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“Who the fuck are you?” he spits out before trying to go around me to grab Jasmine from behind my back.
I once again push his hand away. “Do not touch her,” I reinstate my initial words. I have dealt with similar men to this in my time as a social worker, but the thumping music and strobing lights have me on edge. My hands begin to shake because I am not sure he is going to let me leave with her without a serious confrontation which is not my idea of a good time at 1am in the morning. I can feel my blood boiling as I look at him.
“Hey, Stephen!” the guy yells to someone behind me. “What kind of people are you letting into your club lately?” The man stands his ground, arms crossed over his chest, giving me evil eyes and looking me up and down. I roll my eyes and turn around to grab Jasmine so we can leave, then I smack head-on with a guy in a suit and crisp white shirt with a few buttons undone. His large hands encase my waist, and he steadies me. A feeling of deja vu comes over me as I look up and lock eyes with the same guy whose coffee was all over me this morning.
“You again!” I shout at him in surprise, wishing that I could think before I spoke.
He raises his eyebrows, and a small grin comes to his lips as his eyes look me up and down. It is at this point I thank my lucky stars that I am wearing my best jeans, the ones that make my legs look long and my butt look good, and a top that hugs my assets in all the right places.
“Molly.”
“Coffee Guy.”
We both say our greetings to each other at the same time as we immerse ourselves in a doe-eyed staring competition. His jaw ticks, and his eyes are piercing as they keep flicking to my lips. His hands are still firmly around my waist; he hasn’t let me go and doesn’t appear to want to. Oddly, I am actually okay with that. He breaks eye contact first. “What is going on here?” he asks, looking from me to the old guy and back again.
“This bitch came storming in here and grabbed my girl.”
“Okay, hold up now, Grandpa,” I interrupt him as I turn, in who I now know is Stephen’s arms, to face the horrible man. I am getting angry, and when I am angry, my sassiness comes out in me; it’s a quality I get from gran. But before I can say anything further, Stephen steps in front of me, in a protective stance, his jaw is clenched, and his hands are fisted. He walks straight to the old guy and is face to face with him.
“What the fuck did you just call her?”
The testosterone in this place just increased by 1000% and the anger rolling off Stephen is palpable. I have never had a man step up for me, I have always had to fight my own fights, and I usually lose. To be honest, it is kind of sexy. I shake my head of the thoughts and squeeze Jasmine’s hand to comfort the both of us. People continue to mingle and dance around us, not aware of the confrontation happening; however, I do notice a few big eyes surrounding us, which I presume are security, ready to assist if needed. After a few moments of them eyeballing each other, Stephen looks back to me again and motions us to follow him.
“Come with me, all of you.” Stephen nods to some of the security men behind him and they crowd around us all, encouraging us to follow Stephen into a private room up some stairs to the side of the dance floor.
I grip Jasmine's hand. “What in the world were you thinking, Jasmine?” I look at her and see tears in her eyes, and immediately, I feel terrible. “It’s okay, we will leave soon. Don’t worry,” I say in comfort, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. We make our way into the room, which looks like a private bar. It is very masculine in its decor, with a large bar running the length of the room and an attractive female bartender behind it, polishing glassware. Now that we have privacy and it’s quiet, I turn to Jasmine again. “It’s okay, honey. Did he do anything to you? Did he touch you in any way?”
She sniffs and shakes her head no in reply.
“What are you, her fucking mother?” the fat old guy says.
I turn around from Jasmine to face him. He has officially pushed my last button, and I am about to explode. This is what is wrong with society. Rich pricks old enough to be girls' fathers take them without consent; I see it time and time again in my work where young vulnerable girls are preyed upon. Just in the last six months alone, we have had young girls disappearing from foster placements. At first, they were thought to be runaways, but the circumstances are too coincidental. Before I can say anything, I feel a warm touch to my shoulder. Stephen must sense that I am angry, and his touch does calm me somewhat.
I look at him, ignoring the old guy.
“Molly, what’s going on?” he asks me in a soft voice, trying to remain calm but looking like he wants to put his fist through the old guy’s face.
“I am a Social Worker with the Boys and Girls Club. This is Jasmine, a sixteen-year-old girl who ran away tonight and has apparently found her way into your club,” I say pointing a finger at Stephen, “which is highly illegal, and into your filthy hands,'' I point to the old guy, “which is also highly illegal. So, give me a minute with her to ensure she has not been assaulted or abused in any way before I take her home.”
I turn away from both of them. Stephen has a shocked look on his face while the old guy just looks pissed off. I take Jasmine's hand and lead her to a leather Chesterfield sofa which I am nearly too scared to sit on, so we are away from open ears and can talk more freely. We are whispering, and I ask her all the necessary questions I need to ask her. I am happy to find that apart from being a little frightened, it appears I got here just in time and no harm has come to her. As we are talking, bottles of water are given to us along with a sorrowful smile from Stephen. Knowing that I will need to go through all this with her again tomorrow and write a full report on the incident, I look to Stephen.
“Tomorrow I will need to lodge a formal report, outlining what has occurred. But for right now, I need to get her home. Thank you for the water.”
“I have a car waiting out the back to take you anywhere you need to go. I would like to personally apologize. I will be taking this matter up with my door staff to identify how she got in and will rectify this immediately.”
“Probably a good idea, I managed to slip past the two guys you have on the door easily without an ID check or paying the cover charge.” Stephen looks a little surprised and then smiles, which is sexy enough to melt the pants right off me.
“Well, you have my details so please call me if you need anything else,” he says.
“Actually, I don’t have your details, they weren’t in your suit jacket this morning.”
He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a card. “Here,” Stephen says. In return, I give him my business card, and then I turn and grab Jasmine's hand to lead her out the door, following the security team as they lead us to the car waiting out the back for our departure. A black Mercedes G-Wagon, no less.
***
5
STEPHEN
