4. The Familiar

FOUR

THE FAMILIAR

BECCA brOOKS

F rom behind the bar, I grab my tray and head for the table of hockey hooligans closest to the stage.

My brother played hockey in high school, so I'm used to their sort. They are hot, I will give Calista that, each one muscular and well-dressed. None of them notice me approaching, though, what with their eyes trained on Angel's ass, one of the club's featured strippers, working the pole in front of them.

I've come to know that look men get here, all dark and lusty. If I'm ever to indulge in time with a man, then I want his eyes gazing softly and longingly toward me, while he takes me away from here. But I don't have time to indulge in fantasies of prince charming saving me from this life.

"Booth seven is asking for you," Eddy snaps at me, passing by, straightening back his greasy hair with a palm. "And you know we don't disappoint our clientele." Calista's sleazy uncle would pimp out any of us if it made him a buck or two. If it weren't for the great tips I make here, I'd leave.

I glance over at seven and my blood runs cold. It's the same man who has been here a few times over the past week. He sits among his entourage at a table along the wall, with a bodyguard standing nearby. Calista tells me he's a famous actor named Max something or other and related to some guy in the mafia. By the way he eyes me, I know what he wants. But he won't get it.

I do an about face and head to the players, whistling and clapping when Angel finishes her routine. But as I draw nearer, I almost falter in my heels. One of the players isn't looking at Angel—but staring at me.

He's familiar.

I do a double take and almost drop my tray, because he looks an awful lot like my brother's old best-friend from high school, Cam Castillo, who hated me with a passion. The way he'd always tease me drove me insane. And so did that crop of his dark hair falling into his pale blue eyes—like it is now.

No, it can't possibly be him. Then I catch a glare from Eddy who yanks his thumb toward Max. With a heavy sigh I head to seven, making the hockey guys wait.

"Good evening. What can I get you tonight?" I ask, without meeting Max's eyes.

He snaps his fingers and the other men and women vacate the booth. "Sit," he orders, like I'm some doll who will bend to his whim. This is new. Usually he orders expensive tequila for the entire group, ogles me mercilessly, and that's it.

"No, thanks. I'm not allowed to sit with the customers. But I can get one of the dancers to?—"

"I said sit. I want you, so you'll sit with me." He shifts from the middle of the booth to the end, next to where I'm standing. If he touches me, I swear I'll scream.

"And I said it's against the rules." My eyes dart around, looking for any of the bouncers. We have three and they're always about. Of course, none are around when I need them.

He smirks."The rules don't apply to me." The next thing I know, I'm pulled into his lap where his stinky breath engulfs me and something hard protrudes from his crotch. I'm so startled my tray goes flying and I yelp.

"Hey Max. You mind getting your hands off my woman?"

I look up to the deep, growly voice who said that and all the air in my lungs escapes. My jaw drops. It is Cam Castillo, and he's towering over us with a scowl and squinty eyes that look ready to kill.