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“I just wanted to thank you for giving me last week off with pay and for your help with the doctor bills.”
Haven’s attitude is now almost warm and fuzzy. The transition is amazing to see. “How’s the little one feeling?”
“Better. She keeps asking why I didn’t make the doctors save her tonsils in a jar. She’ll go back to kindergarten on Monday.”
“Glad to hear it. And I dropped some gift cards for Benny’s Pizza in your locker.”
“Oh wow. Thank you.” Layla flicks a curious glance in my direction. “Well, my set’s about to start so I’ll go finish getting ready.”
“See you later.” Haven watches the door whisper shut. Then she exhales loudly and swipes a bottle of whiskey from a drawer. “I only have one shot glass in here but I’ll share.”
“No need. I had my fill of beer and cherries.” My attention stays zeroed in on her lips as she pours a finger of whiskey into a shot glass with the club name scripted in chipped purple paint. “Do you do that often? Help out your employees?”
Haven tosses back the whiskey and grimaces at the burn. She sets the glass down and rolls one finger along the rim. “Layla was a competitive gymnast. Then she got pregnant while in college and her parents kicked her out. Her boyfriend tried to strangle her when he found out about the baby. At least he’s still serving time for that. She lives with her sister and when her daughter gets a little older she wants to go to nursing school. I offered to pay for it.” Her face scrunches up into a frown. “Most of the women who wind up here don’t have a lot of options to make ends meet. The only thing I can do is try to give them options. Like Layla…she hates stripping. But she’s forced to paste a phony smile on her face to score tips. Because those fuckers out there don’t just want to see skin. They’re fooling themselves that these women want to be here. They’re paying for the lie.”
A muted roar from the club punctuates her last sentence.
Her short speech touches a nerve because I doubt there are many people around who are allowed to see this side of her. Yet she’s chosen to be honest with me and I don’t want to waste the honor. “If only everyone knew your real identity as the east side fairy godmother.”
“Hardly.” She screws the cap back on the whiskey bottle. “Make no mistake, I’m part of a violent gang that calls itself a family.” Her voice lowers to a near whisper. “I fucking hate it.”
“Then why do you stay? Did you sign a blood oath?” Even as I ask the question it occurs to me that the answer might be yes.
She gives this some thought as she rubs her temples. I get the idea she’s using the time to decide just how much information she wants to part with. “Conner, my father owns this place. He just allows me to run it. If I leave then he’llstillown this place. Only he’ll likely let my sadistic cousins run it instead.” She quits rubbing her temples and gives me a sad smile. “And what would happen to Layla then? To all of them?”
It's rare that I’m at a loss for words but right now they fail me. Everywhere I go people call me a hero just because I make magic happen on the football field. Haven deserves the word a hell of a lot more than I do, although I suspect she’d roll her eyes and scoff if I told her so.
She’s studying my reaction. “Did you see the girl I walked in with?”
“Sure. Is she family?”
“No, she is not.” Another knock at the door interrupts the conversation and Haven yells, “It's open!”
This time the bald head of the stern bouncer sneaks in. “You needed me, boss?”
“Yeah, hold on, Andrei.” Havin turns her chair around and bends close to the floor. I have to crane my neck to see she’s spinning the dial on a wall safe. She enters the combination from memory and withdraws two fat manila envelopes. “I need you to bring this over to my Uncle Estes right away. He’ll be at the Domino Club and he’s expecting you.”
“Sure.” The guy doesn’t hesitate. He marches right up to Haven’s desk and a thick hand takes custody of the envelopes. He tucks them under his arm. “Any other orders?”
“No, that’s all.”
Andrei bows his head with a curt nod and retreats without giving me a second look.
The thud of music is constant. Haven leaves her chair and prowls silently in her bare feet to the closed door. The grim shadows have returned to her face. She stops two feet in front of the door and stares at it like she’s reading a caption.
“The girl’s father owed a debt to my uncle. When he couldn’t pay he took the suicide route, probably never guessing that his daughter would be taken as compensation. My cousins planned to auction off her virginity to the highest bidder.”
The scenario is so repulsive I want to puke. “What happens to her now?”
She slowly turns to face me, her chin lifted in permanent rebellion. “Those envelopes I gave to Andrei will buy her freedom. Fiona is taking care of her until I can get her set up with another name in another city. Can’t take the chance my cousins will stew over being thwarted and try to track her down.”
“Say the word and I’ll write you a check for however much you need. No questions asked.”
She snorts and moves away from the door. “I don’t want your money, Conner. I want you to hear me when I tell you what my family is. Like it or not, I’m a part of it. Don’t get too close. It’s all ugly.”
She says this like it’s a certainty. Inescapable.
Fuck that.
