Death Blow Page 5

  “Thanks for the invitation, but I hear steroids have real negative affects on a man.” She picked up her drink and took another sip, breaking the eye contact.

  “Well, this isn’t a fair introduction,” he laughed lightly. “You already know my name and my drug habits, and I only know what you look like more or less naked.” Lila had forgotten that so much of her was showing right now, forgotten how that dress sat on her, showed off her legs and her back and her shoulders. When she realized that she was practically naked, and so was he, she felt her center clench. They were so close to being naked together, and that was not lost on Lila, if the tightness between her legs was any indication. “So,” he asked amusedly, not missing the beat of Lila’s silence, “what’s your name?”

  “Lila,” she answered, taking a bigger sip of her drink, forcing herself to return Barrett’s stare.

  “Well, Lila,” he turned her name over slowly in his mouth, and Lila thought she was going to pounce on him right then and there. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Barrett could bathe a girl in charm and then, just like that, turn it so quickly into a disgustingly self-assured condescension.

  “I was thinking about working here, but then I saw the kind of psychopaths that fight in that ring, and I’m not so sure I want to anymore.” She wasn’t smiling this time, even though she didn’t mean it. She threw the rest of her drink back and set the glass on the bar. Barrett eyed her curiously now.

  “Psychopath? You think you’re the first one to call me that?” His eyes narrowed and he cocked his eyebrow, challenging Lila, owning up to his own brutal performance. He was fascinating, Lila had to give him that.

  “I can’t imagine anyone calling you anything else,” she returned.

  “Once I fuck you, you’ll come up with a wide array of nicknames,” he gibed. “Trust me, it happens every time.”

  Lila’d thought he couldn’t shock her, but he’d done it. She bit down on her bottom lip in surprise and without thinking she swung her palm out and slapped Barrett across his face. It wasn’t hard, but it was swift and unexpected, and when Barrett’s eyes came back to hers, he looked amazed, he clearly couldn’t believe what had happened either. Lila’s hand burned where she’d made contact with his stubble-covered face. She could feel her face flushing and she had no idea if she’d ever be able to recover from what she had just done. She spun around on her Louboutins and stalked back to the other end of the bar. Raechelle quickly followed.

  “What the fuck just happened?!” she squealed.

  “I—I don’t know,” Lila said, ignoring the heat of Barrett’s gaze.

  “No one’s ever slapped Barrett, and he deserves it all the goddamn time!” Raechelle was so excited, and it gave Lila courage and made her feel vindicated.

  “Well, someone has to teach an asshole not to be one, and if it’s me, I guess that’s all right.” Lila bent over and picked up her clutch, looking for something, anything to do. Raechelle laughed loudly—Lila knew that Barrett was still watching them—and threw her hand up for a big high-five with Lila. Lila gave it to her, not looking up at either Raechelle or Barrett. Her head was spinning. She was pulled in so many directions, overwhelmed by so many new and suffocating feelings.

  She distracted herself by fingering the money in her purse and trying to count it, but in reality she was just staring blindly into the purse. In her periphery, she saw Barrett gulp the rest of his second drink and slam the glass down on the bar, definitely harder this time. She saw him look at her and then he turned and headed to the elevator.

  Lila felt a surprisingly heavy dose of disappointment when she realized he was leaving for good. He shook hands with the bouncers—such a kind, polite gesture for such a shithead—stepped into the elevator and didn’t turn around as the doors closed.

  “How’d you do tonight, girlie?” Raechelle asked. The crowd had receded from the bar back to the seats. Lila tried to swallow her emotions and focus. She counted out the bills she’d been shoving in her clutch all night.

  “Raechelle…” she said breathlessly. Raechelle smiled at her, leaned over to glance at the wads of cash. Lila couldn’t have counted correctly. There had to be a mistake.

  “What’d you get? Looks like…” Raechelle inspected a little more closely, “about 2? Maybe 3?” Raechelle grinned at Lila.

  “How can you tell?” She was shocked that Raechelle had gotten so close just by glancing at the money pile. Lila’d counted $247—that much! For only a round or two of running drinks? “Pass me the counterfeit marker,” she joked, shaking her head amazedly at Raechelle, “because most of this has to be fake, right?”

  “I can guess ‘cause I work here too, remember? I know exactly how things go.” Lila thumbed through the bills. “I know, it’s shocking at first, but believe me, there’ll come a day when suddenly $300 a night seems like nothing.”

  “I can’t imagine a day like that.”

  “It’s sad, but it totally comes along. Me? If I’m not walking away with at least $400 at the end of a night, I’m pissed,” Raechelle confided.

  “$400 a night? You’re pissed about that?!” Lila gawked. “Plus the hourly? Christ, girl, what are you, living in a penthouse? Bathing in champagne?” Raechelle slapped her arm lightly.

  “Wear those Louboutins for a couple days and then we’ll talk. This place’ll ruin any normal standards you may have in your life.” Lila didn’t like the sound of this. It made her a little nervous. “But, thankfully,” Raechelle added, “once it does that, it won’t let you down on its end. Again, pissed if it’s less than $400 a night.”

  “Does that happen often?” Lila asked.

  “Depends,” Raechelle responded, cleaning up the bar area. “Not often, I wouldn’t say. Occasionally, a bad fight, or a bad couple fights go down and the customers take it out on us. Don’t happen often, but it definitely happens. No, I’d say once or twice a month, I walk out with less than $400. But I been working here a long time, too,” she grinned. “If you’re making that much money right off the bat, I’ll take you out.” Lila laughed, sliding the money back into her clutch and closing it. “No, seriously,” Raechelle feigned seriousness, “I will actually take you out.”

  “Okay, okay, note to self, don’t tell Raechelle when you make over $400,” Lila laughed.

  “Oh, bitch, I will come for you!” Raechelle took a fighting stance and bobbed from side to side. “Lay that Jackson smackdown on you.”

  “You won’t even have a chance,” Lila came back, “because I’ll already have you in the Barrett headlock.”

  “If you’re not careful, Barrett’s gonna have you in a headlock,” Raechelle winked. “And believe me, he’s headlocked so many girls he won’t even know which one you are.” Lila felt a twinge in her lungs. She’d figured he was a player, but it was different to hear Raechelle say it.

  “Oh yeah?” She played it cool. “How many times he headlocked you, hmmm?”

  “Hah!” Raechelle laughed loudly. “Not my type.”

  “No?” Lila was a little surprised. “Who is your type? Jackson more your style?”

  “Nah, girl. Plus, Jackson’s got a girlfriend. She wasn’t here tonight, but I bet you’ll meet her tomorrow when you go to the Boss’ house.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot about all that already.”

  “Too busy fantasizing about that—“

  “Headlock, yes, I get it, you think I’m into Barrett.” Lila felt a little like she was back in middle school, trying to hide her crush from the popular girls. Not that she cared whether Raechelle knew how into Barrett she was—it was more that she didn’t want to be into Barrett, at all, and admitting to it seemed like a surefire way to do herself in.

  “Even if you aren’t, he seemed into you, so.” Raechelle shrugged mischievously. She knew what she was doing, ribbing Lila, sinking the barbs just so. Lila didn’t care if it was stupid: she knew she had to at least fake disinterest, whether to save face or save herself.

  “Give me a break. You keep ta
lking about him and I’m not going to believe you when you say you aren’t into his headlock as well.” Lila looked around. People didn’t seem to be leaving, even though the fights were over and it was nearing 1AM. “What time does this place close up?”

  “Depends on the crowd. If there’s no one here, sometimes we’ll close at 2. If people are still drinking and still having a good time—and still tipping like they’re having a good time—then we’ll keep it open until 4 or 5 sometimes. There are no rules.”

  “How are there no rules? The city has regulations—“ Lila knew them well, partially because of working at the Dirty Pint, partially through being such good friends with the Sheriff. Raechelle cut her off.

  “You’ll find that the Boss and Cassandra have things pretty much figured out.” She winked again, but this time, it made Lila feel a little uncomfortable. She hadn’t even stopped to think that maybe this—the fighting, the underground club—was all potentially illegal. And right now, she was tired, and she didn’t want to know whether it was or not, or what deal the Boss and Cassandra had worked out. She just wanted to go home.

  “All right. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” Lila was suddenly very tired.

  “You bet your sweet ass you will. Can’t wait to get to know ya.” Raechelle clunked over and gave Lila a hug. Lila didn’t really have any friends, not for a long time now, and this affection from Raechelle was a little awkward, sure, but mostly Lila found it really touching. She was excited to get to know Raechelle, too. It was so nice to feel that again. Lila hugged her back.

  “Goodnight, Raechelle.”

  “Get home safe, sweetie.” Raechelle got back to tidying up what she could at the bar, and it looked like a few patrons were starting towards the bar again. Lila guessed it’d be a slower night—Raechelle would probably close at 2. Lila liked how easily she seemed to understand this place, how effortlessly she fit right in. This was the best, strangest night she’d had in a long time.

  She headed over to the elevators, where the two bouncers were beginning to let down their guard a bit. Flattop was sitting on a stool now, and Baldy had taken off his sunglasses. Lyle and Cassandra had left—maybe that was when people let their hair down a little.

  “You have a good night, now.” Baldy said, more out of obligation than politeness.

  “You too, sir. I’ll see you around.” She felt like a different person than when she walked in. Baldy flashed her a smile, and Flattop nodded his head at her. On cue, the elevator doors opened, and Lila stepped inside. The doors shut behind her, and again she rested her bare back against the cool metal. She laid her head back and closed her eyes as she inched back up towards the parking lot. Was she going to wake up in her bed and realize this had all been a dream? She felt like years had gone by since she was last in this elevator. She’d walked out of there with more money than she’d made in a good week at the Dirty Pint. She’d met the sexiest, most infuriating man she’d ever laid eyes on, and he may’ve actually been into her.

  She stepped out into the garage. It was late, and the Belle Chasse air was so quiet. Lila drew her arms around her in the coolness of the April night, and the sound of her heels on the concrete echoed through the space as she walked back to her car. She unlocked it and got in, slipping her sweater back on and slipping off her Louboutins, which she placed gingerly on the passenger seat. Her feet weren’t killing her, but she definitely hadn’t realized how tired her legs were until now. Well, she thought, no one ever said they were easy to walk in. She pulled her cell phone out of her clutch. A text was waiting for her.

  -307 Delacroix Rd., by the water. Come over @ 5ish & hang out. The whole fam will b there. :)

  Chapter Six

  The drive home was nice, quiet, windows down. Lila distracted herself by listening to the late-night radio, the soothing voice of the graveyard shift DJ. Fatigue was setting in the further away from the club she got, and she realized that, even if the pay and the set-up was infinitely better than the Dirty Pint, it was still the same job, and she’d still be exhausted when she got home.

  As she pulled into her driveway, Lila noticed the kitchen light was still on, and she braced herself for the scene inside. She got out of the car, not bothering to put her shoes on, stepping carefully on the gravel of the driveway until she made it to the steps. She walked slowly up them, buying as much time as she could to enjoy the new state of her life before the reality of everything fell back down around her. At the back door, she almost dropped everything she had in her hands.

  Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, upright, awake—a sight she’d never seen at this time of night—although he did have a glass of vodka in front of him. It was almost as if he was waiting for her, but why would he be? She turned the doorknob and stepped in, and when he looked at her, she realized she’d been exactly right. He had been waiting for her.

  “I know you didn’t work at the Dirty Pint dressed like that,” he said giving her a once-over.

  “I’m surprised you know anything,” Lila shot back. Her control was already so much looser, and she knew it was dangerous to talk to her dad like this. She’d trained herself very carefully not to mouth off to him, but she’d felt so free and sassy all night that she couldn’t much help it.

  She saw his jaw clench, as though he were really trying to contain himself. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t up and in her face yet.

  “And where the fuck were you, hm?” His voice was agitated and angry, and she had no idea why.

  “I got a new job,” she said shortly.

  “Where?” he asked, but she sensed he wouldn’t be angry if he didn’t know something already.

  “Just a different bar.” She knew that wouldn’t work—her dad knew every bar in town, and knew it well. She hadn’t even thought of how she was going to evade his questions. She’d just assumed he wasn’t going to care if the money—and more of it—was coming in. As long as the mortgage got paid and there was food in the fridge, she didn’t even think he’d realize anything in her life had changed.

  He slammed his glass down on the table. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Where are you working?” Lila kept silent, more out of loss for words than defiance. Her father let out a cruel laugh. “You think I’m an idiot?” he asked softly. “I know where you’re working, Lila. I can spot Club Malevolence uniforms from a mile away.”

  She didn’t know how to react. She’d never imagined that this would be the conversation they’d have tonight. How did her dad even know about Club Malevolence? He wasn’t exactly their target clientelle. She’d also lost all of the gumption she’d stored up from the night. She felt weak and quiet and submissive, and too tired to come back with answers right now. She headed to her bedroom without another word or another glance at her dad. She’d try to figure all this out later.

  “Get out of there while you still can,” her dad said to her as she reached for her bedroom door. His tone confused Lila—he sounded angry, and nasty, but there was a hint of something warm, almost caring. She couldn’t tell, didn’t really want to, she just needed to sleep. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but she went into her room, shut the door, and went to bed.

  Chapter Seven

  When Lila came out the next day, her dad’s room was empty and he was gone. True, it wasn’t early. Lila’d slept in, dead to the world clear until 12:30. That sense of something being slightly off reared up in her gut, but she had too many things to do to worry about feelings right now. She’d made up her mind last night, as she lay in bed, that she was just going to quit the Dirty Pint. She felt a little reckless, as if nothing could ever go wrong at Club Malevolence and, even if it did, she could just find another job somewhere else. She needed to get ready for the day, go there to quit outright and get her last paycheck. Then, she needed to try to find a nice bottle of wine or something—that’s what people did when they went to someone’s house for dinner, right?

  She hopped into the shower, tossing her ratty shorts and t-shirt on the floor in a hea
p. Under the warm water, she’d meant to be speedy and efficient, but once the drops hit her, she was immediately distracted by thoughts of Barrett. She got hot instantly, wet and naked and so aware of her body for the first time in a long time. Her hands slipped from her hair to her neck to her breasts, which she cupped gently on her way down to her pussy, warm and waiting for her touch. She rubbed herself in slow circles, imagining Barrett’s hard, manly hands on her, grabbing her where her hands were. She could imagine the cocksure look on his face as he fucked her, enjoying the act as much as the power he had in the moment.

  She pictured him—sweaty, naked, rock hard—entering her as she slid a finger, then two, into herself. A moan escaped her lips, and she let her head fall back into the stream of the showerhead. His name sat right on the tip of her tongue as her hips started to buck against her own hand, and every time she licked her lips, the B pushed against them. Lila could feel her muscles contracting, her abs tightening up, and her mental picture of Barrett became white, hot, flooded with light. She was coming, and she wanted to say his name so badly, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t say it.

  Spent, she let herself stand idly in the water a moment more. She’d been the only one to touch her body for such a long time. Maybe, she thought to herself, maybe Barrett will…But then she remembered what a dick he’d been, how he’d been so sure he was going to have her, and she felt herself harden against the prospect.

  That was the realization Lila needed. She jumped back into gear, finishing her shower quickly and moving on to the next, more difficult, task of getting dressed. Now that she knew what kind of family the Morans were, she also knew there was nothing in her closet that was going to be exactly appropriate for dinner at their house—mansion, probably. She surveyed her options. She didn’t think they’d make her feel bad about anything, but she also knew she’d feel awkward if she wore the wrong thing. The only thing she could think to wear without looking like a try-hard was a dark pair of skinny jeans and a loose-fitting, scoop neck, black t-shirt. For shoes, she couldn’t help it—she felt like a kid with a new Christmas toy, but she only wanted to wear her Louboutins. The bronzed, snakeskin pair she had didn’t quite go with black, but she thought it looked okay, and it was better than the nasty sneakers or boots she had.