rocketed through my molars; I’d been shot. It was over. What will happen to Gina? That was my singular thought.
In amazement I watched as Darien’s expression went from cruel joy to confusion. Why was my pain not getting worse?
“You . . . ,” he breathed. Wetness tickled me; it was warm. I was afraid to sit up, thinking the reality was too good to be true. I’m not a lucky person. This had to have been all those missed moments, those missed dice rolls of life, saved up.
Kneeling on top of Darien, I put my palm on my sticky belly. His blood, not mine. He stared at me while clutching at his side. “Oh fuck, you shot me.”
I threw my hands up in a panic, one of them gripping the gun. “I didn’t! You shot yourself!”
“Same difference,” he groaned.
Whatever relief I’d felt was snuffed out. This man, as awful as he was, was dying in front of me. “We need to stop the bleeding!”
His eyes shifted sluggishly over to Gina. “She . . . shoulda jusht. Shucked me off.” Darien was slurring; I slapped his cheek lightly. Then harder. He’d blacked out.
“Crap,” I said to the two unconscious people. The weapon in my hand was heavy; the blood on my shirt felt like ice. I had to think—do something, call for help, just . . .
Costello burst through the curtain, breathing heavily as he took in the scene. He fixed on me, then Darien, and finally poor Gina. Two people barely alive, with me in the middle of it all.
His blue eyes locked me in place. “What the hell have you done?” he asked.
What had I done? I’d saved my friend . . . I’d saved myself! I’d fought off a madman who wanted nothing good from anyone. I should have roared the facts at Costello.
Instead I offered up the gun, and my voice was no roar.
“Please help me. Please.”