Page 4 of Tell Me No
Current situation aside, Bombshells looks like a decent place. It has a vintage military theme that I’m sure does well in an area like this. I park up front at the end of a row of bikes and swing my leg over the seat, standing and taking an attempt at a calming breath. It does almost nothing to ease my rage.
Paying the cover, I make my way inside, my eyes already scanning the back bar for her familiar figure. I don’t see her there, but there are at least four bars inside the massive interior. I’m used to my presence commanding attention anywhere I go. I’m a big motherfucker, I’m really hard to miss. But for once, I actually wish I wasn’t. I don’t want her to see me coming.
I hear a familiar melodic laugh to my left, the sound grating across my skin the way it always does whenever she’s anywhere within ten miles of me. I swing my eyes and body in her direction, stopping dead in my tracks when I see her. The spotlights shining behind the bar illuminate her like a fucking angel straight from hell. Her uniform, if you can call it that, is an old school pin-up girl look. The top is cut into a low V and wrapped so tightly around her curvy frame, her tits are basically spilling out. The douche who made her laugh so wholeheartedly is drooling over them right now. I want to rip his fucking eyes out. I wait in the shadows, lurking like a wolf stalking his prey. And I would devour her if I had the fucking chance. I watch her eyes, those crystal blue windows into her soul, so intently. I’m waiting for any sign of discomfort, any single moment of distress, so I can finally have an outlet for the rage burning under my skin.
She doesn’t belong here. Her beautiful smile is proof of that fact. Women in this world are fake and jaded, all silicone and acrylic. Aurora is the purest form of beauty I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her delicate feminine features, so soft and enticing, are such an impossible contrast to her sharp tongue and wit. The ink staining her skin is more beautiful than any real floral arrangement ever created. It’s almost as if she wears them like armor, hoping they’ll protect her from the evils of this world. In some ways, she’s right. A weaker, less confident man would instantly see her edgy exterior and turn the other way.
But I see through her mask, through the front she puts on for the world. I see the fear and anxiety in her features when she’s faced with the unknown. I wish, more than anything, that I could shield her from even feeling that way. But it’s not my place. She’s a child in the body of a goddess. For christ’s sake, she’s not even twenty-one. That thought stops me in my tracks as I think back on every detail I know about Aurora Harding. I check my watch, noting the date.
April 28th. It’s her fucking birthday. And she’s spending it here, in this den of sinners like me.
“Hey, back off,” she says, and I hear it loud and clear above the noise and music blaring all around me. “I mean it, asshole. Hands off!”
I’m pushing through the crowd of people, my eyes locked onto the spot where that asshole has his hand wrapped around her wrist. I look around the bar for any sign of a bouncer coming to her aid. There’s no one in sight. Before I can process what I’m thinking or doing, I’m already behind the fucker who thought tonight would be a good night to lose his life.
Prying his fingers from her skin, I twist his wrist backwards. Serotonin floods my veins as I feel the bones snap in my grasp. The man screams in pain as Aurora’s eyes lock on mine, wide in shock but not fear.
“You,” she whispers, the rest of the bar disappearing.
“Me, princess.”
three
For a moment,just a millisecond, I’m flooded with relief to see Breaker’s face across my bar. But it’s short-lived when I realize he isn’t supposed to know about this place, or my employment here. This isn’t the first time he has come to my rescue. Shit, it isn’t even the second or third. But I’m getting tired of his mood swings. He doesn’t want me. He’s made that crystal fucking clear. But he doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want that son of a bitch touching me. But I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years without his help.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” My voice is shrill and angry once I finally find the words.
He shucks the other man off, pushing him onto the floor without breaking eye contact. The bouncers come over just as he does and look to me for some explanation of what the hell just happened.
“He put his hands on me, Tony.” I say, knowing the man will be barred for life from this bar, and he’ll be lucky a broken wrist is all he gets. Despite what just happened, the security here is very tight. I wouldn’t feel comfortable working here if it wasn’t. Tony, the retired marine who works weeknights here, scoops the man off the floor. Tony is well into his fifties, but still willing to go toe-to-toe with the drunk idiots in here every night. Twisting his already injured arm behind his back, he moves to push him towards the front door.
“I’m sorry, Ror. Katie was dealing with a handsy fucker, too,” he says apologetically.
“It’s ok. I’m fine,” I tell him with a tight smile. Breaker watches our exchange silently, arms crossed over his chest.
“It’s not okay, Aurora.” He grumbles, and I shoot him a slicing look.
“You shut up. You’ve done enough,” I snap back at him. He doesn’t show a single ounce of regret or apology for what he just did. “Bailey, I’m taking 5!” I shout to the other girl behind the bar with me tonight. She gives me a nod and I make my way to the end of the counter, jerking my head towards Breaker for him to follow me. Pulling him into the back hallway, I close the doors that divide this employee’s-only section from the rest of the bar. In such a confined space, his scent assaults me immediately. He smells like sweat and gunpowder, like the sun and the earth all at once. He casually leans against the wall across from me, arms still crossed like he’s impatient and I’m wasting his time. I didn’t fucking ask him to come here and invade my life!
“Go ahead, get your lecture out so I can go home,” he bites back at me, anger burning in his eyes. But there’s something else there. Something I won’t dare put a label on, not willing to further disappoint myself.
“Why are you even here, Jason?! You have no fucking right to barge into my life at every turn and demand things go the way you want them to. This is my fucking JOB!” I’m screaming at him, but I don’t care at this point. “You think just because you come in here swinging big dick, I’m gonna bow out gracefully? No. Wrong bitch.”
“God, your fucking mouth, princess,” he says, smirking as he shakes his head.
“Don’t you smirk at me, you arrogant son of a bitch!” I yell, pointing my finger back at him. Before I can take another breath, he slaps my hand away, grabbing my arm and pining it to the wall behind me. He invades my space, his face only a breath away from mine. Typically, being confined this way would cause instant panic to rise in my gut. I’d be a shriveled mess on the floor if this were anyone else. Instead, my traitorous body leans into his touch. His pupils dilate at my reaction, neither of us willing to look away.
“I didn’t come here for this, Aurora,” his jaw is clenched so tightly I can see the definition of each muscle and tendon.
“Then what did you come here for?” I say, my voice surprisingly soft. The anger I felt moments ago is still there, boiling under the surface. But with the feeling of his hands on me, his body so close to mine I can feel every ridge and peak of solid muscle, the will to fight back against him is slowly fading. Then he says the last thing I could possibly imagine coming out of his gorgeous mouth.
“You. I came here for you.” His voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper. It’s as if he’s not sure he actually said the words out loud. His eyes lock with mine again, fear and panic evident there. He steps back suddenly, dropping my arm like it’s physically painful for him to touch me. I don’t want to feel the sting of his rejection, but I do. It’s like a slap in the face of every man I’ve brushed off since I met Breaker.
I hear the opening notes of Wild Horses by Bishop Briggs play through the speakers on the other side of the doors. This place, this haven for all things unholy, is the only place I’ve felt comfortable dancing in years. I made a deal with the owner when he hired me that I would dance, but not for tips. I don’t take my clothes off for anyone, least of all a drunk bachelor party. But the primal need to dance is written into my DNA. I needed somewhere to channel my creativity and I refuse to step into a studio. So I work here, bartending every weekend and dancing when the urge becomes unbearable. I was so excited to be here tonight, so happy to finally be able to release some tension after a shitty week. I meet Breaker’s eyes across the narrow hallway, keeping as much distance between us as I possibly can.
“Then I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve wasted your time,” I tell him, pushing past him and back into the bar.
I nod to Alex, the club DJ, knowing I’m late for the intro to my set. She effortlessly blends the song into itself to start it over again. I climb the stairs onto the center stage, the dark back beat of my favorite song thrumming through my veins. I’ve already built quite a reputation in the few months I’ve been working here. I don’t strip, but my body moves just as fluidly, just as sensually as any other woman employed here. I feel his eyes on me even though the spot lights make the audience disappear. I block him out, block everyone else in this building out as I step into the center of the stage. The music becomes a part of my soul, moving my body the way it always does. I ignore the whistles and catcalls as my long legs extend and contract, moving on their own accord. Even though I can’t pinpoint him, I feel his gaze tracking every move I make as I set my demons free for the next two and a half minutes. When the music finally dies down, the song coming to an end, I trace my fingers down the deep valley of cleavage my uniform top gives me. I swear I hear his throaty growl above all the other noise. My fingers hover above the single button keeping my breasts from spilling out for everyone to see. I flick the button open at the exact moment the spotlights go dark on me. I’m covered in shadows. No one can see what I may or may not have exposed at the end of my set. A new song starts up and two other dancers distract the patrons so I can exit the stage. But when I look down in front of me, I see him. He’s standing as close to the edge of the stage as he could possibly get without climbing up next to me. His palms are flat on the stage floor in front of me, only inches away from my feet. Rage is written all over his face, his heavy breathing visible even in the dim lighting.
