Chapter Eight
Sam
Not bad. I smoothed the skirt and examined my reflection in the mirror. A black lace mini paired with a deep-burgundy bustier. I’d never worn anything like it, but tonight’s festivities called for something a little more dangerous than the usual jeans and Viking logo black tank. A little self-conscious and a lot exposed, when this was all over, Martin better be giving me a damn raise. To combat the drop-off in business due to the Gentleman Stalker, he’d decided to make Fridays theme night. The theme? Gothic hotties.
I fluffed my hair and slipped into the pair of boots I’d worn on Halloween two years ago. The skirt was a little short for my taste and my makeup was heavier than normal. Awesome. I looked like a Gothic hooker. If I managed to get through the shift without breaking an ankle, the night would be a raging success.
Calling in sick had crossed my mind, but other than the fact that I had less than twelve dollars in my bank account and rent was due in two weeks, it was actually good I was working tonight. The busier I stayed, the less chance that my mind would wander. Denial was my best friend. Always had been.
I’d been fine before getting the call from the car place. Cut brakes were not an accident, and that shot my theory to shit, bringing up a ton of other, scarier, possibilities. Last week I’d nearly been run down crossing the street on the way to the library. A few nights ago, there was an attempted mugging on the way out to the car after work. Bad driver. A shitty part of town. An old clunker…
But it wasn’t about an old clunker anymore. It was about brakes.
That had been cut.
My accident hadn’t been an accident.
I pulled the rental car into the lot behind the Viking. The club, housed in the old Kmart warehouse, was wild on its quiet nights. I could only imagine what kind of a crowd Martin’s theme night would bring. Resigned, I slipped in through the back door.
A slender black woman with a thick Southern accent and warm smile slapped the bar and let out a hoot the moment I walked through the door. Virginia Pells—Gin to most people—was a thirty-year-old who looked like she was twenty, acted like she was sixteen, and dated men in their fifties. She was a kind soul who, unlike most of the people working for the Viking, had gone out of her way to befriend me. “Hell musta froze over because look who just walked in five minutes early.” She let out a whistle. “And damn girl, you look hot.”
“I feel ridiculous,” I responded, peeling off my coat. Tossing it on a hook behind the bar, I immediately tugged at the skirt. The damn thing was so short that one wrong move and the entire club would be seeing London and France. “Thought you were off tonight?”
Gin gave an enthusiastic shake of her head. Long bleached-blond dreadlocks whipped back and forth. “And miss this mess? Not a chance, baby. Not a chance.” She backed away from the bar and I got a good look at her. Gin normally went heavy on the eye makeup, but tonight she was rocking a look straight from the movie The Crow. Skintight leather pants and bloodred thigh-high boots paired with a bright-red bra that she’d covered with a black mesh shirt. “So spill. I heard the evil Flynn boy was back in town. Say it ain’t so.”
I rolled my eyes. Christ. Had Aunt Kelly started a phone chain or something? It wasn’t fair that everyone labeled Jax the bad one. Half the things he’d been blamed for when we were younger were Chase’s doing. “He’s not evil. He just has issues with authority.”
Gin winked. “The way I heard it, you both do.”
She had a point. Jax and I had gotten into a lot of hot water when we were younger. Everything from breaking into the high school for a midnight swim, to stealing the Harlow PD sign. I wasn’t as wild as I used to be, but I had my moments.
The buzzer rang to signal that the doors were about to open, thankfully sparing me from further talk about Jax. All he’d done by blowing in and out of town was stir up the muck that lived inside my head and my heart, and the sooner I could put it all behind me, the better.
As the doors opened and the people began filing in, grinding to the already-pumping music and laughing like they hadn’t a care in the world, I decided to let it go. What was done was done and he wasn’t coming back.
There was nothing here worth staying for.
Those were his exact words.
I glanced down at the small digital clock resting on the shelf just beneath the bar. One a.m. and I’d been hit on, spit on, and grabbed, and narrowly avoided being puked on. All in all, it had been an uneventful night as far as shifts at the Viking went. Still though, it’d been a long day and I was ready to crash.
College hadn’t been the right place for me, and I was no closer to figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life than I had been the day I graduated from high school. Now here I was, dressed like an emo version of a sorority girl, slinging brew instead of drinking it. Not exactly how I’d envisioned my first steps into adulthood. On top of all that, I was the target of a brake-cutting, shadow-jumping lunatic who apparently had a hard-on for me. Yeah. So far being a grown-up was awesome.
A glance in both directions told me no one was looking, so I poured myself a shot and downed it fast. At nineteen, I was allowed to work at the bar, but had been warned that if one sip passed my underage lips, my ass was fired.
It was like Gin said. I had an issue with authority. Besides, my nerves were fried.
By one thirty, the club started winding down. Theme night had been a huge success—which sucked. That meant Martin would do it again. Hell, he’d probably try to do it every night. Apparently an excuse to leave the house in a costume trumped a serial killer on the loose.
“I gotta say, Sammy… That is definitely a good look for you.”
I froze and begged myself not to turn. Once I looked into those eyes it would all be over. He’d have me eating out of his hand. Barking like a dog. Purring like a fucking kitten. Dignity would be a thing of the past. Shit… Drink.
I needed another drink.
Back to the bar, shot glass poised at my bottom lip, an inexplicable nervous twitch ran through my body. I tilted the cup back and swallowed, cringing as the liquid burned my throat, then poured another and did the same. With a deep breath, I faced him. “See now, I’d love to say this is a good surprise, but, ya know… You’re kinda like herpes. Totally unwanted.”
“You’re comparing me to an STD?”
I put my elbows on the bar, leaning forward just a bit, then realized what I was doing. OhMyGod, I’d just unintentionally flashed him. Stupid low-cut top. I straightened and pulled the soft material higher. “Yeah. I think so.”
He straightened as well, meeting me a little more than halfway. His gaze traveled over my body, grin appreciative. “I think you have the wrong Flynn. Besides, we both know you’re excited to see me, Samantha.”
Tingles. I got tingles every time he spoke my full name. He always managed to make it sound so sultry. That single word uttered from those perfect lips had the ability to turn me into a pile of goo. He knew it, too. Made sure to drop his voice an octave or two whenever he said it.
He shifted to the right, revealing part of what looked like a black tribal tattoo. The itch to see the rest of it, to know where it ended, was driving me nuts. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t drag my gaze from his arms. His strong, toned arms… “Back for another bucket of puke?”
“I owe you for that.”
“I know.” I pushed off the bar and started wiping down the counters. “How about you run away again. That’ll teach me.”
“Sam,” Martin slammed a hand down against the bar to get my attention. “Start restocking. Gillian can watch things here.”