Hard As You Can

Chapter 11

You’re back. Finally,” Marz bellowed across the gym at Shane the minute he walked through the door. Hyped-up about something. Business as usual for the guy.

Shane joined Marz, Beckett, and Easy sitting on metal folding chairs around the computers in the back of the room.

“Go for a swim?” Beckett asked, smirking.

Shane glared. As if his wet jeans weren’t chafing his hide enough, now Murda had to ride him. “Everybody’s a fucking comedian,” he grumbled, tugging his damp tee away from his skin.

“What crawled up your ass?” Amusement danced in Beckett’s blue eyes.

Turning a chair around, Shane straddled it and sat. “My own damn stupidity.”

“Things didn’t go well with the woman?” Easy asked in a flat voice. Sitting backward on the chair with his arms braced on the backrest, Easy’s position mirrored his own.

Shane looked the guy over. Bloodshot eyes. Dark circles. All of them were run ragged, weren’t they? The combination of the hell of the past year and the crisis of the past days. “Yes and no. Crystal volunteered the information I picked up on the bugs last night, so she confirmed her reliability.”

Beckett arched a brow. “What’s the no?”

Tugging his fingers through his damp hair, Shane heaved a breath. “She didn’t have any further specifics on the marine terminal. And I pushed her too far.” He waved a hand. No way he was sharing how he’d pushed her. He wasn’t a glutton for punishment, after all. “It’ll be all right. I’ll fix it.” Maybe. Blinking away that train of thought, Shane looked to Marz. “Why were you so happy to see me? You know, besides my general awesomeness.”

Marz pushed out of his chair, big grin on his face, and held out his hands. “I’m getting married!”

Shane sighed. The expressions on the other two said they’d already been down this road. “All right. I’ll bite.”

“I think the appropriate sentiment is ‘congratulations’,” Marz said, crossing his arms and feigning insult.

“Just spill the brilliance of whatever this is about,” Shane said.

“Only because you acknowledged its brilliance.” Marz sat, excitement rolling off the guy. “I figured out how to solve the problem of getting us eyes and ears in the back of Confessions.”

“By getting married?”

“By pretending to get married. And what does every pretend groom need?” Marz’s grin was full of anticipation.

“A bride?” Shane said.

Marz rolled his eyes and waved his hands. “Okay, but what else?”

Shane looked between the three of them. And then the lightbulb went on. “A bachelor party,” Shane said.

Marz clapped his hands. “Ding ding ding. Give the man a cigar.”

Yup. The idea was, in fact, brilliant. Really brilliant. “I assume there are private rooms in the back for parties or something?”

“Precisely,” Marz said, turning his monitor toward the other three men. The Confessions Web site promised discerning gentlemen a night they’d never forget with the sexiest, most exotic women in Baltimore.

Like, say, Crystal.

Shane swallowed the growl the stray thought beckoned. He read farther down the screen. “Says the rooms have to be reserved in advance.”

Beckett looked up from his phone and gave a small smile, or what passed for a smile with the hard-ass. “He’s way ahead of you, man.”

“True dat,” Marz said, reclining in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head. “While you were out chasing girls”—he waggled his eyebrows—“I got us a Plan B in the form of a bachelor party. We’ve got an appointment to see the private rooms tonight at eight.” He tapped his hand against a small box. “And I put together a couple different types of devices depending on what kinds of access we manage to gain while we’re in there.”

“Nice. Did you actually schedule a date for a party?”

Marz laughed. “Told them I was doing the deed on Saturday to make the appointment time-sensitive. So the party is Friday night.” He waved a hand. “We’ll just cancel it.”

“Who’s going?” Shane asked.

“The four of us,” Marz said. “Make it seem like a group of friends just hanging out together.” Beckett and Easy voiced their agreements. “I think Nick’s gonna sit this one out. Charlie’s going downhill, and Becca’s worried. She’s holding it together like a champ, but Nick’s not going to want to leave them.”

Damn. Shane had been so wrapped up in Crystal, he’d nearly forgotten about Charlie. And there was the problem in a fucking nutshell. “What did her friend say after he saw Charlie? Did you talk to him?”

“Murphy? I did,” Easy said. “Seems like a stand-up guy. Recognized things were dire. Supposed to be back around eleven with his rig and everything y’all need.”

Need. As in, for the surgery. Sonofabitch. What they were contemplating doing was a helluva lot more complicated than anything he’d ever handled before. What if it didn’t work, and Charlie got worse? Even a blind hog had to find an acorn now and then. Wasn’t it about their turn?

“We’ll get you back in time to help with that,” Marz said.

Which meant . . . Aw, hell. Would Crystal be there tonight? Shane scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to remember if she’d mentioned her work schedule.

“What?” Marz asked.

“Crystal. I should give her a heads-up. If I surprise her in there, and she gives away that she knows me, it could be bad for us and her.” Shit. So much for giving her the night to calm down. But who could’ve predicted Marz would get fake-engaged in the three hours he’d been gone.

“Guess you better get to whatever fixing things you need to do, then,” Beckett said, expression serious.

Shane struggled to yank his phone from his wet jeans pocket. He pressed a button and put the cell to his ear.

Straight to voice mail.

“Damnit,” he said. He’d called her this morning to see how Jenna was doing and gotten the same result. Though, if she was hiding the phone, maybe she’d turned it off, too. It was what he’d do in the same situation. “Marz, can you pull up some ears on her place.” He glanced at his watch. After five.

A few keystrokes later, Marz nodded. For a long stretch of minutes, the apartment on the other end of the devices sounded quiet, only occasional, small shuffling noises to indicate someone might be there. All four of the guys stared at the speakers like there was something to watch, their seriousness reflecting their understanding of what could happen to an informant who was outed.

Knock, knock. “Jenna? Can I come in?” Crystal. Bingo. Silence stretched out before another round of knocking. “Jenna? Please?”

Shane frowned. Crystal sounded almost upset. He imagined the expression she’d worn right before she’d bolted from the woods, and his chest squeezed.

“Jen, this apartment is seven hundred square feet. You can’t avoid me forever.”

Marz arched a brow and held out his hands like he was asking what was going on. Shane shook his head.

Something rattled and squeaked. “Actually, I could avoid you if I wanted. So don’t tempt me. What do you want?” Jenna, presumably.

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Crystal said, her tone conciliatory.

“I’m fine,” Jenna said in that tone women used that meant they were the exact opposite of fine.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

The regret in Crystal’s voice reached right into Shane’s chest and grabbed hold. He’d seen how much her sister meant to her. He could hear it in her voice, even as Jenna came at her with anger. There was a long pause, and Shane leaned closer.

“Is he going to be at your work tonight?” Jenna finally said.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s a yes. I have half a mind to march into Confessions tonight and tell him if he lays another hand on you, I’ll call the police myself.”

Oh, shit, Shane thought. What a fucking disaster that would be. “You will not,” Crystal barked, apparently agreeing. “Do you hear me? You are never to step foot in there for any reason. You know how I feel about that. It’s not safe.”

“Oh, but it’s safe for you?”

“God, Jenna. Grow up. I don’t have a freaking choice.” The words overflowed with a desperation that sucker punched Shane and made it hard to breathe. She doesn’t have a choice? What the hell does that mean?

A gasp, then a sniffle.

“Aw, sweetie, come here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Someone was crying. “No. Gotta get used to taking care of myself sometime. Might as well be now,” Jenna said in a strained voice.

“Jen—”

“I’m gonna lose you. Don’t you understand?”

“No, you’re not. I promise.” Sharp knots formed in Shane’s gut as the women fought. He identified wholeheartedly with Jenna’s concerns, but he hated the guilt and pain he heard in Crystal’s voice.

“You can’t make that promise. Not with where you work and who you date. God, I hate Dad. I hate him. This is his fault.” Their father? What did he have to do with this?

“Sshh, it’s okay.”

“No. None of this is okay. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed, you wouldn’t have gotten sucked into that world. But it’s your fault, too. Because you could get out, but you don’t. You just stay there and take it. You’re just like him!” The longer Jenna spoke, the more heated her words became. She had some of the same fighter qualities as Crystal, it appeared, though Shane wasn’t a fan of where that fight was being directed right now. Those words had heart-shredder written all over them.

Crystal’s gasp told him he’d been right. Jenna’s rant had hit its target.

A few long moments passed, with Crystal attempting unsuccessfully to talk Jenna down. And as much as Shane regretted the younger woman’s behavior for Crystal’s sake, her motivation came through loud and clear. Shane wasn’t the only one who knew Crystal was in trouble. Nor was he the only one worrying. Jenna’s fear was at least partially behind why she was lashing out. He would’ve put money on it.

A slammed door brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

“Shit,” Crystal whispered. “That went great.” The sarcasm did nothing to hide the sadness in her voice. “I’ll be home after two, Jenna. Don’t wait up. Please try to get some sleep tonight. Okay?”

Silence.

A series of muffled noises followed until another door closed. Crystal leaving, presumably.

Which meant they would run into one another at Confessions.

Fanfuckingtastic.

Feeling like the ground was moving beneath his feet, Shane nodded to Marz, who turned down the feed. How could Crystal be forced to work at Confessions? And by whom? By this Bruno asshole? By Church himself? Jesus. Shane thought he’d been worried about her before. With five little words, Crystal had just confirmed that her situation was even worse than Shane had feared.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marz asked.

Still reeling, Shane met the man’s concerned gaze. “Dude, I don’t even know.”

Marz pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head. “Put the context of a strip club we know engages in human trafficking together with the comment Crystal just made, and it’s pretty damn clear she’s not fully free.”

“Debt servitude, maybe?” Beckett said in a tone full of ice.

The more his friends speculated, the more he knew they were right. Sonofabitch. The realization of just how seriously in trouble Crystal was made him feel like he was breathing crushed glass. And there went the thought he could remain detached.

Forcing himself from the downward spiral of his thoughts, Shane focused on another part of what they’d learned—their father. “Marz, can you go through the phone records? See if you can find Crystal’s real name. Then see if you can dig up who their father was and how he might be involved in all this?”

“Can do,” Marz said.

“So, it sounds like Crystal’s on her way to the club now,” Beckett said, rubbing at his scarred temple.

“Yeah.” Shane thought about how smoothly she’d handled his appearance in the club the night after they’d rescued Charlie. She could’ve freaked out or screamed or pointed or run away. A million things. But she’d masked her surprise, ordered him out without making a scene, and put on a good show to which no one gave a second thought. No reason to think she wouldn’t handle herself the same way again.

Except, now, Shane knew her, cared about her. The worry he felt was probably more about him than her. And wasn’t that a peachy revelation.

Easy cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his bald head. When he wanted it to happen, the guy had a knack for fading into the background of a conversation to the point you almost forgot he was there. Seemed like he’d been doing it a lot since they’d reunited. “This sister could become a problem for your waitress friend,” he said. “She’s got a bit of a temper on her. If Crystal’s handsy boyfriend comes over, and Jenna loses it at the wrong time . . .” Easy let them finish the sentence for themselves. No matter how they filled in the blanks, though, the end results weren’t good.

“Sounds like she was just blowing off steam,” Shane said. “But point taken.”

Nodding, Easy said, “I’m not saying we do anything, but it bears watching.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded from all three of them, and Shane found himself glad to have their support where Crystal and her sister were concerned.

“All right. I need to shower and change if we’re going back out. These jeans are starting to chafe,” Shane said, to the guys’ amusement. He was halfway to the door when something occurred to him, and Shane turned back. “Hey, Marz?”

“Yo.”

“If you find out Crystal’s name, don’t tell me.”

“Come again?” Marz said, as Easy’s and Beckett’s gazes swung toward Shane.

He made sure his tone was casual, unaffected. “I just want to hear it from her first.”

Marz cocked his head and stared at him. Sure enough, a flash of recognition passed through the man’s eyes. Shane’s emotions had gotten involved, and now Marz knew it. “Whatever you say, hoss,” he said. “I live to serve.”

Shane nodded and beat feet for the door, silently thanking the man for holding back whatever commentary might’ve gone through his head a few seconds before. Last thing he wanted was for the team to worry he’d lost his objectivity because he’d gotten attached to the girl.

Even though, damn, he was kinda getting attached to the girl.

And wasn’t that a red-handed smack in the ass.

CRYSTAL WASN’T SURE how the sensation of emptiness could be so painful. But her chest absolutely throbbed with it.

Had she ever seen Jenna so angry before?

No. Not even the day her sister had seen those first bruises on Crystal’s arm though that day had been pretty bad, too. In her heart of hearts, Crystal knew Jenna was just worried. The girl had their father’s temper but, unlike him, was usually quick to forgive. Not this time. God, Crystal wasn’t sure how to make this right.

Not without dumping an anvil of worry and guilt on her sister’s shoulders. And no way that kinda stress would be good for Jenna’s epilepsy.

Because spilling to Jenna didn’t just put her sister in the position of having to keep her mouth shut and play her part convincingly, it also meant revealing that Bruno paid for Jenna’s medical expenses and explaining why their departure had to be secret. Which meant explaining how Crystal had been forced to work off their father’s debts. And that meant revealing the scars on her back that Crystal had gone out of her way to hide the past four years.

For a moment, memories sucked Crystal back to the night it had all started. Some of Church’s men had come to the house, nearly cleaned out from the previous day’s auction of their home and its contents, to inform her that the sale hadn’t raised enough to cancel out her dead father’s debts. Apparently, they hadn’t thought her cooperative or concerned enough—after all, the debts weren’t her fault—so they’d grabbed her and forced her into their van. Next thing she knew, she was locked in one of the basement rooms of Confessions. Tools of various sorts hung on one of the pitch-black walls—some she could identify and some she couldn’t.

And then the men had started coming.

The only saving grace in the whole thing was that Jenna had been away on the tenth grade’s spring break field trip to Philadelphia. Over Jenna’s protests, Crystal had insisted she go so she wouldn’t have to witness all their belongings being sold off. And thank God she had. Because if Jenna had been home that night, there’s every chance the Churchmen would’ve taken her, too. Somehow, Crystal didn’t think that Jenna’s being only fifteen and sickly would’ve stopped them.

Cold crept over Crystal’s skin, and she shuddered. It had been Bruno who rescued her from the basement and kept Jenna from landing there herself. Thank God their father, before he went to prison, had called in a favor for having saved Bruno’s life and gotten the man to promise to watch out for them. So Bruno had rescued Crystal and shielded Jenna to even the score and keep his word. But because he couldn’t let them out of the debt repayment, he’d arranged for Crystal to get other work at Confessions. That was when she started waitressing. And, after a while, dating Bruno.

God, she could still remember her relief and gratitude toward Bruno. He hadn’t just seemed like the answer to all her problems, he’d literally saved Crystal and protected Jenna from a situation that might’ve killed them or seen them sold off somewhere far, far away. Just like the other girls who’d disappeared into the club’s bowels, never to be heard of again.

So, Crystal knew firsthand exactly what kind of danger lurked behind the scenes at Confessions. The threat of that fate wasn’t idle. Which was why she absolutely refused to tolerate even the thought of Jenna’s stepping into the club. God, when the girl had threatened to come to Crystal’s work and confront Bruno, Crystal had almost tipped right over the edge into a full-blown panic attack. Because back when Bruno first got violent with her, he wasn’t above reminding her how easily he could change Jenna’s fate. Just one call from Bruno, and Church would have her hauled in.

And that’s also why you helped Shane. Right. She just hoped that didn’t come back to haunt her.

Crystal couldn’t imagine how she’d ever find the words to tell her little sister any of that, though. Jenna would never look at her the same way again.

No. It was far better for Jenna never to know exactly what’d happened—what was still happening. For years, Crystal had gone out of her way to hide her true reality. She never changed in front of Jenna. Always locked the bathroom door when she showered—a source of constant complaint from Jenna given their one-bathroom setup. And she’d gotten Bruno’s permission to sew herself uniform tops similar to the standard Confessions uniforms but that covered up her defects.

Since, you know, men were paying for the fantasy of perfection at the club. And while the whip marks she bore probably were a fantasy for some of the sickos that sat around ogling the girls night after night, Confessions didn’t exactly advertise their support for that kinda thing right out there in the open. No, those dark proclivities could only be provided for in the shadows.

Say, in the club’s basement . . .

Forcing her attention back to her reflection in the dressing-room mirror, Crystal blew out a shaky breath. Wallowing in those memories did absolutely no good. Except maybe as a cautionary tale to help guide her through her screwed-up life. As she stared at herself, Crystal had the fleeting thought that her life was a house of cards, one light blow away from falling to pieces and disintegrating to nothing.

“Enough,” she whispered under her breath. If she didn’t get her head together, she was going to mess something up and get herself in trouble around here tonight. But between the head-spinning deliciousness of kissing Shane and the fight with Jenna—not to mention being compared to their father . . . Crystal felt as fragile as cracked glass.

She gave herself one last look. Hair—curled and sprayed. Makeup—dramatic. Jewelry—costume crap she didn’t care about losing. Uniform—skanky and scanty as always. Slipping her feet into the killer heels, she bent over and assembled the little silver buckles. Back in character for yet another shift.

The club had been open since noon, but it was still quiet when Crystal took the floor at seven. Which just figured. On nights when she might’ve considered giving all her tips to another waitress for ten minutes off her feet, business never let up. On nights when all Crystal wanted was to be so busy she wouldn’t have five minutes to think, time crawled by.

Tonight, the last place she wanted to be was in her head with the memories of all the ways she’d screwed up.

Confessions’s shift manager Darnell Parsons waved her over to the bar. “Prospective bachelor-party clients coming in to take a tour of the private rooms at eight for a party Friday night. You want to host them?” he asked, eyeballing her. With his warm brown skin and light eyes, the man was attractive enough, but he was possibly the most humorless, uptight man she’d ever known. “Well?” he asked, annoyance plain in his tone.

“Yes. I would. Thank you.” The clients could request certain girls to work a party, so making a good impression during one of these visits could result in getting booked for parties where the tips ran way bigger than what you could earn on the main club floor.

Darnell nodded. “Go get the rooms up and running so everything’s ready when they get here,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” Crystal darted toward the curtained doorway to the back hall. The minute she stepped through, she remembered how Shane had pressed her up against the wall right there, trapping her with his strength and his heat and his charm.

God, how could that have only happened a few days ago? If she thought on it, she could recall his scent and the way it had wrapped around her. Or, maybe, despite the long shower she’d taken after they’d gotten caught in the rain this afternoon, a part of him still lingered on her skin even now. Either way, one thing was clear. Shane had invaded her head and unsettled her body.

Crystal huffed an annoyed breath at herself and marched down the dim corridor. Feelings like that were exactly why Crystal needed to keep her distance from the man. He made her lose focus. He made her wish things could be different. And he made her want to throw caution to the wind and, for just once in her life, take what she wanted.

Openly. Wantonly. Unapologetically.

Which would be a freaking disaster. Or worse.

Past the door to the rear parking lot, a hall with black carpeting and red, padded walls stretched out like a long arm, the party rooms located along both sides.

Crystal entered the first room on her left and set about turning on the lights and the sound system. Despite variations in size and décor, the rooms were essentially the same. A small square stage sat in the center with a pole that extended to the ceiling surrounded by groupings of leather couches, chairs, and tables. Mirrors on the ceiling and along one wall. All the rooms had a private bathroom and wet bar in the rear of the space, though clients had to pay extra to have someone tend the party en suite.

She repeated the same setup in the other two rooms, knowing Darnell would want to take a chunk out of her hide if the client arrived before they were ready to begin the tour. Thankfully, Crystal was ready to play hostess with minutes to spare.

Soon after she’d taken up position by the bar, four men walked through the front door, two of whom she recognized. One of the men who’d been in the hallway with Shane the other night. And Shane, plucking a cowboy hat from his head.

He and his friends were approaching the bar not far from where she stood.

Oh, God. What the hell was he doing here?

Feigning nonchalance, she smiled at the men, forced her body to remain relaxed, and glanced away like two of the four of them weren’t on the Church gang’s most wanted list.

“Hey, buddy,” one of them said to Walker, who’d been shooting the shit with a few regulars from his position behind the bar. Crystal peeked at the men from underneath her lashes. “We’re here to see Darnell. Is he around?” The man who’d spoken was tall, bulky in the shoulders, with longish brown hair and an expression that hinted at a smile.

“I’ll call him out here for you,” Walker said. He gestured toward Crystal. “In the meantime, Crystal would be happy to show you to a table and take your drink orders.”

She turned on her inner flirt, smiled, and batted her eyelashes. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, please.”

Her heart pounding as loud as the bass of the music around them, Crystal guided them to a table near the curtained doorway. When it wasn’t too loud or crowded, Darnell preferred to introduce clients to the club out here so he could discuss the public amenities before showing clients what was available in the private spaces.

“What can I get for you boys?” she asked with a smile. And for the first time, she had a moment to soak them all in. And . . . what the hell were they wearing? Plaid shirts, big buckles, blue jeans, boots. The African-American man wore a beat-up John Deere baseball hat pulled low on his forehead. Shane balanced his cowboy hat on one thick thigh.

Looking at him, the men’s appearances suddenly made sense. Disguises. Because Shane looked different yet again from the way he’d been every other time she’d seen him. That first night had been so hurried, but the next night when he’d shown up at the club, then at her apartment, he’d had a hard-edged, bad-ass vibe about him. Earlier today, his look had been more casual. Not average, exactly, because Shane could never be that. But now . . . well, let’s just say he played country boy very convincingly, right down to the pronounced drawl with which he ordered his whiskey.

She couldn’t meet Shane’s gaze, though, because she really wasn’t sure which of the competing emotions might bubble to the surface if she did. Hysteria. Anger. Maybe even humor at the getups.

By the time she’d returned from the bar with the men’s drinks, Darnell was introducing himself and shaking each of the men’s hands. As unobtrusively as possible, Crystal delivered the drinks.

“Now, who’s the bachelor?” Darnell asked.

“That would be me,” the friendly-faced man said, offering his hand. “Darren Morrison. Getting married on Saturday.” They shook.

“Celebrating your last night of freedom?” Darnell said. Crystal had to resist rolling her eyes.

The man nodded. “You got it. When my boys suggested there was no better place to have a send-off than Confessions, I had to agree.” The guys all smiled, including Shane. She had to admit, nothing about them flagged these men as being anything other than what they seemed. Good ol’ boys out for a night of fun.

Crystal would just need to make sure her performance was as strong.

As Darnell dove into his spiel, Crystal stepped to the side of the group as far from Shane as possible. Soon, her manager was leading them into the back of the club, down the long hallway, and into the first of the party rooms. Inside, the men milled around, poked their heads into the bathroom, and tried out the couches while Darnell described how parties typically worked: one waitstaff, two dancers, special attention for the bachelor of various sorts, and the room itself for three hours.

Standing near the door, Crystal watched the men explore the room, totally convinced they were just a group of ordinary guys planning a party. They answered Darnell’s questions about number of attendees, types of food and drink they wanted on hand, and the groom-to-be’s preferences in girls like the subject matter totally engrossed them.

All of which led Crystal to wonder what they hell they were really doing here. Even if Mr. Groom was, in fact, having a bachelor party, it made absolutely no sense to do it here given that Shane and the other man had been involved in the rescuing of Church’s hostage. No matter how she turned it around, she couldn’t get their presence to make any sense.

“Mind if I use the john?” Mr. Groom asked Darnell with a smile.

“No problem,” Darnell said.

As the man disappeared into the bathroom, her manager grabbed the remote and demonstrated the video system. A screen eased down along the one wall, and a menu of movie choices filled the screen. Sports, action/adventures, thrillers, war movies, and, of course, porn.

The guys laughed and joked around about the cheesy titles.

When the man rejoined the group from the bathroom, Darnell continued the tour into the next two rooms. Along the way, Crystal offered to refill drinks, answered the rare question directed toward her, and generally tried to fade into the background.

“Do you have a preference between the rooms, gentlemen?” Darnell asked as he finished showing the last room.

Shane led them in a conversation of the pros and cons of rooms until they agreed to reserve the first, biggest room. Crystal was almost bored as she followed the group of them up the private hallway toward the main part of the club.

The back door flew open and Bruno stepped inside. “Hey, baby,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his body, so that she almost stumbled.

“Hey,” she said, blinking away the sense of calm she’d managed to achieve. She had to go and tempt the fates with thinking the night was boring, hadn’t she?

In that moment, Shane looked over his shoulder and caught what unfolded next. As he watched, Bruno pushed her against the wall. Grasped her jaw. And kissed her aggressively. Crystal felt like the kiss moved in slow motion.

Worse, she had to kiss him back. A biting sting sprang to the backs of her eyes as she sank into the kiss and threaded her arms around Bruno’s neck.

Shane’s stare was a physical caress against her skin. And his rage suffocated the very air she was trying to breathe around Bruno’s invading tongue.

And, oh God, as if the man she wanted watching her kiss another man wasn’t soul-killing enough, Bruno’s hands started wandering. Down her sides. Pausing at her breasts. Cupping her ass.

She’d never felt cheaper in all her life.

Vomit made a slow crawl upward from her stomach.

From down the hall, the men’s footsteps receded, then disappeared out into the main club altogether.

No doubt Bruno had just made her decision about whether to shut Shane out a hell of a lot easier. Because there was no way Shane would want her after seeing that. Not six hours ago, she’d stood in the woods in the rain and lost herself to Shane’s touch, his scent, his kiss.

And now here she stood doing the same thing again with someone else. Or, at least, that had to be the way it looked to Shane.

Bruno patted her on the ass. “Gotta go, babe,” he said, as if his actions hadn’t just left her feeling gutted.

She forced a smile. “Okay. See ya.” She watched him strut his way down to the offices and disappear inside.

Half-afraid she might really be sick, Crystal bolted. She pushed through the dressing-room door so hard it banged off the wall behind it. Across the room. Into the stall. Onto her knees.

As her stomach rolled, she stared at the placid water in the old, stained toilet. A cold sweat broke out across her brow and under her uniform, but the urge to hurl receded. Thank God.

She slumped on the floor next to the john, her back against the scratched and dented light blue wall of the stall. At least no one had been in here to witness that lovely scene.

Forcing herself onto her feet, Crystal breathed deeply a few times to make sure her tummy had really settled. Then she applied some new powder and blush to remove the sheen from her face. “Good as new,” she said, hoping a little positive thinking would make her feel better. Not so much.

Damnit. She had to get her head on straight. This was exactly why her gut kept saying Shane McCallan was so dangerous. Frankly, there weren’t many people whose opinions of her mattered. In fact, before Shane, she’d been able to count those who mattered on just one finger. Jenna.

She couldn’t afford to let some man she barely knew scramble her wires like this. There was too much at stake.

With one last deep breath, Crystal pulled the dressing room door open. And walked right into a big, male body.

Crystal gasped. “You can’t be back here!” She grabbed Shane’s shirt with both hands and hauled him into the dressing room, then locked the door. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to get me killed.” She’d meant the words figuratively, of course, but in point of fact, they possessed some literal truth.

His gaze was hard and lethal as steel. “I saw you run past the door.”

“And?” she said, exasperation using up every bit of her patience.

“I was worried.”

He was . . . worried? Even after he saw me . . . ? “Why?” she said.

He muttered under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I take it that was Bruno?”

Crystal’s gaze dropped to the floor, the one she wished would open up and swallow her. She nodded.

“Well, I saw him grab you, Crystal. He might as well have mauled you—” Shane raked his fingers through his hair, messing up the neatly combed style that highlighted the blond.

Crystal grabbed his hands. “Don’t do that. You’re messing up your comb-over,” she said. Using her own fingers, she straightened his hair, all the while the realization sank in that he wasn’t mad because she’d kissed Bruno, he was mad because Bruno had kissed her.

Shane went still under her touch. Her face heated and, sure enough, his gaze blazed at her. She yanked her hands away. “You have to leave—”

“Not yet.” A raw, aggressive masculinity poured off him, and Shane shook his head. “Not until you hear what I have to say.” He stepped closer.

“But, Shane—”

“No. What he did out there, that wasn’t okay with you. Jesus. I could see it in your eyes, your body, the way your fucking hands shook.” He heaved a deep breath, like he was attempting to calm himself. “And if it wasn’t okay with you, it’s sure as hell not okay with me.” Closer, yet. So close his chest brushed hers. “In point of fact, I have a major fucking problem with a male forcing a woman to do anything,” he said, his eyes burning with molten silver. “But let me be clear, Crystal. Seeing him all over you like that would do bad things to me even if you wanted his attention. So my intentions here”—he pursed his lips and shook his head—“they’re not all honorable. Because I want you. I want you so bad I can hardly breathe.”

The room spun around Crystal, and butterflies looped within her belly. “Shane,” she whispered, dumbstruck by his declaration. Nervous energy exploded within her until she thought she might burst into a thousand pieces. “Please. We can talk later,” she rushed. “You have to go.”

“You promise? Because I’m not done here. Not by a long shot.”

The dark temptation of his words rushed heat through her blood, but the longer he remained, the more fear drowned out all her other reactions. “Yes, yes. Just go.”

He nodded, anger receding from his expression, but something just as hot rolling in behind it. Desire.

Shane leaned down . . . and kissed her on the forehead.

And as much as she freaking longed for his kiss on her lips, what he’d done was even more perfect. The exact opposite of Bruno’s aggression. He didn’t just talk the talk, he walked the walk, too. And in her world, that meant everything. Words were cheap and easy.

Shane peeked out the door and took off.

Staring at the closed door in front of her, Crystal pressed her hands to her chest. Not wanting to lose the feeling suddenly expanding within. Because the constant sensation of emptiness that had left her cold for so many years was gone, replaced by something new. Foreign. Scary.

Something she should try to ignore.

Something she should push away.

Something that could hurt her in ways Bruno’s hands and Church’s possession never could.

Crystal—no, Sara—was very likely falling for Shane McCallan.