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“May… may I bring you something to drink?” I ask in a trembling voice.
The younger man at the table, with a long beard, guffaws. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of, honey. We won’t bite. Will we, boys?” he asks, looking at his friends.
“I can’t say we won’t bite. But I can say we won’t bite toohard,” the third one says, and they break into peals of laughter.
I force a smile and even a bit of laughter to ease my tension. They give me their order and I return with three bourbons a couple minutes later.
As I set the last one down, somebody’s hand finds my ass. I jump, nearly spilling the drink, and quickly back out of reach of the man with the beard.
I open my mouth to scold him, but something stops me. This place isn’t the real world, so real world rules don’t apply here. I can’t slap a man for touching me the way I can on the outside. I can’t throw a drink in his face, nor can I scream at him.
What am I supposed to do?
I slink away to the next table, and then the next, and before I know it, I am running drinks back and forth like a delivery robot. But the last straw is when some guy smacks my ass so hard, the drinks I’m carrying go flying off the tray.
I watch them tumble to the floor, ice cubes bouncing in all directions, the alcohol disappearing into the carpet.
I run back to the dressing room where I double over in tears.
Not a minute later, Dominika finds me. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I… I…” I sputter. But I can’t get the words out.
Until a sharp smack across my face forces a scream. I’m so stunned, rubbing my burning cheek, that I stop crying and look into Dominika’s dark, dispassionate eyes.
“Get it together, young lady. Or things will get worse for you.”
Worse? How could things get any worse?
“This is your new reality, and you need to accept it. Grow the fuck up. Your life on easy street is over now, little fool. You’re not above any of this and quit bellyaching like you are.” She steps closer to me and points a finger inches from my face. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a prissy little bitch. Get it together, Charleigh. So help me.”
Her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin, ugly line, emphasizing her sloppy lip liner. I want to tell her that her lousy makeup job adds about ten years to her appearance, but I would also like to live to see tomorrow.
I blow my nose and get back to work.
What the hell else can I do?
* * *
CHAPTERTWENTY
Niko
Unbeknownst to my brothers, I spent the better part of the morning watching, via our closed-circuit camera feed, the cocktail lounge where Charleigh works. The woman is a beauty by any measure, but with her hair and makeup done, she could rival a movie star. Her cocktail waitress outfit, designed to turn the guests on and get them thinking of ways they might like to spend their big bucks with us, is cute as hell on her, though I’m sure she hates it.
But that’s okay.
She’ll get used to it.
On her first shift, she was a little wobbly in her heels, but after a few days in the lounge, she’s pretty steady now, and if I’m not mistaken, has even started to shake her ass a bit when she walks. The lacy tops of her thigh-highs are just visible under her short, swingy skirt, and her bustier gives her just enough cleavage to tempt any man.
Especially me.
I don’t meet many girl-next-door types, which Charleigh personifies flawlessly. Seeing her transformation has been like watching a caterpillar turn into a butterfly.
Not that there is anything wrong with the caterpillar.
There’s a reason why every guy fantasizes about the girl next door. She’s usually the first girl any boy knows, aside from sisters and cousins. And even though our tastes may change as we get older, we nearly all still have a thing for the unassuming, natural cutie who was once the object of our frequent fantasies. Hell, I jerked off so much at that age I was sure my dick would fall off. At least that’s what they told us at the Catholic school we attended until Vadik’s fighting got us kicked out.
