Page 7 of Copper

I sit up straight and tilt her chin up to me. “Lucy, do you know that name?” She bites her lip and looks away, but I catch her face and make her look at me. “Sweetheart, how do you know him?”

“He comes in once or twice a week. Usually during the day when I work.”

My stomach turns and hot anger moves up my spine. “Is he cruel to you?”

She looks away, clearly not comfortable meeting my eyes. “He makes demands of some of the girls. I’ve heard stories.”

An idea hits me. “Lucy, does he ever come in with other men or like to talk while he’s here?”

Chapter 5

Lucy

Ilookawayfromhim because I can’t stand the sad look on his face. At least, I try to avoid his eyes. He gently turns my face back to him. He doesn’t squeeze me or hurt me. It’s a gentle movement, and I could lean into the warmth of his finger on my cheek.

Will my eyes betray me? I can’t tell him that I know exactly who Murphy Beckett is, partially because he’s family. I don’t share DNA with the guy, but he’s Beck’s cousin. Murphy Beckett’s father is Beck’s mother’s brother. Hence, Beck is named after the Beckett side of the family.

I also know Murphy is into a lot of shit. Sex workers. Drugs. Some of it transfers right in Peter’s club. Peter has no idea, of course. It makes me wonder if Murphy has the girls doing other things for him. I see them slide small packages to men as they climb on their laps during a dance.

Even if he wasn’t involved in girls and drugs, I’ve never liked him. Fucker gave me a cheap toaster for our wedding and hit on the minister’s wife.

“Lucy, you need to come clean with me. What do you know?” Aaron asks. I’ve never seen him like this before.

Desperation? Anger?

“I can’t help you,” I say standing up and taking the cash Aaron gave me out of the waistband of my panties. “Here’s your money back. Blow job over. In fact, no blow jobs ever again, Aaron. It’s just too weird.”

I walk away from him, and he grabs my arm with one hand and adjusts his pants with the other as he comes after me. “Lucy, stop!” he begs. “Please talk to me.”

I spin around until we’re inches away from each other. I could lean forward and he’d catch me. My entire being yearns to wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his chest. I know there’s a patch of hair between his pectorals that wasn’t there when we dated, and I want to run my fingers through it to see what it feels like. I could just reach into his shirt and pull on that patch as I tell him all about Beck and Beck’s shitty cousin.

Aaron feels the same way about our proximity. I can tell by the way his forehead scrunches like it does when he’s frustrated. His eyes are black holes of desire but also kind as he looks at me.

Damn him and his kindness. It’s so close to pity and borderline insulting. But after all I’ve been through with an abusive husband, I want it like I crave water on a hot day.

“Help me, Lucy. Help the women Murphy traffics. You know he does it. I can see it in your face. You know he’s taking advantage of them. I want to put him away for it. I’ve been working on it for months, but the guy is like butter on a greased pan, slipping around everything we try to get him on. The feds should be helping us, but they’re not, and I’m not sure why. Help me,” he begs, patting his chest.

His pants are still open at the zipper, and I glance down to his erection. I don’t want to blow him at the club anymore. I want to make love to him. Wrap my legs around him, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and let him curse and moan into my neck. I want it to be at his house because it’s probably clean and I won’t have to worry about sticky floors or used upholstery. I don’t want to wear a G-string and pasties – I want to wear his t-shirt and a pair of his old boxer shorts while we cuddle on his couch with a warm throw blanket thrown over us.

“Lucy,” Aaron says, clapping his hands in front of my face and pulling me out of thoughts of domestic bliss with him. “Help me.”

I turn again and walk to the door. He doesn’t follow this time. I pull on the handle to the stair area, ready to walk downstairs and accept my place on the pole. No more VIP room tonight. I’ll have the DJ turn on some loud tunes, zone out, and dance, gathering the one-dollar bills off the floor. It may be humiliating, but so is sucking my ex-boyfriend’s dick for money.

There’s a soft sigh behind me. “Girls, Lucy.”

I freeze with my hand on the door, and a hot flush moves up my back.

“Some of them are just girls. Not even old enough to be in high school. Girls like Ruby and Pearl will be in just a few short years.”

There’s something in his voice that I’ve never heard from him. He was a senior in high school when he lost the scholarship he wanted. He never shed a tear over it, but his voice was husky then. Worried. Tired.

This is worse, and it fucking kills me. Whatever this weird dance is that we do here, I love this man.

His daughters are beautiful. I only know that because I stalk my high school boyfriend on Facebook like every other red-blooded American woman. His page is marked to private since he’s a cop, but he accepted my friend request back in 2014. Besides the random birthday wish, we never interacted, mostly out of respect for Cynthia. But I’ve seen his daughters. Ruby with shiny green eyes like her dad’s. Pearl with the gap-toothed smile every second-grade girl seems to have. I know when they were born because I cried at the picture of Aaron holding up a squalling Pearl, his hair askew like he’d been up with his wife all night.

I look at the floor and blink back tears. Girls. I can’t let girls get hurt if I can stop it. If I have the power to help Aaron and get Murphy off the street, I can help girls. Even if I help one person or family from that sicko, it’s the right thing to do.

I meet his eyes. They’re wet, and he wipes them, pinching his nose when he’s done.

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