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“Just protection, darlin’, nothing to worry your pretty little self about.”
I go to reach for the gun but he stopped me with a firm grip of his hand. “Pretty little girls shouldn’t play with big ugly guns.”
“Aw, that’s cute.” I winked at him, letting it go. NERD “Lapdance” came on so I continued giving the man his excitement while letting his fingers roam where ever they may—which occasionally ended in him shoving Benjamin Franklin’s down the front of my bra—I laughed, hooking my fingers behind his neck and swinging myself backward.
Looking to the side, I watched as Brooke bent over between the guy who she was with legs, lean forward, and snort a line of crank off the inside of his thigh. In one quick motion, she then flicked her wrist from behind her back and quickly pulled out a Swiss army knife. The room started spinning and I tilted my head just as she raised the knife to the man’s throat, slicing deep across his jugular vein and blood started spurting out everywhere. The man I was sitting on, pounced off his seat, reaching for his semi-automatic, but I was faster. Snatching it quickly, I raised it up to him and cocked it. “Don’t fucking move!”
Brooke stood over the dead man’s body, her breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling and blood dripping off her silken skin.
“Brooke?” I whispered out urgently, not knowing what the fuck just happened or what my next move should be. “What the fuck is going on?” Brooke looked over her shoulder to the young guys who were seated at the front of the stage and then flicked her gaze to the old man behind the bar. I kept my sole focus on the guy in front of me, though, not wanting to give him the opportunity to see a weakness. Never held a gun in my entire life, so I was totally winging this whole ordeal, but I was going with it. “Brooke!” I snapped at her.
“Honey, put the gun down. He ain’t got shit he can do.” The old guy from the bar walked toward Brooke and I, but I didn’t lower the weapon. My hands shook, and my lips trembled slightly, but I remained in the same position.
“Isa, lower the gun,” Brooke answered softly, reaching into the pockets of the dead guy and taking out all his money, shoving it into her pocket.
“Someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on and they need to tell me right now! Or I’m not lowering shit.” My breathing was ragged and all senses had been tightened by the adrenaline.
Old guy from the bar pulled out a seat opposite me, putting a cigarette between his lips. “Brooke?” he questioned, and then his eyes moved to the corner where the shadow once stood. His eyes changed, then he grinned, with a shrug of his shoulders. “That man there,” he pointed down to the dead body on the floor. “Had been raping Brooke.” He stopped, his left eye slightly twitching. I looked back to the man who was standing in front of me, afraid that he may jump on me, or hell, kill me. “Since she was a little girl.” He flicked open his Zippo and took a long inhale of the nicotine. “Brooke?” He blew out a cloud of smoke. “She’s my daughter, but her mother was seeing two people at the same time. Long story short, she was raised here and not… by me.”
“But…” I whispered. “I never knew…” That was the best I could muster at this time.
“Give me the gun, darlin’, and walk out of here.” I looked to Brooke and she smiled softly, nodding her head. I flung the gun toward him and he swung it around his finger until the barrel was resting on his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and the other Russian—or English man— who I had at gunpoint, dropped to the ground in a bloody mess.
“I’ll call you, Dad,” Brooke muttered softly.
“You call me, darlin’, you know where I am.”
I looked at the other two guys who were sitting at the front of the stage, both had to be in their mid-twenties. Cocking my head, one of them grinned at me, his white teeth coming into display devilishly.
“Come on” Brooke interrupted my staring, so I followed her, picking up my clothes on the way out all the while feeling both of the young guy’s glare at the back of my head. Once we had our clothes, I looked at Brooke just before we hit the front doors. “Who are those guys and why didn’t you tell me this was your plan all along?”
“Those guys are my dad’s minions.” She didn’t stop walking.
“Brooke!” I yelled out to her, gripping onto her arm as she made her way toward the car. She stopped and turned to face me. “And who is your dad? And who is your mom?”
