Honestly, I’m not worried about her or her threats. The person following me is another story. I even changed the lot I’ve been parking in when I come to work. I’m hoping it will make me and my truck harder to find, but it also means I have to walk a block further. That was why I was running when I got into the alley tonight. I wasn’t thinking about how much extra time it would add, plus I prefer to be a little early.
The guy from the hall is still there, looking down at his phone as I head toward the dressing room. He ignores me after a quick glance to see who I am and continues playing with his phone.
Once I’m inside the dressing room, I find a place to sit so I can unwrap my feet and put my pants back on. Bunny and Lola are sitting close together and whispering. Considering they are the only two in the room, it must be something personal or important.
I try not to pay them any mind while I slip my flats back on and grab my smaller wings after stowing the larger set high on a shelf.
“Rex is supposed to be here tonight.” Lola darts her eyes to me, but I pretend not to hear them. Who is that, and what kind of name is Rex? Is it short for T-Rex? That almost makes me break my aloof expression. I can just picture a super buff guy with short, stubby arms and a neck so thick, it runs into his shoulders.
I leave them to their discussion and head back out to the floor. The night is still young, and there’s money to be made.
Chapter 3
When I exit the dressing room, back in my street clothes after my third set on stage, Winger is waiting for me. His expression is grim, and I have a feeling he’s about to give me bad news. “Wing?” I ask softly.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he replies. I blink slowly, then nod once. Other than the crap with Stormy, I had a good night. Tips were great, and the crowd wasn’t too rowdy. What the heck could be wrong?
He leads me to the back door and shoves it open. I follow him out, not the least bit worried about him taking me outside the club. Winger has walked me to my car more times than I can count, but something just feels different tonight. His steps never slow as he makes his way down the alley, though his shoulders are a little hunched from the chilly air. I pull up the lapels of my jacket. It’s much colder now than it was when I came in.
When we hit the street, I can’t stand the silence any longer. I open my mouth to tell him I’m parked in another lot, but he’s already heading in that direction, so I bite my tongue. I hiss when I hit the same spot I bit earlier after falling on my butt in the dressing room, but I just pretend I’m shivering from the cold when he looks over at me.
“Is something wrong, Winger?” I finally inquire.
“I need you to take a few days off, Fel.”
My steps falter, and I pause. “Did I do something wrong?”
Winger turns so he’s looking at me. “No, there’s some shit going down over the next few days, and we don’t want you here.”
“We?” I look at his scarred face. I’ve never really thought about how old Winger is. He’s older than me, that’s for sure, but I don’t think he’s quite thirty yet.
He ignores my question. “Fel, you don’t belong in that place on the best of nights. I’m gonna be busy, and Rex… It will be too distracting having you there when I need to be focused on other things.” It’s the second time tonight I’ve heard that name, but what I’m really fixated on is the fact that I won’t have any money coming in.
“Do you know how long?” I start to fidget. “Do I need to find another job?” I’ve always worried that all his watching over me would become too much for him to deal with.
“No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “If you’re strapped for cash, I’ve got you, but don’t go to any of the other clubs, Fel, you gotta promise.”
I ignore his comment about going to other clubs. Honestly, it’s the last thing I want to do anyway. The devil you know, right? “I’m not, not yet. Taxes are due soon, and that’s a big chunk at once, but I have it all saved up. I just won’t have a lot left over after,” I confess. It’s probably the most personal thing I’ve ever shared with him.
“Come on, it’s cold.” He waves me forward, and we continue walking down the block. “No more than a week, two tops.” He peers at me sideways.
“Two weeks? That’s a long time,” I whisper. I’m already going over all the bills in my head and how far behind I’ll be if I don’t have any income for two weeks.
“It might not be that long,” he informs me, sounding apologetic.
I put my hand on Wing’s arm, stopping him. It’s the first time I can remember touching him. “If you’re going to let me go, please tell me. I have—I have responsibilities.” A shadow steps out from the building down the block, and I take a step back, dropping my arm. We’re not exactly in a nice part of Detroit, but I usually feel safe when one of the guys or Wing walks me to my car. Not so much right now though.
“It’s okay, Fel.” Winger’s tone is even. I do a tiny dip of my chin and focus my gaze behind him in an effort to alert him to someone’s presence. Winger doesn’t disappoint. He spins on his heel, his shoulders already puffed out as if he’s expecting a fight.
After a tense two seconds, the shadow steps backwards again, concealing itself within the alcove of the towering building. The tension drains from Winger’s shoulders, and he returns his gaze to me. He’s not worried at all, or he’s really good at hiding it. I’m still hesitant to walk past the spot where the stranger is hidden, but he just resumes his unhurried pace.
“We’re good, Fel,” Winger continues, as if we were never interrupted. My heart’s beating fast. I wonder if that’s the same shadow I think has been following me. Suddenly, two weeks off doesn’t seem so bad. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Winger if he knows who that was. He dismissed it quickly, as if he recognized the man, or did he simply not feel threatened because people know who he is?
I scurry to catch up to him, but I can’t stop looking at the spot where the shadow was. Once we’re close enough where I can see past the darkness, I note the empty space. It makes me question if there was ever anyone there to begin with.
“If you need money” —Winger looks at me sideways— “I’ve got a few small jobs for you to do.”
My stomach hollows out, and I swallow. “What kind of jobs?” I hope I don’t sound judgmental, but there are lines I’m just not willing to cross.
