The bar is my fortress. I am safe behind this half wall.

***

“So, how are you making out so far?” Storm asks during a two minute lull late in the night. “Think you can handle bartending in a strip club six nights a week?”

I shrug. “Yeah, no big deal. Just a lot of boobs and ass cheeks and I avoid the stage so I don’t see …” My attention drifts to the stage where an Asian girl wearing nothing but a piece of silver floss wraps her legs around her neck. “That!” I jerk my head away. “How can she do it?”

“That’s Cherry. She’s into hot yoga.”

I roll my eyes. “No, I don’t mean how. I mean … how!”

“Everyone’s got their price,” is Storm’s only response as she dispenses another round of Jim Beam.

“I guess so,” I mutter, silently wondering if Storm has set a price.

“Okay, so now that you’re familiar with the bar, Kacey,” Storm begins, “you can start smiling any time. You do know that if you smile at the customers, you’re likely to get bigger tips, right?”

I smirk. “Why would me smiling make them give me more money when they can save it for the person humping their leg? Are they idiots?”

“Just … trust me.” She sighs patiently, moving back to serve a customer, hollering over her shoulder, “You’re the shiny new red-haired toy and you’re forcing them to use their imagination.”

Great. That’s what I want to be. Some guy’s wet dream.

To prove her wrong, I give the next three customers the widest grin my face can handle without splitting in half. I even wink at one. Low and behold, the tips double. Hmmm. Maybe we’re on to something. If only smiling wasn’t such a drain.

A middle-aged cowboy with an oversized hat and Wrangler jeans leans forward over the bar, his mouth twisted like he’s chewing on a piece of straw, but there’s nothing there. “Ain’t you a pretty sight, all toned and natural,” he says, lingering too long on my cleavage. Why, I don’t know. I look like a ten year old boy next to every other female in this place. When he sneers, I see that his teeth are stained yellowish brown by years of tobacco.

I swallow my revulsion and force a smile. “What can I get you tonight, sir?”

“How ’bout a Tom Collins and a private show?”

“One Tom Collins coming up. I’m fresh out of private shows.” I keep my smile, all the while my level of annoyance climbs, anxious to get rid of this guy. When I slide the drink across the bar to him, and reach for the twenty dollar bill, his paw closes over my forearm, his fingers coarse and impolite. He leans in and I catch a whiff of stale tobacco and booze on his breath. “How ’bout you take your break now and show me that tight ass of yours?”

“I just bartend here, sir,” I force through gritted teeth, my body shifting into defensive mode. “There are plenty of girls here who can give you what you want.” And I’m not exaggerating. Everywhere I look I find ass cheeks and nipples and worse. I played a lot of sports in high school so I’ve seen my share of naked bodies in showers after games. Heck, I labeled Jenny the “Grand Rapids Exhibitionist” because she had no qualms with stripping down to buck in front of me. This place is different though. They’re wandering around, peddling their wares. Selling their bodies.

“I got money! Name your price.”

“You don’t have enough, trust me,” I growl back, but I can tell he’s not listening, his other hand disappearing below the bar, likely to adjust his growing arousal. I want to gag. I imagine he’ll be rough when he finally corners a poor, desperate, and obviously blind woman. “I’d let go if I were you … sir.”

From my peripherals, I see Nate and Ben’s looming frames moving in to save me. The idea of that bothers me for some reason. I don’t need them to protect me.

I don’t need anyone.

And I want to hurt this guy.

I half-lean, half-jump forward to hook my free hand around the cowboy’s sweaty neck. I yank down hard and fast. He grunts as his face slams against the bar. I hold it there, my fingers digging into the base of his spine. My heart is hammering against my ribs as blood rushes to my ears. This feels good. I feel alive. “How do ya like this tight ass now?” I hiss.

Nate’s hands slam over his shoulders and I hear his low rumble over the music as he drags the cowboy away, bleeding from a cut to his bottom lip. “You’ll have to leave now, sir.” The guy’s also got a bright red mark on his forehead. Definitely a bruise tomorrow. He doesn’t resist though. I doubt even the Incredible Hulk would resist Nate.

Ben hangs back to ask,“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him as Storm sidles up to my side with a worried look. My attention trails after Nate and I cross glances with Cain sitting at a table off to the side. A sinking feeling settles over me. He must have watched the entire scene unfold. It dawns on me that maybe he doesn’t want his customers’ heads slammed against the bar. Maybe I just got my ass fired.

Cain gives me a thumbs-up sign, and I release a huge sigh of relief.

“I told you to smile, not get yourself into a bar fight,” Storm jokes, nudging me in the ribs.

“He wanted a private show,” I explain, my adrenaline still pumping blood through my body. “I gave him a public one instead.”

Ben leans forward, elbows resting over the bar, an impressed smirk on his face. “You sure know how to handle yourself.”

“I was raised by wolves. Had to fight for my food.”

His head tilts back and a throaty laugh escapes. “Sorry if I was a douche bag earlier. I’m just used to seeing pretty, fresh girls come in here and leave worn and jaded. I hate it.”

“Well then it’s your lucky day. I’m already jaded.” I give him the once over. “And maybe you shouldn’t work in a strip club.”

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me. But the money’s too good and I’m putting myself through law school.” He catches my raised brow and his grin widens. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You don’t give off lawyerly vibes.”

Ben turns his body and rests his elbows on the bar so he faces out into the crowd while he talks to me. “So I hear you just moved here?”

“Yep.” I busy myself with wiping the counter down and stacking freshly washed glasses.

“You’re a big talker, aren’t you?”

“Us fully-dressed girls have to work extra hard for our money.”

His head falls back to look at me. “Fair enough. Listen—next time you’re at the gym and I’m there, come get me. We can go a few rounds.” He saunters away, not waiting for my response.

Oh, I’ll go a few rounds with you, but probably not the kind your crotch brain is offering. I follow his movements, about to holler, “You got it, Lawyer Boy!” but the words die on my lips.

Trent is sitting at a single top bar height table.

And he’s not watching the naked pretzel on the stage. He’s watching me.

Check that. Staring at me.

Trent is here and he’s staring at me.

“What the hell …” I grumble to no one in particular, ducking my head. I can’t deal with him and what he does to me now. Here. Tonight. Fuck!

I sense a form step up to the bar and I cautiously look up. It’s Nate, thank God. He’s back from the cowboy eviction already. “Is that guy bothering you, Kacey?”

I swallow. “Nah.” Yes, but not for the reasons you think.

“You sure?” He pivots his massive body to check the table. Trent’s still there, leaning his long body back into his chair, sipping on his straw, his focus now on Cherry. “He’s been there for half an hour. He’s been watching you.”

“He has?” I squeak and then quickly add in a normal tone, “he’s my neighbor. It’s okay.”

Nate’s dark orbs wander the rest of the room, looking for grabby guys that he can toss out the door, no doubt. “You make sure you tell me if he bothers you, okay, Kacey?”

When I don’t answer, he looks down at me again, that thunderous voice of his a little softer. “Okay?”