HUNTER (The Corbin Brothers Book 1) (23 page)

Somehow, eating a McDonald’s hamburger out of a dumpster didn’t seem like an appropriate response.

“I was a student,” I said, thinking quickly.

“How wonderful!” the Don said. “I always say education’s the most important thing, don’t I, fellas?”

Everyone voiced their agreement.

“What college were you at, doll?” he asked.

“I just graduated high school,” I lied. When my mother died, I’d been about halfway through my senior year. Graduating hadn’t been at the top of my priorities at that point—survival had been.

The Don suddenly became infinitely more interested in me. His hand tightened reflexively on my hip. It felt possessive and I tried not to squirm.

“Mama wasn’t lying,” he remarked lightly, even as his voice shook with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “You are young.”

I shivered at his tone and felt myself thinking again about the “everything” my roommate had failed to tell me. There had to be something I was missing.

“Don Costa, I hope you’re keeping your hands to yourself,” Cocoa said in mock admonishment. She distributed the martinis like lightning and held out her hand to me.

I took it with no small degree of relief and she pulled me up from the Don’s lap.

“I need Miss Jazz here to help me with your suppers,” my roommate said, looping her arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” the Don said.

“Then we’ll be back in a jiffy,” Cocoa said.

She steered us around, but it wasn’t the kitchen we headed for—it was Mama’s office. Cocoa opened the door without knocking. Mama was reapplying some of her heavy makeup, singing softly to herself.

“We have a situation,” Cocoa said grimly, not letting me go even as the door shut behind us.

Mama glanced up. “I know we do, sugar.”

“What should we do?”

I assumed they were talking about Don Costa.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know the Don’s just flirting with me. I’m okay with it. I can flirt back, if you want.”

Mama and Cocoa exchanged a long stare.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Cocoa said, giving me a hard look.

“I thought you said the Don always gets what he wants,” I said, confused again.

“He does,” Mama said, closing her compact with a sharp snap. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

Cocoa hadn’t stopped looking at me. She suddenly grabbed my blouse, buttoning two buttons and hiding the cleavage I’d been rocking. She unbuttoned another button on her own shirt and adjusted her bra. Her breasts looked to be under considerable risk of spilling out.

“That’s a start,” Mama remarked. “Now, if you girls will excuse me, I’ve gotta get on stage.”

We all left the office together, Mama locking the door behind her. I remembered all the cash inside the safe.

Cocoa and I dashed into the kitchen. “That better be the Don’s order,” she threatened as one of the cooks put the final touches on a set of plates already arranged on a tray.

“Of course it is,” he answered. “I don’t want to get my throat slit.”

Cocoa snorted before grabbing the tray and positioning it on my shoulder, not giving me a chance to think about what the cook had said. It was a lot heavier than the first.

“Walk as slowly as you need to,” Cocoa said. “It’s a lot of food.”

We picked our way across the floor, the smell of the food wafting into my nose and reminding me that I’d skipped dinner. The nightclub was almost completely full and there was still a line outside.

Reaching the Don’s table, I realized their martini glasses were empty again. These guys were drinking like fish.

Cocoa unloaded the tray again and I tried to stay still, shifting my grip as the weight changed with each plate removed.

“Let me go take care of those empty glasses for you,” I said with a wink, trying to take the initiative. Cocoa nodded and bent forward to arrange things on the table, giving everyone seated there an up close and personal view of the precarious state of her breasts.

I made my escape with the tray, handing it to Blues to conceal behind the bar.

“How’re you making out with the Don?” she asked. “I can see his boner for you from here.”

I blinked, barely managing not to turn around and see for myself.

“Four more martinis for the Don and his companions,” I said.

As Blues mixed the cocktails, the curtains parted. The entire room erupted in applause as Mama took the stage.

“How is everyone doing tonight?” Mama asked, taking the microphone from the stand. Customers and girls alike responded with whoops and hollers.

She looked beautiful with a spotlight, the beads on her strapless top shining. Mama looked like she belonged there.

“I hope everyone enjoys their night with us,” she continued after the whistles from the crowd died down a little. “Let my girls know if there’s anything they can do to make it more pleasurable.”

The word “anything” dripped with innuendo. I wondered what Don Costa might ask of me and experienced a pervasive wave of dread.

“Now, for your musical entertainment,” Mama said, smiling.

She replaced the microphone in the stand but didn’t leave the stage. It suddenly dawned on me why Cocoa had said tonight was special. Mama was going to sing.

A single pianist started playing, a saucy but intricate flurry of keys. Tears sprang to my eyes before I knew what was happening. It was a cover of Etta James’ “At Last.” It was one of my mother’s favorites.

I stood, transfixed by her incredible voice. Mama had soul. The conversations throughout the club were hushed, almost in awe of her performance.

I snapped out of the spell Mama had drawn over me like a heavy veil. Blues put the last glass on the tray and lightly smacked my hand when I tried to take it.

“Here comes Cocoa,” she explained. “Don’t spill the Don’s drinks.”

My roommate swept the tray up again and smiled at me.

“Mama’s voice is like a dream, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s like everything’s gonna be okay while she’s up on that stage.”

I agreed, but found myself wondering what happened when Mama came down out of the spotlight.

We delivered the drinks to the Don’s table.

“Sit down,” he said quietly. “I want to enjoy this performance with my girls.”

He scooted away from the table and patted his lap again, spreading his arms for both Cocoa and me. Without exchanging a glance, we perched on his lap. I balanced as lightly as I could, trying to ignore the hand trailing up my bare leg. As long as Mama was on the stage, everything was going to be okay.

Mama smiled sweetly as the pianist ended the song with a jazzy flourish.

The nightclub exploded. The Don whistled piercingly into my ear, but I barely noticed. Cocoa and I clapped madly. Everyone was doing the same. Mama stood up there like a queen and soaked in all the appreciation.

She continued her set, mastering all the jazz standards and putting her own stamp on them. Her well-oiled voice skated and curled up and down the musical scale. Some of the customers danced on the floor during some of the songs, but the Don and his companions stayed put. Cocoa and I got up twice to bus the table and get more drinks.

After nearly two hours, Mama took a sip of water from a champagne glass and cleared her throat.

“That’s all for now,” she said. “I’m going to take a short break and come down to say hello to everyone. I’ll be back on later.”

The curtains closed and the lounge music resumed. The low roar of the crowd got louder and I noticed the Don’s grip on my hip again. It was like a period of magic ending in favor of reality.

I wasn’t surprised to see Mama heading to our table first. Cocoa and I were still seated on the Don’s lap.

“Well, what did you think, Don Costa?” Mama asked, her grin telling everyone she knew exactly what he thought.

“The voice of an angel,” the Don declared.

“Here, here,” Georgie said.

“And how are Cocoa and Jazz treating you?” Mama asked, looking at us. “I must say, Don, that you look happier than a pig in mud.”

“You know my vices well, Mama,” he said. “And I can’t help wanting what I want.”

I couldn’t contain a gasp as he forcefully groped my breast.

I expected Mama to be angry, to tell him off no matter who he was. You couldn’t do that to an employee no matter who you were, right?

Instead, she simply looked at the Don with something close to regret.

“I’m afraid I have to discourage you with Jazz,” Mama said. “This is her first night. She’s inexperienced. I don’t want you to be disappointed. Only the best for you, Don Costa.”

I tried not to feel stung, knowing that Mama was just attempting to protect me.

“Don Costa, isn’t there anything I can do for you?” Cocoa chimed in. She pushed her red lips out in a pretty pout. “Aren’t I your favorite anymore? All this attention you’re lavishing on Jazz is making me jealous.”

The Don spluttered out a laugh. “I never thought I’d have a pair of your girls fighting over me, Mama,” he said.

“We’re eager to please,” she said, smiling widely.

“Cocoa, sweetheart, you know I love you,” the Don said, pinching her rouged cheek. “But a man can’t eat steak every day of his life. Sometimes, he needs a little fish, too.”

He laughed at my yelp when he roughly handled my crotch.

The “everything” of Mama’s nightclub was becoming clearer to me with each passing second.

I looked up and shivered. Mama’s smile was downright chilly.

“Don, please excuse Miss Jazz and I,” she said. “We’re going to step into my office to talk a little business. Cocoa here will keep you warm while we’re away.”

“I hope you’re not going to try to spirit her away for the night,” the Don said, the hint of a threat apparent in his voice. “I wouldn’t want to have to go looking for her.”

Mama laughed like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, but the chuckles were joyless. “Honey, where would I hide her from you? You own this club—and practically this entire city.”

This seemed to satisfy the Don while scaring the crap out of me and he released me from his lap. He owned the club—and the city? Then the “Don” thing really was a mob title. I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking.

Mama put her arm around my waist and walked me across the floor toward the office. She smiled graciously and waved at all of the well-wishers sitting at the various tables.

“I’ll be back to talk soon, I promise,” she called out multiple times as we made our way through the tables.

“Talk?” someone called back. “Come back and sing soon!”

She laughed, seeming genuinely pleased. “You’re too kind.”

But when we entered the office, Mama’s smile faded. For the first time, I saw a harried businesswoman just trying to keep her life’s work running.

“The situation with the Don is worse than I thought,” Mama said. “He seems to have really taken a shine to you, child, and it’s not hard to see why. You’re a gorgeous creature. You’re a lot more innocent than the rest of my girls. You’re eager to please. He can’t resist you. No man would be able to.”

“I didn’t do anything to ask for this,” I said, my voice trembling. “I just tried to be nice. I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that the Don wants to sleep with you tonight, Jazz,” Mama said bluntly. “There ain’t words to pretty it up. That’s the cold, hard truth. The most powerful man in New York wants to sleep with you and he always gets what he wants.”

“Can’t I say no?” I whispered.

Mama sat down on the edge of her desk. “A dozen of my girls would be clawing at each other to be in the situation you’re in,” she said. “Sure, the tips from running drinks and food and letting the customers flirt with you are nice. But the real money comes in from the sex.”

“The sex?”

Mama shrugged. “Everyone has sex. Why shouldn’t you sell it? It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

The “everything” that I had been missing out on fell into place. The nightclub was just an elaborate front for a brothel.

And I was about to have my first client.

I felt physically ill but tried to calmly assess the situation. I couldn’t even really say that this was the worst thing to ever befall me. Jack had been very bad. The streets had been perhaps even worse. So this—sleeping with a mob boss for cash—this was just par for the course, right?

“Anyone can say no,” Mama said. “You can try to say no. But this man has been making the rules for years. I’ve known him for a long time. He gave me the money to start this place and continues to pour money in when he’s a customer. The Don can shut this place down if there’s something he doesn’t like about it. That’s why we always try to do things that he likes.”

He could shut Mama’s nightclub down? I thought about all the girls who would be out of a job, out of money, and thrown out on the streets.

All because I didn’t want to sleep with the Don—even though he was going to pay me.