Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(13)

I felt heat pour from my face as I held his glare.

I didn’t know Jethro Winston well. When I’d come over as a kid, Roscoe had been my friend and Jethro had been off stealing cars for the Iron Wraiths Motorcycle Club. He’d turned his life around since, but I knew the man had intimate familiarity with The G-Spot. It was The Wraith’s favorite hangout besides the bar at the biker compound.

Sienna continued staring at her husband, apparently as shocked as me, and reached for his hand. “You can’t tell Charlotte what to do—”

“Sienna, we’ll discuss it later,” he said darkly, firmly, and turned his hard look to her. Her mouth shut.

“Anyone home? Where are y’all?” Beau’s affable voice interrupted the tense moment and I breathed out, feeling shaky and uncertain.

“We’re in here, in the kitchen,” Jethro said. Though his frown persisted, his gaze seemed to soften as it moved over my features. “Listen to me. I’m sorry I yelled. But please. This isn’t about dancing or stripping. Your safety matters, and not only to your kids. You matter, Charlotte. And if Hank is here to give you an alternative, take it.”

Before I could respond, or even think of what to say, footsteps tugged my attention over my shoulder and I watched as a smiling Beau Winston strolled into the kitchen followed by a sullen-looking Hank Weller. Beau wore cargo pants and a white T-shirt with the Winston Brothers auto repair shop logo in the upper-left corner over his chest. Hank wore faded jeans and a white undershirt. He’d put on a cotton, long-sleeved plaid overshirt but left it unbuttoned.

Standing side by side, the two men were approximately the same height, with Beau a mere inch or so shorter. But Hank was leaner and long-limbed, almost wiry in comparison to his friend, which made him appear much taller.

A flustered rush of nerves crashed over my head like a tidal wave and I quickly crossed my arms, exhaling spiky discomfort. I wasn’t ready to face Hank Weller. I’d been given no time to prepare.

“Hey, everyone.” Beau gave the room a wave, but his gaze settled on me. “Hey, Charlotte. How you been?”

I lifted my chin and pointedly ignored the narrowed scowl marring Hank’s handsome face. “I am fine. How are you, Beau?” I’d always considered Hank unfairly handsome, even when he scowled.

“Can’t complain. We—me and Hank—wondered of you might have a minute to review a—”

“Could y’all give Ms. Mitchell and me a few minutes, please?” Hank cut in, sounding flat and weary. He crossed to me and swept a hand toward the kitchen’s exit. With mocking formality, he said, “Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the front porch, Ms. Mitchell?”

I grinned meanly. “Sure thing, Mr. Weller. As always, and as you have proved time and time again, I am at your complete disposal.”

Without waiting for his reaction to the words I shouldn’t have said, I marched past him. Out the kitchen doorway, across the living room, through the screen door to the front porch. Feeling restless, I continued down the porch steps to the front yard. I’d always been a shouter, too loud for the cotillions and tea parties my momma favored. The only places I ever truly fit in were live sporting events and musical concerts.

If the ensuing minutes ended up in a shouting match between me and Hank, I didn’t want Sienna to hear it. I liked her, and yelling on her front porch seemed rude.

“You cannot dance at The G-Spot,” Hank said as soon as I was down the stairs.

I glanced over my shoulder long enough to say, “Pardon me?” but continued on until we drew even with his car.

“You can’t strip there.”

I turned and crossed my arms again, an incredulous expression on my face. “I’m sorry, but are you my daddy?”

“Do you want me to be your daddy?” he responded, the words sudden, his tone low. The question hit me right in the stomach.

I balked, stunned. A wicked kind of heat erupted outward from my abdomen and up my neck, making my thoughts scatter. I stared at him, stupefied. Had he . . .?

I know he did not say what I think he said.

Hank’s eyes widened infinitesimally, as though he also realized how the question sounded, and then his eyebrows slammed down. “Listen. That’s not—never mind.” Hank released a gruff sound. “What’s important is that you can’t work there. It’s a dangerous place for someone who doesn’t know how the business works. And even then, it’s a dangerous place.”

“Well. Okay, thanks for the information. I’ll take it under advisement.”

“You won’t do it?”

A fissure of unease had me tensing.

Okay.

So.

I wasn’t going to do it.

Stripping at The G-Spot had been one thing when I thought no arrests meant the place was safe; it was quite another thing entirely if the dancers were too afraid to report the customers, and violence was a common occurrence. After talking to Jethro and seeing his reaction, I couldn’t dance at The G-Spot. My cousin’s safety was important, my aunt and uncle’s feelings were important, but my kids needed me. I was all they had. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their safety.

I was stubborn. I wasn’t stupid.

But Hank didn’t need to know that I’d already decided not to work at The G-Spot. I didn’t care if he thought I was stupid, and what I did and where I worked was none of his business.