Occupational Hazards Ch. 02

I considered going in. What excuse would I have, though, other than impatience? He'd promised to let me know if they could use me. I had to trust him to make the best decision. Even if that meant putting the mission above saving a poor girl. Besides, I was in no shape to go anywhere or argue with anyone at the moment.

My eyelids felt heavy. The vestiges of sleep were calling me back. Before I drifted off again, I remembered I didn't even have my car. Shit.

###

I sat up with a panic, trying to remember what had woken me. The room was dark, although the windows on the other side of the loft across from my bed let in the soft glow of the city at night. I snapped on the lamp, rubbing my eyes at the sudden brightness.

There was a buzzing sound, and I looked around for a bug before realizing it was my phone. But it wasn't on the nightstand. Or on the floor. Another buzz and a flash of light. There. Buried under the sheet.

I entered the code like it was second nature. "Hoskins. Hello? Hello?"

When there was no sound at all, I looked at the screen and saw that I'd gotten a text, not a call. Three texts in fact. I laid back down and studied the screen. Then I almost threw the phone across the room.

Patrick: "Davenport told us the news. Are you okay?" Patrick: "We'll get the bastard." Patrick: "Hey, tell Bruce I'm sorry about the couch if you see him."

I wasn't angry with him. It wasn't his fault. The whole situation just pissed me off.

My stomach growled. The time on my phone said it was well past six. I hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours.

I stretched, inhaling deeply. And gagged. The sheets reeked of alcohol and sweat. As did my day-old clothes.

A shower sounded amazing. It felt even better. The hot water streamed down on my head, leaving my hair dripping in clusters against my face. I was reminded of Nikki. Of how she stood in the rain that first night. Which wasn't even a week ago.

I groaned and turned to get my back wet, wondering what she would have done if I hadn't followed her outside. She obviously couldn't have paid for a ride. Would she have come back inside to wait out the rest of her party? Called Hunter to pick her up?

It took longer than usual to wash, my mind distracted as I ruminated on the what ifs. Their consequences. What I could have done differently. Said differently.

As I finally wrapped a towel around my waist and dried my hair, I contemplated staying home tonight. Three nights in a row might make Bruce concerned. I was usually a one-or-two night kind of guy. I didn't want him to think I was like Patrick. Even though I admitted to myself that I was headed down that road if I didn't make a change. Soon.

I scraped together a sandwich—slapped a Post-It note on the freezer door that I needed to go to the store—and ate while staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city from my living room.

There were several perks of having a loft on the top floor of a fourteen-story complex. The view was the best one. Especially at night with the horizon dotted by not only stars—when the weather was good—but also lights on the buildings, which varied in height. Tonight, the stars played peek-a-boo with the clouds, giving an occasional view of the moon like a girl teasing with hints of her cleavage or ass.

I loved this place. This city. I missed it when I was out on a mission. Was always glad to be back home. But I was a man of action. I needed to be doing something constructive, even if I was sitting at home. The lack of that something is what was driving me to drink more than usual.

I sighed. I was cleaned up. The night was young. I guess it was back to Twisted Cocktails. But absolutely no tequila.

Dressed in a clean shirt and jeans, I grabbed my leather jacket and hailed a cab outside. We were headed downtown when I recalled something Bruce had said. What my response had been.

Instead of going to the club, I had the driver drop me off at Mike's. There were quite a few cars in the side lot. Other guys had gotten the same idea.

From outside, I could hear the dull but steady thump of music. The sound increased as I pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit vestibule. A burly man in a dark purple T-shirt with 'Mike's' emblazoned in yellow on the pocket sat on a stool next to a podium. He scowled when he looked up and saw me.

"Are you lost, buddy?"

I smirked. "Nice to see you too, Duke."

"How the hell have you been?" He stood and shook my hand, pulling me into a one-armed hug.

"Busy. You know, work?"

"No excuse to avoid seeing a friend." Duke cocked his head toward the double doors separating us from the rest of the club. "Or a few lovely ladies. Rachel keeps asking about you."

"Has she now?" My cock was suddenly awake, as if it were a dog who had heard the word 'park.' I swallowed heavily. "Is she working tonight?"

"It's Wednesday." Duke chuckled. "You really have been working too hard."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

He pulled out a clipboard from the podium shelf. "She just got done with a set. Next gig is in an hour. Plenty of time to get reacquainted. Go see Will at the bar. He'll get you set up."

"Much appreciated." I patted him on the shoulder and took a deep breath before pushing one of the doors open.

Inside, nothing had changed since the last time I'd been here. A single row of round tables with four chairs surrounded each of the three catwalks. Which reminded me of a carousel at the airport with the customers waiting for their luggage to arrive. Except at the end of each of these carousels, there was a gold-colored pole. And dark curtains ran along the wall where a walkway connected them all.

Tonight, catwalks one and two were empty. Number three had a blonde-haired woman in a green-and-gold G-string and bikini top gyrating to the music. Remnants of what she must have been wearing when she'd first stepped out of the curtains lay scattered along the floor leading up to the pole. Which is where the seated occupants were concentrated this evening.

I watched the blonde for another minute and then headed to the bar on the other side of the room. Will was wiping down the counter, but his eyes were on the stripper. On the small crowd. I remembered that he had been the head bouncer the last time I'd been around. I wondered if bartending was a step up or down. Either way, it must be hard to break away from what you were used to doing. I should know.

Will glanced at me as I took a seat in front of him. "My God. Duke is letting all kinds of riffraff in this place now."

"Missed me, too, huh?" I held out my hand, and he accepted it. "How have you been, Will?"

He swept his gaze back to catwalk three and shrugged. "I inherited a stripclub. I can't complain."

I raised my eyebrows. "Partner? Wow! Moving up in the world."

"Nope. Solo owner. Mike wanted to retire. Move to Vegas. But I'm sure he's found a way to be involved with the ladies out there."

"Keeping Mike away from the ladies is like asking Hugh Hefner to disband the Bunnies."

He slapped the counter, laughing. "Abso-fucking-lutely."

"Well, congrats on the new business."

"Thanks. I hope to do him proud."

"You will." I leaned toward him. "Hey, Duke said Rachel—"

"Say no more." Will left me to pick up a phone, exchanged a few words with whomever was on the other end, and then returned with a smile. "Room one, at your service for thirty minutes. I'll even let you stretch it to forty-five if you need it. These guys will wait for her."

"Thanks, Boss."

I made a beeline to the other side of the bar. The hallway was lit by a red bulb, of all things. I paused outside the door with a gold number one attached in the middle of it. Took a deep breath. And then stepped inside.

A pole just like the ones on the catwalks was dead-center with a padded chair in a corner. I hung up my jacket on the provided hook and walked over to the middle of the room. Ran my hand up an down the pole, feeling the coolness of the metal against my warm hand. Noticing the slight resistance. It provided a better grip, if I remembered what Rachel had once told me.

I was still trying to decide if I wanted a private show or a lap dance when the door opened, briefly letting in the sound of music from the main room.

"My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

The feminine voice was smooth and low. It reminded me of the TV commercials for 1-900 numbers that came on while trying to sneak a midnight movie when I was supposed to be sleeping as a kid. Made a man lick his lips and groan as he shifted lower in his seat. Brought to mind sex no matter what words were said.

The biggest turn on? It exuded the confidence of its owner. Her experience. She knew what she was doing...and did it well.

I turned, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Just like my cock that tugged at my jeans. "Hello, gorgeous."

Rachel's hazel gaze was just as bright as I'd remembered. Her hair that auburn color—brown with hints of red. She used to have it pulled into a ponytail when I visited. Tonight, it hung down to her mid-back in loose curls, held back at the front with a flat band imbedded in her hair.

My own gaze drifted down. Studied the low-cut, green top that seemed to crisscross over her ample breasts, giving a slight preview of what was underneath. Man I had missed seeing those. Her narrow waist had a silver belt buckled around it. A black mini-skirt highlighted the curve of her ass and legs, the latter capped with black stilettos. Overall, a marvelous sight to behold.

"I heard you missed me."

"Did you now?" She dragged a fingernail lightly down my cheek. Smiled when a shiver made my shoulders shake.

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned closer and whispered, "It's a complete, utter lie."

"I got it from a reliable source."

"Duke?" Her laugh broke me from my downward spiral. Momentarily. "What'll it be first? Pole or chair? We've got time for both."

I licked my lips. "You choose."

"As you wish." Rachel gave me a wink and walked over to the chair, my eyes following her ass as it swayed. She dragged the chair to the middle of the room and positioned the back next to the pole. Patted the vinyl cushion.

I sat, stifling a groan as my cock complained. It wanted to be released, not confined even more. But there would be time enough for that later.

She opened a panel behind the door to reveal a sound system imbedded into the wall. Sweet. That was new. She pulled out an iPod. After a minute of apparently searching for the right song—or creating a playlist?—she put it back in the docking station and closed the panel.

All I heard for a few seconds was my own breathing. Heavier than I expected. Then the steady sound of a hi-hat against a low electronic keyboard intro filled the room.

Rachel walked around the perimeter in time with the beat, dragging the toe of each shoe with each step. Reminding me how long her legs were. It was several seconds before she finally turned to face me. Right when the base drum kicked in.

Her eyes focused on mine, and each step she took toward me had a swish of her hip to the side. A snap of her fingers. Again, in perfect time to the music.

I was paying attention to her body. The way her lips parted seductively. I'd missed her sultry dances. But when I heard George Michael's breathy voice start singing, my brain shifted focus. And my pants were almost so tight it was painful.

While he sang about wanting something special—something sacred—Rachel had her back to me. Pulling off her belt. Unwrapping the skirt from her hips to reveal the top was actually a mini-dress, the bottom of which fluttered out as she turned around.

Yet all I could think about were those words. They pried at the lid of my secret box. Opening it a little more. And try as I might, I couldn't stop the memories from leaking out this time. Especially as the chorus started.

Father figure. Preacher teacher. Shit.

I was no longer in the stripclub with Rachel, but in that bedroom. No longer sitting—being catered to—but standing over a body. A naked body...kneeling at my feet. My gaze on the feminine face tilted up to me, both of us patiently waiting.

I drew in a deep breath. Willed my head to focus on Rachel, who was now straddling my hips while still standing, the center of her hips directly in front of my face. My exhale shook my whole body.

Her fingers inched the skirt of her dress from her thigh to her hip, revealing a flash of a black thong. She tipped my chin up, her smile now a pout. "Something bothering you, Ben?"

"Sorry. It's been a lousy week."

Her grin returned. "Well that's why you're here. Whatever's bothering you, it can wait. Right now, it's just you and me."

I started to nod my agreement, but something buzzed between my thigh and hers.

We both looked at our legs and then back to each other. When it happened again, I gripped her hips, guiding her backwards. She gasped at the sudden contact—customers weren't supposed to touch the employees.

I murmured an apology and dug into my pocket, pulling out my vibrating phone. I had a missed call and two missed texts. All from Bruce at Twisted Cocktails.

The last text read, "Where the fuck are you? Get your ass over here. She won't stop crying."

Huh?

I went to read the other text to figure out what he was talking about. But all my eyes saw was the word 'Nikki.' My heart pounded harder in my chest. This time, not from arousal.

Rachel growled and crossed her arms. "Ben?"

"I'm sorry, but I need to go."

I left her standing in the room, gawking. I hurried past the bar, shouting out to Will that I had an emergency. If Duke said anything as I passed through both sets of doors, I didn't hear him.

Outside, I started toward the parking lot. Then I remembered where my car was. I hightailed it across the square, slowing only once I reached the club due to a group of people lingering on the sidewalk. I slid between them and the door, apologizing before I even bumped into anyone.

While the dance floor was off to the side of the entrance, the crowd was bigger than the previous two nights. Several small groups were standing in the natural path leading to the rest of the club. When I finally got through to the bar, I heard Bruce calling my name. It took a moment to find him. I should have known he was in the VIP section.

I released the rope, not taking the time to secure it again, and raced up the stairs.

"What took you—"

"Where is she?" I gripped his arm, looking around wildly, not seeing anything but empty couches. "Glen's office?"

"I tried. She insisted on waiting for you up here. So I showed her your spot." Bruce pointed to the furthest corner. "But she moved when she saw it was in plain sight of the bar."

"Thanks!" I almost tripped as I maneuvered through the maze of couches and tables to the far side of the upper level. The faint sound of sobbing reached my ears as I rounded a wall jut out. I found her huddled in the corner of a smaller seating arrangement away from any view of the club below. "Nikki!"

Her head swung up, the rest of her recoiling. As if she was expecting someone else. Hunter, maybe? When she realized it was me, she cried even harder.

"Nikki?" I tossed my jacket onto a table and took a seat next to her. Not quite sure what else to do, I placed my left arm on the back of the couch. Then I froze when, like a frightened child, she curled herself into the space I'd unknowingly created. I heard a muffled squeak as her right shoulder pressed against me. "Hey, it's okay."

Her head rolled back and forth.

"What happened?"

She was breathing so erratically, her response was mostly short gasps. I caught only a few words, which didn't make any sense. "He told me...I said no...where to go...I can't..."

I wrapped my other arm around her, not even questioning my actions as I pressed my cheek against her head. Her soft, trembling body molded more against mine, her fingers clutching at my shirt. "Shh. You're safe here."

As I held her, I concentrated on taking deep breaths, calming myself. The only problem was, each time I inhaled, I smelled jasmine. All of my neurons went into hyper-drive to create an image in my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut to block it out, but that only made the image more vivid. So I switched to breathing through my mouth as I stared straight ahead at a dark blue wall.

It was several minutes before she seemed to relax. Though, her shoulders still shuddered when she took deep breaths interspersed with sniffles and a few squeaks if she moved against me. She didn't try to sit up. But when she spoke again, it was in coherent sentences.

"I didn't know what to do. Where to go." Her voice sounded hoarse, probably from all of the crying. "You said I could find you here. For help."

"Yes, and I meant it."

"Everyone was right." She let out a low, remorseful cry. "I just wouldn't listen."

I stroked my hand across her hair before I realized what I was doing. And once I had, I didn't want to stop. It was so soft. Silkier than I'd imagined. She sighed, almost contentedly. I gladly kept up the gentle motion.

"He hits me. But not where people can see." Her head moved under my chin. Nuzzling in deeper, which made me sigh this time. "It's easy to cover up."

I had so many questions. Where? How often? With what? But ultimately, why speak up now? I kept my mouth shut, though. She didn't need to feel berated by me. She'd probably done enough of that to herself already.

"What you saw Monday...that was the worst so far. I had Amy take me to the ER instead of work today." Another sniffle with a deep, shaky breath. "He'd separated my shoulder when he...when he yanked on it."

I noticed her hesitation. As if she was reliving it as she said it. The thought made my chest hurt.

"I don't need surgery, but it could take several weeks to heal. Maybe therapy after that."

I wanted to tighten my embrace around her. To show her I sympathized with her pain. But I didn't want to hurt her any further than she already was. So I just sat still with her cuddled against me.

Nikki was quiet for a long moment. Maybe sorting her thoughts. Because she had yet to explain why she'd finally sought out my help.

Even though I'd pondered over the possibility—the probability, given Hunter's character—on more than one occasion since Friday, I was unprepared for the words that actually came out of her mouth.

"He raped me."

A fire like I'd never felt before flickered inside, quickly billowing as she continued.

"Amy had gone on to work. I needed a ride and didn't have money for a cab. Or his insurance card." Her hand clutched my shirt tighter, her nails lightly scraping against me through the material. "I had no choice. I gave the hospital his number."

Despite the turmoil within me, my left hand absently caressed her back in slow circles. Feeling the smoothness of her skin over the hard curve of her spine. My fingertips sent a signal to my brain saying that she wasn't wearing a bra. Again. My cock responded with a twitch.

I closed my eyes and stifled the moan that was creeping up my throat.

"He had to come get me," she continued, oblivious to the emotions she had started swirling inside of me. "Acted all concerned while the doctor told him what to do for pain relief. When we got home..."

I held my breath. Unsure if I still wanted to hear her explanation. She'd said enough in those three simple yet harsh words. But if she wanted to get more out, I wasn't going to stop her.

"He pushed me down on the bed, face first. Held his hand against my back, right over my injury..." Her voice was faint now. Shaky. "I screamed. Told him to stop. He just shoved my face into the comforter. Reminded me it could be much worse if I struggled."

I fought against the desire to jump up and race across town to beat that vile excuse of a man into a bloody pulp. I hadn't been in a fist fight in a very long time, but I was confidant I'd be successful tonight. He needed to be the victim for once.