Intoxicated Page 10

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Randy said in a choked whisper and crossed himself.

  Jack bent down and placed a hand on the nearest shoulder, shook it roughly, and was greeted by the upturned face of a boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. The snub nose and hollowed cheeks were smudged with dirt, the sunken eyes glazed and unseeing. An unhealthy gray tinged the boy’s skin as if he hadn’t seen daylight for a very long time. No doubt he was a runaway. Jack had an unsettling vision of the boy’s mother, sitting at her kitchen table sick with worry, staring at her telephone as she waited for a call that might never come. That boy could have been him if he hadn’t changed his ways, he realized, and felt a rush of sympathy.

  “You can’t save them all, Jack,” Randy said, as if reading his thoughts.

  Right. Jack sighed and shook the boy again who had slumped back to the mattress in oblivion. “I’m looking for a tall girl with straight black hair and blue eyes. Her name is Chelsea. Have you seen her?”

  With great effort, the boy focused in on Jack’s face. The boy shook his head but Jack squeezed the thin shoulder harder.

  “Are you sure? A pretty girl about this tall?” He raised his hand to his chin in approximation of Chelsea’s height.

  The boy’s eyes sharpened and he nodded then pointed up the steps to the second floor.

  Mingled relief and disappointment surged through Jack all at once. Part of him had hoped she wouldn’t be here, that this rescue mission would be nothing more than a waste of his time. The other part of him seethed with anger that she had once again put him in this situation. God only knew what horrific sights lay in wait for them at the top of the stairs.

  None of the bedrooms had doors and he could see bodies in all of them. The first bedroom held several people who blinked at him without seeing, shuffling around like rats in the darkness. A boy and girl writhed in the corner, deep in the throes of sex, undisturbed by his presence.

  He found her in the second bedroom, curled up on a pile of rags in the corner next to a gaunt stick figure of a guy with stringy blond hair. They were curled up together like shrimp in a tangle of skeletal limbs. Several emotions coursed through him as he caught sight of delicate features beneath the matted dark hair; shock at her state of dishevelment, anger that she could put herself in such danger, and sorrow that someone he had once cared for had fallen into such a deep pit of despair.

  He crouched down beside her and brushed the hair from her face with a tender hand. She stirred and smiled but didn’t open her eyes.

  “Chelsea?” He took her by the arm, shocked by the frailty of her bones, and shook her. “Chels, wake up. It’s time to go home.”

  “Jack?” She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Come to bed, Jack.”

  “Get up, Chels. It’s time to go,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

  “That’s okay. You go ahead without me. I’ll be there in a minute,” she said and fell back asleep.

  “No, we’re going. Get. Up. Now.” He shook her again, hard enough to make her head roll on her shoulders. She roused long enough to take a swing at him then collapsed again.

  Fuck! It couldn’t be easy. Nothing was ever easy with her. He scrubbed his face with his free hand, curbing the urge to throttle her. With a sigh, he shoved his pistol back into the waistband of his pants and began to disentangle the stick figure guy from her. The guy groaned and rolled over but never woke up. At least that was one thing he wouldn’t need to worry about.

  “Jack, you want to hurry it up?” Randy’s urgent whisper floated up the stairs. He’d stayed at the foot of the stairs to keep an eye on things. “We’ve got company.”

  From the back of the house came the banging of car doors and hushed voices floated up the sidewalk. Jack paused from his dealings with Chelsea long enough to peak through one of the windows. A Cadillac Escalade gleamed in the moonlight. A well-dressed young men accompanied by a guy clad in a leather jacket, his hair shaved into a Mohawk, walked toward the house. Dealers, no doubt, come to collect or sell or maybe both. The last thing he needed was an altercation with Chelsea’s dealer. They always hated losing a customer.

  “We’re leaving, Chels. Right now. Get your ass up.” He poked her with the toe of his boot. She moaned but didn’t move. He bent down and scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She weighed no more than a child and he carried her easily down the stairs.

  Randy met him at the bottom of the stairs. “We can go out this way,” he said, motioning toward a door in the living room. “It goes out to the garage.”

  Jack adjusted Chelsea’s weight over his shoulders and nodded for Randy to lead the way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A few minutes after ten o’clock on Friday night, Ally and Karly stepped out of the cab in front of Felony. The line of admission comprised of various leather clad bikers and head-bangers intermingled with a surprising number of college students, snaked down the sidewalk and around the corner of the building. The bouncer recognized Ally and waved her to the front of the line amid grumblings from those left waiting. With Karly in tow, she stumbled down the dark maze of hallways, an eerie fog swirling around their feet. Music vibrated through the walls like the rumbling of distant thunder. Butterflies fluttered in Ally’s stomach as each step took her closer to Jack. Just knowing that he roamed within the same four walls sent her pulse into cardiac arrest territory.

  “This is crazy,” Karly said eyes wide like a kid at Disneyland.

  “Just wait,” Ally replied as they stepped through a ragged hole knocked in the wall fondly dubbed “The Rabbit Hole” and emerged into a different world on the other side.

  Laser lights and strobes shattered the darkness like strikes of lightning timed with the music. The band raged on the stage, dripping with sweat, instruments ablaze in front of a standing-room-only crowd. Girls in scanty clothes writhed in metal cages and on platforms around the perimeter of the dance floor. Flames danced on large flat screen TVs placed at intervals around the space like windows into an inferno. Those were new, Ally noted, and gave the place an edgy, modern feel.

  “This is awesome,” Karly shouted into Ally’s ear over the heavy riffs of bass guitar. “Now, where’s your guy?”

  “He’s probably in the back – at the bar,” Ally shouted in return and motioned toward the back of the room. As if on cue, Randy appeared at Ally’s elbow. Word traveled fast. The bouncer at the door must have alerted Jack.

  “Come with me. We’ve got a couple of seats for you at the bar,” he shouted, leaning down from his impressive height to her ear, and nodded in that direction. The crowd parted respectfully for Randy as he cleared a path across the dance floor.

  Jack looked up from the cash register when they approached and a broad smile complete with dimples lit his face. Any prior uneasiness dissipated under the warmth in his eyes. She smiled back at him. How any man could look so sexy was beyond her. He wore a weathered leather newsboy cap low over his eyes and an open white dress shirt that revealed the word Revolution tattooed across his abdomen. He could have walked straight out of the pages of Rolling Stone magazine. She made a mental note to ask him where he bought his clothes.

  “Looking good,” he said with an appreciative sweep of her figure. “Nice dress.”

  Thank goodness she had stepped out of her comfort zone long enough to don an indecently short pink baby doll dress. The halter top and bare back weren’t her style, but this particular pink dress had caught her eye and had hung unworn in her closet. She’d never had the balls to wear it until now. The appreciation in Jack’s eyes as he took in her cleavage told her that it was worth the risk.

  “Drinks are on the house, ladies,” he said. “I’ve got two seats for you at the end of the bar.” He nodded to the right. Ally took a step in that direction then froze.

  “Wow! The VIP treatment,” Karly said. Her eyes went round with amazement.

  “Oh hell no.” Ally backed into Karly and tread on the poo
r girl’s toes. “No freaking way am I sitting there.”

  Jack’s Seat of Shame and the barstool beside it sat empty and waiting despite the cluster of giggling, fawning females gathered behind it. As much as Ally wanted him, she had no desire to sit in that seat. That barstool represented everything she disliked about Jack and herself. If he thought she was just another one of his pitiful groupies, he was sorely mistaken. No matter how much she wanted him, she would not let herself become one of those desperate, pathetic girls who hung on his every word while everyone else laughed behind their backs. Hell no.

  “What’s the matter?” Karly asked, looking from Ally to Jack and back to Ally.

  Jack frowned and walked around the end of the bar. “Is the seat dirty? Here. Let me wipe it off before you sit down.”

  “It’ll take more than soap and water to clean that,” Ally said.

  Jack caught the note of sarcasm in her voice and an expression of enlightenment flickered over his face. He straightened and took a deep breath. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Their eyes met with perfect understanding.

  “Really? You can’t be serious.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she shook her head.

  “It’s a deal breaker,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Without missing a beat, he called out to the two bearded bikers sitting at the opposite end of the bar. “Vinnie! Tinker! Get your asses up and let the ladies sit down there.” The two men, adorned with heavy beards and chains sweeping from wallet to waistband, groaned and rolled their eyes but got up anyway. Jack made a deep, theatrical bow and swept an arm in that direction. “My lady.”

  “Am I missing something here?” Karly asked as they sat down. “What is it with you two?”

  “Anything you want, baby,” Jack whispered in Ally’s ear. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. Maybe she’d been out of line, but she couldn’t help feeling a surge of triumph over this small battle. As he passed by her to reclaim his post behind the counter, his fingers trailed along her waist, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.

  People crowded around the bar shouting drink orders, bumping and jostling in the quest for a greater buzz. With the expertise born from years of practice, Jack poured out an extra dirty vodka martini for Karly and a gin and tonic with two limes for Ally. She watched his long fingers as they popped the tops of four beer cans, skimmed along the polished bar surface to scrape up money, and punched buttons on the antique cash register. He did everything with ease, exchanging quips with the patrons as he went about his business, and doling out orders to the other bartenders. No matter how busy he was, he always returned at just the right moment with a fresh drink or a couple of shots for them.

  “This place is insane,” Karly said into her ear while tugging on her arm, drawing her attention away from Jack. “Let’s go dance. I want to dance.”

  Jack appeared in front of them even though there was no way he had heard over the raucous music. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll save your seats for you.”

  With a shrug, Ally downed her drink for courage then let Karly drag her out of the bar area and onto the dance floor where bodies jostled against each other and the scents of leather and sweat mingled. The music throbbed with a rhythm that matched Ally’s pulse. Karly was immediately snatched up by a young man with a pierced upper lip and dissolved into the mass of dancers. Ally raised her arms over her head and lost herself to the graveled voice of the lead singer and the demonic counter melody of the bass player. Buffeted on all sides by strangers, it was easy to forget all of her worries and concentrate on the music.

  As Ally left for the dance floor, an unfamiliar stabbing sensation caused Jack to raise a hand to rub his chest. The sensation, although distracting, wasn’t altogether unpleasant. It was more akin to the adrenalin rush he felt right before bungee jumping or skydiving — as if something exhilarating and beyond his control was about to happen. It had happened once before when he’d met Ally outside her building to take her to the lake. The moment she had stepped out of those revolving doors and her green eyes landed on him as he waited by the sidewalk, his heart had leaped into his throat.

  “You’re worse than a freaking teenager,” Randy grumbled, shoving him aside to reach the cash register. “You haven’t stopped smiling for the last hour.”

  “Bite me,” Jack replied. With monumental effort, he tore his eyes away from Ally’s ass and back to the business of serving drinks.

  “Seriously, dude. What are you doing? You’ve been sniffing after that chick like a dog in heat. You either need to hit or quit it ‘cause I can’t take it any longer.” Randy held a pitcher underneath the margarita machine. When nothing happened, he slapped it with the palm of his hand and cursed.

  “Yeah, well...” Jack’s voice trailed off. “What can I say, man? She fascinates me.”

  “Obviously.” Randy rolled his eyes then pounded on the top of the machine in frustration. “I’m not against it. It’s just weird seeing you fall all over yourself for a piece of ass. I hate this machine.”

  “You’ve got to hit it on the side above the logo like this,” Jack said with a scowl as he smacked the machine with the flat of his hand. It groaned and sputtered then began to dispense slushy liquid with a deafening roar. “As much as this thing cost, you’d think it would work better than this. And she’s not just a piece of ass. She’s...complicated.”

  Randy handed the pitcher to Tasha, the waitress, and turned around to face Jack. With his arms folded across his chest, he regarded his boss with open curiosity. “Complicated? Really? You must have some kind of death wish. After Chelsea, I would’ve thought you were done with complicated.”

  “Chelsea’s not complicated — she’s psycho. Ally is...” Jack paused long enough to place another pitcher underneath the machine which refused to shut off once it had started. “I just can’t figure her out. There’s so much going on inside that head of hers.”

  Two girls, dressed in hooker boots and mini-skirts, shoved their way up to the bar and beamed at Jack. Oblivious, he moved away to serve another round to Tinker and Vinnie. The girls scowled with disappointment, but brightened as Randy stepped up to take their orders.

  Tasha was the newest addition to the Felony staff. Dressed in torn fishnets and platform leather booths, she was a perfect fit with the crazy atmosphere and her no-nonsense attitude kept the patrons in line. She had been waiting patiently for her next order throughout this conversation, but after a few minutes, slammed her serving tray onto the counter, and walked around the bar to retrieve two canned beers from the cooler. With exaggerated motions, she placed the beer cans on the tray. “Men are such idiots,” she said with a scowl. With a shake of her pigtails, she picked up the tray again and made her way out to the floor.

  “I think I’m in love,” Randy said with a sigh, his eyes following Tasha’s lithe form as she glided away.

  “Don’t screw the help,” Jack replied with a stern glare.

  “Why not? You always do.”

  “And I was stupid for doing it,” Jack replied. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. Besides, Tasha’s pretty good and she might actually stay if you keep your hands off of her.”

  “But...”

  “No,” Jack repeated. “There are a hundred girls here who don’t work for us. Pick one of them.”

  Out on the dance floor, Ally felt the stress of the work week fade. One song melted into another as she swayed and bounced with the crowd. The heat from all those bodies built until beads of sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. Pleasantly inebriated, she danced with a pair of guys rocking shaved heads until she felt a pair of hands on her hips. She whirled to find Jack behind her, his dark eyes serious. As if by some silent understanding, the skinhead twins melted back into the throng of bodies. Jack pulled her close. Despite his height, he moved with the sinewy grace of a professional dancer. When she turned away and shot a saucy glance
at him over her shoulder, he pulled her back against his chest. With his hands on her hips, he molder against her until she felt every hard muscled inch of his torso from shoulder to thigh. She put her hands on his thighs, holding him close to her, moving with him in a sexual grind that made her body tingle with anticipation. When she raised her arms and buried her hands in his hair, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her neck.

  The man could move — really move — in a way that made all the women watch with open mouths and their boyfriends scowl in disapproval. With his hands holding her hips to his pelvis, rolling and grinding against her, it was all too easy for her thoughts to drift towards sex. Jack appeared oblivious to everything but Ally. They danced until she was hot and breathless. The filmy material of her dress clung to the perspiration on her body. When she thought her knees might give out from exhaustion, Jack grabbed her by the hand and pulled her toward the bar.

  “Jesus, it’s hot out there,” he said when they reached her barstool. “What do you want to drink, baby?”

  “A glass of ice water, please, and a shot of whiskey.” The stifling heat left wisps of hair stuck to her temples. She gathered the straggling locks in one hand and raised them to cool her neck. Jack leaned over to blow softly on her nape. The intimate breeze caused her flesh to pebble and her nipples to harden. Despite the heat, she shivered.

  “Hitting it hard tonight, aren’t you?” With one finger, he pushed back a damp tendril of hair from her temple.