Corps Security: The Series (6 page)

With a groan, I let her pull me out of bed and set off for the shower.

I have been thoroughly waxed, buffed, shaved, tweaked, and generally molested by beautifying products by the time we hear Greg’s knock on the door. Just in time for him to sit back and enjoy the freak show.

I’m sitting on the living room floor painting my toes and Dee is sitting back on the couch finishing her fingers when I yell at him to come in. I hear the door click open and his heavy steps down the hallway. Looking up, I meet the fierce scowl he is famous for.

“The fuck? What the hell have I told you two about letting just anyone walk into the fucking house?” he growls—yes, growls—at us. If this were anyone other than Greg, I would be sitting in my own piss right now.

“Oh, come on, G. We knew it was you.”

“Oh really? So you can see through fucking wood and steel now? I didn’t realize you picked up fucking super powers. Remind me next fucking time to just have you beam me the hell over. Sure as hell will save on the gas.”

Oops. Guess I didn’t realize big bad protector Greg would be coming out to play.

“Iz, baby girl, I did not put this fancy-ass alarm system in for you to not only never set it when you are home but to leave the door unlocked and basically invite Tom, Dick, and Harry to come over. Do I really need to remind you of the dangers out there?”

If he was trying for the soft and tender route, he missed by a mile there. I instantly shut down, my gaze falling to the floor.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t do that shit, Izzy. Brush it the fuck out of your pretty little head. Just promise me to start locking the door, use the alarm, and for shit’s sake, check the damn door before letting someone in, yeah?”

“Got it. Alarm, lock, and check.” I pick up all my nail products and head off to my room. I have some time to get ready. We aren’t leaving until later tonight. I’ll let Dee deal with keeping the bear happy. “I’m going to take a nap before we leave. Wake me up in a few, Dee,” I call down the hall as I step in my room. I lock the door and shed my clothes before curling into my bed.

It takes me a while to finally fall asleep, but once I do, it is anything but restful. Nightmares of Brandon and dreams of a future lost invade my sleep. When Dee comes to knock on my door around eight o’clock asking me if I want to grab something to eat, it takes me a second to remember where I am and what we’re doing.

“Yeah, let me get some clothes on and I’ll be right down,” I yell through the door, still shaking the dreams from my mind. I get out of bed and grab my robe, setting off to find Dee and Greg.

“Pizza. Sit . . . eat,” Greg says around a mouthful of said pizza.

“Classy, Greg. I wonder why you’re still single.” I laugh over at him.

He levels me with a mocking hard glare that has me laughing harder.

We eat in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. When it comes time to get dressed and do makeup and hair, we leave Greg in front of the TV with some sports shit to keep him happy.

Dee and I spend about two hours perfecting our hair and faces. Her shoulder-length brown locks are curled and perfectly in place, bouncing as normal. She curled my long hair and pinned it back to keep it off to one side, leaving it to fall down the front of my body, effectively keeping my back fully exposed. I have to admit, she may have missed her calling. Her makeup is done similar to mine, heavy and club worthy. She lined my big light green eyes with heavy liner and shaded my lids with a stunning combination of silver, black, gray, and white. My blush is perfect, but my lips are the focal point—lush and a bold fire-engine red.

Grabbing my new dress, I step into my room to put this piece of torture on. I may have realized she was right, and I do look good, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy showing off basically every inch of skin. Baby steps would be nice, not taking off running.

I stand in front of my closet for the longest time, just taking it all in. Tight red dress, perfect hair, and flawless makeup.

If I weren’t me, I would think this chick was stunning. But I’m me, and I’m currently picking out every single flaw. Breasts look too big, even with my height disadvantage I have way too much leg, way too fucking much back, heels too tall . . . I could keep this up for hours. Fortunately for Dee, she picks that moment to come walking in.

She looks stunning. Everything my dress lacks and doesn’t cover, hers does. She has a simple black dress on. The hemline hits her about the same place my dress does—vagina level. Or at least it would be vagina level if she ever were to bend over, sit, or generally take a deep breath. It’s form fitting, hugging her curves, and making her ass look fantastic. I have always been jealous of that girl’s curves. She is slender with everything right where it should be. A great ass and a great rack. Where my dress lacks a complete back, hers is dangerously close to playing with nip-slip central. The front is cut right down the center, ending with a point at her breastbone.

“Holy shit, Dee . . . If you move wrong, your tits are going to come flying out.” Gaping over at her, I’m sure I look ridiculous.

“Very funny, Izzy. Tape, honey. I have these girls so taped up there isn’t anything falling out of here.” She lifts her arms up and does some weird gyrating, hip-swirling move. I can’t tell if she is dancing or trying to fly, but true to her words, her tits stay put.

Whatever. More important issues here. Like, how the hell am I supposed to walk in five-inch heels? I am a ballet-slipper, flip-flop-loving girl. I haven’t worn heels like this ever. When I was married to Brandon, he wanted me to stay small. Heels weren’t allowed because they would make me dangerously close to his height.

“Is there any way I can wear my flat sandals, Dee? I swear I will end up breaking my neck tonight in these things. How are you walking in yours?”

“All in the mind, girlfriend. And no. You will not ruin that dress with
flats.
” She practically spits the words out.

Mumbling under my breath about the benefits of having health insurance for when I fall and break something important, I pick up my skyscraper heels from the bed and follow Dee out my door, down the hall, and into the living room.

Greg walks over with a smile on his face, looking pretty damn handsome himself. He is dressed in dark slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong arms.

“Looking nice, ladies,” he says, throwing a beefy arm over my shoulder and pausing mid-step into the kitchen.

It takes me a second to register that he stopped walking, so I end up a few steps ahead of him. I hear his sharp intake of breath and turn around. His face has lost the smile and a thunderous look has taken up residency.

“Iz, where the fuck is your dress?”

“You’re looking at it, G, or lack of it. Dee’s handy work. You know how she is. Last time I give her free range over my outfit, that’s for damn sure,” I reply with the exasperation clear in my tone.

He’s looking at me like I have grown two heads and started speaking in tongues. Quickly, I look down to make sure all my girly bits are still tucked in their rightful places. Looking back up, I meet the still pissed glare of Greg.

Confused, I ask, “What?”

“What? Fucking hell. How am I supposed to protect you when you are walking around naked?” he booms.

“Seriously, this isn’t that bad, I think. Plus, Dee was so happy. It’s just a few hours of wearing this thing. It really is okay, as long as I don’t bend over,” I try to joke, but I can tell he still is not thrilled with my lack of dress.

What can I say? When he decided to adopt me as his little sister, he went all out. I don’t have time for this big brother act at this point. As much as I appreciate it, he is keeping me from my alcohol and my ticket to Forgetville. I’ve managed to keep the claws of my past from taking root all day; I’m not going to let them take over now.

Turning around, I continue my walk to the kitchen, where Dee is giving me a knowing eye. Picking up the shot she just poured, I down it and then hold my arm out for a refill. Chuckling she pours me another before turning to address Greg.

“Well, big boy, you ready to have fun?”

“Yeah,” grumbles Greg. Grumbles and rumbles . . . It sounds like someone isn’t too happy with my lack of concern for his big brother worries.

“Are your friends still meeting us here?” she asks, peeking a look over at me to see if I caught this new development.

“What friends?” I ask both of them.

“My boys. Don’t worry about it. They’re meeting us at Carnal later. They got held up,” he replies, his tone still sour and his eyes still glaring right at me.

Dee looks over with confusion, not understanding why he is so bent out of shape over an outfit.

“Seriously, G, you need to get fucking laid.” I laugh at him, trying to lighten his mood.

He looks sharply at me, “Are you fucking kidding me, Iz? You two are practically fucking naked, and you expect me to be okay with that?” Pointing over at Dee, he says, “At least one of you decided to wear something.”

I look over at Dee, with her short black dress and tits still breaking the laws of gravity and don’t understand how he thinks she is less naked than I am. I look back at Greg, who has decided that pacing is a better method of dealing rather than sitting silently and fuming.

Whatever. I don’t have the patience for this shit. Not tonight.

“Get over it, Greg, seriously. I do not need a fucking dad tonight. You know what I need? My best friends, alcohol and a good time. I don’t want to deal with you being a little bitch because you have some misguided worry someone might find this look attractive. I don’t care and don’t have time for your shit.”

I throw my heels down on the island, grab the bottle of tequila from Dee, and take a long pull from the neck, enjoying the burn it takes down the back of my throat. I look up and notice them both looking at me with unmasked sympathy. They know how hard this weekend is going to be, especially now with the added shit from Brandon. I’m sure they are coming from a good place with their worry; I just don’t want any part of it. If anything, Brandon has effectively helped me get through the hardest hurdle by throwing it in my face yesterday. Literally. My birthday weekend, also known as the day I lost the last piece of love I had ever known.

“So, Greg,” Dee starts, trying to steer our minds off the heavy shit, “who is meeting us there again?”

“My boys from my Marine days,” he states, keeping his eyes lined with mine.

I pause for a moment, looking down at my shot. Still, after all this time, I can’t help the shudder that passes through my body at the mention of the Marines.

God, I miss him.

Greg is watching me closely. He knows about my past, so he knows what that one little word does to me. We don’t talk much about it, but he knows enough. I think he has just as big of a problem talking about those days. He never has told us why he was discharged. I know he was injured; I just don’t know how. I figure he will talk if he wants to.

I glance over at Dee, who is giving me a knowing look, and she quickly changes the subject. We make small talk for about an hour before grabbing our stuff and heading off to Greg’s truck. Both Dee and I have a nice healthy buzz going on.

We are all pretty silent during our thirty minute drive into Atlanta and Club Carnal. Living just outside of the city has its perks sometimes. I forgot how much I missed Georgia, having grown up an hour from where we settled in Hope Town. I still remember sitting at the rest stop and Dee pulling out a state map. She looked over with a huge smile and told me to pick, so I did. Hope Town is perfect, everything we hoped it would be for two friends starting over.

I haven’t been back home to Dale since I left at seventeen. Too many memories I wasn’t ready to revisit. Most of those memories are happy ones—my parents and our life before they were taken from me too early, leaving a scared and heartbroken teenager. When I left, at the time I didn’t care what I was leaving behind. Now that my parents are gone, there is nothing left there.
He
already left, so what is the point now?

Shaking myself off, I quickly push the painful memories back into the box in my mind I marked ‘do not fucking go there.’ I have worked hard to beat the past, and at thirty years old, I finally feel the ‘healthiest’ I have ever been. I don’t feel the fear daily. I surround myself with positive and generally happy people; negativity doesn’t own a place of my soul anymore. The pain is still there, just not as sharp as it once was. I am happy, or at least I am on the road to getting there.

I see the street Carnal is on up ahead, and the line already out the door and down the sidewalk.
Well, Iz,
I think,
time to put that game face on and enjoy the night.

CHAPTER 4

Club Carnal is located just inside of Atlanta, in an old converted warehouse. It’s been the club to go to since it opened four years ago, and Dee and I have enjoyed it a time or two since we moved to town. It’s a classy club, dress code and all of that, valet standing at the curb, and a line that is never less than a hundred people.

Another benefit of coming with Greg? He knows people—everyone, it seems. He pulls up to the curb and tosses his keys to the young kid playing dress-up as a valet. After helping Dee and me out of the car, he saunters off to chat with the huge burly man standing guard at the door and shakes his hand. They do that weird man hug thing and exchange a few words, glancing back a few times at Dee and me. The bouncer nods once and lets us in. I swear, Greg can get anything he wants.

As we walk down the dark hallway leading into the main room, I can feel the music pulsing through the air. Lights are dim but bright enough for me to see the sea of bodies rolling with the beat. I ignore it all and head straight for the bar. It takes Dee and Greg a minute before they realize I have left their sides for my one-woman mission to become completely blitzed. When I leave here, I plan on being a blacked-out, stumbling drunk.

Signaling the bartender, I order three shots of tequila and tell him to keep them coming. Pointing over at Greg, I say, “He’s paying.”