Theirs to Cherish

Chapter Ten

THORPE turned to him as they made their way out of the motel’s disgusting lobby and headed for the Jeep. “So where’s this club?”

“In a minute. We’ve got to clear her room first.” Sean inclined his head toward the stairs to the upper level of the joint.

“Fuck whatever’s in her room. We need to get to Glitter Girls now, before she gets away again.”

Sean glanced at his watch. “I want to reach her, too. You know that. It’s not quite one, and she’s working until two, so we’ve got some time. But we can’t leave behind any trace of Callie that anyone looking for her could find. If there’s no trail, there are fewer followers.”

Thorpe gritted his teeth. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either, but what are our other choices?”

It annoyed him, but Sean had a point. Thorpe conceded with a sigh. “All right. The good news is, it will probably take five minutes or less since Callie won’t have spread her stuff out. Hell, she was with me nearly three months before she put anything in a drawer.”

Sean stared at the upper story of the motel as the chilly desert wind whipped through his light jacket. “Let’s make this quick.”

Nodding, Thorpe followed Sean and darted for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the cracked cement level. The rusted railing had once been painted a bright blue, but had faded and chipped over time. The blue drapes with their blackout backing in each of the room’s filthy windows looked dirty enough to be a breeding ground for bacteria and insect eggs. A few doors down, a man and a woman were arguing at the top of their lungs. In the distance, a gunshot sounded, then tires screeched.

Thorpe knew why Callie had chosen this place, but he still wondered what the hell she was doing here. There had to be someplace else out of the way that wasn’t quite so ghetto-gutter.

In the moonlight, he approached the first door at the top of the stairs and barely made out the tarnished brass numbers.

“Callie chose the corner room, the one with stairs in either direction,” Sean commented.

“Obviously, she’d scoped the place out in advance.”

“Clever, clever girl.”

As they charged toward the room in question, Thorpe tossed him a nod. “You know she is. Don’t underestimate her.”

“No.” Sean shook his head. “I’ve made that mistake for the last time.”

They hit the door, and Sean shoved the key into the lock, then pushed it open. As soon as he did, Thorpe squeezed past him and flipped on the light. He wished he hadn’t. The carpet looked some indiscriminate color that might have been beige once. The walls were covered in faded oak paneling. The ceiling showed signs of water damage. A dilapidated swamp cooler controlled the room’s temperature—sort of. The drapes were a faded blue floral that would make even a great-grandmother cringe. The bedspread was a cheap polyester imitation of polka-dotted and zigzagged stripes. The light fixture in the bathroom was minus its decorative cover. A roach crawled across the wall above the mussed, unmade bed.

“What a fucking dump.” Sean stared around the room in stupefied horror.

“This is the way she lived before she came to me,” Thorpe said with a hollow voice.

“I knew that on paper, but holy shit.”

“How could she go back to this after everything . . .” Thorpe pressed his lips together, refusing to lose control of his anger—or feel too hurt. “When I get my hands on her, she won’t sit for a week. And that’s the beginning of what I’ve got planned for her.”

“Better make that two weeks. I have some ideas of my own.”

Thorpe shoved aside the fact that Sean hadn’t objected to him spanking Callie. Yes, she’d taken off her collar, but she hadn’t discussed it with Sean, who probably didn’t see their relationship as over. Thorpe knew that the girl would never belong to him, but he refused to let this behavior slide without putting in his two cents—and then some.

Quickly, they searched the room. He found her backpack in the closet and grabbed it. There was no sign of the red duffel she’d mysteriously acquired in the airport bathroom. She had nothing else personal anywhere in the room. Even her toothbrush had been stowed back in the appropriate plastic holder in a zippered pouch. The used bar of soap told him that she’d taken a shower. Over the odor of mildew and stale cigarettes pervading the motel, he smelled a light trace of her.

As Callie’s scent registered in his brain, boiling blood filled his cock. A caveman urge to grab her, bind her, and fuck her until she understood all the reasons she could never run away from him again seized Thorpe.

“She was here,” Sean confirmed, sniffing the sheets.

“I’ve got her stuff.” He indicated to the pack slung over his shoulder.

Sean gave him a thumbs-up, then headed for the door. Thorpe followed, hot on his heels. Back in the lobby, he tossed the key to Doreen with a stern warning glance. The woman looked somewhere between breathless and ready to shit her pants when he left. She wouldn’t talk without substantial incentive. Not a perfect solution for keeping Callie safe, but the best he could do now.

Back in the Jeep, Sean had started the engine and turned on the lights. Thorpe tossed Callie’s backpack in and shut the passenger door as the other man threw the vehicle into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot.

The journey to Glitter Girls seemed like the longest two blocks of his life. When they reached the seedy dive bar, his worst fears were confirmed. The windows were covered up and painted the same color as the exterior walls. A big neon sign over the building advertised TOPLESS GIRLS! Thorpe swore.

It was a fucking strip joint. Callie better hope for her sake that she was merely waitressing.

The lowlife clientele slinking in seemed like a mixture of locals and tourists. They all looked as if they’d served time. None of them appeared to take bathing too seriously.

As they reached the front door, a big bouncer stood grunting out a “request” for the cover charge over the raucous music. Ten bucks with a two-drink minimum. The guys in front of them pulled out a big wad of cash he’d bet they had obtained in less-than-legal ways.

As he and Sean each pulled out a bill and ran in the door, the smoke, stale beer, sweat, and glitter assailed him. Goddamn it, this place was the worst sort of dive.

On the sagging stage, someone named Whipped Cream, who wore two little pasties designed to look like her namesake, was taking her final bows. Her mother definitely hadn’t given her that name—or that shade of ruby-red hair. She didn’t look like she had all her teeth.

The deejay sounded bored as he told the audience to give it up for the woman. The smattering of applause broke into chatter. A few bills littered the stage as Thorpe studied the girls serving drinks, hoping . . . But he didn’t see any waitress who had Callie’s face, build, or innate grace.

Fucking son of a bitch.

Sean looked around, too, obviously worried. “Where the hell did she get off to now?”

Thorpe didn’t think Doreen would have been dumb enough to call her cousin and tell him to warn Callie. “I’m hoping she’s in the restroom. Or getting someone a drink.”

“If she’s already become a customer favorite, I doubt she’s serving drinks,” Sean managed to growl out with his teeth grinding. “If that’s the case, she’ll probably go on when the night’s in full swing, toward the end of her shift.”

In twenty minutes or less.

Damn it to hell, he was right. “We don’t know her stage name, so we have no idea who to ask for.”

“Unless I barge into the back with my badge and drag her out of here.”

The idea had merit. Thorpe looked around, trying to gauge what the management’s reaction to having an FBI agent in their midst would be when a waitress came by for their drink orders. Truth told, he didn’t want anything, but ordered a bourbon and water, knowing he wouldn’t drink it. Sean asked for a vodka tonic, then motioned her down to him in a moment between the music.

“I’m wondering, pretty lass, if you’d mind to give me a wee bit of information.” Sean slipped into his Scottish accent and smiled at the acne-prone waitress, who looked barely legal and totally dazzled. The fed flashing a bit of cash sealed the deal.

“I’ll tell you anything. My bra size is a thirty-six D. They’re real.”

They weren’t, but Thorpe wasn’t going to bother debating the girl’s assets.

“You’re right fetching, that’s for sure. But I’m inquiring about the new bit of fluff. For my friend here.” Sean gestured to him.

The waitress made a sour face and rolled her eyes. “All the customers are, like, totally insane over Juicy. It’s not as if she’s got a magical pussy.”

Juicy?

Thorpe cast a glance over to Sean, who looked ready to disagree with the waitress, but he managed to force another smile onto his face. “Juicy, you say? Tell me more. My friend is quite interested.”

“That one is antisocial. She’s pissed all the girls off. Whipped Cream and Sparkle Swallows both can’t stand her. Two days here, and she’s already got more fans than everyone else. Now if you two want nice . . .” She smiled, showing off slightly bucked teeth.

“What does she look like?” Sean asked.

“Blond, blue-eyed, stacked.” The girl sighed. “But she’s not special.”

“When does she come on?”

The waitress opened her mouth to answer, but the deejay’s voice over the speakers drowned her out. “She’s new. She’s exciting. She’s your wettest dream. Give it up for Juicy!”

Sean stiffened, looking like his fury had climbed ten notches. Since Thorpe felt like strangling the deejay and killing everyone who stood between them and the stage, that suited him just fine.

And if Juicy and Callie were one and the same, slipping away unseen with the girl in tow had just become impossible.

The music cued, and Britney came on with some damn suggestive lyrics. Then the curtain parted, and out strutted the next act. Despite the bright lights glaring, all the makeup, and the skimpy costume, Thorpe knew instantly it was Callie.

She definitely wasn’t waitressing.

Tingles zipped down his spine. He itched to wrap his fingers in her silky hair. Even being in the same room with her made him titanium hard, so if he hadn’t known in every other way that he’d found Callie, his reaction made it damn obvious.

As he watched her onstage, the waitress stomped her foot and huffed off. He barely glanced at the other girl. Callie held him rapt as she gyrated for the crowd wearing a schoolgirl uniform, complete with a plaid skirt. Her blond wig hung in long pigtails. The whistling and catcalls ramped up, and she pasted on a come-hither smile. But her eyes . . . they didn’t invite. Because he knew Callie, he could read that expression. She looked both unnerved and scared out of her mind.

Beside him, Sean cursed a blue streak and leaned forward, gaze drilling into her. Thorpe felt the man’s displeasure. It mirrored his own. Rage bubbled and turned, and he knew that Callie would feel every inch of their disapproval the second they got their hands on her.

“Her file doesn’t indicate that she’s ever stooped this low,” Sean snarled.

Thorpe didn’t take his eyes off her. “I don’t think she’s ever been this desperate.”

Sean nodded grimly, and they watched her slowly reach for the top button of her blouse.

Tensing before she even had it undone, Thorpe wondered if he’d survive the next three minutes. He fidgeted in his seat, eager to storm the stage, take her down, and let her feel the full measure of her consequences. “What’s the fucking plan?”

“It would be better if we didn’t make a scene,” Sean bit out, gritting his teeth. “But the minute this music is over . . .”

“We’re going to grab her ass and haul her out of here. I’m all over that.”

“I was counting on it.”

Callie slipped the top button free, then another, and a third. The seconds ticked by, one after the other, in a horrific show that slowly revealed her milky flesh and had all the men in the room shouting that they wanted something “Juicy.” Every muscle in Thorpe’s body screamed at him to stop this travesty, even as his head silenced his inner Neanderthal and told him to keep his ass in his seat. They couldn’t make a scene.

With a sexy little spin, Callie whirled away and let the white shirt slip off her shoulders. She looked back at the audience with an exaggerated wink. Even terrified, there was something unmistakably special about her. She had a sweet quality and a goodness that her difficult life hadn’t killed. But the girl still exuded sex from the sparkle of her eyes and the pout of her glossy lips, all the way down to her swaying hips and pink-tipped toes peeking out from black patent stilettos. Denying just how much he wanted her wasn’t possible anymore. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t resist—until Callie. Thorpe feared that walking away from her again would be like trying to swim against a raging tidal wave.

To the beat of the music, Callie flipped up her illegally short skirt and flashed the audience her sinfully small thong—and her ass cheeks—before the plaid fell softly over her backside again. The whooping and whistles revved up. A bouncer nearby stood mutely and watched.

“Show us your tits!” someone near the stage shouted.

“Gimme a piece of that luscious ass,” another demanded.

The idea that these dregs now had Callie in their spank bank made him feel somewhere between nauseated and homicidal.

“Damn it all.” Sean gripped the table, looking ready to combust. “This three minutes is taking for fucking ever.”

Thorpe couldn’t agree more. “It will end.” It had to.

But would it before they lost their minds? He wasn’t sure about that, especially when the shirt slipped from the crooks of her elbows and onto the buckled stage, leaving her top half clad in nothing but a nearly sheer lace bra. When she turned back to the audience, there was no mistaking the pinkish cast of her plump nipples.

Callie arched her back, running her palms down her breasts, over her flat belly, then pressed her fingers toward her pussy. The audience started whooping at decibels near frat-party levels. Thorpe began to sweat. Jesus, he knew what her sweet pussy tasted like, and his mouth watered for another chance to make a meal out of her. Of course, every man in this room wanted that opportunity. One started pounding on the stage. Others joined in, slamming the wooden surface to the beat of the music, demanding more of her.

Fuck, this was getting out of control, and it took everything Thorpe had to stay in his seat.

A man in a cheap suit with a pimp moustache and a shaved head crowded closer. He thought he was the shit, clearly. With a confident leer, he leaned across the corner of the stage, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. He said something to Callie that Thorpe couldn’t hear over the music. Her eyes widened. More disquiet filled her face, but she danced in the dude’s direction.

With a shimmy, she lifted her skirt in front of him and circled her hips, spinning around until she backed up to him. Then she crouched, wiggling her ass seductively in his face. Her eyes slid shut. To anyone who didn’t know her, she might look as if she were in the midst of passion, but Thorpe saw differently. He had no doubt her skin was crawling and she was barely resisting the urge to run like hell.

Just because she wasn’t enjoying herself, however, didn’t mean she was going to escape punishment. She had a protector and a Dom, both of whom would do anything to help her. Had she trusted either of them? No. She’d just left. Sean, he sort of understood. Hell, Thorpe hadn’t trusted the man himself until . . . what? Maybe yesterday. Or the day before. His days were running together. But Callie had known him for four fucking years. In all that time, she hadn’t learned that he cared, that he would do anything to help her?

She was damn well going to learn now.

Obviously, she had panicked. He understood that—to a point. But he refused to accept excuses from Callie. She was going to learn to rely on the men who loved her. Whatever happened next, whether he never got to lay another hand on her after her punishment tonight, he would teach her once and for all to look to him if she ever found herself in trouble again.

The slime ball with the skinny black tie and the C-note in his hand shoved the bill into the back of her thong—then copped a long caress of her ass. With the other hand, he brushed his way up her thigh, looking at her like she was a particularly prime cut of filet.

Thorpe felt steam coming from his ears and fucking lost it.

As he jumped to his feet, Sean was right beside him, fists clenched. Thorpe kicked his chair out of the way and prowled toward Callie, shoulder to shoulder with the other man.

Callie leaned away from the letch feeling her up, cringing back. Trying to cover her reaction, she sent the man a little smile over her shoulder, then danced away. Thorpe felt his fists tighten with the need to beat the fucker to death.

Sean was faster, grabbing the son of a bitch by the back of the neck and snarling something in his ear. The thug tried to fight back, but the fed proved himself all kind of badass, blocking the guy’s every move, then slamming the creep face-first onto a nearby post. Thorpe raced over, more than happy to help. He was gratified when Sean yanked the skunk back to reveal a broken, bleeding nose. In fact, he hoped Sean had done permanent damage to the asshole for daring to touch Callie.

Frantically Thorpe looked for her again. And he found her, damn it. Her trim back and undulating spine told him she now courted the men on the other side of the room, still holding her skirt up and wriggling her hips until a few more men shoved more bills in the string of her thong. They howled as she enticed them, and more guys approached the stage with money in fists, just wanting the chance to get close to Callie.

While Thorpe had been distracted by her, Sean and the letch got into a scuffle. Apparently, the fed had been busier watching Callie than the greaseball’s elbow to his gut. As Sean grunted and dodged the guy’s flailing fists, Thorpe approached. So did the bouncer.

“No fighting,” he shouted over the music. “Take it outside.”

“Yeah, get your fucking hands off me, prick!” said cheap suit. “I gave the pretty slut some money. So what?”

Oh, that was it. Doms sometimes called their submissives “slut,” but as a form of endearment, however odd that seemed to others. Not everyone understood, but that was true of the whole lifestyle. Even if he would never call Callie his slut, no other random dick was going to malign the girl when he didn’t know her at all and had no idea how far from the truth that was.

“Don’t touch her again.” Sean looked ready to kill.

“Get over it,” the lowlife ranted on. “You don’t own her.

“Actually,” Sean tossed back, “I do.”

Thorpe threw a punch, hitting the fuckwad square in the jaw and sending him reeling to the ground with the force of the blow, out cold. The bouncer turned to him with a menacing glare and reached to throw him out the door.

Fuck, he should have held his temper. He couldn’t afford to get tossed out.

Thorpe turned back to Callie. She whipped her gaze in his direction to decipher the commotion. Their gazes connected, and electricity fired his veins. Shock widened her eyes and bleached the color from her cheeks. Then her gaze zipped over to Sean. She gasped as if she’d seen a ghost.

Despite the fact that she hadn’t finished her number and the music still played, she turned and darted for the curtain and the back of the club.

The bouncer rightly put keeping the talent working above restraining a few guys from fighting, so he ran after Callie, catching her in his beefy grip just before she could slip backstage.

She struggled and cursed, demanding to be let free as the crowd collectively booed her retreat.

“Show us your tits!” repeated a man in the front row with a one-track mind.

The bouncer dragged Callie back toward mid-stage, then stood between her and the curtain. “Finish your damn number or Marty is gonna fire your ass.”

Predictably, the moment the big beefcake released her, she made another run for it, this time darting for the stairs that led to the club floor. She valued her freedom way more than this piss-ass job.

But Thorpe was one step ahead of her. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, blocking her exit off the stage. And in those shoes, jumping down five feet to the ground would be impossible.

They had her surrounded.

Sean quickly assessed the situation, then leapt onto the stage and reached into his pocket to flash his badge to the hunk of beefcake. “FBI. Unless you want trouble, give the girl to me.”

The big guy stiffened as the music screeched to a stop, his eyes narrowing as he took in Sean, then his badge. He stepped back and tossed his hands in the air. “We just hired her, man. We don’t want any trouble. Take her.”

Callie tossed Sean a defiant glower and over the din of the crowd, she warned, “You stay away from me.”

“Not going to happen, lovely.” The words were a vow, spoken as Sean prowled closer, but his expression was pure warning. He meant to assert his will.

She froze, then her gaze darted around the room. Thorpe’s gut knotted. Goddamn it, she was going to make a run for it.

He opened his mouth to warn Sean, but she was quicker, taking off one of her wicked shoes and tossing it in Sean’s direction. Callie’s makeshift weapon smacked him in the shoulder, then she planted her hand on his chest and shoved him off balance. While Sean scrambled to right himself, she tore off the other stiletto and raised it menacingly at the bouncer. He charged her and grabbed her wrist, clamping down harshly to stop her from pelting him. So she kicked him in the balls.

As the incredibly stupid hulk dropped to his knees, he clutched his genitals and groaned. Callie sprinted past him and through the curtain, disappearing backstage.

Thorpe darted up the stairs after her, tearing past the drape in time to see her shove the weathered industrial back door open and race into the alley behind the building. He swore and took off after her.

The metal door was swinging shut, and Thorpe pushed it open, then hit the alley. Under the spotlight of a bug-infested bulb, he looked left, then right before he caught sight of Callie dashing away on her bare feet in a fevered panic, artificial blond pigtails swinging against her pale back only saved from bareness by the strap of that tiny, sexy bra. Damn it, she was either begging to step on glass or be raped by some criminal in the shadows. Of course, she was in full flight mode and not using all her logic, but what the hell was she thinking?

One thing became immediately clear: Callie was younger and surprisingly fast. But if he let her through his grasp again, he’d be fucked seven ways from Sunday.

He charged after her as fast as his stride would take him, rapidly gaining ground on the barefoot girl. She was about to reach the end of the alley, which didn’t worry him . . . until a taxi rolled by. Of all the rotten fucking luck.

Somehow, he had to stop Callie. On feet, he wouldn’t catch her in time. Neither would Sean, whom he could hear chugging down the pavement behind him. Once Callie made it inside that taxi, Thorpe knew she’d be gone forever. She’d definitely be taking his heart with her. And Sean’s. Motherfucker.

Between the lights of other businesses and the moon, he could see that the alley was blessedly empty. So he did the one thing he thought might stop the panicked girl in her tracks.

“Callindra Alexis Howe, stop and look at me this instant.”