5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lucy

I look away from him because I can't stand the sad look on his face. At least, I try to avoid his eyes. He gently turns my face back to him. He doesn't squeeze me or hurt me. It's a gentle movement, and I could lean into the warmth of his finger on my cheek.

Will my eyes betray me? I can't tell him that I know exactly who Murphy Beckett is, partially because he's family. I don't share DNA with the guy, but he's Beck's cousin. Murphy Beckett's father is Beck's mother's brother. Hence, Beck is named after the Beckett side of the family.

I also know Murphy is into a lot of shit. Sex workers. Drugs. Some of it transfers right in Peter's club. Peter has no idea, of course. It makes me wonder if Murphy has the girls doing other things for him. I see them slide small packages to men as they climb on their laps during a dance.

Even if he wasn't involved in girls and drugs, I've never liked him. Fucker gave me a cheap toaster for our wedding and hit on the minister's wife.

"Lucy, you need to come clean with me. What do you know?" Aaron asks. I've never seen him like this before.

Desperation? Anger?

"I can't help you," I say standing up and taking the cash Aaron gave me out of the waistband of my panties. "Here's your money back. Blow job over. In fact, no blow jobs ever again, Aaron. It's just too weird."

I walk away from him, and he grabs my arm with one hand and adjusts his pants with the other as he comes after me. "Lucy, stop!" he begs. "Please talk to me."

I spin around until we're inches away from each other. I could lean forward and he'd catch me. My entire being yearns to wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his chest. I know there's a patch of hair between his pectorals that wasn't there when we dated, and I want to run my fingers through it to see what it feels like. I could just reach into his shirt and pull on that patch as I tell him all about Beck and Beck's shitty cousin.

Aaron feels the same way about our proximity. I can tell by the way his forehead scrunches like it does when he's frustrated. His eyes are black holes of desire but also kind as he looks at me.

Damn him and his kindness. It's so close to pity and borderline insulting. But after all I've been through with an abusive husband, I want it like I crave water on a hot day.

"Help me, Lucy. Help the women Murphy traffics. You know he does it. I can see it in your face. You know he's taking advantage of them. I want to put him away for it. I've been working on it for months, but the guy is like butter on a greased pan, slipping around everything we try to get him on. The feds should be helping us, but they're not, and I'm not sure why. Help me," he begs, patting his chest.

His pants are still open at the zipper, and I glance down to his erection. I don't want to blow him at the club anymore. I want to make love to him. Wrap my legs around him, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and let him curse and moan into my neck. I want it to be at his house because it's probably clean and I won't have to worry about sticky floors or used upholstery. I don't want to wear a G-string and pasties – I want to wear his t-shirt and a pair of his old boxer shorts while we cuddle on his couch with a warm throw blanket thrown over us.

"Lucy," Aaron says, clapping his hands in front of my face and pulling me out of thoughts of domestic bliss with him. "Help me."

I turn again and walk to the door. He doesn't follow this time. I pull on the handle to the stair area, ready to walk downstairs and accept my place on the pole. No more VIP room tonight. I'll have the DJ turn on some loud tunes, zone out, and dance, gathering the one-dollar bills off the floor. It may be humiliating, but so is sucking my ex-boyfriend's dick for money.

There's a soft sigh behind me. "Girls, Lucy."

I freeze with my hand on the door, and a hot flush moves up my back.

"Some of them are just girls. Not even old enough to be in high school. Girls like Ruby and Pearl will be in just a few short years."

There's something in his voice that I've never heard from him. He was a senior in high school when he lost the scholarship he wanted. He never shed a tear over it, but his voice was husky then. Worried. Tired.

This is worse, and it fucking kills me. Whatever this weird dance is that we do here, I love this man.

His daughters are beautiful. I only know that because I stalk my high school boyfriend on Facebook like every other red-blooded American woman. His page is marked to private since he's a cop, but he accepted my friend request back in 2014. Besides the random birthday wish, we never interacted, mostly out of respect for Cynthia. But I've seen his daughters. Ruby with shiny green eyes like her dad's. Pearl with the gap-toothed smile every second-grade girl seems to have. I know when they were born because I cried at the picture of Aaron holding up a squalling Pearl, his hair askew like he'd been up with his wife all night.

I look at the floor and blink back tears. Girls. I can't let girls get hurt if I can stop it. If I have the power to help Aaron and get Murphy off the street, I can help girls. Even if I help one person or family from that sicko, it's the right thing to do.

I meet his eyes. They're wet, and he wipes them, pinching his nose when he's done.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron drops his hand and puts his hand on his chest again. "You'll help me?"

"I ain't doing any Nancy Drew shit. Don't ask for that, but I'll tell you what I know."

He nods and smiles, clearing his throat. He gestures back to the couch. "No blow job tonight, Lucy. Just sit with me and tell me what you know. Please."

I put my hands on my hips and chew on my bottom lip before walking to the loveseat I never get to sit on – I usually straddle it or kneel in front of it – and gently sit on the fabric, careful not to touch too much of the upholstery. I've seen way too many men come on this furniture.

Aaron claps his hands together like it's Christmas and sits next to me. He places his hands in his lap like he's a consummate professional and has never touched me in his life. His thigh touches mine but only because the seat is small. "What can you tell me about Murphy Beckett?"

"He's my cousin."

I wish I would have had my phone out to take a picture of my ex-boyfriend's face. It almost makes me laugh, and I press my lips in a thin line to force my smile down. He flinches back and furrows his brow. His mouth opens like he wants to protest the situation. "True fact," I add.

"Wha-how? I met your family, Lucy, and I'd remember if you were related to that dick."

"I see you've met him." I wave my hand. "Relax. He's my cousin by marriage. I don't share DNA with him. Beck's mother and Murphy's father are siblings. Beck? Beckett? Get it?"

He shakes his head. "Unbelievable. Is Peter his cousin too? Is that why he comes in?"

"No. Peter's my cousin. I don't like saying it too loud, but I actually share a set of grandparents with that slimy bastard. Murphy comes here because it's the only strip club within a fifty-mile radius unless you want to go into Chicago on a Wednesday afternoon."

The relief that Peter's not fronting Murphy's motorcycle club bullshit out of some sense of family loyalty is etched on Aaron's face. His cheeks relax, and he takes a deep breath.

I yearn to run my hand down his cheek and let him lean into my palm, but I keep my hands in my lap. He's not mine to touch. I've only touched him in the club when he's paid me. If I touch him outside of a simple business transaction, I don't know if I'll stop. I'll want to touch him all the time. No, it's better if I continue this silly business of touching him only when he pays. It's better for both of us.

I mean, a cop and a stripper together? Talk about damning his next election.

"Is he running drugs through here?"

"Yes." I hold my hands up. "Peter doesn't know. He wouldn't allow that shit. Don't take it out on him."

"What kind?" Aaron asks, reaching for his back pocket. He brings out his phone and opens a note-taking app.

I shrug. "You know I never tried any of that shit. I wouldn't know a crack pipe from a plumber's pipe, Aaron."

"What does it look like?"

"I don't know," I mumble, staring at the wall across from me and trying to remember. "Small, white baggies. Kind of tan and white color for the powder."

"Are pills coming through?"

"Yeah. They're usually green and round."

Aaron blows out a breath. "Fentanyl. Is he using the girls here?"

I smirk and bat my eyes. "What's your definition of use?"

Aaron blushes, probably thinking of shit stain Murphy Beckett using the other women the same way as he uses me, thus putting them on the same level of turd. "Does he use girls to recruit other girls to his, well, his sex business?"

"Is he a pimp? Just ask the question, Aaron. We both know you're not a shy virgin. I took care of that for you a long time ago."

"Is he pimping out the women that work here?"

"Possibly. I see them hand him or his men cash sometimes. I don't know if it's for the drugs or tips from lap dancing. I think it's for lap dancing since it's done on the main floor, but I'm not sure. I honestly don't know and don't talk much here. I don't have friends in the back."

"You'd have to be a hundred percent sure for me to pursue that. Can you start watching?"

I tilt my head. "You want me to spy on Murphy?"

"Yes." He says it deadpan like there was never a question.

"Sure, because that's safe." I laugh a little and a drop of snot snorts out of my nose. Aaron ignores it.

"What else? We can't find any wife, but what do you know?"

"There's no wife. If there ever was, she was long gone by the time Beck and I got together. He's more of a uses a hooker and doesn't have to pay for the hooker type. Personally, I'm surprised syphilis hasn't taken him yet."

"Hobbies? Things he talks about a lot?" Aaron asks, his fingers dancing over his phone as he takes notes.

"Is being a dickhead a hobby?"

Aaron looks up at me and smiles. I nearly swoon at the boyishness of it. It's like he smiled at me years ago when he showed up at my house with a posterboard asking me to the sophomore homecoming dance, and I smile back without thinking.

"Actually, I've been in this job long enough to say it is, Lucy."

"He likes cars."

"Does he deal in cars? Chop shop?"

I shake my head. "Not that I've heard. He's the president of the motorcycle club around here, but that's common knowledge. I'd be disappointed if you didn't already know that. I guess he's just a motorhead and has been since he was a kid. I don't think he's into anything illegal there."

"So, just the drugs and women?"

I nod. "That I know of."

Aaron leans forward and licks his lips like he does when he's thinking. He doesn't know I notice he does that. We could never play poker together. I know when this man has a bad hand at something.

"Is there anything else you can think of that can help me or that I can use to get close to him?"

"He's really into charity."

Aaron scrunches his nose. "Charity?"

"Yeah, it's probably how he flies under the radar. He goes to all the big events and galas around town. He doesn't give a shit about children, unless he's selling them, or wetlands. He goes to rub elbows with, well, guys like you. I'm surprised you haven't seen him around."

"I don't go to events unless my campaign says it will be a good idea. Then, I'll speak, shake a few hands for press pictures, and get the fuck out."

I cock my head to the side. "Why?"

"People."

Enough said. He doesn't have to elaborate.

"Well, Murphy goes to those events. The annual gala for the turtles is coming up. I'm sure he'll be there greasing palms, smiling, and kissing babies so everyone thinks he's a great guy."

"The turtles?"

"Yeah, Aaron. It's not just sea turtles that need help. Illinois has five indigenous turtles that are endangered. Don't you read?"

"Not about turtles!" he protests. He's smiling, though. Fuck me, I got Aaron Dwyer to smile a real smile.

He looks at the floor for a moment and taps his feet. "Come with me."

"What?"

"If I get a ticket to this gala, you have to come with me. If you're with me, maybe Murphy will speak to me socially."

"You want to be social with him? Chat about the Bears over a few beers?"

Aaron nods and looks back up at me. "Yeah. We're going to talk football and pretty girls. That means I need a pretty girl on my arm." He stands up and adjusts his softening dick. The idea that he'll have to take care of that at home pains me. "Get a dress. I like you in red."

"What makes you think I'll dress for you, Aaron Dwyer?" I sass back, knowing damn well that there's a red number in the back of my closet just waiting for that man's eyes. It's five years old, but it'll do.

He reaches the door and pulls it open before turning back to me. "Because I said so, Lucy. You'll help me because you always help me…every time I've needed it."