Page 31 of Trigger Happy Ending

Soren stands in the middle of the living room like a fucking ghost.

“Jesus Christ, Soren!” I place my hand over my racing heartbeat. My tiredness clearly has affected my spidey senses if I didn’t hear or feel him stand. Normally, I would clock the energy shift. It concerns me that I didn’t. But then again, he is skilled in stealth.

“Did I scare you?” His voice is scratchy as he awakens.

“No,” I lie, then I change my mind, quickly adding, “Yes. I thought you were asleep.”

He takes a few steps closer. Only the flicker of the TV lights the room, throwing Soren’s shape into a sharp silhouette. I can barely make out his face, it’s so dark.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine. Carson didn’t show, but I got a feel for the place.” Unscrewing the cap off the water, I take a sip, willing my heart rate to calm down. “Did you go out?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

He yawns and shrugs, as if to say it doesn’t matter.

Wait … Was he waiting for me?

I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to make of him.

Is it a joke, perhaps? Some kind of twisted mind game to get back at me? To trick me into thinking he cares? Something to consider, I guess.

He turns and walks towards his bedroom, reaching for the handle. He pushes it open.

“Goodnight, Raine.”

Without looking back, he softly shuts his door. I stare at the closed door for a minute, confused about this weird late night/early morning encounter. I’ve never had anyone care if I returned home before.

Even if it isn’t real, or true … It feels nice.

Chapter 16

Raine

Afew days pass before Carson finally shows. Perfect timing, because by now, I’ve learned most of the girls’ names, the security guards, and who the regulars are. I already knew every exit and where the cameras are, but I pretend I don’t. I still fumble names on purpose, act wide-eyed when a big-name athlete blows thousands on a bottle of overpriced champagne. I toss out my best “oohs” and “aahs” for the Wall Street types, cash-obsessed stockbrokers who think flashing a Rolex is going to make me sleep with them.

One thing I’m struggling with while working undercover is the unwanted touch from the clients. And the drunker these men get, the more confident and bold they get with their hands. Last night, a drunk broker kept grabbing my ass each time I delivered a tray of drinks to his table, so on the third time, I sat in his lap and made him think all his dreams could come true. He had no idea I went all David Copperfield on his ass, unclasping his thirty thousand dollar watch and sliding it into my thigh-high boot.

I dropped it into the tin of a homeless woman on my way home.

An expensive lesson in consent for him; a leg up for a woman down on her luck.

Even though I’ve only been at the Golden Claw for just shy of a week, it hasn’t taken long to become a crowd favorite. My act has earned me shifts in VIP, which is great for my cover.

I’m balancing a tray of bourbon and Cokes when Carson swaggers onto the VIP floor. The bodyguard at the top of the stairs greets him, ushering him through the crowd. Every man in his path jostles for his attention, slapping him on the shoulder, shaking his hand, like he’s some sort of god. Dropping the last drink down, I make my way behind the black marble bar as Carson approaches.

“Well, well. I’ve heard a lot about you, new girl.” His eyes travel slowly down, then back up, ensuring I’m attractive enough to be here.

“All bad things, I hope.” I smile, flirting with my eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Angel.”

He tastes it on his tongue. “Angel?”