Come with me, I’ll help you. It looks like you need a friend.

Racer, the Knight of Sparrows

CRYSTAL

Present Day

He didn’t belong here. Why that thought came immediately to my mind the moment I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t be sure. But it did. It wasn’t the way he looked—I’d seen handsome, clean-cut, seemingly wholesome boys here before. Get a few drops of alcohol in them, or a few whiffs of the pack mentality wafting thickly in the air, and they’d be acting just like the other drunken fools eager to part with their money and any common decency they might possess. And it wasn’t that he was out of place because he looked scared. I’d seen that before, too—eyes darting around, nervous and excited by the surroundings. No, the man sitting alone at a table near the back of the room, nursing a Miller Lite, didn’t look scared, merely curious. His head turned slowly as he took in the room at large, and I couldn’t help that my gaze followed his, wondering at his assessment.

My own curiosity confused and disturbed me. It was so unlike me to wonder about any of the men who came here, and I couldn’t find an explanation. I closed my eyes, pushing the thoughts away as the loud music filled my head. When my performance ended, the applause exploded and I plastered a smile on my face.

Anthony walked behind the crowd, making sure no one took liberties, pulling the ones who did away from me as they protested. Five minutes later, as I turned to leave, my eyes met those of the man in the back, still sitting at the same table, watching me. I straightened my spine, something about his face niggling at my mind. I knew I hadn’t seen him here before. Did I know him? Is that what kept drawing my attention?

Once I was backstage, I pulled the cash out of my underwear, uncrumpling the bills until I could fold it all into a thick wad.

“Nice job, honey,” Cherry said as she drew closer to me, headed toward the stage.

“Thanks.” I smiled, squeezing her arm gently as we passed each other.

I unlocked my locker in the hall and stuffed the tip money into my purse before heading to the dressing room I shared with two other girls. They were off tonight, so for once I had the too-crowded space to myself. I sunk down in the chair in front of the small vanity table littered with cases, tubes, and compacts of makeup, jars of cold cream, and bottles of lotion and perfume. In the quiet of the room, the sounds of the men in the audience who’d just watched me dance filled my head—the whoops, hollers, and the catcalls that described in lurid detail what they wanted to do to me. I could still smell the scents of the beer-laden breath, heavy cologne, and body odor that had overwhelmed me as I’d bent and shimmied toward all those masculine shouts and reaching hands.

For a moment I fantasized using my arm to swipe everything on the surface in front of me to the floor and watch as it shattered and spilled, mixing together in a mess of gloppy, powdery color, and scent. Shaking my head, I stared at myself in the mirror, overcome by a sudden urge to grab a towel and begin scrubbing and smearing the makeup caked on my face. God, what’s wrong with me? A lump filled my throat and I stood too quickly, the chair I’d been sitting in tipping backward and clattering to the floor.

“Crystal?”

I turned at the sound of Anthony’s voice, and whatever was on my face caused him to frown. “You all right, girl?”

I nodded, a jerky up-and-down motion of my head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just thirsty.” I walked toward the water cooler, picking up a Dixie cup, filling and draining it quickly before looking back at Anthony. “What’s up?”

“You got two private dance requests.”

I filled the Dixie cup again and took a sip. “Okay.”

“Little extra money’s never bad, yeah?” One side of his lips tipped up.

“Never bad,” I murmured.

Anthony remained unmoving, his lips a straight line again as he studied me solemnly. “I could tell ’em you’re sick.”

I am. I am sick. Sick of this. Sick of life. I shook my head, attempting to shake off the morose thoughts that had pricked my brain. “No, just give me a minute and I’ll be out.”

Anthony inclined his head and shut the door behind him. I took a deep breath and moved back to the vanity, bending toward it and using my finger to fix the places where my makeup had smeared. I stood straight and offered the mirror a smirk. “Showtime,” I whispered before turning, opening the door, and walking down the hall, where a skinny guy with shaggy, dark blond hair and a long face waited. He jerked as I approached, pulling himself ramrod straight, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Bile rose in mine. I gave him a sultry smile. “Hiya, sugar. You ready for me?”

* * *

It was getting close to closing time when I performed my last dance and made my way back to the dressing room again, stretching my neck from side to side and sighing with both relief and fatigue. When we girls weren’t dancing, whether onstage or behind closed doors, we served drinks. The manager, Rodney, liked our presence out on the floor—liked that bending over tables to deliver drinks and brushing past the men we were serving excited and encouraged them to keep spending money. Dealing with an obnoxious group of them, made bold by the stares of their friends, was nauseating. Tedious. But it also roused their generosity when I was onstage, so I did what I had to do. A subtle wink around the table and each idiot thought my next dance was just for him.

I changed quickly into my uniform—tiny white shorts, a black-and-white-striped shirt that tied between my boobs, and red stiletto heels—and opened the door to do a few last rounds of the bar floor. I startled, as did the man standing outside, leaning against the opposite hallway wall. What the hell? Where was Anthony? My eyes darted down the empty hall, no Anthony in sight. The man—he was the one I’d wondered about earlier—stood tall and ran a hand through his brown hair, looking momentarily unsure.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I said, crossing my arms over my breasts, unsure why I was attempting to cover what he’d probably been gawking at earlier.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure of the protocol.”

I raised a brow. “Protocol?”

He shook his head slightly. “The, ah, procedure for meeting with you.”

I cocked my head to the side. Okay, this guy was potentially crazy. “The procedure is that you have to go through Anthony. Big black guy? Mean looking? Snaps men in half if they mess with one of his girls.” My eyes darted down the hallway again.

“Ah. Yeah, he’s breaking up a fight outside.”

I glanced back to him. “Uh-huh. And so you made your move?” I took one step back into the room, ready to barricade myself inside if he tried anything.

He blinked and paused for a second before reaching into his coat pocket. Bringing his hand out, he tossed something my way. Instinct made me reach out and catch it. A set of keys. I looked at him, creasing my brow in confusion.

“If I do anything to make you nervous, you can gouge my eyes out with one of those.”

“Gouge your eyes out? Yeah, I’d really rather not.”

“I won’t give you reason to. I don’t mean you any harm.”

Anthony appeared at the end of the hallway, shaking his hand as if he’d injured it. “Yo, you’re not supposed to be back here.” Oh, thank God.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the rules.”

“Ignorance is no excuse, my man. Gotta eighty-six your ass. You okay, Crys?” I nodded.

“I only want ten minutes,” the man said quickly, raising his hands. I wasn’t sure if he was doing an I’m unarmed gesture or whether his ten fingers went in tandem with the promise of limited time.

“Sorry, my lap-dance card is full for the night, sugar.”

“I don’t want a lap dance. I just want to talk.”

Ah, one of those. I almost rolled my eyes. But something inside made me pause. I couldn’t say what it was. He was handsome, sure. Pretty, even, with that thick brown hair curling up at his collar and classic masculine bone structure. But I’d known a few handsome men in my time. Each one had a mean streak three miles wide. Handsome got you a big fat nowhere in the end. In fact, sometimes worse off. In my experience, the handsome ones thought they were God’s gift to womankind, and that it was their moral duty to spread themselves far and wide.

No, it was something other than that. It was his eyes. His eyes held some sort of innocence I hadn’t seen before. Gentleness I certainly wasn’t used to. His expression was hopeful, but not desperate, and I didn’t detect lust in his eyes. He looked … sincere. Maybe he really did just want to talk. “It’s okay, Anthony.”

Anthony lowered the hand that had been about to clamp down on the man’s arm and stepped back. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I looked at the man. “Ten minutes.” I held the keys up, one stuck through my fingers. “And don’t make me use these. I don’t want to but if you force the issue, you’ll exit this room blind, sugar.”

“Gabriel,” he said, a small smile lighting his face. “My name is Gabriel.” Like the angel? No wonder I’d thought he didn’t belong here.

“All right.” I stood aside, and he moved past me into the room. I nodded once at Anthony and then pushed the door so it still stood halfway open. I knew Anthony would stay close by.

“So what brings a nice guy like you to this den of sin, sugar?”

“Gabriel. And you’re Crystal?”

“Around here I am.”

He looked at me steadily, and it was disconcerting. After a moment he nodded as if he understood something I didn’t. “I see.”

At his words, his knowing look, a small burst of flustered anger ricocheted through my belly like the ball in a pinball machine. I smiled suggestively and took a seat on the small, dirty gold settee, reclining, and then crossing my legs. I used my hands to play idly with the knotted material between my breasts. I watched his eyes follow my movement and flare slightly before he looked away. Ah, there it was—lust. Just like every other man. Familiar. I took a breath, satisfaction and calm moving through me. “So what is it you want to talk about?”

He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, tilting his head slightly so his hair fell across his forehead. His posture, the way he squinted slightly as he looked at me, triggered my memory, and I suddenly realized how I knew him. Lost boy. The words moved through my mind as if someone had scribbled them there. His name was Gabriel Dalton, and he’d gone missing when he was a kid. It was a big-time national news story when he escaped his kidnapper and came home. I was only a pre-teen at the time, but I’d still heard about it here and there. Of course, right about the time Gabriel had come home, my world was—yet again—falling apart.

The last time I saw his picture on the news had been a while ago, but I knew for certain who he was now. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this. If someone recognizes you, I imagine they’ll be real eager to take your picture.”

He froze for a portion of a second before relaxing again. He took a seat in the metal chair across from where I sat and looked at me expectantly, like one of the men waiting for a lap dance. Only … different somehow. I wished I could pinpoint what it was that looked so wrong about him sitting there. Maybe it was that he looked nice. And I couldn’t ever remember thinking that about anyone who walked through the door of this club. He blew a breath out slowly and ran a hand through his hair, moving it off his forehead. “I guess it’s good you recognized me. Might make this a little easier.” He seemed to be talking more to himself and so I didn’t respond. He looked straight at me. “I probably should have thought this out a little more instead of just showing up.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs as if his hands were sweating.

“Are you going to get to what you want, or am I supposed to guess?”

He shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t want to waste your time.” He paused again. “The thing is, Crys—” He cleared his throat. “The thing is, because of my history, which it sounds like you know a little bit about, I, uh, find it difficult to tolerate … closeness.” Two pink spots appeared on his cheekbones. Was he blushing? God, I didn’t even know men could blush. As if my opinion of him mattered somehow. Something small and warm moved through me, something I had little idea how to identify.

“Closeness?” I frowned, uncomfortable with the softness in my tone.

He pressed his lips together, the color in his cheeks increasing. “I find it difficult to get physically close to people. Or rather, I find it emotionally distressing. Uh …” He laughed softly, an embarrassed sound. “God, this didn’t sound so pitiful in my head.” He looked somewhere behind me. “Or maybe it did. Maybe it’s just worse hearing it out loud.”

“What is it I can do for you exactly, sugar?” My voice still sounded soft. Helplessly, my heart squeezed, and I felt a shiver of compassion run through me for the way Gabriel was struggling in front of me. The unfamiliar emotion unbalanced me, and I drew myself up straighter.

“Gabriel,” he corrected.

“Okay, what is it I can do for you, Gabe?” He didn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes squinted slightly as if he was. But then the lines around his eyes smoothed out, and I wondered if that had been a sort of smile, or just my imagination.

“You can help me practice being touched by a woman. Getting comfortable with someone in my personal space.”

I blinked at him as he looked down at his hands in his lap. “You want me to help you with that?”

His gaze met mine and I saw that gentleness there again—hope—and something about that expression aimed right at me made me feel good and … needed. For the bare glimmer of a moment, it made me feel as if he saw more in me than just the piece of ass all the other men who came to this club viewed me as.

“I’ll pay you, obviously. It would be an after-hours job, nothing more. You wouldn’t even have to take your clothes off.”

You wouldn’t even have to take your clothes off.

His words brought me up cold, snapping me back to reality, reminding me that he saw me exactly as other men did, in fact exactly as I was. With my defenses firmly back in place, I stood, picking up the keys next to me on the settee, tossing them his way. He caught them with one hand. “Listen, as much as I hate to turn down a paying gig, I’m no therapist, okay? You want to learn how to touch someone, get a girlfriend. You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure there are plenty of sweet, wholesome girls who wouldn’t mind you practicing on them for free.”

He stood, too. “I’ve insulted you.”

I laughed. “Sugar, I can’t be insulted.”

“Everyone can be insulted.” Regret laced his tone. He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head in that way of his, his hair falling over his forehead again. My fingers twitched to smooth it away from his eyes. What is wrong with me?

I felt my skin prickling with unease. Everything about Gabriel made me feel uneasy. I needed him to leave. “You don’t know me, Gabe. Thanks for the job offer, but I’m going to decline. I do wish you luck with your little problem. Ten minutes is up.”

He sighed, not moving. “I really am sorry. God, this didn’t go the way I meant it to.”

“I’m sure it didn’t.” I held the door open.

Outside, Anthony was sitting in a chair, wrapping a bandage around his injured hand. “Things kosher?”

I nodded jerkily as Gabriel moved past me. He stopped when he crossed the threshold and turned back to me. “I really am sorry,” he said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes meeting his. Standing this close, I could see that his eyes were hazel with striations of copper. His lashes were thick and lush, curled up slightly—lashes any girl would kill for.

I took a small step back, putting even more distance between us, and blew out a breath. “It’s fine. Really. Good luck again.”

He started to turn away but then looked back. “Can I just ask one more question?”

I moved from one leg to the other. “Sure.”

“What were you thinking when you looked at me from the stage? When our eyes met.”

I frowned slightly, about to deny I’d been thinking anything at all but deciding it didn’t matter at that point. I’d never see him again. “I was thinking you didn’t belong here.” And I’d been right.

He paused, his expression enigmatic as his eyes moved over my face. “Huh. Funny,” he finally murmured. “I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

I laughed, a short huff of sound. “Well, you were wrong there. This is the one place I do belong, sugar.”

“Gabriel.” His lips tipped up slightly, his eyes lingering on me for a heartbeat too long, before he turned and walked away.