Getting Some (22 page)

Samera

T
he sound of the office door opening has me slamming the college brochure shut.

Reed breezes into the room. “There you are, babe!” he exclaims a little too loudly, and I roll my eyes. Reed has been drinking, something he can’t seem to abstain from when he’s at the club.

He charges around the desk, spins his chair around so that I’m facing him, and smothers my mouth with his. I taste bourbon, his drink of choice.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks. “Why don’t you come onto the club floor?”

“I figured I’d wait for you in here,” I tell him.

Reed’s eyes narrow as he glances over my shoulder. He lifts the college brochure. “What the hell’s this?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” Now he scowls at me. “You planning on going to college?”

“I told you that already, remember? When we got back from Vegas? You said you wanted me to come back and work at the club. I told you I wanted to find something different to do with my life.”

“And
this
is what you’re gonna do? Go to school and do what—become a nurse or something?”

I stand and snatch the brochure from Reed. “I was thinking maybe something artistic. I like dancing, obviously.”

Reed laughs, and I swallow a spate of anger.

“Dancing?” he says, and wraps his arms around my waist. “Baby, you wanna dance—why don’t you go on stage and do what you do best? We can dress you up in a nurse’s outfit if you want. China didn’t show, so I could use you.”

I groan softly. The time might come when I’ll have to do some more stripping, but while I still have some savings, I want to spend my time figuring out a new path for myself.

“Reed, I’m gonna leave.”

“No, no, no.” He tightens his arms, making my escape impossible. “You think I’m not listening to you, but I am. So this is the real me, the new, sensitive me, who’s gonna talk now, okay?”

I don’t say anything, just try to keep my mouth turned so I don’t have to inhale Reed’s foul breath. I’ve never liked it when he drinks, and this is bringing back bad memories.

“You don’t wanna dance, fine. We can run the club together.”

“Huh?”

“Me and you. A team.”

Running the club with Reed is not exactly my idea of career advancement. But I don’t tell him that.

“I’ll run the books, hire the girls. And you…you can train them. Make them into stars.” Reed’s eyes light up. “Great idea, huh?”

“Yeah, great,” I say, but there’s not one ounce of enthusiasm in my voice.

“And I was thinking that maybe I could branch off into porn. Make some really hot, all-girl action videos. I could make you into a star, babe. I wouldn’t mind you eating all that pussy.”

“Okay.” I squirm in Reed’s arms. “I’m tired. I’m gonna head home.”

He pushes his leg between my thighs and urges my legs apart. “Why don’t we fuck? I haven’t tasted your pussy in two friggin’ days. Let’s have a quickie before you leave.”

Reed’s already reaching for the snap on my jeans as he pushes my shirt up and sucks on my nipple. But the knock on the door has him raising his head.

I quickly cover myself and turn around.

Standing at the doorway is Laci, a twenty-two-year-old who’s new to the club. She seems startled to see me and Reed together. But then her eyes narrow.

“Reed?” she says, her tone clipped.

“Hold up, Laci. I’ll come out in a minute, okay?”

She whirls around and disappears.

I look at Reed, and I guess my question is obvious. “No, I haven’t fucked her,” he tells me. “Not that she hasn’t been asking.”

Shaking my head, I twist out of Reed’s arms.

He grabs me by the elbow. “Don’t get pissed. All I want is your pussy. Remember that.”

Each day that passes, I’m wondering more and more why I got back together with Reed. For maybe five days after returning from Vegas, he was the living example of sensitivity, especially after the news of Charles’s suicide. Even when we made love, he was a different person. Slower, gentler, telling me he loved me often.

And I was enjoying it, this new Reed. But then a few days ago, he came home from the club drunk and I saw the old Reed again—the one I don’t like.

I know that if I’m going to be with him, I have to accept who he is. But that night, when he was drunk on bourbon and fucked me like he was some wild animal, I saw exactly where my life with Reed will lead.

And it’s not a place I want to go.

One of these days, I want to have some children, and I don’t want to raise them amid the environment of a strip club, or worse, the porn world.

So Reed being who he is—and yeah, I loved him once—I’m slowly realizing that whether or not he ever cheats on me again, we just don’t gel.

At least not outside the bedroom.

Despite the warm moisture hanging in the air this night, a chill sweeps over me as I step outside. Maybe it’s a bit of melancholy because I’m realizing that Reed and I aren’t meant to be, no matter how much we try to force it.

En route to my black BMW, I dig the keys out of my wallet. I press the keyless remote and the lights on my car flash on.

It’s not until I’m behind the wheel of my car that I notice there’s something on my windshield.

I get out of the car and reach for the piece of paper, assuming it’s a flyer. Flyers stuck under wipers are a commonality outside the club.

But as my fingers close around the paper, I realize that it’s actually an envelope. The chill I felt earlier creeps over me again when I see that the envelope reads “The Venetian.”

Just like the one last week.

Glancing left and right, I try to see if anyone is lurking behind a tree or a bush. I can’t tell, but that doesn’t mean no one is there.

Hurriedly, I slip into my car and this time lock the door. Then I sit there for a good minute before I get the courage to open the envelope’s flap.

The first envelope, one just like this, I found on my doorstep four days after I returned from Las Vegas. But I dismissed it and its seemingly cryptic message:

Now…

I tear into the envelope, figuring that hiding from what it contains isn’t going to change a damn thing. There’s a note inside, typed like the first one was.

Fear sprouts inside me like a seed growing roots. The roots spread, tangle with my nerve endings, wrap themselves around all my major organs.

Holy shit, I
get
it. What the first letter was about. And this, more sinister, one.

Rusty.

Fuck!

My pulse thunders in my ears. I flip the envelope over, search for some kind of clue I previously missed. A postmark. Anything.

But there’s nothing.

“Fuck!” I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Who the hell could have sent me this? And why?

Rusty’s friend, Peter? But that son of a bitch knows that Rusty killed himself.

Unless he didn’t kill himself…

I admit that I haven’t followed up on the story of Rusty’s death. I simply came home from Las Vegas and put him and what happened out of my mind.

The sound of brisk knocking on my passenger window scares the shit out of me. I scream bloody murder until I look out the window and see Reed’s smiling face.

He asks something, but I can’t hear. I roll down my window, my heart thundering in my chest.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks.

“I just, um…had a smoke,” I lie.

“Ah.”

“Why are you out here?” I ask. “Are you leaving?”

Reed shakes his head. “Just wanted to get out of the club for a minute. I figured I’d come out here and have a smoke.”

I nod.

Reed’s gaze falls on my hand. “What’s that?”

“This?” I quickly crumple the note. “Just a flyer.”

Reed nods, but I can’t read his expression. I’m not sure if he believes me, or if he knows I’m lying.

“You okay?” he asks. “You look a little spooked.”

“A little tired, that’s all.”

“Is there any reason you have to head home?”

“Other than to sleep?”

“You can sleep at my place.”

This is true. And I’m suddenly wary of going home alone. “All right,” I tell him. “I’ll head to your place, then.”

Reed grins like he’s won the lottery. “I won’t be too long. I’ll tell Johnny to close up shop for me so I can get out of here in thirty, maybe forty minutes. Then I’m all yours.”

Reed was right. I
am
spooked. So much so that when I reach his town house in midtown, I’m terrified at the thought of getting out of my car and heading to his door. Damn, I wish I’d just waited for him.

Breathing in and out slowly, I try to calm myself.

But it’s really hard to be calm when some shithead who wants to hurt you knows where the fuck you live.

How, God only knows. But then, I don’t really know much about Peter. He could be some kind of investigator. Or he could have hired someone to track me down.

The only thing I’m certain of is that Peter is behind this. I knew when I met him that he was a total creep, and now I’m convinced of that fact.

I don’t think I was followed, but nonetheless, I look all around before even getting out of my car. When my feet hit the ground, I do a serious sprint to Reed’s door. Even though I don’t see or hear anything suspicious, Reed’s key bobs up and down in my trembling hand. I can’t slip the damn thing in the lock.

Shit, I have to get myself together. I can’t let fear take control of me.

I breathe in, breathe out and calmly insert the key into the lock. It turns, and I open the door to Reed’s home.

Once I’m inside, I immediately lock the door.

But I don’t feel safe.

I get the distinct impression that someone is calling my name.

My eyes fly open. It takes a moment for them to focus, and when they do, I see Reed standing over me. My eyes travel from his angry-looking face to his outstretched hand.

Instantly, I shuffle to a sitting position on the bed.

“When were you gonna tell me about this?” Reed demands.

It’s too early for my brain to function at full capacity, but that doesn’t prevent it from registering the fact that Reed has violated my privacy.

“You went through my purse?” I ask, appalled.

“That’s beside the point, Sam.” He tosses the note, now uncrumpled, onto the bed beside me. “What the fuck is this about?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” His voice raises an octave. “Someone’s sent you some kind of threatening note. How does that qualify as nothing?”

“I don’t know why someone sent that to me.” And that’s the truth.

Reed crosses his brawny arms over his chest. “What happened in Las Vegas?”

“Nothing—”

Reed pounces onto the bed, scaring the shit out of me. His arms straddle my body. “Goddamn it, Sam. Don’t tell me nothing. If someone’s threatening my girl, I need to know about it. How am I gonna protect you if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”

“If I tell you what happened, do you promise not to get mad?”

Reed clenches his teeth. “Sure.”

“No, I’m serious. You have to remember, we were broken up when I went to Vegas, so whatever I tell you, you have to be able to deal with. ’Cuz if you can’t, I’ll be out that door so fast.”

Reed is silent as he ponders my words. “All right. Just tell me.”

I draw in a shaky breath. “Remember when you ran into me in the lobby of the Venetian?”

“Yeah. When I touched you, you screamed like you thought I was going to murder you.”

I nod. “You asked me who hurt me, and I didn’t tell you. Because all I wanted to do right then was forget.”

Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. “Someone
did
hurt you.”

“Not just someone. Remember the news about the guy who killed himself? Well, it was him. Him and a friend.”

“What the fuck happened?” Reed asks, his anger barely contained.

So I tell him. And I don’t leave out any of the dirty details.

“You should have told me,” he says when I’m finished my story.

“Why—so you could bust someone’s kneecaps?”

“Yes, damn it.”

“Which is exactly what I didn’t want you to do.” I sigh. “If it makes you feel better, this guy got what he deserved. He
killed
himself.”

“And what about his friend? This Peter guy?”

“It’s over, Reed. I don’t need you trying to be Rambo. I’ve learned my lesson. Trust me, no one is ever gonna be able to do that to me again.”