Page 5 of Petty's Crime

CHAPTERTWO

Petty

Christ, that woman can sing. I didn’t anticipate being impressed the first time I heard her. I’d expected a sound like the sweet girl next door, or maybe the twang of a country singer. I wasn’t prepared for the raw, husky voice that’s worthy of Janis Joplin. It always surprises me where that comes from, as she doesn’t smoke from what I’ve seen.

Unfortunately, I’m not paid to watch her. My focus has to be on the audience, and in the wings, though, while I’ll never admit it to her face, I actually love it when my surveillance takes in the stage for a moment.

It's the only time I allow myself to look at her, and for those few seconds, I’m as much in a trance as everyone else while she’s strutting her stuff, bellowing out those songs with so much emotion, and moving that body so smoothly and sexily to the beat.

Off the stage, she’s the type of woman who doesn’t appeal to me. I prefer women to be small and curvy. I stand six foot two, and in those killer heels, RoseLyn is almost as tall as me. The whole reason we’re here is that she didn’t give a man a second chance and left him, or tried to, the very first time he hit her. That’s one thing to admire about her.

Despite how she comes across in those dresses, she’s not a feminine woman at all. She knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to say what she means.

Nah, the word feminine can better be applied to that ass of a manager she has. Still, he’s obviously got her best interest at heart, and it didn’t take me long to dismiss him as the one being in league with her ex. Somebody has to be. It’s worrying how her stalker always seems to be one step ahead. Unless it’s an inside job, in that RoseLyn’s planting everything herself, presumably as a cry for attention.

Still, I’m the only hangout who harbours suspicion the stalker might not exist, and not wanting to be caught napping on the job, do my duties as though he’s very real.

On meeting her, RoseLyn definitely doesn’t seem the victim type, and you have to wonder at the balls of the man who’d tried to break her. She works out daily in the gym and has muscles that could put many a man’s to shame—another reason I don’t find her attractive. I like soft whereas she’s all hard. Sometimes I’ve wondered how she was persuaded she needs protection. I’ve seen her hitting a punch bag and have to admire her form.

She’s brash, direct and doesn’t take shit from anyone, including from me—though I wouldn’t tell her, I find that amusing.

If the story about her ex hadn’t checked out, I’d have been disbelieving that RoseLyn had been a victim of abuse. I just know I’m hoping he does exist and tries something on my shift. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him. No man ever hits a woman, whatever the provocation. Even if living with someone like RoseLyn had led him to distraction, he shouldn’t have tried to bring her to heel by using his fists.

My eyes scan the auditorium once more, then I allow them a moment to settle on the stage. I swallow a couple of times at how magnificent she is. It’s lucky that once that makeup’s been removed and she’s transformed back into something else, I can easily forget this weird attraction she holds for me.

Fortunately, I don’t have to like her as I’m not here by choice. I’m only here as my club picked up the contract for providing her with bodyguard services, and oh lucky me, I raised my hand and got picked for the job.

The job I’m supposed to be doing.Dragging my eyes away from the stage, I survey the audience instead. My personal feelings toward her aren’t a consideration. I’m here to keep her safe, and to make sure no one who shouldn’t gets near her.

I’ve voiced my question about whether we’re really looking for her ex or just a run-of-the-mill stalker, or anyone at all, to Prez and my brothers when we’ve discussed this assignment in church. I’m apparently out on the limb for doubting there’s a real threat. But, as Prez said, even if I’m right, we’re making bank while protecting her, and as long as she doesn’t end up dead, it’s all credit to us.

I’m not letting my doubts influence how I protect her, even if it’s against an imaginary danger. If I think I’m wasting my time, I’ll keep that to myself.

If her stalker is her ex, as she’s convinced, I have to wonder why we haven’t found a trace of him. The cops have fuck all, and despite Keys using all his abilities and even leaning on the tech experts at the Utah chapter, we, ourselves, are no further forward. It’s like Saul’s dropped off the face of the earth. I think we’d all be happier if we found him living it up in Alaska or some other distance state.

In the meantime, I’m not certain everything adds up, and there’s still that possibility that RoseLyn is making the whole stalker thing up. Take that card I found on her windshield earlier—she’d only got that rental yesterday. She could have easily put that there herself. Why? Now if I had a concrete answer, maybe it would confirm my doubts. But the only reason I can think of is that it makes her appear more important and exciting than she is. Maybe she gets a kick out of having strong men around her? Perhaps it’s a ploy to get her more noticed in the business. Huh. What do I know about up-and-coming singers? My knowledge could probably be written on the back of a postage stamp. But why should I care? My club gets paid whether the stalker is real or not.

Maybe some people would see the Satan’s Devils getting into security more as a case of the fox knowing how best to guard the hen house, and there’s probably some truth in that. Whatever. When asked whether the club wanted to expand its security business to provide personal protection services, it had seemed a no-brainer. In recent years, our skills in the security arena have been recognised and we’re getting more business as a result. Which means whatever lies at the bottom of RoseLyn’s problems, Prez is convinced this is our steppingstone into getting more close protection work, and therefore, I need to ensure nothing, real or imagined, gets close to her.

Of course, our security business, our previous money winner, is now only secondary to the new main business of the club, having recently become partners in the Lucky Fortunes Casino. But instead of sitting back and relying on one source of income, we’ve agreed diversification is our strength and we’re not going to give up on any of our other endeavours.

Needing to pull my weight, to regain some of the respect I’d lost recently, including having my ass handed to me by Prez in the ring, I’d volunteered to take part in our first foray into bodyguarding, knowing there was no option other than for it to be a success. I also accepted that while there didn’t have to be mutual respect between guard and guardee, it came as a surprise to find I actually disliked the woman I’ve been asked to protect.

A test for certain. A close protection officer should be prepared to step in front of a bullet to save their mark, and while I’d lay down my life for any of my brothers, I’d be hard pressed to want to do it for her. After some soul searching, I’d decided saving her would be an extension of saving my club, and if my life ended up on the line, I’d go easy, knowing it was for them. Our new business venture wouldn’t go far if our first customer ended up dead.

Yeah, I really don’t like her.

But that voice.Listening to her makes me forget her other shortcomings.

Despite my efforts, my eyes are drawn back to the woman who comes to life on the stage. She fucking owns it. She gives every ounce of her energy during her performance, and for that, even I have to admire her. Having escorted her every night back to her dressing room, I know she returns exhausted and drained.

I can’t understand why she’s only a support act, and not the headline of the day, but maybe she’s not everyone’s taste. Some of the fuckers in the audience aren’t even looking her way. It makes me want to shake them and tell them to pay attention. Instead, it’s my own head I shake as I remind myself, I don’t care either way.

Time to do my rounds.Catching his eye, I indicate to one of the casino’s security guards that I’m going to take a stroll and check things out from the ground. He nods back, showing he’ll watch the stage area while I’m away. We’ve been doing this dance for two weeks now, and have it well choreographed.

Angling my way around the tables, I surreptitiously let my eyes rest on the patrons in turn. Some I recognise as having been in before, others are obviously visitors to Vegas, in for some entertainment that doesn’t require losing money at the tables. There are a few guys who seem to be paying RoseLyn particular interest, but if her performance gets me to overlook her shortcomings in all other ways, how can I blame them for enjoying the show she’s putting on? If she wasn’t able to command such attention, she wouldn’t have a job.

I’ve studied pictures of her ex and can tell he’s nowhere around. But I have to stay vigilant just in case it’s not him, but someone else. Not for the first time, I think how identifying a stalker is like looking for a needle in a haystack without having any clues to go on. If he even exists, that is.

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