Tiffany Snow - Out of Turn

They were cute and funny and I flirted shamelessly as I delivered their drinks. Working for tips required its own kind of skill. I used to be friendly but kept my distance. Then a stripper I’d met a few months ago had given me some good advice.

You’ve got assets. Use them to your advantage. Men are fools for a nice set of boobs.

I’d taken it to heart and my tips had improved. Even though the uniform Romeo made us wear irritated me, it showed off an impressive display of cleavage. And judging by the college boys’ lingering stares as they got more inebriated, it worked. If I was lucky, I’d get twenty bucks off that table tonight, maybe more if they got drunk enough.

Scott and I had a good rhythm when we worked together, and he was fun. He teased me mercilessly, making me laugh. I could almost push the whole incident with the man Blane had hired to the back of my mind.

But not completely, which was why I didn’t turn them down when the college guys wanted me to do a round of shots with them. Business was slowing as one o’clock neared, so I didn’t feel guilty leaving Scott behind the bar while I hung out with the table of four, though only two of the guys remained. The others were out on the dance floor with girls they’d picked up.

“So, Kathleen,” one of them said. I thought his name was Bill or Brian, something with a B. “You busy after work?” He’d slung his arm around my waist as I stood next to their high-top table.

I tipped back the shot in my hand, the whiskey burning a fiery path down my throat to my belly, and tried to concentrate on what he’d said.

“Sorry,” I replied. “Gotta get home tonight. Maybe some other time.” I smiled to soften the rejection. Just because I wanted to relieve them of some of their cash didn’t mean I wanted a date, even if he was a good-looking guy.

“We could have a real good time,” he insisted. His hand drifted down to my ass.

“Just the three of us,” the other guy chimed in. I wanted to say his name was Trey.

I looked at him in surprise and he laughed. “Betcha never done that before, right?”

If I’d expected Bill/Brian to object, I was disappointed. He seemed all for the idea. He’d gripped my waist and tugged me back between his thighs so I faced Trey, who’d scooted his stool closer.

“You’re fuckin’ hot, Kathleen,” Bill/Brian said in my ear. “We’ll take good care of you. Don’t you worry.”

I swallowed hard, trying to fight the rising panic in my chest just as Trey leaned over and kissed me. My hands automatically came up to push him away, but they were caught and held by the guy behind me.

Well, fuck. There goes my tip, I thought sourly.

I jerked my head back hard, cracking Bill/Brian in the face. He yelped and let me go. Now free, I hurriedly slipped out from between the two men.

“I’m not into that,” I said calmly from a couple feet away. Bill/Brian was cupping his nose with his hand.

Trey spoke first. “Sorry there, Kathleen. We meant no harm.”

I eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere, for a drunk guy.

“Yeah, sorry,” Bill/Brian said, his voice muffled from behind his hand. “The way you were acting… Well, we obviously got the wrong idea there.”

I nodded and headed back to the bar. So I was such an obviously easy lay that a couple of college guys assumed I would be into a threesome one-night stand?

I poured myself a drink.

“Those guys get out of hand?” Scott asked, sidling up next to me.

I shook my head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He nodded wordlessly and moved away, Tish handing him an order to fill.

By the time I’d restocked the bar and had begun cleanup, the table of guys had gone. They left me fifty bucks, which I supposed was their way of saying sorry. Whatever. It was much more than I thought I’d get after nailing that guy in the face.

Scott and Tish left after I assured them I’d close up.

“You sure?” Tish asked as she grabbed her purse.

“No worries,” I said. “See you Monday.”

When I was alone, I locked the front door and turned off all the lights but the ones that shone directly down on the bar. I was keyed up, despite the drinks I’d had. The incident with the college guys bothered me and I still couldn’t get Blane out of my head.

Maybe I should’ve gone home with Trey and Bill. Or Brian. Or whatever his name had been.

With a sigh, I eased myself onto a barstool and took a swig of the beer I’d grabbed. I rested my head in my hand, my elbow braced on the bar. My other hand toyed with the beer bottle. I wasn’t in a hurry to get home.

Jeff, the cook at The Drop, had made me a hamburger earlier, and glowered at me until I’d taken a few bites. Jeff was ex-Army, bald, and had tattoos up and down his arms. Romeo was terrified of him, though Jeff had always been nice to me. He was a man of few words, content to cook and smoke his cigarettes, usually at the same time. He’d taken a particular interest in making me eat lately, which was sweet of him.

I was lucky, I told myself. I had great friends who cared about me. And I was being cruel to them by making them worry. I just needed to get over it already. People broke up, got divorced, or died all the time. I was not the first to experience heartbreak.

A prickling on the back of my neck had me looking over my shoulder at the expanse of windows lining the walls. I couldn’t see out, could see only my reflection in the opaque glass as it reflected the dim light from the bar.

Dismissing the sensation, I finished off the beer and tossed the bottle. Time to go home.

The streets were quiet and empty at this hour. I walked slowly to my car. I loved summer nights, when the heat of the day had passed and the warm darkness was like a welcoming blanket. It had rained earlier, leaving the air smelling fresh and clean. The moon peeked from behind clouds that were clearing out and I paused to look at it. Bright and full, it was a good reminder that life goes on, that each day would get just a tiny bit easier until one day I’d wake up and not think about Blane at all.

My keys slipped out of my lax fingers, hitting the ground with the clink of metal against concrete. I grumbled a curse at my clumsiness and bent down to grab them.

A gunshot shattered the silence, making me cry out in alarm. The glass of the car window exploded above me and I instinctively crouched down, covering my head with my arms as the shards rained on me.

I scrabbled in my purse, adrenaline flooding my veins. But I hadn’t yet taken my gun out when I heard the sound of gunfire again, except it was coming from another direction. Someone was shooting back, and it wasn’t me.

Tires squealed and there were more gunshots. I stayed down, not wanting to get in the crossfire of whatever I’d managed to land in the middle of. Gangs maybe, who knew? Just my luck, though.

It was quiet again, save for the pounding of the blood in my ears. I gradually uncovered my head. A tickle on my face had me swiping my cheek, my hand coming away bloody. A piece of glass must have cut me. Great.

My knees were scraped from the concrete and I winced as I got to my feet. At least it appeared the shooters were gone. I glanced around to be sure, wondering if I should call the cops, then the breath left my lungs in a rush.

A man had stepped out of the shadows and stood mere feet from me, a gun in the hand at his side.

I swallowed hard, before saying, “So, I guess you were just in the neighborhood.”

Blane Kirk stepped out of the shadows and my heart stuttered in my chest.

It felt like something out of a dream, to see him again, this close to me. I was nearly light-headed from the suddenness of his appearance, but my stomach felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.

“I was ‘in the neighborhood’ because you sent my bodyguard packing,” he said. Blane’s tone was flat, completely devoid of emotion, the same as his face.

The sound of his voice after three months sent a stab of bittersweet pain through me. How many nights had I stared at my phone, wanting it to ring, for it to be him on the other end? It took everything I had not to show the pain I was feeling, though I couldn’t help pressing my arm against my abdomen to try and quiet my stomach. My insides churned with nausea and I absolutely refused to throw up in front of Blane. I’d choke on it first.

“I don’t want or need a bodyguard,” I bit out. “Especially from you.”

“So you’d rather have gotten shot tonight?” he retorted, and I could hear anger now in his voice.

“I can take care of myself,” I said stiffly. “What the hell do you care anyway?” The question came out more as an accusation and I couldn’t help but hold my breath as I waited for his answer.

“The papers would have a field day if my ex-fiancée was killed on the streets of Indianapolis.”

I choked on air, my lungs refusing to cooperate. Just when I thought Blane couldn’t hurt me any more than he already had, he had to go and prove me wrong. I lashed out, unable to resist the instinct to hurt him back.

“I’m surprised you sent another bodyguard,” I sneered. “Especially since I screwed the last one.”

I was referring to Kade, his half brother, that Blane had forced to guard me several months ago. The same brother Blane had accused me of having an affair with. It had been a lie, of course, but Blane hadn’t believed me when I’d told him the truth.

The silence between us was thick enough to drown in.

“Kade denied that you’d slept together.” His voice was cold steel, slicing through the night.

“Oh well, that’s a relief,” I shot back, my sarcasm thick. “Good to know we have our stories straight.” Blane still wanted to believe I’d had sex with Kade even after we’d both denied it? Fine with me. He could believe in chubby flying babies with bows and arrows, for all I cared.

My stomach was still churning, anger and pain both burning like acid in my gut. My head was telling me to go, to get as far away from Blane as I could. But my feet wouldn’t obey. Rooted to the spot, I drank Blane in. Well over six feet, he towered over me when he was close, which wasn’t the case right now. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, the cotton stretched tightly over the muscles of his chest and shoulders.

The tickle on my cheek distracted me and I swiped at the blood oozing down the side of my face.

“You’re hurt.” He moved toward me, shoving the gun he held into the back of his jeans.

I threw up a hand to ward him off, hurriedly retreating until my back hit my car. “Don’t you dare come any closer,” I warned. “I don’t want your help.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, though he’d stopped a couple of feet from me. Still too close, but at least he hadn’t touched me. If he did, I was sure I’d fall apart.

“I’m fine.” It was a phrase I’d said often in the past few months. I was pretty good at it. Sometimes I almost believed it myself.

Blane’s lips pressed in a thin line as he looked at me, his eyes unfathomable in the darkness.

“I believe you didn’t sleep with Kade,” he said, the words seeming forced from his mouth.

“I don’t care what you believe,” I hissed, rage spiking hard in me. All the anger and bitterness I’d kept bottled up for the past few months now boiled to the surface. “Is that why you’re here? Your conscience bothering you? Oh wait, I forgot—you don’t have one.”

“I’m here because William Gage is out of prison.”

That gave me pause. William James Gage Sr. had been sent to jail months before, accessory to murder and attempted murder being among the many charges against him. The “attempted” part was when he’d tried to have me killed. If not for Blane, he’d have succeeded.

“How could he possibly have gotten out of jail?” I asked. It seemed incomprehensible to me.

“He has cancer. The doctors give him weeks to live, if that. Friends in high places pulled some strings so he could die outside of prison. He’s on house arrest, though, and can’t leave the premises.”

“And you’re telling me this why?”

Blane hesitated and I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Gage blames you for ending up in prison, the loss of his business, his reputation.”

“That’s insane,” I snapped. “He’s the criminal, not me. He just got caught.”

“Yes, he is insane,” Blane agreed. “And he hates you. I think he’s going to try and have you killed. The shooting tonight was possibly his first attempt.”