Authors: Ronica Black
Drink in hand, she wandered back into the living room and sat down on the couch. Thoughts of Mark swirled in her head and she didn’t know whether she should scream or cry. Why did this upset her so badly? She had known about the affair, even accepted it in a strange sort of way. She’d never confronted him over it. She hadn’t cared, so why did she care now?
She took another deep pull from her glass. The Coke did nothing to mask the potent flavor of the whiskey, which she usually avoided drinking. But today she embraced its strength and savored the burn as it seared down her throat. It acknowledged her pain, confronted it head-on and then numbed it. Numbed it so she could, for the briefest of time, think about it without flinching, work it out without bleeding to death.
Mark. She leaned back on the couch and drained her drink, desperate for it to fight her demons. Where had everything gone wrong? She had grown used to the betrayal, but why? Because she had stopped loving him. The revelation came out of nowhere, and yet it floated in so clearly. She was just as guilty as he was for the failure of their marriage. Had she truly cared, she would’ve tried harder, she would’ve insisted he end the affair. But she hadn’t. And now this baby, or the hint of one on paper, was a slap in the face. A brutal awakening that her marriage was indeed over, and had been for a long time.
The comfortable groove of ignorance she had been living in had come to a shocking halt. It was time to change, time to make a move. She was now forced to face her failure, and that was what pained her the most. She decided to face it now, before she went in after Adams and while the whiskey was giving her courage. She picked up the phone from the table next to the couch and punched in Mark’s cell phone number. It rang for several moments, then his voice apologized for missing the call and asked for her to please leave a message.
“Mark, it’s me. I really need to talk to you. Can you please call me back as soon as you get this message?” She hung up and lay down on the couch, stretching out her heavy limbs. The stress and the adrenaline had fatigued her and she closed her eyes and drifted off, the phone clutched to her chest.
She awoke to the phone ringing, its sound coming from far away at the end of a long tunnel.
“Hello.” Her voice was like gravel, her eyes still closed.
“Mac?” It was Patricia. “I was just calling to check on you, make sure you were all right.”
Erin opened her eyes and tried to focus. “Fine. I guess I dozed off.” She sat up slowly, rubbed her eyes, and glanced down at her watch. She had been asleep for a few hours, ample time for Mark to have returned her call. “Yes, I’m okay. Thanks.”
“You sure? I thought maybe I could come by later and bring dinner.”
Erin thought for a moment, the wheels of her brain not yet awake and slow to turn. “Thanks, but no. I’ve been asleep and now I’m behind on my reading. I need to get caught up.”
“You sure?” The worry was thick in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m sure. If I need anything I have your number.”
They politely ended the call and Erin stood and stretched and placed the phone back on its charger. Mark was busy in Austin. Too busy with his new family to return her call. To hell with him and his mistress and their baby. To hell with her past. She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. It was time to get tough. Time to concentrate on the now. Starting with this assignment.
Elizabeth Adams watched her surveillance monitors with intent. Beyond her private lair dozens of women danced and laughed, moving like waves through her nightclub. Among them, she would find the next lucky lady destined to be hers for the evening. She could take her pick; no one turned her down. Maybe it was her dark good looks, or maybe it was her money and power. Whatever the appeal, it worked.
Growing bored with what she was seeing, she ran her hands through her shoulder-length mane and decided to continue her hunt down on the dance floor. She took one last look at the multiple screens and came to a stop. A woman in a tight vest and jeans was crossing the parking lot. She was fit, her hair short and light, and she moved with the confident grace of a woman who knew precisely who she was and wanted everyone else to know too. The grainy black-and-white television image did not do her justice, but did enough to whet Liz’s appetite.
With a satisfied grin, she murmured, “There she is,” and picked up the phone that sat on the counter in front of the security monitors. “The blonde in the vest and jeans. Let her in,” she instructed.
Liz didn’t know what she would do without her security. She had cameras planted all over the club, as well as a team of loyal personnel. Nothing went on here that she didn’t know about—that was the only way she felt completely safe. And, she thought with another smile, good security meant choosing her dates was as easy as selecting a treat from a vending machine.
As instructed, one of her team found the attractive blond newcomer and escorted her to the entrance. With a heated flash of anticipation, Liz strode out of her lair and into the VIP room. Several women turned and eyed her hungrily, their interest obvious, but she ignored them and headed to the railing that surrounded the dance floor. Leaning against it, she watched this evening’s prey enter the club. She was even more beautiful than the cameras had promised. Liz considered going after her right away, but thought better of it. She would send Tyson. That always impressed the ladies.
*
La Femme was large by nightclub standards. Once a warehouse, it was now a state-of-the-art dance club. The renovations had cost Adams hundreds of thousands, and it was rumored that she had every inch of the club monitored by video.
Nervous butterflies scurried about in Erin’s abdomen, paying her new attitude no mind. It wasn’t just the thought of Adams that made her tummy all atwitter, it was the women. Like it or not, Erin was finding that she had some previously unsuspected attraction to her own sex. And she was about to be faced with hundreds of women, every one attracted to other women just like her. It struck her then that no matter how stoic her attitude, nothing would prepare her for what she was about to encounter. She shoved her hands in her pockets, drew a deep breath, and did her best to clear her mind of Patricia Henderson. The other detective had entered the club just before her, wearing tight faded jeans and a revealing white tank top.
“Good evening, madam.” Erin felt a touch to her arm. “If you’ll please follow me.”
She turned and stared into a monster of a chest. Its owner, a huge black man with a shiny bald head, wore an earpiece and a tight-fitting black polo shirt with La Femme embroidered in pink on the right breast.
Gently cupping her elbow, he walked her past the buzzing women and onto a plush red carpet that led into the dark entrance. This was flanked by two more security guards, both of them large women. He escorted her into an enormous, throbbing party, where he left her staring, completely in awe.
Everywhere she looked, women were dancing. Hundreds of them. Lights, lasers, strobes flashed down on them, reflecting off their glistening, sweating bodies. The surveillance photos had done nothing to prepare her for the spectacle before her. Apart from the size of the club, which she quickly adjusted to, it was the feel of the place that got to her, the erotic energy. Something primal and electric seized her libido, forcing it up into a lump in her throat. Erin tried to swallow it down, but it didn’t budge. Her inner temperature rose, spreading to her face and loins, awakening her from her standstill.
Looking up, following the lights, she progressed through the room. A catwalk edged the perimeter of the dance floor, where more women stood, some talking, most dancing. Someone bumped into her from behind, jolting her back to her agenda. With new focus she made her way to the bar.
A song by the Escape Club boomed in her ears and she smiled, not having heard it for years. A woman danced above her on an elevated platform wearing only chaps and a cowboy hat. A flesh-colored thong covered her most intimate area, and tassels clung to her nipples, swinging in time with the music. She smiled down at Erin and shot her gun in the air, squirting bubbles from its chamber. Several more women, dressed the same, were dancing on other platforms. It was indeed Wild West night.
Most of the women around her were dressed according to the theme, wearing jeans, boots, and hats. Feeling confident in her own attire, she relaxed a little and swung herself onto the one available stool at the bar. Several bartenders scurried about, serving drinks and dancing while they did it. Kristen Reece had her back to Erin, making what appeared to be a cosmopolitan. She was tall and obviously spent quite a bit of time in the gym when she wasn’t starring in one of Adams’s racy films.
“Howdy.” A tiny woman tipped her cowboy hat at Erin and moved in closer.
“Hi,” Erin replied, keeping her eye on Reece.
“Buy you a drink?” The woman smiled, showing a prominent gap between her two front teeth. She reached into her tight-fitting Wranglers to retrieve some money.
Kristen Reece had turned and now leaned across the bar to face Erin, her cleavage winking in the tight-fitting tank top. Her thick, blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her tilted grin seem even more flirtatious. “What can I get you?” she asked.
Returning the grin and trying to sound confident, Erin said, “Beer’s good.” She could see why Adams had chosen Reece for roles in some of her movies. She was very attractive.
“It’s on me,” the cowboy next to her added, staking her claim.
Reece slid a Corona across the counter, her fingers lingering as Erin wrapped her hand around the cold bottle.
The cowboy plopped down a wad of bills and pushed them toward Reece. “I’ll take a beer too.”
“Fuck off.” Reece pushed the cash back to the tiny cowboy, her eyes never leaving Erin’s.
The cowboy wavered as if she might protest, but then decided against it. Gathering her money, she stalked off, back into the crowd of women, her defeat more than evident.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Erin said playfully.
“Who said I’m nice?”
Erin looked into her sparkling brown eyes and ran a finger around the rim of her beer. “Are you saying you’re bad?”
“Oh I’m very bad,” Reece hissed, taking Erin’s finger and slowly placing it in her mouth, sucking the trace of beer from it.
Erin breathed in deep at the feel of the hot mouth tugging at her finger. “So are you gonna buy me the beer, then?”
“Absolutely. Are you sure a beer’s all you want?”
“It was, but I’m beginning to think I want something more.”
The bartender’s eyes blazed with mischief and she licked her lips. “What are you doing later?”
“Nothing.”
Reece kept hold of her hand, softly stroking it. “What’s your name?”
“Katherine.”
“I’m Kristen.” She flashed that grin again. “So, Katherine, how about we hook up later?”
Erin swallowed. Did women always move this fast? “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance first?”
Reece laughed. “Sure, we can dance. But I have to work, so maybe we can dance later at my place?”
“Maybe.” Erin’s voice faltered. Reece’s fingers were playing her nerve endings.
The big, bald security guard was back. His voice thundered in her ear above the loud music. “Madam, your presence has been requested upstairs.”
“Fuck off, Tyson.” Reece stiffened, shoulders thrown back, thrusting her busty chest out in defiance.
“What’s upstairs?” Erin asked, acting bored.
“The VIPs room. Ms. Adams herself has asked for you.” Tyson reached for her elbow, clearly expecting her to be thrilled and flattered.
“Who’s Ms. Adams?” She avoided his hand.
Tyson reared back at the question, as if struck.
“She owns the place,” Reece clarified, obviously annoyed at the interruption.
“Oh. Well, thanks but no thanks. I’m fine where I’m at.” Erin returned her full attention to Reece, who soaked it up.
After staring a few seconds in disbelief, Tyson adjusted his earpiece and turned his back to the women, saying something Erin could not discern. A moment later, he had his orders.
“Kristen, you’ve been excused for the remainder of your shift,” he said.
“What?” Reece dropped Erin’s hand and shot a long look up at a small camera trained on the bar.
Tyson clenched his massive fists, pumping the muscles in his arms. “You’re excused.”
“Un-fucking-believable!” Reece slammed a cleaning rag down on the bar and jerked a pen out of her back pocket. She reached for Erin’s hand and wrote on her palm. “Here’s my number. Give me a call sometime.” With another scornful look at the camera, she lifted the sectional bar piece and walked past it, slamming it back down behind her.
Erin watched her storm away and head up a roped-off staircase across the dance floor. Were all women that intense? She glanced down at the number on her palm, overwhelmed at how quickly Kristen Reece had claimed her.
“Madam, if you would step this way,” Tyson reminded her politely.
Erin slid down from her stool and nudged past him. “I said no thanks.”
She worked her way over to the other side of the bar, away from the looming mass of muscle that was Tyson. She wasn’t sure if it was him or the throng of sweaty people, but she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. She turned sideways and wedged herself between two women. A new bartender approached, this one shorter than Reece with jet-black hair. Her face was pierced in different areas, a constellation of metal.