Reaching down, I wrap my hand around the handles of each keg, lifting one with each arm. Marco needs the help restocking or else he’s going to be here until sunrise, so I normally help him out by carrying the kegs up from downstairs while he brings up the bottles he needs and sends in our orders for the suppliers.

My arms are a little tired by the time I get the two kegs up the stairs, and it’s with a grunt of relief that I set them down. Marco’s working the register, checking his money against the Point of Sale system. “You have a good night tonight?”

Marco nods, smirking a little. “Yeah, pretty solid. Decent tips, and with the eye candy from Allie’s new routine, I can’t really complain.”

He waggles his eyes at me, like he expects to chatter on about Allie’s tits or something. It feels like a test. I’m just not sure if it’s a bro one or seeing if I’m aware that Dominick has marked her as off-limits.

Doesn’t really matter either way. I’m a fucking professional and I know that I do not get involved with any of the girls here, whether they’ve been tabbed by Dominick or not. So Marco’s going to be disappointed in my answer. “Yeah, she’s good. She’s been working hard and it’s paying off.”

A couple of the girls come into the club from backstage, and I’m thankful for the break from Marco’s slick vibe. Time to do my actual job and not just help out. “Ladies, let me walk you out.”

They murmur their thanks but basically ignore me, especially Tina, who’s already gabbing away on her phone, telling her babysitter that she’s on the way home. I get it. They’ve got men talking to them all fucking night, and ninety-nine percent of it more or less leads to ‘I wanna fuck.’ They just tune it all out. It’s a survival instinct.

I don’t mind. Walking the girls out is one of my usual duties and the one I take the most seriously. There’s always a chance that some ‘fan’ might not be able to check their fantasy at the heavy door, and I’m here to ensure that doesn’t become a problem. I make sure they get in their cars safely and then watch from the doorway to make sure they pull out alone.

It’s a little sad, really. I can’t imagine any of them as little girls thinking, ‘Hey, when I grow up, I wanna be a stripper.’ But life sometimes doesn’t go according to plan, and we do what we need to so we can get by. So when these girls are under my supervision, they deserve respect and safety, and I’m gonna give that to them, even if no one else in their lives does.

After the girls are gone, I head back inside, seeing Meghan swinging through the saloon-style doors from backstage. She looks young, even more so than usual in her sweats and oversized T-shirt. She could pass as a college freshman on any campus in the US.

She’s ‘just’ a waitress, but in my opinion—not that anyone asks me. I’m not paid to have an opinion—she’s the best-looking girl working here. She’s absolutely gorgeous when she’s done up for a shift, all poufy blonde hair, big doe eyes with fake lashes, puffy, kissable pink lips, and a sexy rack atop a tiny body. She usually favors a sort of ‘naughty innocent’ look, and there’s a reason she’s getting more tips than any other waitress.

But my favorite is her ‘after shift’ style, when she’s fresh-faced with her hair pulled up, wearing her big owlish glasses and jeans or sweats. She looks cute and sweet, and small enough I could pick her up and put her in my pocket . . . or over my shoulder. She’s almost shy, walking into the main room like she’s making sure she’s allowed to come in before committing to the movement. She sees me and smiles, walking with more confidence.

That smile feels like a secret view not many people get, like it’s a lazy morning at home with a lover look, even though it’s damn near three in the morning and we’re at a strip club. It makes me . . . Shaking my head to let that train of thought go, I call out to her. “Meg, you ready to go?”

She nods, giving me a little wave and a thumbs-up. “Yep. G’night, Marco. See you tomorrow night.”

I have the urge to stick my elbow out for her, gentleman style, but the no-touching rule extends to staff. Unless asked, don’t. And I’m the enforcer of the rules, so there’s no way in hell I’m going to let myself break them. So I clamp down on that urge and have to be satisfied with opening the door for her. Still, I do let myself take a moment to admire her pert ass as she walks through. I can’t help it.

Outside, I ask her the same generic question I asked Marco, but I hope for a better answer from Meghan. “You have a good night tonight?”

Meghan gives me a nod, adjusting her glasses and giving me a tired smile. “It was okay. Good tips, even from that one table,” she says, and we both know exactly what she’s talking about. “Thank you for that, by the way. I didn’t even have a chance to react before you swooped right in.”

I shrug, not letting Meg know that when she’s on shift, I always keep an extra eye out for her. She’s just so . . . innocent. “That’s my job. Already had my eye on that table anyway. They were giving bad vibes.”

She nods in understanding. She’s been here long enough to get those gut feelings too. “Well, I appreciate your being the bad guy so I could be the good girl.”

I tease her, knowing it’s a bad idea but unable to stop myself. “And are you a good girl?”

My voice has dropped a little, low and gravelly. Meg always makes me feel this way, like a caveman on the verge of dragging her off to have my way with her. She makes me yearn to control the situation, control her, but I have to settle for controlling myself.

She giggles, but it’s not the false one she gives guys in the club. She sounds nervous and . . . flirty, maybe? “I try to be, but sometimes, it’s hard to be good.”

There’s a hint of sex to her voice, but it feels like there’s more truth to what she said than a casual coy response. It’s maddening, the way we seem to dance around each other, half innuendos and comments that just toe the line between ‘playful banter’ and ‘outright suggestion,’ but I can’t go further. It’s too dangerous, and not because of her.

Before I can think on it too much, we reach her car and the silence of the early morning dark is broken. “Hey, honey! You ready to go?”

I’m instantly on alert, shoving Meghan behind me as I turn to see the finger sucking asshole who was putting the moves on her earlier. Considering that it’s now a good hour after the last patron was out the damn door, we’re way, way past the bounds of appropriate behavior.

He’s leaning up against the car next to hers like he’s waiting for her. While it’s against the official rules, some of the girls will do date-nights with patrons on the side, almost sugar daddy style. But Meghan isn’t the kind to do that sort of thing, and I don’t consider for a second that she told him anything but a polite version of “fuck off”.

Even if she did, I’m not letting her leave with him. Not her. Not with a guy like him.

Instead, I shift my left foot forward while covering Meghan with my body. “You need to leave, asshole. The no-touching policy extends to when we’re closed too. So get in your car and take a fucking hike.”

Blondie pushes off the car, facing me fully, and I do a quick assessment. He’s big, at least six feet, but I’ve got a few inches on him, and though he looks muscled, it’s in a gym rat way. Not the look of someone who’s surprisingly strong because of real manual labor.

Most importantly, he doesn’t have that air of ‘I’ll fuck you up.’ He seems on the verge of drunk and a bit prissy, like he’s used to getting his way.

Well, not tonight. Instead, Blondie talks about Meghan like she’s not even here, and as she almost shivers behind me, I know that if a line needs to be crossed, I’m going to cross it. “We’re partying tonight. She told me to wait for her.”

“No,” I declare, bringing my right hand slightly up while tilting my hips to protect against a bitch move kick to the balls. “Leave now.”

I see the fire flash in Blondie’s eyes as he steps closer, and Meghan steps forward a bit too, leaning around me and setting me on edge because she’s too close to this jerk.

“I can’t,” she says sweetly, trying to de-escalate things before I put this asshole on the ground right here in the parking lot. “I’ve got early school tomorrow, remember? Sorry, baby.”

I tense just a little as I hear the code word all the girls have for trouble. They’ll call patrons just about anything—honey, daddy, sugar, sweetie—but the rule at Petals is that ‘baby’ is the safe word that’ll get security on a patron like white on rice.

I already knew he was full of shit, but Meghan just let me know for certain. I shift a little more, knowing that the beating is about to commence. I just have to make sure Meg’s safely out of the way before I start.

Blondie’s either too drunk, or probably too stupid, to notice. “C’mon, baby. Just a quickie. We don’t even have to leave. I’ve got some goodies in my car so we can party right here. Big Guy won’t mind, right? I can slip him a few bills.”

He reaches for Meghan’s wrist and it’s automatic from there. In a move that’s so fast that most people don’t even realize what’s happening, I deflect his hand, directing it down and back while grabbing his wrist in a sweeping motion as I twist it up behind his back. In less than half a second, he’s fully hammer locked, and in the next half second, he’s pivoted away from Meg and toward his own car.

I slam him face down on the hood, lifting his wrist while twisting his hand to maximize the controlling pressure on his shoulder, finding that edge where the pain is balancing on the razor’s edge right before his arm dislocates. “She said no, asshole.”

Blondie yells out in alarm, struggling from pure instinct. “Hey! Hey! Ow! Fuck, man.”

I press him into his hood some more, using my booted foot to kick his legs out from under him, holding him in place easily even as he struggles.

“Meghan?” I chance a quick glance behind me to see she’s frozen, her face a mask of shock. I raise my voice a bit, knowing she needs a bit of command. “Meghan.”

She shakes her head, her vision clearing as her eyes meet mine, wider than usual behind her frames. “Yeah . . . yeah?”

My voice is clipped, all business. Right now, I don’t have time for emotions. “Get his wallet out of his pocket. Read his license for me.”

She’s shaking but does as I order, coming close and with delicate fingers, reaching into Blondie’s back pocket and withdrawing a brown leather wallet.

“What the fuck, dude? You’re robbing me now? I just wanted to talk to her.”

He has another burst of energy and thrashes underneath me, making Meghan jump back. I grab his neck with my free hand, thumping him head first into his hood, not hard enough that he can’t drive out of here . . . yet. “Shut up, asshole. Meg?”

She opens the wallet, finding his license inside, and starts to read out loud. “Miles Jacobson, 3654 Sidewinder Trail. He lives here in East Robinsville.”

I nod, giving her a professional smile. “Good girl. Now put it back, carefully. And Miles, if you so much as fucking move, I’m going to break your arm.”

I emphasize my point with a little yank on his shoulder, encouraging him to be still while Meg puts his wallet back.

Waiting until Meghan’s stepped back and is safe, I yank him off the car to growl in his ear. “Miles Jacobson of 3654 Sidewinder Trail, you are banned from Petals from Heaven. If I ever see you even close to this block again, I’ll take special care of you. It won’t be over quickly, and you will not enjoy it, I promise you.”

“But—”

“If you ever see my girl here anywhere at all,” I interrupt him, “you’d best run the other fucking way because if you so much as lay an eye on her, I’ll fuck you up so badly, your own mother won’t be able to identify the body. If they find it. Clear?”

He nods jerkily, weeping softly and sober as a judge at the turn of events. I don’t feel sorry for him at all. He probably thought a little more forceful asking in the deserted parking lot would lead to Meghan partying with him, willingly or not.

Fucking pricks like him, thinking they’re entitled to whatever they want just because they want it.

Still, I don’t have time for a philosophy lesson. “Meghan, open the car door.”

She moves from behind me, and I keep an eye on her movements, making sure no other threats pop out of hiding in the dark lot. I pull up a bit on Miles’s arm, the pressure forcing him to stand in front of me. I prisoner-walk him to the side of the car and push him in, where he clumsily falls into the driver’s seat, yelping as his shoulder gives him a warning twinge at the release of the hammerlock. “Fuck, man, I’m gonna—”

I lean down, keeping eye contact as I cage him in with one hand on the roof and one hand on the door. “Think about your next words and where you’re making your threat. Goodbye, Miles Jacobson. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

I give him a hard stare, memorizing every detail of his face and his car, down to the company parking garage badge hanging from the rearview mirror.

Stepping back carefully, I slam his door and then give it a swift and solid back-kick with my hard-soled boots, denting the panel. It’s not enough. I’d rather break his jaw or the glass out of every window of his fancy car, but it’ll have to do.

I stand, stoic and solid, still threatening as Meghan hides behind me again. He peels out of the lot, but I catch the ‘Fuck you!’ he yells out the open window.

Not worrying about his need for the last word, I turn to Meghan, gently putting my hands on her shoulders. She’s trembling for real this time, and so tiny I have to be careful not to accidentally hurt or scare her with my roughness. It’s more difficult than I thought. I’m still on edge, and this is the first time I’ve touched Meg other than to shake her hand the first night we met.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “It’s all over now.”

Her eyes are glassy, but she nods, biting her lip. My thumbs are tracing circles on her arms, soothing her and soothing me too. This could’ve been bad, really bad, and I’m glad I was here to keep her safe.

“You’re okay. He’s gone, and you’re safe,” I murmur softly. “I’ll always do my best to keep you safe.”

She suddenly collapses forward, all the energy keeping her upright whooshing out as she falls against me, shaking and rambling. “Holy fracking . . . he could’ve . . . fluffernutter . . .”

She says some of the words like she’s cussing, even though she’s decidedly not, and even in the midst of the insanity, it makes the corners of my lips tilt up. I’ve noticed it before, and in some ways, Meg sounds a lot like someone’s churchgoing cousin.

She’s sweet, an innocent little darling who doesn’t belong in a rough life like this. She’s way too much of a good girl for someone like me. I gather her closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and lead her back inside the club.

“Marco. Hey, man!” I call out as the door closes. “Get your ass out here!”

Marco pops up from below the bar after a few seconds, already teasing. “Took you long enough. I need your help grabbing another case of—”

His words cut off when he sees Meghan, and he rushes out to get on the other side of her. Despite his player tendencies, he’s got a decent heart and knows a girl in need when he sees one.

I squeeze off the growl of ‘Don’t Touch’ that threatens to pass my lips when he grabs her hand, but together, we get her sitting at the bar.

“You got a pen and paper?” I ask as Meghan shivers, putting her head in her hands.

Marco rushes behind the bar again, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with ice and water before setting it in front of Meghan. “Yeah, yeah. Here you go.” He grabs a notepad and pen from beside the register, and I write down Miles’s information and description, along with his vehicle description and license plate.

I push it back toward Marco, who looks the information over. “This guy. He’s banned from the club, from the whole damn block, and definitely from Meghan. Pass the word.”

Marco reads the note and nods, knowing that my request isn’t directly to him, but to Dominick. His club, his rules, but for something like this, Dominick will definitely agree with my assessment of the appropriate response.

Pocketing my note, Marco turns to Meghan. “You okay, sweetheart? You look pale. Need something a little more than just ice water?”

She shakes her head, then seems to reconsider. “Can I have a scotch? Just a little sip to settle my nerves?”

It’s part of Meghan’s magic. Here she is, scared out of her mind, and I swear she sounds like little girl who’s asking to have a sip and not get in trouble for it. Marco smirks, turning to grab a shot glass that he fills to the brim with the amber liquid before setting it in front of her.

“Don’t sip it. Just shoot it down so it can work its magic, warm you back up.”

She picks the shot up with delicate fingers, and for a moment, I wonder if this girl has ever even done a shot. If not, she’s about to be in for a rude awakening.

But she tilts it back, opening her throat and swallowing it down with ease before slamming it back to the bar top. Wiping her lips, she offers Marco a hint of a smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”

All on its own, my cock jumps right to attention in my pants, wondering if she’d swallow something of mine down her pretty little throat, and if I could put a bigger smile on her face than what the scotch has.

Fuck, I’ve gotta get my head on straight. Now is definitely not the time for me to be thinking dirty thoughts. Hell, there’s never going to be a time for me to think that about Meghan. Even if she wasn’t too damn good for someone like me, I’d break a sweet little thing like her.

Still, I can’t help but put my arm around her, mindlessly patting and rubbing her back, even though I’m treading dangerous territory for us both. “You gonna be okay? We can hang out here as long as you need,” I reassure her. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll walk you out to your car again. Make sure you’re safe. ‘Kay?”

She sighs, looking up at me, her pupils black and large behind her glasses. “Actually, do you think you could drive me home? I’m not much of a drinker, and I have a feeling that scotch is going to knock me out in three, two, one . . .”

She smiles a tiny smile, but it sounds like she’s telling the truth. This is a girl who can sling drinks like a certified pro, but one shot knocks her out for the rest of the night. And no, my dirty fucking thoughts don’t avoid the innuendo there either.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, even as part of me says this is a bad move. I’ve wanted her for weeks, and my instincts are going apeshit. Bad move, Shane. Bad move.

Doesn’t matter. The smile she gives me is more than enough to overcome whatever my mind is saying. I turn to Marco, who’s cleaning the shot glass carefully. “Will you let Dominick know I’m leaving my truck here overnight? I’ll drive Meghan’s car to her house and cab it home.”

Marco gives me an evaluating look, and I again appreciate that for all his slick player persona, he’s actually a pretty solid guy and is making sure that I’m not running some game on Meghan when she’s shaken up.

I must have passed his test because he nods and sets the glass aside. “Yeah, I’ll let the boss know. Take care of her.”

With a nod, I help Meghan up. I walk her back outside, head on a swivel as I look for any threats, any sign that Miles Jacobson got a shock of courage and came back, but all seems to be quiet and dark. We make it to her car, a nondescript little thing that looks like it sort of hangs together by sheer force of will.

Meghan digs in her bag for her keys and hands them to me. I do a slight double-take as I see her keyring has a fucking pompom on it. A puffy fluff of soft fur that’s white like a rabbit’s tail. It suits her.

I hold the passenger door for her and make sure she’s buckled in before I go around. “You ready?”

“Yeah. And thanks, Shane,” she says, giving me a smile that could melt Ebenezer Scrooge’s heart. I pull out, still keeping watch for anyone who might be following us, and head away from the club, toward the main road.

“Where to?” I ask, and Meghan gives me directions to her apartment from there. As we drive, I have to admit I’m interested to see where she lives.

A tiny piece of me is disappointed when I pull up outside a regular apartment complex, just one like a hundred others around town and not some special, secret hideaway with unicorns in the driveway befitting the fairy-princess sparkle of this girl. I walk her to her door, planning to get her safely inside and then call a cab . . . from the parking lot, not wanting her to feel weird about being alone in her apartment with the huge, scary guy from work.

Hey, I know what I look like, and yeah, I use it around work to my advantage. I’m surprised when I turn to go and she calls out, “Shane!”

I turn, hearing the fear returning to her voice. “Yeah?”

She’s clutching the door, the toe of her Ugg boot digging in the carpet, looking for all intents and purposes like the scared little girl she is. My heart melts even as another side of me growls possessively, wanting to claim her as mine.

She takes a deep breath, biting her lip, but her voice is surprisingly strong when she speaks again. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee or something?”

I pause, most of me wanting to say no. This has bad idea written all over it. We’re pushing four in the morning, I’m with a girl who’s had a scare and might be slightly drunk, and for the past two months, she’s jumped to the top of my fantasy list as she ticks boxes on my mental fuck list I didn’t even know I had.

But I can man up, be the security she needs, and not let on that she’s slowly driving me insane every time she looks up at me in those glasses. That half of me wants to comfort and soothe her, to tell her she’ll never be hurt . . . while the other half of me wants to rip her clothes off and make her hurt so damn good she screams in blissful agony before I empty my balls deep inside her body.

“Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. “You’re home, and you’re safe. I can just call a cab.”

She doesn’t answer, just gestures with her hand into the apartment, inviting me in. I walk past her, careful not to touch her or crowd her so she doesn’t spook again. Keeping my steps casual, I feel dirty as my heavy boots cross the threshold into her apartment, and I feel an intense, sudden need to just take them off and not pollute her space.

Her apartment is cute, just like her. Her living room is full of soft furniture, with fuzzy blankets thrown over the arm of an old, overstuffed sofa and a floral coffee mug sitting on the table. The room is white and beige and all the other shades of . . . white. With a few highlights of pink.

I’m nervous to sit on her furniture. I think of the places my pants have been, and I’m afraid I’ll sully it up just with my presence. But she motions for me to sit, so I do. “Uhm . . . thanks. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks. Just hold on a moment, would ya?” she asks, bustling off to the kitchen. Moments later, she’s making coffee, by the sound of the clinks I hear.

I look around and see a huge bookcase filled with books. I don’t recognize any of the titles, but whatever type of books she reads, she’s got a shitton of them. “You’re a reader, huh? Lots of books in here.”

Her laugh from the kitchen is slightly self-conscious, and I hear the click-thunk of a knob being turned through the open doorway. “Yeah, I read . . . a lot. Little bit of everything. Non-fiction, like historical stuff and biographies, and fiction too, romance, drama, mystery. You read much?”

I grin, even though she can’t see me. Romance, drama, and mystery? God, you’re fucking perfect, Meghan. “No, can’t say I’m much of a reader,” I reply. “I’m more of a dumb jock type.”

A minute later, she appears with a tray, holding two cups of steamy coffee and the fixings. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.”

She sets the tray down, and I lean forward to grab a cup. “Black is fine. Sugar at this time of night gets me jittery.”

She scrunches her nose and adjusts her glasses again. “Ew, too bitter for me. I like lots and lots of cream.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s really testing me here. If it were any other girl, I’d think it was intentional. But Meghan seems completely oblivious to the effect she’s having on me.

She sits down next to me, and I watch as she adds enough creamer and sugar to her cup to make it basically coffee-flavored ice cream before taking a sip and sighing happily. I sip my own coffee, and I have to add another mark on this girl’s list of accomplishments. I haven’t had coffee this good since a vacation to Chile two years ago.

There’s a comfortable silence as we both sip before she breaks it, looking at me earnestly. “Shane, thanks again. That was some scary intense stuff tonight. I’m glad you were there.”

I nod, setting my cup down on the tray. “It was no problem, Meghan. I’m glad I was there too.”

She flinches a little, and I’m afraid she’s having a bit of a flashback, so I slip my arm across the back of the couch, not touching her, but she scoots closer, curling into my side, so I place a light hand on her shoulder. “I usually think of myself as capable of handling whatever comes my way, and I’ve dealt with some handsy customers, but if I’d been alone in that parking lot tonight . . .”

Her voice trails off, and I know she’s imagining all the ugly things that could’ve happened. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “You’re safe now.”