Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

  “About time, sweetheart. I was getting so thirsty, my tongue had gone dry. Wanna feel?” one especially slurry douchenozzle shouted over the pulsing rhythms of Rihanna.

  His equally fuck nut friend looked me up and down, licking his chops. “Aw, Kenneth. She looks like the type that would know how to wet it for you. Aren’t you, darlin’?”

  I ignored it. They wanted me to react. It would have served as entertainment for them. Instead, I simply distributed their beers, a tight, manufactured smile on my face. As I was leaning forward to place a bottle in front one of the morons, I felt a hand sneak up my bare thigh. Instantly, I flinched, and the bottle slipped out of my hand and toppled over onto the table, its foamy contents splashing onto the lap of the jerk off who had called me Darlin’ in that mocking, southern drawl.

  “Fucking hell! Watch it!”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, trying to bite back a smile, as I sopped up the mess with the extra napkins stuffed in my apron. “Here. Let me go get a towel.”

  I took my sweet ass time getting back to them, even taking a detour to check on my other tables. When I arrived, I could feel the drunken agitation in their stares, crawling all over me with a mix of both hate and lust. They hated me because I had purposely made them wait, and they knew it. Yet, that did nothing to cloud their lust.

  “Took you long enough,” Mr. Wet Crotch snapped, snatching the towel from me to dry his soiled pants. I couldn’t contain my sly grin. It was hard enough to keep from laughing in his sour-pussed face. He would have been handsome if it weren’t for his personality and the fact that he was rotten to his core. I could tell he was one of those men that felt he was superior to everyone, and a person’s worth was determined by their paycheck. So to him, I was nothing, not even worth the simplest of courtesies.

  “Something funny?” he grumbled. His words were icy daggers, but his eyes still took me in and devoured me like the sweetest sin. He was drunk, but not drunk enough not to know what he was doing, which was trying to intentionally make me uncomfortable. Men like him thrived on the fear and discord of others.

  “Not at all,” I answered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye as I worked to dry the table.

  “No. You do. You think ruining a four hundred dollar suit is funny, don’t you?”

  “No. I find it hilarious that you feel the need to tell me how much that ugly ass suit costs. Do you carry the receipt around with you?” I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop the next words from leaving my tongue. I was possessed by anger at his arrogance and annoyance at being mentally undressed as he tried to chastise me like an errant child. I had no problem with assholes. But the pretentious, entitled ones? I had a zero tolerance policy when it came to that specific brand.

  His boys cracked up at his expense, and he was less than thrilled at being the butt of my joke. Something told me that he had been the butt of many jokes with that attitude, mostly behind his back.

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you? You think you’re a fucking comedian.” He turned to the guy next to him and gave him a nudge. “Hey, Kenny, would you look at that? Standup comedy with our lap dances. The bitches here are multi-talented.”

  I flinched at the derogatory name, not because I had never been called a bitch before, and not because I didn’t believe I was one. But because this fucker did not earn the right—the privilege—of calling me that. He didn’t know shit about me. And truth be told, he hadn’t seen the bitch in me. Not yet.

  “Multi-talented, yes. Bitches, no. But considering your IQ would seem to match your dick size,” I gestured at his beer-soaked crotch, “I can see how that would be hard for you to discern. Don’t worry. I’ll color you a nice picture later so you can understand. Ok, sweetie?”

  Raucous laughter, accompanied by a few knee slaps, shook the small, rickety table where they sat. I knew I was playing with fire; this guy was about to blow a gasket. But it felt to good to let off a little steam. I had plenty of it, and I was just getting started.

  “You have a smart mouth. A pretty, smart, disrespectful mouth. But you look like you need something to fill it. I’d be happy to shut you up, darlin.’”

  “No, thanks. I just ate. But I’ll let you know if I need a toothpick.”

  Satisfied, I spun around to get back to my other more amenable customers, when a hand shot out and gripped my wrist, spinning me around. “No so fast. You gave me the comedy bit. Now I want the rest.” He tried to pull me into his lap, his rough grip tightening around my wrist, his nails cutting into my skin. His other hand grabbed hold of my waist.

  I struggled, telling him to back the fuck off, but before I could align myself with his balls and crush them like grapes with my knee, I was being tugged out of his grasp and whipped behind a steel-hard back and iron shoulders. And then there was the crunch of bone grating against bone and the wet slice of flesh. I smelled blood immediately, but it didn’t freak me out. Even aside from being a CNA, I’d seen Tiny crack many a skull during my short time here. Naked chicks and liquor seemed to bring the worst out in people.

  But this was not Tiny. I knew it the minute he touched me and electric fire shot up my arm, leaving a lasting burn that settled deep within tissue and muscle, quietly kindling. The man in front of me was undoubtedly muscular and broad, although a bit shorter. And he wasn’t bald with piercings up and down his ear lobes. And, instead of Tiny’s usual tight tee, he wore a grey suit, much like the one I had seen earlier today.

  “Hands off, motherfucker,” Dom seethed, the ire in his voice pretty damn scary. Scarier than I had ever heard it. I thought I had seen him angry; I thought I had felt the brunt of his wrath. I was wrong.

  “Easy, now,” one of the jackholes—Kenny, his friend called him—said, his palms up in surrender. “Hey, Dom, you know me. This was just a misunderstanding.”

  “The only misunderstanding I see is your punk-ass friend not understanding what the word No means.” He bent in closer to the man that was now sprawled out in his seat, blood gushing from his nose. “Touch her, or anyone else in this club again, and you’ll be choking on your own fucking teeth. Do you understand that? Is that easy enough for you to comprehend?”

  But the asshole wasn’t done. Instead of apologizing or merely staying silent to keep blood from dripping inside his mouth, he spewed, “Fuck you, man! Do you know who the fuck I am? You couldn’t even shine my shoes, you fucking wet back!”

  Oh shit.

  Did he just . . . ? No, he did not just go there.

  Pressed against his back, I could feel every tight tendon prepare to strike. But just as Dom launched his body at that sick fuck, Tiny was knocking me out of the way and pulling him back. I bumped into a cute blonde in head-to-toe pink, who looked just as vicious and ready to brawl as Dom. She didn’t even register me or my stumble, just kept spitting insults and threats, her small fists balled in front of her. I should’ve known she’d be with him. She didn’t recognize me, thank God. She looked different from the last time I saw her, but that wasn’t saying much. I did too. Angel had always been scrappy, and I was positive that if it came to (more) blows, she would be fighting right along beside him.

  Tiny somehow got Dom out of the bar—kicking and screaming for him to let him go, no doubt—and me and the blonde followed closely behind them.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Sal, the general manager, shouted as we burst through the front entrance doors. The sun was setting, casting a warm amber haze on everything around us. I’d always loved the effect—nature’s sepia through the lens of the heart. But right now, I couldn’t afford to enjoy. Not when chaos clouded the splendor of the sky.

  Everyone answered at once, Dom telling him that I was being harassed, his blonde companion coming to his defense, Tiny telling what little he saw—Dom attacking the prick, and me trying to give my account. It was a clusterfuck of epic proportions, only made worse when Cherri came rushing out, dramatic as ever, scurrying to Dom’s side.

  “Oh my
God, I came as soon as I heard,” she trilled, cradling his face in her hands. “What happened, baby?”

  At that point, I just shut up. There was no mistaking that there was something intimate between Dom and Cherri. Baby? And not even the usual connotation she used for customers. She really meant it. She really felt it.

  How vast was this dude’s stable? I didn’t know, but I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t be a part of it.

  “All right, enough!” Sal demanded, silencing the fray. He turned to Dominic and leveled his stare with him, scrubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Dom, I want you to tell me why you just attacked a customer without provocation. And make it fast.”

  He told Sal about walking into the club with Angel. They had just come through the doors when that asshole caught a case of butthurt, and decided to grab me. He damn near flew to the other end of the club to get to me and rip me out of that jerk’s grasp. And that was it. Just one punch to get him off me, and a warning not to try that shit again.

  Sal’s face softened with understanding as he listened, but by the end of the story, he was heated again. He turned to Tiny, and I swear that beast of a man was reduced to three feet by the Joe Pesci doppleganger. “And where the hell were you, while some animal was feeling up one of our girls?”

  “Uh, um . . . bathroom, sir.” Was I seeing this right? Tiny was . . . scared? I guess the rumors were true about how well-connected Sal’s family was.

  “Bathroom, huh?” He shook his head and heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Dom. I owe you one. Rest assured, that asshole will be dealt with,” he said, extending a hand to shake his hand. Then he turned his hard, squinty stare on Tiny. “We’ll deal with this. For now, come with me, so I can clean up this steaming pile of shit.”

  The second Tiny and Sal were gone, Cherri was fused to Dom like the front of his suit was lined with fly tape. “Oh my God, did he hurt you at all? Are you ok?”

  He wore something that could only be defined as a cringe-smile. “I’m fine. Raven is the one you should be worried about.”

  When his gaze touched me, the discomfort in his expression receded, and he looked almost . . . fearful. Not of me, but maybe for me. I don’t know what I read in those hazel-green eyes, but it touched me.

  I lived in that moment for only a breath before Cherri was looking me up and down, sucking her teeth in disdain. “She looks okay to me. That guy probably did her a favor,” she scoffed, turning her attention back to Dom. “Why are you and Angel here? Looking for me?” The lust in her gaze was so blatant, I thought the poor boy’s clothes would melt off under her stare.

  He nodded before looking over at Angel, who gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Actually, yes. We need to talk.”

  Then all eyes were on me, watching, waiting expectantly. That was my cue to get back inside and leave them alone. That was the evidence I needed to remind me that I wasn’t wanted. He hadn’t come to see me. He had come to see Cherri.

  “Thanks . . . for that,” I mumbled before turning toward the entrance doors. They were only a few yards away, but they seemed like miles. I couldn’t escape fast enough.

  “Hey Raven,” I heard Dom call out behind me.

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder tentatively. “Yeah?”

  A good five seconds ticked by as I watched him struggle with his words. “Be careful.”

  Something told me that those two words meant more to him than I would ever truly know.

  I FLEXED MY BRUISED knuckles for the 80th time today, not only to work out the soreness caused by my fist crushing that sick fuck’s nasal cavity, but to ensure I didn’t forget the horror I felt when I saw Raven fighting him off her. In my mind, time stood still, locked in a frozen cesspool of disgust and dread. But in reality, it all happened before my brain even had time to process it. I just reacted. And while it brought the foulest of feelings right to the surface, I was glad I was there. God only knows what would have happened if I hadn’t been there.

  Work was torturous, my only reprieve provided by Toby’s arrival after his tutoring session. We played an oldie but goodie: Connect Four. He really seemed to enjoy board games, so I had made it a point to pick up some new ones, sticking to the ones that didn’t require verbal communication. I never wanted him to feel alienated by his muteness. He had his reasons for not talking, and putting him in a position that made him feel cornered, would only further isolate him.

  Today, I asked about school and shared my favorite movies with him. He listened, nodded, and even smiled at one point. Surprisingly, he picked up his pencil and pad and listed all the movies he hadn’t seen, but wanted to.

  “Oh, man. You haven’t seen Rocky?”

  He shook his head and shrugged.

  “We might have to fix that. Rocky is a bonafide classic!” I went on to quote one of my favorite parts animatedly. “Aaaaadriiiiiaaaaan! Rocky!”

  That time, Toby almost laughed. I could see he wanted to, but it was almost as if he had forgotten how. My heart sank. This kid—this little boy—probably hadn’t laughed in so long, that it had become foreign to him. No child deserves that. No one should have to live in the prison of their despair. Even inmates received time in the sunlight.

  I wanted to ask him if his sister was okay, but I figured she hadn’t told him what had happened. I wasn’t naïve to the fact that Raven probably had guys groping her left and right. It still didn’t make it any easier to witness.

  When 5pm rolled around, Toby gathered his things and began making his way to the door.

  “Hey, shouldn’t you wait for your sister?”

  He shook his head, and leaned over to scribble, “She told me to meet her in the front.”

  I frowned and he added, “It’s fine. Must mean she’s starting to trust both of us.”

  I thought about that. Yeah. Maybe. Maybe her reasons for coming inside last week was to ensure he was in good hands, which is what any decent guardian would do. I was happy to earn her trust, but I had been looking forward to seeing her. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t afraid of me. Yeah, I had gotten a bit intense last night, and I didn’t take acts of violence lightly. Or maybe she was angry. Maybe that man’s hands were welcome on her body, and I had screwed things up for her.

  I walked Toby to the door and kept a safe distance away, as I watched him jump into his sister’s beat-up Camaro. She ruffled his hair and smiled at him, the gesture so completely unguarded . . . warm even. I had never seen her like that and, if possible, she seemed even more beautiful to me—ugly scrubs, messy hair and all.

  After they disappeared down the road and out of my sight, I suddenly felt lonely. I knew they didn’t have much, but they had each other. They were a family. And no amount of raunchy hook ups would ever compare to that bond. That was why I had gone to The Pink Kitty last night—to break things off with Cherri. But first I apologized for kicking her out the morning after our romp with Alyssa. I hated when people were upset with me. I couldn’t help it. Hurting people unintentionally was something I could never learn to be passive about, especially towards women. It was like something inside me didn’t just want to please people, it wanted people to love me. It was ridiculous, but it was true. And if I didn’t make things right, the guilt would drown me.

  Like most evenings, I headed to Dive for a few beers before heading home. I scanned the Happy Hour crowd in hopes of seeing Alyssa—she also deserved an apology—but she wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never showed her face again. And that was shitty, considering it was because of me.

  “Well, if it isn’t the stripper vigilante,” CJ started in as soon as I grabbed my spot at the bar. “So do you apprehend people with garters and blind them with glitter glue? Is your costume a bedazzled thong and nipple tassel launchers?”

  “Ha Ha. Hilarious.” Angel and her big mouth. I was more than thankful when Blaine came over with an ice-cold beer for me without me even having to ask.

  “You know I’m just screwin’
with ya, man,” CJ laughed, slapping me on the back. “More than anything, I’m pissed you didn’t invite us along!”

  “Keep me out of it,” Blaine commented. “Strip clubs are the last place I need to be.”

  I raised my beer in salute, giving Blaine the respect he deserved. He was a good guy through and through.

  “Shit, that’s the first place I need to be! Better than hanging out with lame fuckers all the time. Maybe we should make Ladies Night clothing optional. Even do like an amateur stripper contest. Boy, this place would make a damn killing!”

  Blaine looked at his cousin like he had the word MORON stamped on his forehead. “Yeah. Let me just run that by Kami.”

  “Run what by Kami?”

  Speak of the devil, Kami appeared from out of the crowd, followed by Angel, the pair stopping to stand beside us. Kam waited expectantly, her green eyes darting to our guilt-ridden faces.

  “Uh . . . um,” Blaine stammered.

  “Blaine wanted to ask you if we could do an amateur stripper night and make Ladies Night clothing optional,” CJ prattled off before anyone had the chance to stop him. That awkward second of silence following his tirade was deafening, everyone completely motionless in mock horror.

  “What?” That one word from Kami’s lips was cool and calm. A contrast to Angel’s, “Oh, hell no!”

  “Wait, I didn’t say that,” Blaine insisted, raising his inked hands. “That was CJ’s dumb ass.”

  CJ was firm in his resolve, and even had the balls to shake his head with the same face of disappointment that both girls wore. “You said you would run it by her. Don’t try to pin that shit on me, dude.”

  I was doubled over in laughter, too overcome with hilarity to intervene and set the record straight. Plus I was kinda enjoying the fact that Mr. Perfect wasn’t looking so perfect right now. I was being petty. Sue me.