Page 10 of Johny B

“How long have you been down here?” she asks.

“What time is it?” I glance at my wristwatch. “Three-thirty. Crap. The doors open in thirty minutes. We need to get everything ready.”

“It’s okay, we’ve got it covered.” She assures. “But you might want to take a minute to straighten yourself up. You have drool on your cheek and your hair could do with a bit of attention.”

I run my fingertips over my cheek to find it smooth and dry. I ‘Ha, ha’ at Clara when I find no sign of dampness or dry crusty remnants. She giggles back at me before turning on her heels and going back into the main saloon. However, once I get into Velvet’s bathroom and see my reflection in the mirror, I see she wasn’t joking about the state of my red hair. Several clips that loop up strands of my hair have come loose. I set about rectifying them, so at least I look my usual presentable self by the time Velvet’s doors are open for business.

“I’m sorry,sir. All the girls are taken for the night,” I explain to the drunk, who has just stumbled through the doors into Velvet’s. Tonight, there has been a steady flow of clients, and I do have two girls who will be free within half an hour, but this guy despite still being on his feet, has had a lot of liquor. I’mpretty good at reading people, and this dude has trouble written all over him. He’s not a big guy by any means. In fact, some of my girls would tower over him, even without their heels on, but he’s part of the construction team that’s in town, so I’m sure he has strength behind his small, lean body. On top of that, he has a dark harshness in his glare that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

“I’m not fussy,” he slurs. “I’m not usually into red heads, but you’ll do.”

“That’s not possible. I manage this establishment,” I reply with a level voice. I go to open the door for him to leave, but he’s having nothing of it. He takes a step forward, grabs my wrist and pulls me forcefully towards him.

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of fucking Sheba. You can either take me to a room, or I can fuck you right here.” He sneers, spit dripping from the corner of his mouth.

I yank my arm free, surprisingly without much effort, just as Rush, one of Smoke’s guys, comes through from the lounge with Harmony.

“Everything okay, Scarlett?” Rush asks, stepping up to my side, his eyes rigidly fixed on the guy.

“It will be once you escort this gentleman off the premises.”

“My money is as good as anyone’s,” he grunts. His hand goes into his trouser pocket. Rush immediately tenses, but all he does is throw a wad of twenties in my face. I watch as the notes fall to the floor by my feet, but as I look up, his pants are unzipped and has his junk in his hand. “My cock is, too,” he adds. His hand pumps it, but due to the amount of liquor he’s had, it stays flaccid in his hand. “I need to get laid; I’m not leaving.”

“Then I suggest you go home, sober up and come back tomorrow with a more respectable attitude. Then we’ll be happy to take your money.”

With that, he lunges at me. Both his hands fly to my neck, circling and squeezing. Rush is immediately on him, but in the time it takes for him to gain control, which must only be a matter of a minute or two, my vision blurs, and my head swims at the lack of ability to get air into my lungs. It’s enough to scare the shit out of me.

Rush pulls him off me and pins him up against the wall. With a punch to the gut, the drunk buckles over and slides down the wall until his ass hits the floor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rush growls at him. “Put your junk away. I don’t wanna see it. Now get the fuck out of here.”

“Scarlett.” Harmony immediately comes to me, sliding her arm around my shoulders. Her words are soft and full of concern. “Go up to your place. Rush and I can deal with this.”

“No,” I gasp between sucking in air to clear my head. “I’m fine,”

“No, you’re not,” she replies, rubbing up and down my arms with her hands. It’s then that I realize I’m shaking. “Go sit, have a brandy. We can take care of things until it’s time to lock-up.”

“Okay,” I concede, stepping away from her comfort. I take the steps up to my living quarters. Once at the door, I take a quick glance back down the stairs to see Rush grabbing the guy by the collar and dragging him out of the door. Rush is a good six inches taller than him and at least a hundred pounds heavier—more than capable of throwing out the trash.

Confident that Rush is in control, I step through the door, making sure that the latch has caught before moving over to the cabinet where I keep the liquor. I pull out a glass and pour myself a healthy measure of whiskey. The liquid sloshes about in the glass in my shaking hands, but as the warmth of it passes my lips and tongue and heats its way down to my stomach, the tremors in my body subside.

Chapter

Nine

Scarlett

Thankfully, the room is empty with no sign of JB, so I assume that, once again, he has snuck out under the veil of darkness. No doubt he’s found some chick nearby who’s willing to give him some attention—the probable reason for him immediately hitting the shower on his return last night, to wash away the smell of illicit sex.

Sitting on the couch, I bring my legs up to my side, relaxing into the comfort of the plump cushions, only to be jarred back to my feet at the sound of a high-pitched scream and shouting from downstairs. I can’t make out what’s being said, but my gut tells me it’s not good. I need to find out what the hell is going on.

With my hand on the catch of the door that leads back into the saloon, I twist it open, only to be thrown back with the force of the door being kicked open. My head pivots backwards, and I hit the ground, screaming out in pain. My vision blurs from the impact. I roll, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees so I can get back on my feet. What feels like a boot hits my ass, the pressure forcing me flat to the floor. An even heavier weightcrushes me across my lower back, pinning me down. I look to my side to see a dirty, jean-covered leg, but when I try to look further, a hand grips hold of my hair, pulling my head back to the point of pain.

“Hello, pretty little whore.”

I immediately recognize the voice of the drunk who, but moments ago, had tried to squeeze the living daylights out of me. As he breathes against my ear, the waft of stale cigarettes and liquor assaults my nose. That and the weight of his body pushing mine harder into the floor as he lays over me has me fighting the urge to puke up what little I have in my stomach.

“Thought you could run from me, hide up here in your ivory tower? Well, there’s nothing I like better than a challenge, the chase and, of course, the thrill of getting exactly what I want.”

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