Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (4 page)

CALLING WILSON THIS early might not be the best of ideas, since he doesn’t get in until nine or ten most days. But at least this way, he’ll get the message first thing. When his voicemail picks up, I leave a short message: “Something major has come up. We should talk.”

I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket. This could go either way, I realize, as I imagine the various earfuls I’m likely to receive once Wilson hears my news. Lost in thought, I lazily flick a straw between my fingers while I wait at the counter for my coffee.

“I like you, Jessica, but why are we up at this ungodly hour?” some girl to my right whines.

My ears perk up at the name and I tilt my head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl in question.
Is it
. . .
?
I can’t tell. She’s hidden behind her friend, the one who’s clearly taking her vampire obsession a bit too seriously. I always thought hair white as snow was a myth. But this girl has it, and lots of it. In dreads. Black ink runs along the columns of her neck, dripping down the curve of her shoulders, and light reflects off something at the corner of her eyebrow. I squint, taking a closer look.

Finally, she moves and I catch a glimpse of the girl behind her; she’s got her back to me now. And unlike her friend, this girl has black hair with rainbow colors running through it, and she’s dressed in sweats.

It’s her.

It has to be.

My thoughts are confirmed when the rainbow-haired girl looks over her shoulder. I know the moment she recognizes me, because her eyes turn huge. She looks to her friend and tells her something before making her way toward me.

A mix of curiosity and concern flickers in her gaze as her eyes lock on my left cheek. I give a quick glance to her friend, who sips from her mug, her eyes never leaving mine. I hear the barista calling my order, but I can’t seem to look away as Jessica comes to a stop before me.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I say, the corners of my mouth curving up.

“Well, it is my favorite coffeehouse,” she says with a smirk. “But I don’t recall ever seeing you here before.”

I shrug. “Not my usual thing. But I woke up this morning with a craving for something bitter that doesn’t involve alcohol.”

She laughs. “How can you not love coffee? It’s like the best thing in the world.” She looks over my shoulder and jerks her chin at something behind me. “Is that yours?”

I turn around and notice that the barista conveniently set my order on the counter. I grab it and take a sip. I notice Jessica’s friend is still eying me with a blend of curiosity and protectiveness.

“You in a hurry?” I ask, turning my attention back to Jess.

She shakes her head. “Not really. I just came here for my usual coffee run.”

“Your friend doesn’t look very happy.”

Jess throws a quick glance toward the white-haired girl and shrugs. “She’s not a morning person. But she has an early shift today, and I figured what better way to wake up your mind than with the fresh smell of coffee?” She takes a deep breath and sighs happily. “What about you? Headed somewhere?”

I shrug. “Nope, nowhere. You want to sit?”

She rocks on her feet and gives me a wide smile. “Sure.”

I gesture for her to lead the way and let her walk before me. When she takes a seat at a corner table, I follow and sit across from her. “So you love the smell of coffee? Ten bucks says you can’t guess what kind I have just by the smell.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Easiest ten bucks I’ve ever made.” She extends her hand and I place my cup in her waiting fingers, covering the scribble so she can’t cheat. “Hmm . . .” She takes a deep breath. “Roasted . . . no . . .
European
roasted . . . black, no cream or sugar, four shots of espresso. You weren’t kidding about wanting something bitter.”

I arch a brow. “And you weren’t kidding about knowing your shit.”

She shrugs and hands me back my cup. “Coffee addict.”

“Impressive,” I compliment her.

It doesn’t go unnoticed that the tips of her ears turn pink and she looks away. Hmm, she doesn’t know how to take a compliment.

I pull out a ten and slide it toward her. “You won it square and fair.”

She scoffs, but snatchs the money and shoves it into her pocket. “Like I said, easiest ten bucks ever.”

I take another sip and look around the diner. A guy in the corner—dressed in a jean jacket, his long black hair tied back in a ponytail—is keeping an eye on me while pretending to read his newspaper. He hasn’t turned a page since I walked in. Two booths down to my left, another guy—bulky and in a leather jacket—repeatedly glances between Jess and me. He must have missed the memo about not looking so obvious.

I make a quick note of the exits—one behind me, another on the other side of the room, by the front. There’s also the bathroom at the back. I remember seeing a window in there the last time I used it.

“So, um . . .” Jess’s fingers drum on the table, bringing my attention back to her. She looks nervous, though probably not for the same reasons I am. “Do you live close by?”

I look at her, surprised by her brazenness, and she quickly adds, “You said coffee isn’t your thing, so I’m just curious why you chose this place? Figured you must live close by.”

I raise my cup to my lips, my gaze on Tweedledee and Tweedledum. I don’t like the way they’re watching her.  

“You—” Jess starts, again, but I cut her off.

“I suppose.” My words are short and cold.

Uninterested.

Her eyebrows pinch together. I notice the guy two booths down get up and place a twenty on the table. Light reflects off the inside of his jacket. Is that a knife or a gun? As he turns toward us, my fist tightens under the table. I take a deep breath, counting the seconds as he walks this way.

“What happened to your face?” Jess reaches for it.

I move back and away from her touch, grabbing the knife and fork, ready to strike if necessary.

She flinches. But I’m not watching her. My eyes are glued on the guy as he walks past me. He turns and looks at Jess, then gives me a smirk before disappearing out the door behind me.

Shit
.

Everything freezes in me as I realize what just happened. Jess has been marked by Stamos’s men. I should have known he’d have me followed, vetted. God, how could I have been so stupid?

Shit
.
Shit
.
Shit
.

By the time my focus is back on Jess, she’s scooting out of the booth.

“Wait.” I shouldn’t stop her. Not if I want her safe. But that same pull I felt before overrides my rationalization. I don’t want her to leave, to be the reason her face wears that look of complete and utter disappointment.

“It’s fine. You’re distracted. I should—”

“I got beat up.” My eyes dart to the corner, where Stamos’s other guy is. “So I’m a bit edgy.”

“Oh.” Her hands relax, and she settles back into the booth. At least for now. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I shrug.

“I know.” She looks down at her hands, then back up. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Well, it feels like someone rammed their fists into my face and tenderized it.”

“Always the smartass.” The corner of her mouth curves up slightly.

And I finally give up the asshole persona enough to let my own smile escape. I scoot back, throwing my arm over the support by the window. “You should see the other guy.”

She fidgets in her seat, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden.

I crinkle my nose, pinching it between my forefinger and thumb. “You really didn’t think I’d lost the fight . . . did you?”

She presses her lips together and reaches for something under her sweatshirt that must be hanging around her neck. “Do you get into fights often?”

Her question throws me off. “Never without a good reason.” Which is mostly true. Even last night, I had a reason. One that could save Fisher’s life.

She lets go of whatever is around her neck but doesn’t meet my gaze. Do I scare her? That wouldn’t be a first, I suppose. Of course, most of the people I scare tend to be male, rather than female. But Jess isn’t like other girls.

I look up to make sure Goon #2 is still pretending to read his newspaper and notice Jessica’s friend moving toward us. I guess her curiosity finally got the better of her.

“So . . .” she says as she stands at the edge of the table. “You going to introduce me to your new
friend
?” She’s grinning wide, a bit of mischief in the way she’s looking at Jess.

“Oh, yes, Cat, this is—”

“Killshot . . .” I extend my hand, ignoring Jess’s questioning glance. I’m not about to risk giving my real name, not when Stamos has his pests watching me.

Cat’s eyebrows shoot up. “Killshot? What, did your mother name you while taking shots?”

I wink. “My dad says I took after her ability to put down alcohol like a pirate.”

“Well, Mr. Killshot. I’m Cat, as Jessica mentioned. Best friend extraordinaire and roommate.” She then looks at Jess, who finally directs her attention toward something other than her lap. “I need to get some snoozers before my shift in a few hours. You okay here?”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, hoping it’s Wilson calling me back. But it’s not. It’s a text from an unknown number.

“Yes,” I hear Jess say. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“You have fun, chica. ” I hear them exchange a quick hug as I read the text.

“What’s wrong?” Jess asks, turning back to me as Cat leaves.

I look up. “Do you know where the Blue Tango is?”

She nods, curious. “Yeah. It’s about a twenty-five minute drive from here. Why?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone there. On Friday.”

I HUFF, ADJUSTING my barely there top. Friday nights at Blue Tango are different than most night clubs. In the spirit of Friday being “fun,” the owner decided to add themes. So in order to get in, you have to be dressed according to the theme. And tonight, it’s a burlesque themed party. Lots of ruffles, lots of skin, and not enough space. I look like I could star in
Moulin Rouge
, treading the almost non-existent thin line between being a stripper and being tastefully sexy. But who am I to judge? At least the ruffles and feathers are helpful, covering just a tiny bit more than the fabric itself does.

“You nervous, Jessica?” John asks from across the bar.

I snort. “You wish.”

“She’s got this,” Cat says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “And stop trying to psych her out every week. If it didn’t work the first eight times, I doubt it’s going to do anything now.”

I laugh. The truth is, the first night I worked here was a Friday, and I totally freaked out. Completely, utterly freaked out, so much so that I ended up sleeping until three p.m. the following day. Later, I had called Vincent to chew him out for setting me up with the most impossible job ever, working for a person who’s dead set on seeing me squirm. It’s all in good fun of course, but still.

That first night had left me with serious doubts about whether my best friend had been supporting me or trying to sabotage me so I’d come back home.

John points at me, bringing my attention back to the present, and says, “She’s still a newbie. Which means, as the senior in this trio, I get to give her shit.”

Cat pulls out three shot glasses and fills each with tequila. “Back off, Skittles.”

“Or what?” he says as he wipes down the bar and starts filling a container with red, high heel-shaped toothpicks.

“I mean it, Johnny-boy. Unless you want to get kicked in the nuts, you don’t mess with my roomie. ” She pushes one of the tequila-filled shot glasses toward him, then another toward me. “Bottoms up.” She slams her glass down a second later, shaking her head. John follows suit.

I shake my head, laughing, and throw back my shot. The alcohol burns on the way down, and I grimace. One of the bouncers pokes his head inside and gives us the signal. It’s time. Let the chaos begin.

“Time to saddle up, kids,” John says. “Our night’s about to get fun.”

That’s one way to put it. With half-off drinks from eight to ten p.m., we’re the most appealing place in town for the college-aged crowd. The swarm can be suffocating, and if I had a choice, I’d never set foot in here on a Friday. I look down, then at Cat, who mouths, “You okay?”

I nod and head to the back room to pick up a handful of bottles and extra towels, and to give myself some time away from the watchful eyes of my friends. I make one last attempt to get my skimpy costume to be less skimpy, then take a deep breath, square my shoulders, load up my armful of supplies and head back out.

“You look like someone who’s been thoroughly chewed up and spit back out,” John says when I return. He reaches for two of the bottles in my hand and stacks them under my space.

“Thanks,” I mumble, crouching down and organizing the tools of my trade. I’ve been bartending for two years. I know how it’s done. I just hate having to bare it all in the process.

“You’ll be fine, Jessica,” John says as I stand, his hands on his hips.

“I don’t get why you guys don’t have to dress like this. Why is it only the girls who have to strut around looking like someone stole our clothes and rolled us around in feathers?”

“Because we’re in the business of getting people drunk, doll-face.” He assesses me top to bottom and gestures vaguely at my body. “And that right there is how we make it happen.”

I glare at him and he shrugs, unapologetic.

“Hey, at least the boss-man thought ahead and spruced up the place with that sexy security team out there.” Cat wiggles her eyebrows.

“I’m definitely
not
complaining about that.” I laugh, my gaze traveling to our bouncers, who are seriously a sight for sore eyes.

“Then why are you looking so . . . bummed?” Cat asks.

John wraps an arm around her and looks at me with a bit mischief in his eyes. “You know, if you need to get laid, I’m always here.”

“Dream on, Johnny-boy. Jessica is too smart for the likes of you.” Cat shrugs off his arm and walks toward a customer on the left side of the bar.

“So, what do you say?” His eyebrows are high, like he’s attempting to look smoldering. He reminds me of that one dark-haired hero from one of the Disney films.

“You’re so out of
my
league, Prince Charming.” I push him playfully.

He walks backward, his arms spread wide. “Just think about it. You, me—”

“And Tracy?” I raise my eyebrows.

He points his finger at me. “Now there’s an idea. A threesome. Or better yet, foursome. I’m sure Cat would love to join too.”

“Fuck off!” I hear Cat holler from her station.

I laugh, shaking my head, and turn to fill a drink order for a guy I barely register. I pocket the tip he leaves on the bar as he turns away and wait for the next customer to appear.

“Look lively, people,” Rick, our boss, says as he walks by. “The night’s about to get interesting. Just got the word that Stamos is headed here tonight.”

“No shit!” Cat exclaims.

“Tonight?” John asks.

“That’s what I heard. Just make sure he and his boys are constantly fed. I don’t care if you don’t serve our usuals. Stamos and his men are a priority; they spend a shitload of money. Got it?”

John salutes him as Rick walks away, mumbling something about “
Just got the word
,
my ass
,” as he
spins, making a show of serving drinks as the bar starts packing up.

Cat is busy on the other side with another customer, talking up a storm. I serve a patron a dirty martini and three more shots before I make my way over to her. She turns to make a red firecracker on the counter by the back wall, and I lean in to discreetly ask, “Is Rick talking about the same Stamos you told me about?”

“Yup. The one and only.”

“If he’s such a badass, why hasn’t anyone arrested him?”

Cat shrugs as she takes the drink back to the bar. She lights it up and a group of college guys howl at the blue and red fireshow. She then turns around and faces me. “No one’s willing to talk. I mean, who would, when people disappear or ‘accidently’”—she put air quotes around the word —“end up in the hospital for tipping off the cops? Stamos isn’t just some badass around these parts, Jessica. He’s even got the cops on his payroll. You don’t mess with that kind of shit. Or his boys. They’re all nothing but trouble.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I like them bad and broken. And Stamos’s men are everything that’s bad and broken. ”

I nod, processing what she said as I serve a girl and her boyfriend a couple beers.

Cat taps my shoulder and jerks her chin toward something behind me. “Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear.”

I turn around and catch a glimpse of the group of men walking through the front door. A man in a white tux is in the center as they make their way toward the stairs to the VIP room. The people around them get out of the way, parting like waves for the prow of a boat. Anyone who doesn’t is roughly shoved aside. I cringe as one guy trips and spills his drink down a leather-suited woman’s top. I look away just as her date steps in front of the poor guy, cracking his knuckles.

Oh boy
.

But before the fight can even break out, one of the bouncers makes his way over to them and drags each toward the front by their collars.

I guess that’s the end of that—in here, at least.

“Well, fuck me nine ways to Tuesday.” John steps up beside me. “Is that who I think it is?”

Cat nods. “A little early for their usual appearance, isn’t it?”

“Well, newbie . . .” John throws his arm over my shoulder, but his gaze is turned toward the second floor, where Stamos and his men disappeared. “You’re about to get the experience of a lifetime.”

I can only imagine.

For the next three hours, I serve drinks to any and all who ask, losing count of the number of times some idiot spills his liquor on me and then tries to wipe me down in a pathetic attempt to touch my boobs.

“Jessica,” John shouts. When I make my way over to him, he shoves a huge tray of drinks at me. “Take this order upstairs.”

My eyes widen, and I blanche.

So far, I’ve managed to avoid having to deal with Stamos and his men. I dart a quick look at the VIP area; the group has tripled since I last took notice of them. “You want me . . . to go up there?” I sound like an idiot.

“That’s what I said.” He smirks. “It’ll be good for you. Besides, remember how I promised you a good time?”

I groan. “But . . .”

“Are you ready to admit you’re not up for Friday nights?” His face is so smug that I want to punch him.

“No.” I grind my teeth.

He smacks my butt. “Then giddy up, cowgirl.”

I take a deep breath and pinch my nose. “I hate you
so
much right now.”

“Hate me all you want, sista. But I’m doing you a favor.”

“More like doing yourself a favor.” I take the tray from his hands, grumbling under my breath. “Some friend you are.”

He laughs. “I’m all about hands-off training, sweet thang.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Cat says. “If they’re here this early, it’s usually ‘cause they’re celebrating something. So the chances of anyone leaving in a body bag is low.”

“Body bag?”

She squints, and I don’t know what to make of it. Is she joking about the body bag, or the fact that they’re here to celebrate?

It doesn’t matter, I decide. I’ve got this. Squaring my shoulders, I place the tray on the palm of my hands and raise it above my head.

“I can do this,” I tell myself as I walk through the gyrating sea of bodies.

Time to go meet the meanest, baddest men in Florida.