Objective (Bloodlines #2)(16)

“What the f*ck!” I spit out while wiping water from myself.

“Sorry,” he rumbles.

“Leave!” I bark.

“No.”

“Who the hell are you?” I ask exasperated.

“Bentley,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Alright, Bentley, get the hell off my property,” I grind out.

“I like you,” he says, ignoring me.

“I don't feel the same. Now leave,” I grit, completely irritated.

“Nope. Now be quiet and look up,” he says, tilting his head up and settling into one of my chairs. I wrinkle my nose at him and stomp into my trailer, slamming the door behind me. Who the hell does this guy think he is anyways?

“Got any beer in there?” I hear him holler through the open kitchen window. Seriously? I grab a beer from the fridge, storm to the door, shoving it open and chuck the glass bottle at him. The son of a bitch actually catches it. Catches it! I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

“Thanks. Now, come sit. I promise you don't have to talk. Just sit and enjoy the night,” he says calmly, as if this isn't the strangest encounter ever. I retreat into the house and get myself another water. I take a couple of big gulps and shake my head at the craziness of the stranger sitting outside. Why won't he leave? He seems so determined to be involved in my life, but why? I’m lonely again tonight, though. I can feel it like a knot in my side, so I take my water outside and sit in the empty chair next to him. The loneliness I feel day after day has been crushing. Out of the corner of my eye I see him smile but he says nothing and I refuse to acknowledge him. We sit in silence, side by side and enjoy the skyline until he gets up an hour later and leaves. No goodbye, no ceremony, just...walks away into the night leaving me once again trapped in my mind.





*****


It’s Wednesday and I am nervous as shit. I can’t seem to make myself step through the entrance to the bar. I want to. I’ve been sober. I’ve made a little place to live in. I kinda even made a friend. Well maybe not, but Bentley is social contact so for now I think that counts. My silence in life is deafening most days. I choose not to say much. I can, I just don't. I’m just about to push the door open when it swings open and is instantly filled with a large black ominous shadow.

“Well look at you!” he booms enthusiastically. I take a step backwards as he comes towards me.

“Brock, right?” I ask.

“Yup, and girl, we had a bet goin' here that you wouldn't be back,” he chuckles at me.

“So, who won?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I did of course! I don’t make bets I intend on losing. Now come on...let’s go let Penny know you showed.” He smiles and gestures for me to come in. I draw in the biggest breath I can and follow his lead for the second time.



Penny throws me a pair of black shorts and a tank top with Mack’s logo on it and instructs me to change in the employee bathroom before we go any further. My sneakers look kinda ridiculous with my outfit but I’m sure my feet will thank me later when my shift is over. I’m anxious as I follow Penny around. I try desperately to memorize the words coming out of her mouth so I don't mess up tonight, but all I can seem to focus on is the fact that there will be a crowd and undoubtedly I will be touched at some point. The thought of it alone sends me spiraling out of control. I stop, placing my hands flat on the bar and count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Breathe.

“Magnolia. Keep up,” Penny chides, staring at me strangely. Her face registers something and softens suddenly. She takes four steps back to me and points towards her office while nodding at Brock to do something. I make the walk back down the hallway and into her office and wait.

“Panic attack?” she questions as soon as we’re both in her office.

“Uh, what?”

“Back there at the bar. Do. You. Have. Panic. Attacks?” her words come out staccato for effect.

“Oh. You noticed. Sorry. I promise it won't happen again,” I offer. She sighs and rakes her gaze over me before pushing her glasses an inch up the bridge of her nose.

“Tell me what the trigger is. Maybe we can have you do alternative tasks. Work around it,” she prompts.

“Contact,” I whisper. “I don’t want people touching me. I don’t like contact.” I give up on an exhale. She nods and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“Magnolia, this is a bar and dance club. Men will leer. They might try and touch you as well. It’s your job to look good. Tips are better when you look good and flirt. Brock is here to make sure no one, and I mean no one, does anything to you that you aren’t comfortable with,” she finishes, crossing her arms over her chest. I remain silent. This was a stupid idea, of course I can’t do this job. “Do you understand?” she clips.

“I think maybe this is a mistake. I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heels of my hands to them. The pressure feels good. He always did that. I drop my hands to my sides.

“No, honey, I have a feeling this is exactly what you need. Let’s get back out there and I’ll finish showing you the ropes.”





Chapter 6





"Ladies who play with fire must remember that smoke gets in their eyes."— Mae West