Five Ways to Fall
Page 81

A lot of the customers here are regulars. It’s nice. They make a point of saying hello, and that makes me feel not quite so alone.
“Hey, Katie!”
I turn around to find Will, Berta’s nephew, hovering behind me with that goofy grin of his. “What are you doing after work tonight?”
“Oh, probably just heading home. I’m tired.” I fake a yawn, knowing I can’t make up an elaborate story with Berta on guard. She’s hopeful that we’ll start dating, promising that he may act like a hooligan but he’s a good boy who could use a girl like me in his life, instead of those “floozies” he keeps bringing in here.
There’s nothing wrong with him, honestly.
Other than the fact that he’s not him.
Just the thought now brings a painful lump to my throat.
“All right. Well, if you change your mind, my friend is having a party tonight out on Copper Mill Road. Live band . . . kegs . . . You should come.” His eyes shift down to my chest—only accentuated by the fitted “Becker’s” T-shirt—before meeting my gaze and knowing he got caught. At least he has the decency to blush.
“Thanks, Will. I’ll keep that in mind.” I watch him as he makes his way over to join a group of his college friends at a booth. And it reminds me that I’m supposed to be in New York right now, attending Tisch, living my dream. Not serving burgers and sodas at a diner in Alabama.
Pining over a man I unintentionally fell in love with.
With a deep, calming exhale, I begin clearing a table of its dishes. Katie Ford from Ohio never enrolled at Tisch. She never stripped for a living. She never met a man named Cain.
And she also never dealt drugs, nor will she ever. I can’t let that silver lining disappear within the suffocating black cloud.
A round of laughter erupts from Will’s table as one of the girls playfully flicks his ear, the movement revealing a purple streak on the underside of her hair.
I smile at the bittersweet memory it triggers.
I wonder how Ginger’s doing. I wonder if Katie Ford has any hope of ever making a friend like her. I’ve already reconciled myself to the fact that she’ll never find a man like Cain.
I wonder what he’s doing at this very moment. If he’s out in the club or hidden in his office.
If he’s thinking about me.
If he misses me.
Or if he has already moved on.
Chapter forty-five
CAIN
It took Sam Arnoni exactly twenty-five days to find me.
“He’s asking for you,” Nate announces from my office entrance as John and I watch the tall man in a charcoal-colored suit over the monitor. I knew it was him the second I laid eyes on him. Dan left his files for me with the requirement that they stay locked in my safe at all times. I gladly followed instruction, except for that one picture of Charlie, of course. That one, I folded up and tucked into my pocket, to pull out whenever I felt the need.
Turns out I feel the need at least forty times a day.
I memorized every detail about the man who turned his own stepdaughter into a drug trafficker. I know all about his many businesses. I know his approximate weight, height, birth city. I could describe the family crest tattooed to his chest if I had to.
Yes, Sam Arnoni is my enemy and I like to know everything about my enemy.
“Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell Nate, adding, “Keep the girls away from him.” I turn to John, who decided to extend his stay in Miami and turn it into a vacation. Apparently his vacation means watching from the shadows to see if anyone’s tailing me.
“You want me to call Dan?”
“No,” I answer quickly. Not until I decide what to do. “I need to know where I can find this guy at all times.”
“I’m on it.” Wheeling up the extra chair to the computer, he pans to the video feeds from the parking lot and begins rewinding. I assume it’s to locate Sam’s car. “You go wine and dine that scumbag.”
“Thanks, John. And be careful.”
“You too, Cain.” There’s a hint of something in John’s voice now that I can’t decipher. I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time he got involved in one of these situations with me. He must be wondering what I’m planning now. How far I’m willing to go to protect Charlie.
I’m wondering the same thing.
I take my time, strolling out of my office with a glass in hand. Let the f**ker stew. I know that Sam’s not armed and I’m not worried about him physically overtaking me. I’m not afraid of him, period. Most people would have been waiting with trepidation for this moment. I’m actually quite happy that he finally found me. Now I just have to keep from killing him in my own club.
His large frame fills the wing chair at his table. I don’t know who sat him in the V.I.P. section. If I had my way, the fifty-eight-year-old would be in the back corner, near the can. I watch as Mercy strolls by, her wide blue eyes flashing at the sight of him, but Nate quickly moves in to redirect her. I guess I can understand the appeal. The guy reeks of money and, with his natural gray streaks running through his dark hair, most women would consider him distinguished. Attractive, even.
All I see is a hungry snake among mice.
Intent on watching Cherry’s performance, he doesn’t notice my arrival. Or he wants me to think that he doesn’t.
“You were asking for me?”
Steely eyes turn to settle on me. When he smiles, the mirth doesn’t touch them. “Hello, Cain.” I can hear the New York accent roll off his tongue with those two words. He sticks his hand out and I take it. I take it and I fight the urge to break the bones within it.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
Sam’s smirk puts me further on guard. He looks like the type who would investigate his enemies, too. I wonder how much he’s managed to dig up on me. “Please, join me.” He gestures at the empty chair and I can’t help but chuckle. He’s coming into my club, and inviting me to sit with him. Corking my annoyance, I accept the offer with a sneer. We sit in silence as Cherry finishes her act and Terry announces Levi as the next performer. Despite the situation, a blip of disappointment stirs in me, remembering that this used to be Charlie’s slot.
It’s the first time that I’m actually glad she’s not here.
“I believe my daughter worked for you up until a few weeks ago,” he starts, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Her name is Charlie.”
“Your daughter, Charlie.”
“Yes. Blond hair? Pretty girl.” He takes another sip. “I believe you got to know her well.”
I wonder if it bothers Sam that I was f**king his stepdaughter. If the monster in him is capable of being bothered.
I wonder if he ever touched her.
I beat that thought out of my head because I know nothing good will come of pondering it right here, right now, with his throat within reach.
I let my eyes roam over the club—spying Nate watching us without attempting to hide it. He’s a good distance back, but he could climb over the railing in a split second if the need arose. “Yes, I did.” I’m the master of holding my cards close to my chest. Now, though, I struggle. I’d love to verbally assault Sam with all that I know. But it wouldn’t be advantageous, and so I keep my answers to a minimum.
“She’s gone missing. I haven’t been able to find her in weeks.” His brow knits tightly together. “I’m very worried about her.”