Objective (Bloodlines #2)(22)
“Say what?” I ask.
“You’re into me,” he smirks devilishly.
“I’m not into you, I’m Mags,” I bite out teasingly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His adorable face wrinkles in confusion.
“All I’m saying is, if you were lucky enough to have me, you wouldn't wanna share.” I watch Brock's eyes widen and follow me as I head to the locker room. “See you tonight, B!” I call over my shoulder before pushing into the women’s locker room to shower and get ready for work.
*****
The music blares and the bass vibrates the floor. Neon colored lights flash and strobe around the throng of people dancing. When the music’s loud, I don't think about him. As I filter through the crowd, I can be without him. It’s a small club really but Thursday through Sunday night it’s packed. I work Wednesdays through Saturdays and make a killing. I lift the tray loaded with mixed drinks and beer over my head as I pass through a crowded part of the floor, a few whistles and catcalls come from the frat boys close by. I ignore them. I suppose if I were a normal twenty-three year old I’d like the attention, but I’m not. I have no interest in a relationship with anyone of the male population that frequents this club. I bring the tray in front of me and pass out the drinks to their appropriate owners before smiling and heading back to the bar. A hand grabs my rear and squeezes. It makes my lungs squeeze the air out and my breath hitches. I drop my tray and grab the wrist of the offender, twisting it painfully. “Damn! Down girl!” the idiot grits out while I glare at him.
“If I wanted your hands on me, you’d know it,” I spit out. I can’t cause a scene, one more and I'll lose my job. I’ve already been warned. I need this job for my sanity. Must remain calm.
“I thought dressed like that you did want my hands on you,” the jerk seethes, pride wounded. It takes everything I have not to punch him in the face. What an ignorant ass. I dress this way because I’m supposed to for work, but also because it’s better for tips. I roll my eyes at the sad little man in front of me and stomp off to the bar without bothering to pick up my tray again.
This is a far cry from where I thought I’d be by now in life. Hell, a year or two ago I’d have never even wanted to be a patron in a place like this, it just wasn’t my scene. Now, well now, it pays the bills and mostly I’m just a number. A faceless, barely-dressed girl slinging drinks in a large crowd. I like being anonymous. It helps me feel less out of control, less afraid and less paranoid. The rest of the night slides by with ease and after the club shuts down for the night I grab my bag from the backroom and make my way out, grateful to be done with work. I relish the quiet hours of the morning when I get home from work.
“Mags, girl, you got another fan.” Brock chuckles deeply before handing me a hundred dollar bill. Great, just what I need, another stalker. I take the bill from him and roll my eyes.
“Who’s it this time?” I snort in disgust. Men, always trusting my smile. Always trying to get me to want them. Leaving little notes with Brock or the bartenders for me with their numbers on them. ‘Call me’ or ‘You’re hot’ etched on the check or bill. Lame.
“No name, just said ‘for the hot black-haired chick with the back tatt’,” Brock explains. I stare at his large linebacker frame for a moment before checking the bill for a phone number or name. Nothing. Huh. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it, hun, I keep my eye on you girls, you know that.” He smiles gently. I return his smile, although mine doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I know. Thanks, Brock.” I make my way to the parking lot out back. I inspect the bill again and a chill runs through me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my breath falters. My paranoia overwhelms me, like always. I look around me slowly and continue to move towards my piece-of-shit car. It’s a Buick land yacht older than I am with no keyless entry but lots of rust. It gets me from point A to B though, and that’s all that really matters. There is no one out here. I’m safe. I pull the pistol from my purse anyways, check to make sure it’s loaded, and take the safety off. A girl can never be too safe these days, right?
I slide the key into the door lock and toss my bag across to the passenger seat before sliding into the car. Pulling the door shut and locking it, I switch the safety back on the pistol and tuck it under my seat before starting the car. Ten miles outside the city just across the rail tracks I take a left onto a quiet little dirt road that leads to a shitty trailer park where everyone leads a shitty existence. Dull and trashy with no hope of escaping their lives. It’s depressing as hell. I never thought I’d live in a crap hole like this but here I am. Quite frankly it suits me, now. I find it comforting and safe. People leave me alone for the most part and mind their own, which is exactly why I picked it as my new home. I bounce past the rusty rotten trailers until I arrive at mine. I pull up next to my door, toss the land yacht in park and shut her down. After retrieving my gun and bag I quickly move from the safety of the car to the safety of my trailer.
From the outside it looks no different than all the other dingy beat up trailers in this park, but inside is a different story. My windows have all been replaced with bulletproof glass, as well as the front and rear doors, and I’d had all the walls reinforced from the inside when I moved in. The security system is what I’m really most fond of, though. Tiny cameras are mounted on all corners of the trailer and from my bed I can watch the wall-mounted flat screen panels and see everything that goes on from every angle outside my trailer. There are no blind spots. The cameras are not visible from the outside; even if you knew to look for them you’d still have a hard time spotting them. I’d had them all camouflaged in cheap tasteless decoration that fits right in with all the other tacky lawn and trailer decorations in the park. My trailer is my fortress, safe and secure. I toss my bag onto the slouchy Crate and Barrel couch that I just simply had to have and quickly do a walk-through of the tiny space.