Matters of the Hart (The Hart Series Book 3) Page 4

Soon enough, he swaggers over with a smile on his face, looking her right in the eyes as he gets her order. Oh yeah. He’s working for some serious tips.

  “What do you want to drink, Annika?” she yells over to me, as she clings to his shoulder.

  “I’d like a strawberry mojito, but I hate when the mint gets stuck in my straw.”

  He nods in understanding, noticing me for the first time. “I’ll take care of that for ya.”

  I give him a thumb’s up and slip my card back in my pocket as she whispers something in his ear. Oh geez. I don’t know how she can even think about flirting with the bartender. Does she not realize he’s making eyes with everyone else too?

  I want to yell at her to have a little self-respect, but truthfully, she probably has more self-respect that most people I know. She’s a big flirt by nature.

  After paying for our drinks, Lauren shimmies off the counter. “Are you having a good time?” she asks as she continues swaying to the beat.

  “Yeah,” I respond, trying to sound brighter than I feel. “It’s fun watching you and Kiersten dance. She’s amazing out there,” I say, gesturing toward the dance floor.

  We look over and sure enough Kiersten is taking advantage of all those moves she worked hard to perfect for all those years. She’s all tall and willowy and graceful. Pretty much every man on the dance floor has his eyes on her. Some guy is standing in front of her, gyrating to the music, when another comes up behind her, spins her around, and whisks her away. She doesn’t stick with one partner for too long, enjoying working the crowd instead.

  It’s fun watching her dance. I never have that much rhythm.

  Our drinks finally plop down in front of us, and Lauren blows a kiss to the bartender who winks back at her before moving to the next customer.

  I grab my mojito, and just like I asked, the mint is mixed in, but he left it all on top to avoid any straw incidents. Now that’s the way to get a big tip from me.

  Taking a sip, I get a renewed boost for the night.

  “Come on.” Lauren grabs my hand. “Kiersten can’t be the only one who has all the fun.”

  She pulls me into the crowd then grabs Kiersten, and before I know it, the three of us are dancing together. Judging by the looks on the guy’s faces around us, I’m not doing as bad as I thought. Or they’re all wearing beer goggles.

  Neither way makes a difference to me. I begin swaying to the beat, really listening to the music, slowly shutting out the world around me. We’re just three women, out on the town, enjoying our time together. No pressure to find a man. Just time well spent.

  I close my eyes and enjoy the bass, raising my arms in the air, careful not to spill my drink. Allowing the loose waves Lauren put in my hair to brush against my face, I feel free. I feel sexy. I don’t feel like the bland girl that’s the exact opposite of her exotic name. Dare I say I’m actually having fun?

  And then, inevitably, I feel it. Sticky booze sliding down my leg and into my shoe after some drunk guy bumps into me and spills his drink on me.

  “Oh shit. Sorry about that,” he says before dancing away, probably not even noticing the mess he left behind.

  I grimace. There’s nothing like the feel of sticky booze in your high heel. I tap Lauren on the shoulder and gesture over mine, pointing to the bar where I’m going to clean myself up. She nods and turns back to Kiersten.

  “Make good choices!” I yell, not that she heard me over the music.

  Shrugging at her lack of response, I make my way through the crowd, trying not to let anything else spill. As soon as I’m free of the mob, I luck out and find an empty stool. I sidle right up to it, plopping my drink on the counter and leaning over to grab some napkins from behind the bar.

  Yanking my skirt down—again—I try not to flash everyone as I bend over and wipe all the way down to my foot. This dress is pissing me off even more, now that my mood is souring. I barely register the guy who moves into the stool next to mine as I take off my shoe and clean the inside.

  “Hey,” he initiates as I finally get the inside dry enough to be able to put it back on without making a squishing sound when I walk. Not that I want to wear it anymore. It’s still sticky, but I’d much rather that than walk barefoot on this nasty floor. “What happened?” He leans into me so I can hear him. Or maybe it’s to get close to me. I’m not sure which one it is, and I don’t really care. Still, there’s no reason for me to be rude.

  “The normal club story. Dancing, drunk guy spills booze all over someone else. This time I’m the lucky recipient.”

  He laughs. “Oh, that just sucks.”

  I shrug and grab my drink back off the counter, taking a large sip through the straw, hoping the alcohol will help put me in a better mood again. “It happens.”

  “I’m Ron, by the way.” He reaches his hand out for me to shake. This is why I don’t frequent places like this. I’m not looking for a hookup, but judging from the look on his face, he thinks he stands a chance. Part of me wants to blow him off, but we’re in the middle of a room full of people, and he hasn’t really said anything inappropriate. So I take his hand and shake it.

  “Annika. Nice to meet you.” Grabbing the strawberry slice out of my drink, I take a bite and turn away, hoping he’ll get the hint. He doesn’t.

  “Annika.” He smiles at me, and I put my guard up, waiting for it. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.

  And there it is. The cheesy line I was waiting for.

  “Thanks.” More drinking so I don’t have to talk to him.

  “So Annika, did you come with your boyfriend or are you here by yourself?”

  Giving up on ignoring him, I finish off my mojito and try a new tactic. “Nope. With my friends. They’re out there on the dance floor. We’re having a girls’ night. We’re keeping it all girls. No boys. No one-night stands. Just girls,” I ramble as I point to my friends.

  He doesn’t seem to notice my babbling. “They look like they’re having a good time.”

  “Yeah,” I say, suddenly feeling nauseous. I should have eaten before we left. Drinking on an empty stomach was dumb of me.

  Putting my drink down, I yank my dress down one more time then put my hand to my forehead. All of the sudden I’m feeling clammy. Maybe I need some air. That must be it. Too much booze. Not enough food.

  “Well, Ron, it was nice to meet you,” I say and begin to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, following me.

  “Oh, just over here.” I don’t know this guy, don’t know that I feel comfortable with him, but all I can think of is how much I really need to get out of here for a minute. How much did I have to drink?

  Suddenly, my head seems like it’s floating away from my body. I look over to Lauren and Kiersten, but they don’t see me. They’re too busy dancing.

  As I begin stumbling my way toward the door, an arm wraps around my waist. “Hey, are you okay?” Ron asks, and I think I hear concern in his voice. I must be worse than I thought.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t feel very well. I think I might throw up.”

  “You need some air,” he says.

  Oh, thank goodness, I think, but all I can do is nod before things go fuzzy around me.

  “Come on. There’s a side door right there. It’s quicker to get you outside this way.”

  I nod again. And then everything goes black.

  Chapter Five

  Jaxon

  I’m glad to be out of that restaurant and that fucking tie. I don’t care for my work clothes either, since they prefer our shirts to be snug, but I’ll take it over that noose around my neck any day. Not sure which noose I’m referring to—the actual tie or the figurative one my dad keeps trying to put around me.

  Pulling into the parking lot of Ambrosia, the club I barback at, I notice the place is packed tonight, which further irritates me. It’s Thursday. I should have expected it. Ladies night always draws a big crowd.

  Going through the back door, I head to
the office to clock in. My boss, Paul, is sitting at his desk, probably doing inventory or counting money—something official that’s back here, away from all the noise and lights and headaches.

  Paul has worked here for over ten years, starting in the same position I’m in now. He prides himself on having worked every single job at this club, so he knows how to fill in anywhere he’s needed. And he knows how exhausting every position can be. It makes him empathetic when your back hurts from carrying too many cases of beer around. Or your feet are aching from how much you’ve been running back and forth behind the bar. Or you’re feeling sticky and gross from all the booze that’s splattered onto your hands.

  “Hey, we’re running short on some of the liquor behind Macey’s station. Go ahead and get her stocked up before you do anything else.” He tosses the keys to the liquor closet my way.

  Catching them, I answer with, “Sounds good,” before heading out into the lights and commotion.

  When I applied for this job, I didn’t try for anything more than just a bar-back. I’m not lazy, I just don’t have goals of the bartending variety, so I don’t mind what I do. Not only does it feel like I’m getting a little extra training because I’m constantly lifting gallons of liquid, and booze is heavy, but I can also let my mind drift. I don’t have to talk to people. I don’t have to make nice. I don’t have to be fake because I rely on the tips. I have seen way too much fakeness over the years and have fallen for it too many times, only to find out later that my new “friend” wanted to meet my dad. This way, I can focus, do my job, and get paid. It works for me.

  “Hey Macey,” I call out as I make my way behind the bar where she’s at. She tilts her head up in a gesture of recognition and turns back to her customer. I’ve worked with her enough to know that’s as much greeting as I’m going to get when she’s slammed like this. Her bar is already three-deep with patrons, and it’s just after ten. I don’t take her lack of response personally. Instead, I grab the empty bottles she threw to the side to I can get them out of her way and make room for fresh supplies. Since she works next to Colin, I take a quick glance at what he’s going to need as well. Might as well make only one trip if I can help it.

  Looking down the bar, I see some girl wiping off the back of her leg and yanking at her skirt. Yep, the drunkards are out in full force if people are already getting spilled on. She looks as irritated as I feel. I can already tell it’s going to be a long night, so I better pace myself. If things get out of control, the bouncers are going to need some help.

  Gathering the empty liquor bottles and dropping them in the recycling container next to Paul’s office, I head back into the liquor closet. It’s more like a huge room stocked with all our supplies. There’s liquor everywhere—every kind you can imagine. I load up the crate we use to easily carry bottles with everything I’m going to need and head back to the bar.

  I start by restocking Macey’s supply and finish up with Colin’s side. As I place the crate under the counter, Macey turns to talk to me. Before the words are even out of her mouth, I already know by the look on her face she’s about to ask about the dreaded chore.

  “Jax. Hey. Do you mind taking this trash out to the dumpster? It’s really getting in the way.”

  I cringe. This is the job none of us want to do. The trash can get really gross around here. It’s all booze, people’s dirty napkins, used straws. I always feel like I need to go through a decontamination room when I’m done.

  Macey laughs under her breath at my reaction. I don’t say anything as I gather all the trash from behind the bar. It’s my job, so there isn’t much I can do about it except get it over quickly.

  Moving out the side door, I head to the dumpster and toss it all in. Hearing what sounds like a thump, one of the bags falls right back out.

  “Shit,” I mumble under my breath and haul it right back in. The last thing I want to do is pick the bag up off the nasty ground too.

  As I turn to walk away, I hear the thump again. That’s weird, I think to myself. It sounds like it’s coming from behind the dumpster this time.

  Then I hear what sounds like a low moan.

  My body runs cold, and my feet are frozen in place. Something in my gut tells me I need to go see what’s going on. It could be something as simple as a feral cat. It could be a homeless guy taking a dump. It could also be someone coming down off a bad high. Still, my feet inch forward, and as I peak around the corner, my entire stomach drops.

  It’s a man about my age on top of a woman, and it’s clear she’s unconscious. Her skirt is wrapped up around her hips, and her head is at an unnatural angle.

  The anger I’m already feeling increases exponentially at what I’m seeing. I have a sister. I have friends who are women. Seeing this girl, this woman, being violated like this has me seeing red. Without even thinking, I yell, “Hey!”

  His head whips up and he looks at me, a startled expression on his face. Then he scrambles to his feet and takes off running. My reaction is instantaneous, and I take off after him, sprinting faster than I ever have on the field. It takes only a couple seconds for me to reach him and tackle him to the ground. We immediately begin scuffling, throwing punches here and there, with him shrieking, “Get off me!” and me knowing instinctively that I can’t.

  “You goddamned motherfucker!” I scream as I continue to scramble to pin him down. “You think it’s okay to treat someone like they’re less than nothing?” I land a punch to his nose and blood squirts everywhere, but he doesn’t stop flailing, and I don’t stop fighting back. “You can’t get laid any other way? You have to wait until someone is too drunk to say no, you piece of shit?”

  I finally have him immobilized, but I can’t stop screaming at him. “What kind of fucking coward takes advantage of someone like that, huh? Answer me, asshole!” I scream and pick him up by the back of the shirt, only to slam his head back into the ground.

  As I open my mouth to shout at him again, I hear a moan and look over, only to see the girl rolling on the dirty concrete. She looks almost dead. Her top is torn, exposing one of her breasts. Her skirt is up around her waist, her panties ripped to shreds. And there’s some sort of thick liquid coming out from underneath her. It’s not coming from her head, but I can’t tell if it’s blood or vomit or…I can’t even fathom the possibilities.

  All I know is my anger dissolves into something else. Fear.

  Oh god. Oh god. I hope she’s not bleeding out everywhere. Oh god.

  In a split second I have to decide: Do I hold this guy down and wait for the cops to get here? Or do I help her? It’s both the easiest and hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.

  Jumping off him, I race back over to the girl, knowing he’s taking off as soon as I let him go. But I don’t care. Right now, her life is the most important thing.

  As soon as I get to her, she moans again.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, not really expecting a response. Instead, I check to make sure she has a pulse and she’s breathing. I don’t know what the liquid underneath her is, but I know it’s not blood. That’s one good sign anyway. Still, she needs help, and she needs it fast.

  “I need help over here!” I scream as loud as I can, praying that someone will hear me but knowing it’s a long shot. Turning my attention back to the girl, I say calmly, “It’s okay. He’s gone. You’re going to be okay now.”

  Her eyes flutter open for a split second, and I swear she looks right up at my face. I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

  She sighs deeply and closes her eyes again.

  “Help! I need help!” I yell into the alley again.

  “Jaxon?” Thankfully, I recognize that voice.

  “Paul! I’m over here, behind the dumpster.”

  He comes around the side, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. “What the fuck?”

  “I don’t know man,” I try to explain, my words coming back in a rush. “I came back here to take the trash out and some gu
y was on top of her, doing…that fucking piece of shit was fucking raping her! Oh, god.”

  “Oh god,” Paul repeats, squatting down next to me, taking in the scene but not trying to touch her. “Have you called the cops?”

  “No man. I just got over to her. I don’t think she’s bleeding.” Suddenly, I feel the overwhelming need to protect her. And not just from harm. But from prying eyes. “Dude, give me your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “Give me your shirt. Don’t look at her!”

  Quickly, he realizes what I’m getting at and pulls his shirt over his head, leaving him only in the white Henley he was wearing underneath. I grab it from his hands and position the shirt over her to cover her private areas. There’s no reason for anyone to see her this way.

  I see red again, as Paul pulls out his phone. How could someone do this to another person? How can someone call themselves a man while fucking by force, not by choice?

  Keeping my voice as calm as possible, I keep talking to her, hoping she knows she’s not alone. “You’re okay,” I chant over and over. It may be more of a wish than anything else.

  I barely register the sound of the sirens in the distance. I’m too busy looking at the girl. Who is she? Where did she come from? And how did no one see what was happening before it got to this point?

  She whimpers and starts to move, so I do what comes naturally. Very gently, I scoop her up into my arms so she’s not lying on the filthy ground anymore. Her body stiffens, and her eyes open again.

  Gently, I talk to her again. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

  I feel her body relax and watch as her eyes close again.

  Paul is still talking to the person on the phone, the sirens getting louder now.

  It takes hours, or maybe seconds, until the EMTs arrive. One approaches us cautiously before squatting down next to me.

  “Sir, what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I came out here to throw the trash out and some guy was on top of her and he was…he was…” I can’t get the words out, and I realize I have to blink back the tears burning my eyes. I keep going back and forth from angry to concerned. The emotion of it all is overwhelming. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I can’t believe this is happening to her.