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“Busting my balls and it’s not even eight p.m. What’s going on, Dolly?” It’s the second time he calls me that. “Need to unwind a little?”
Suggestive, but maybe it’s just in my head. I lift one eyebrow in question, erecting my slack body. I’m trying to remind myself that Graham is not a friend, he’s a very bad man, who does very bad illegal things, and just because he’s started talking to me since I gave him a lap dance doesn’t mean that he’s to be trusted.
“It’s Friday, what are you doing home anyway?” I ask.
“Your mother’s not here,” he answers like this explains anything.
“I know. She went to my grandmother’s.” I roll with her lie. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, and we both share a moment where our eyes meet and the truth passes between us. Relief washes over me, but I’m not sure why. At least he knows.
“I wanted to check on you,” he finally explains. My heart melts for this guy. I can’t believe he’s just said that. I can’t believe that he cares. I’m sure my expression softens because Graham takes a step forward and cups one of my cheeks. I lean into his warm touch. Shit, I want to bathe in his gaze and drown in his touch. I’m so hungry for physical affection—starving, really—and his touch makes me feel so small and secure.
“I’ll be okay,” I croak.
“Never had a bloody doubt. Dress up, we’re leaving,” he commands cuttingly and out of nowhere, withdrawing his hand from my face and I snap out of my reverie.
“What? Where?”
“You’re going dancing and drinking. And, as per our agreement, it’ll be by my side. I’ll come back to pick you up in fifteen minutes and you better be ready. One more thing—if I see you with that black little thing you wore the other night and called a dress? I’m ripping it off you. Not in the way you’d like. Make smart decisions, Dolly.”
My stepfather drives a black McLaren P1. It costs over one million dollars and looks like a femme fatale; all curves, soft edges but with a dark, dangerous silhouette.
Inside, it’s spacious and warm, the scent of new leather drifting into my nose. Last time I saw him in New York, he sent me back home in a town car. This is nicer. Much nicer. The night is cold and rain knocks on the tinted windows but does nothing to blacken my mood. This is the weirdest weather we’ve had in a while, too cold for April, but not quite as cold as the man next to me. I sit beside him in my sensible knee-length red dress and ankle boots and try not to hyperventilate about where I am or who I’m with. I keep telling myself he’s just trying to keep me out of trouble, because the last thing he wants is for me to do something stupid and have my mom come back to New Jersey to babysit me from her vacation.
Only my mom would never actually rush back to New Jersey, unless I’m critically injured or dead.
And Graham never really seemed like he cared before.
I watch his strong profile as he cuts through the busy Saturday night traffic from New Jersey to New York. His jaw clenches and his eyes are hooded, and the old scar on his temple is glittering at me, making his otherwise beautiful face imperfect and dangerous.
My thoughts run to questions like where he might be taking me and whether he’s going to let me drink again and if I could call Jade and ask her to tag along. If he’s going to do business, I need to keep myself occupied.
“Are you going to drag me around to make sure I stay out of trouble?” I ask finally, unable to stand the silence between us any longer.
“On the contrary, Dolly. I think I’ll drag you right into hot trouble tonight,” he responds, his face still void of expression.
“Why are you calling me Dolly?”
“Because you look like a little doll. And because I do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Is that appropriate?” A smirk kisses my lips. I love teasing my step-daddy. “To use this kind of language in front of your stepdaughter?”
“I don’t know.” He tilts his face, gives me a slow once-over his green eyes lingering on my chest. “Is it appropriate to finger yourself and moan your step-father’s name, Dolly?”
Touché.
He nods curtly in agreement. “Yeah, I guess we’re both not qualified to star in the fucking Brady Bunch.”
“Yeah, but we are definitely a Modern Family,” I joke. He doesn’t answer.
I say nothing for the remainder of the drive into New York City. Not even when Graham doesn’t stop to pay toll when we cross from New Jersey. I have no idea how he got to a point where he has so much power, people know him and fear him, but I know I should feel lucky that he likes me enough to give me a VIP pass into his world. At least for tonight.
Our first stop is on the lower East side of Manhattan. It’s his strip club, and it’s called Assets. Mom used to work there before they got married, and I guess this place reminds me that this man, sexy as hell or not, is still married to my mother.
He double-parks in front of the entrance with the pink and white neon light flashing, and even though the billboard looks colorful and inviting, underneath it, there are two, huge bouncers, a lot bigger than the ones I saw at Hot N’ Bothered in Williamsburg, in black raincoats and frowny faces. It looks like a dingy place, despite its preppy zip code.
“You’re taking me to a strip club?” I try to blink away my shock. He opens his door and steps out, walking around the car and opening the passenger door for me.
My heels hit the ground before I get out of the car, and I feel the bite of the New York chill in my bones and shiver. I don’t get out. Not yet, peeking over his shoulder and examine the row of brownstone townhouses the club is sandwiches between.
