TARA

"I guess you're off the hook," I mutter to Lola, my eyes still fixed on the door through which that guy disappeared with the stripper. And I don't know if I'm actually talking to her or myself. Not sure I'm glad the guy's gone either. Even though he was looking at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off. But a part of me—a very foreign part, one I've never really met before—wanted him to.

"Huh?" Lola asks and takes a sip of the beer he didn't touch.

"You can go to bed by yourself now, I meant," I say.

"Yeah, I guess I should," she says and takes another sip of the beer. "Tomorrow's another day, right?"

I've been chatting to her on and off all evening and she's nice, but not very forthcoming. Guarded, just like most of the women at the shelter are. So I didn't show her any of the photos of Samantha. She's also not nearly old enough to work in a place like this, I'm sure of it. I'll try to gain her trust, take her away with me when I leave. Which I hope will be soon. Because the heavy ball that's been resting in the pit of my stomach since I decided to come here has turned into full on nausea now.

That guy—Tommy—was something else though. All hard talk, muscles, tallness and testosterone. But his eyes told a different story. Sure I got the familiar jolt of panic and the urge to run and hide when he was staring at my lips and ass, but they changed to something a lot more caring when I stammered on about needing this job. It was enough to make me believe his tough exterior is just a front, a line of protection. Though nothing of what he actually said and how he acted, reinforced that belief.

Lola slides the half empty glass of beer towards me and gets off the stool. "You can borrow some of my clothes, if you want. For tomorrow I mean, though I'm not sure they'll fit. Maybe one of the others can lend you something."

It takes me a few seconds to realize what she's talking about. And all the anger I felt at that guy for telling me how to dress comes back in a rush.

"I like my clothes just fine," I tell her. "Don't worry about it."

He thinks he owns all the women here, that he can take anything and everything from them whenever he wants. It took me a long time to find my anger for men who treat women like that—my father most prominent among them—and no one will ever tell me how to dress again. Or take advantage of me. Not even this dark eyed Adonis who also happens to be the first guy I ever met that I actually want to kiss. But that's just my tiredness talking. I'm dead on my feet from all the excitement of the past two days, so I'm not thinking straight, I can't be.

"Tommy's nice," Lola says and covers a yawn with her forearm. "You should do what he wants."

I'm sure she actually means, "If you do what he wants".

The patch on his jacket read Vice President. So maybe if I do what he wants, let him fuck me like I know he wants to, he'll tell me if Samantha is here. And Hell, if the lingering warmth his gazes left between my legs are anything to go by, I might even enjoy it a little bit.

The idea hits out of nowhere as I watch Lola walk away, and the icy dread that follows it makes me gasp. But it's a good plan, I can't deny that.

* * *

TOMMY

Simone faked her orgasm, I'm sure of it, and normally I'd want to fix that problem, but tonight I'm content to play along with her lie. Most of my primal need to fuck disappeared as soon as the door closed on Tara. And I spent most of the time fucking Simone thinking about how I should go back to the bar after, let the new girl know some more about the rules, maybe in that small dark room behind the bar.

"What's wrong with you tonight, Tommy?" Simone asks, trailing her finger over my chest, her long, bleached hair tickling my cheek as she snuggles closer to me.

"You should go now, I need some sleep," I tell her and roll over on my side turning my back to her.

"Sure you don't want me to stay?" Her fingers are cold and clammy like a dead person's.

"Yeah, I'm positive. You know the deal." I never let them sleep over. Though I do usually send them away sated and satisfied.

"Lola stayed last night," she whines.

I wish they didn't all watch me so closely. They're like a bunch of hens, looking to roost with me, since they think it'll benefit them. It's unnerving and very misguided. Even before my dear brother is done restructuring the club, I'll be long gone, with a price on my head, most likely. A true outlaw. The lone wolf kind. It sounds almost romantic, but it fucking won't be. I'm sure of that. "That was a fluke, I told her to leave."

I know what she's angling for, but I won't be claiming any of them as my old lady, I made that decision years ago. And it certainly won't be Simone with her fake orgasms. But I don't tell her that, it'd be too blunt and she needs some hope. So I just turn off the light.

"I thought we had a special thing going, Tommy," she won't let up.

"You're all special to me," I say and make the mistake of looking back at her over my shoulder. Her face looks very sad and empty, bathed as it is in moonlight. It's like she's not even here. Like she's just a ghost holding on with the last of what she's got. But I'm not the guy to make anything better for her. I can make her feel good for a few hours, but that's all she's getting. "Each in your own way," I add.

She frowns at me. But it's the truth. Lola's great for blowjobs, Simone can always be counted on for rough, animal fucking, Ava actually prefers anal, and the list goes on. As for the new girl, she's a mystery. One I'll get started on unraveling first thing tomorrow morning. Because I'm here to have a good time while it lasts. And I don't need any extra baggage to drag away with me once it's over.

She mutters something under her breath as she gets off the bed. It sounds like, "Asshole" but I'm happy to ignore her.

* * *

Crystal is alone at the bar when I come down at noon, spraying some caustic smelling cleaner all over the counter and wiping it down.

"I thought you hired that girl to do the cleaning," I say as I squeeze past her to get to the coffee machine.

"Keep your voice down," Crystal says. "She's sleeping in the back room."

"What the fuck? She's not getting paid to sleep," I say even louder, since I kinda want her to get up.

"I went in to wake her about an hour ago, and, Oh my God, it was the saddest thing," she says, flipping a string of hair off her forehead, her good eye very wide. "She was weeping in her sleep with actual tears streaming down her cheeks. Don't be too hard on her, Tommy."

"Me, hard?" I'm hard for her. But I ignore that thought, since crying in her sleep does sound like a very sad fucking thing.

"Just leave her be," Crystal says. "I think she's been through a lot."

But Crystal thinks that about every one of the girls here, and as far as I can tell they're all tough as nails.

The door at the back of the bar opens, and then Tara peeks out, so pale her lips are a soft pink. The bun at the back of her head is neater than it was last night, but she's wearing the same clothes, and they're all crumpled up so I'm sure she slept in them. But the soft light in the room still attaches to her, makes her glow a pale white like some fucking religious statue of the Virgin Mary.

I'm not wearing a shirt, just a pair of sweats and her gaze actually tickles as it passes over my stomach and chest, stops dead at my throat. She looks away abruptly, shock plain on her face like she can't believe she was just checking me out.

"What did we say about the outfits?" I blurt out, since I want her to look at me with that same lightening as last night flashing in her eyes.

"Leave her be, Tommy," Crystal mutters behind my back and the look that Tara gives her is one of pure gratitude.

"Fine, wear what you want." I'll back down for now. "Want some coffee?"

She looks at me with wide eyes like she didn't understand the question. I pick up a cup and wave it at her.

"Sure, OK," she mumbles. "With milk."

"Alright, with milk, coming up."

The girl's acting weird, I'll give Crystal that. But I know she likes what she sees when she looks at me, so this shy, scared act of hers makes no fucking sense.

"Thanks," she whispers as I hand her the cup, then actually shakes and stumbles back as I make sure to touch her hand when she takes it. But she smiles at me right after, batting her eyes again, which again makes no fucking sense.

She stands next to me while she drinks it, and I'm just about to break the silence when Crystal hands her the rag and cleaner, directs her to get started wiping down the tables.

The whole thing's super anticlimactic, even though Tara keeps stealing tiny glances at me as I watch her do it.

The back door opens with a crash, and in comes Bear with an armload of tiny cats, Lola and Ava right behind him.

"Get those filthy things outta here!" I yell, more harshly than I intended.

"It's kittens, Tommy," Lola says, pouting at me like the fifteen year old I know she is. So absolutely no more blowjobs from her. "We wanted to play with them inside where it's dry. It's pouring buckets outside. Bear said we could."

"So they can piss and shit all over the place?" I mutter, but it's fitting. Everything else is going to shit anyway. "I told you to keep them outside."

It comes out too harshly, and now even Tara's looking at me like I just killed one of the cats in front of her.

"Whatever, just clean up after them," I say and grab my coffee off the counter. "I'm going out anyway."

To spend the day working on my bike. Hopefully things will make sense again by tonight.