Grinning, I plate our food and drop into my seat. "Yeah, we're pretty awesome."
IT' S A MADHOUSE TONIGHT , AND I' M ALTERNATING BETWEEN DOING A MENTAL HAPPY DANCE AND worrying that the Fire Marshall might show up.
"Promise me, Shorty, one out, one in from now on. I can't risk getting shut down."
Shorty grins down at me from his impressive seven-foot height, bright white teeth gleaming under the flashing sign at my door. Curves Ahead is my baby, and my baby is a moneymaker.
"Promise, boss. One out, one in. I got your back. Plus, ain't no way I want us getting shut down. I got mouths to feed."
Winking, he turns back to the line outside the door, and I head back in to survey the space. It's packed, bodies pressing, mouths touching ears to be heard over the sensual music. Dancers, up on their platforms, sway and grind with the beat, toeing that line between dancer and stripper with finesse.
Bree waves me over from the bar, looking frazzled. She's been here since day one, painting and sanding, then waitressing, then bartending. She's always been my biggest supporter, chipping in whenever I need a shift covered, even though she has a degree and a great-paying day job. I don't take it for granted. Ever. And if she's frazzled, it's serious.
I weave through the crowd, ducking under the bar flap rather than lifting it. She's on me immediately.
"Two of the taps won't pour. I'm out of Vodka in my well, and the garnishes are nearly gone."
"On it," I assure her, slapping her on the ass. "Flirt with them, distract them from the fact that there's no booze."
She flashes a sultry grin at me, "Baby, I'm always flirting. You know those boys can't resist me." Ponytail swinging against her neck, she Jessica Rabbit walks her way back to her suddenly riveted customers. Chuckling, I head to the back to deal with the supply lines. If the beer's not flowing, neither is the money.
All my staff is in constant motion for the next few hours. I don't take a breath or a moment to rest until the crowd at the bar has dwindled to one deep. As I circle it, I spot Tyler sitting at Bree's end of the bar. She's been dating him for months. He didn't seem that bad at first, but now he's turned into a bit of a possessive ass, and I'm not a fan.
Judging by the tension in Bree's body as she leans over to talk to him, she's not either.
I tap out Robbie, sending him for a break as I take over his well, filling drink orders, flirting with the men and the women, and taking money with one half of my brain. The rest of it is on Bree and Tyler.
Finally, she pushes off the bar and heads my way, lines of frustration etched in her face. "Are you ok if I cut out?"
I scan the crowd, still busy but not packed like it was. "Yeah. I can handle it if you need to go."
She nods, moving to the register to cash out. I slide in next to her, glancing briefly at Tyler. "He seems pissed. Is everything ok?"
She groans. "Yeah. He's just being a bit of an ass. Nothing I can't handle." I clamp my mouth shut, and she laughs. "I know you don't like him. But he has his good moments. Besides, we can't all have billionaire boyfriends."
Scowling, I stick my tongue out at her. "Keep making fun. I'll get him, Bree. The man has to give in, eventually. When he does, I'll make damn sure he never wants to leave."
She laughs and rises to the toe of her sneakers, leaning in to press her forehead against mine. "He would be so lucky to have you. He's a complete fool, Care Bear, and one day, he'll be at your feet begging you to give him a chance." She presses a kiss to my nose and bumps her hip against mine. I get one glimpse of her and Tyler's arguing faces as they leave the club, then she's gone.
CLOSING DOWN THE CLUB IS ACTUALLY ONE OF MY FAVORITE PARTS. I LOVE THE ROUTINE OF CLEANING and restocking, tallying the receipts, and laughing with my staff. Every time I do it, I'm grateful again for what I've built. And yes, really fucking proud.
By the time I pull into my spot at home, my eyes are nearly crossed in exhaustion. I drop my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. It's times like this, when I'm so tired I seriously consider sleeping in my car, that I wonder if I'm making the right choices.
Running the club...well, owning my own business, has been my dream for a long time. It replaced any other dreams I might have had in the years after my parents died. Being a parent is hard. It's painfully hard to be a single parent. And it's devastating trying to parent a grief-stricken sibling while you yourself are grieving.
With a groan, I climb out of the car, slamming the door and leaning against it for a minute. Stupid fucking shoes. I truly do have a love-hate relationship with them. I love the way they make me feel, and my legs are killer in them, but holy fuck do I pay for it at the end of the day.
Lifting one foot, then the other, I pull my shoes off and plant my bare feet on the cold concrete. They'll be filthy by the time I get upstairs, and I don't care. My ears are ringing as I step into the elevator. They always are after a night at the club. The cacophony of voices, glasses, and music, all blend into this low-level hum that echos in my head for hours.
Maybe that's why it takes me so long to realize I hear screams.
And that they're coming from my apartment.
4
CARA
T he bright lights of the Emergency Room make my eyes water. I grip the gurney the paramedics are rolling even tighter, using it to propel me forward. I can't let go. I can't let them take her away from me. My whole body hurts, I'm limping, and I'm pretty sure my feet are bleeding, but none of it matters. Only she does.
