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“This is the ladies’ room.”
“Do you think I care?” he growled. “You’re hurting and I need to—”
“What?” I pressed my forehead to the flimsy metal door that separated us. “What can you do?”
He released a short, frustrated breath. “Hold you. I can fucking hold you.”
The tears I’d battled back sprung forth now, clouding my vision. Oh, God, I wanted that so much. Not just to be held in general, but to be held by him. That irrepressible wish had caused me to do so many insane, desperate things. Like following him to the club. Like dancing there. I’d just wanted to be noticed, to be loved.
I’d gotten noticed all right, but not quite in the way I’d intended.
“I’ll be out in a minute. I have to take care of business.” I prayed he couldn’t hear the quaver in my voice.
“You have to pee, so what? I’ll close my eyes. Turn my back.”
“Gio, please. Give me a couple minutes on my own. Okay?”
Just then a couple of women came in and started screeching. Guess they weren’t down with having a big, tattooed, male MMA fighter in their girly space.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Gio sighed heavily and leaned on the door, curling his fingers over the top. Even they were tattooed with symbols. How had I never noticed before? “Look, I’m going right back to my table. You know where it is. Just down the hall.”
His table with them, his mob cronies. Oh, sure, hard to forget that.
“I know where.”
“As soon as you leave here, come right to my table. Or I’ll come find you.” More screeching. “Yes, I’m leaving. Now.”
The door shut behind him a second later, and the two harpies started giggling as if they hadn’t just been pissed.
“Did you see dat ass? Bitable.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a sheaf of toilet paper to dab my eyes. Every female under the age of eighty seemed to find Gio desirable. Not that I could blame them.
After the bitable ass chicks had finished up and left, I left the stall and went to the sinks to view the damage. My eyes were puffy, my face blotchy. My wig was still on—I used good pins—but barely. I hadn’t exactly been careful when I pulled my dress back over my head.
I washed my face and fixed my hair and makeup, then smoothed out the wrinkles in my dress. I wasn’t at the peak of my game, not by a long shot, but at least no one would throw me out of the club.
One set down, one to go.
Sucking in a deep breath, I headed out of the bathroom and down the hall to Gio’s table. I’d have to see Marco and the others again soon enough, so I might as well do it while Gio was there in case things got hairy. Whatever happened, I would handle it.
Twenty feet from Gio’s usual table, I came to a halt. Marco and his other smirking pals were gathered around the round booth, drinking expensive alcohol and laughing heartily at their stupid inside jokes, but that wasn’t what made my mouth fall open and my boots stop clicking.
Gio had a girl on his lap. A beautiful one, with long sable hair and tits that nearly spilled out of her top and knocked over his martini glass.
He wasn’t doing anything with her except, you know, sitting with her on his lap. And smiling at her while he schmoozed with the men who’d insisted he have his way with me for their amusement.
Something he’d been so outraged about just a short time ago and seemed to have absolutely no issue with right now.
Eventually, my feet started moving toward the table again. Naturally, Marco noticed me first. He rose and smiled as he gestured for me
to have a seat at his side. “Carl…otta,” he finished slowly enough to make it obvious that wasn’t my real name. “Please join us.” He said it more like a demand than a question.
“I’m working,” I said stiffly.
“Oh, yes, I know. I saw you. So lovely.” He ran his thumb along the corner of his mouth as he lowered his focus to my boots. “Nice to see you brought some sturdier footwear this evening. We can’t have our dancers missing shifts for petty reasons.”
I balled my hands into fists at my sides. Petty fucking reasons? I was no Mia Anderson, but I was ready to do some cold-cocking of my own.
