Shooting Dirty (8 page)

He unclenched his fists, his eyes narrow. “You don’t have to work at that shitty club. You don’t have to work at all.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “How do you figure?”

“You’re pretty enough. You can get married and stay home, like a normal mom.”

A horrified laugh erupted from her chest. “A normal mom?”

“Yes, a normal mom! The kind that bakes cookies after school, and doesn’t dance naked on guys’ laps!”

“Right,” she said, shaking her head. “I can bake cookies, and get married to a rich guy. There aren’t many around here, but maybe I can find a nice old man to sell myself to. Would that make your life better?”

“You don’t even try to date.”

That was true. Her choice of profession put a damper on dating. It was a catch-22. She couldn’t quit her job in hopes of meeting a decent man, and she probably wouldn’t meet one unless she quit.

“You could go out with that tattooed guy.”

Her lips parted in shock. “Ace?”

“Is that his name? He seemed okay.”

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe Jamie thought Ace would make an appropriate boyfriend. Then again, Ace was edgy and mysterious. Cooler than the other dads, certainly. Not unlike Shane.

“Face it, Mom. You’re not going to do any better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, belligerent.

“Just—go to your room,” she said, pointing. “Pack your stuff.”

Jamie did as she ordered, grumbling along the way. Two hours later, they were loaded up and ready to leave. Her car didn’t fit everything so she’d have to make another trip. Jamie didn’t speak to her at all during the drive. He put in his earbuds, shutting her out.

After they arrived at her mother’s house, Janelle carried her things inside. Her mom had cleared out the sunroom for her, which was nicer than the couch. There was a cot in the corner with a pillow and a blanket. Janelle piled her bags next to it.

Then she headed down the hallway, her stomach roiling with tension. The guestroom was on the left, and her mother’s room was at the end of the hall. The bathroom was on the right. She paused outside the door to her old room, remembering all the horrible nights she’d spent here, praying her stepfather wouldn’t enter.

Pushing away those awful memories, she took a deep breath and rapped on the door. “Can I come in?”

Jamie opened it for her. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Then she took a seat at the desk by the window. The same desk where she’d daydreamed, instead of finishing her homework.

Jamie stretched out on the single bed and tucked his arms under his head. He glared up at the ceiling as if he wanted to punch it.

“You never complained about me not dating before,” she said.

“I didn’t know where you worked.”

“I’m sorry I kept it a secret. I should have told you.”

He stayed silent, brimming with resentment.

She glanced around the room. The walls were plain white now, not painted soft pink or covered with magazine pages. She used to have a poster with a fluffy orange kitten dangling from a tree branch. It said, “Hang in there!”

She’d stared at that kitten while her stepfather abused her.

Hang in there
.

“Getting married isn’t the answer to every problem,” she said, clearing her throat. “It can make things worse.”

“You could have married Owen.”

She smiled at the suggestion, a little sadly. Jamie’s uncle was a great guy, and he was her son’s only positive male role model. He was hot, too. But she wouldn’t have jeopardized their relationship by dating him, and now he was engaged to Penny, one of the most beautiful women Janelle had ever seen. “If I got married, you’d have to live in a new place with new rules. New stepsiblings, maybe.”

He gave her a horrified look.

“You know I didn’t get along with Grandpa Gary. It tore me and your grandmother apart. I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Why didn’t you get along?”

She raked a hand through her hair, flustered. “I was rebellious, like you are. Acting out. Running around with boys.”

His brows drew together sharply.

She couldn’t tell him
why
she’d been acting out, so the conversation felt incomplete. Maybe someday, when he was older, she’d find the words for the whole story. At twelve, she didn’t think he was capable of understanding.

“You have a soccer game tomorrow morning,” she said, changing the subject. “I’m not going to take away your sports, or your books. But I have to take away something, or else it’s not much of a restriction.”

“Moving here is a huge restriction,” he muttered.

She collected his video game device and his music player before she left the room. He slammed the door behind her, furious. She handed the items to her mother for safekeeping. Tears blurred her vision as she walked outside.

Hang in there
.

She didn’t know how she was going to live here, in the house where she’d been molested. Dark memories lurked around every corner. Her body trembled with tension as she drove to work, chain-smoking. She needed a drink.

Hell, she needed a half-dozen.

On Friday night, Vixen was hopping. She performed on stage and did nonstop lap dances for faceless men. The physical activity and rote movements calmed her. She drifted into dancer-space, setting aside her problems. Drinks and tips flowed freely. Rude comments and raucous laughter sounded muffled, unable to penetrate her protective shell.

Desiree got sick again and left early, to Tiffany’s delight. “We’re doing the finale,” she squealed, giving Janelle a high-five.

Janelle went to her locker to change outfits for the fifth time. Her phone chirped with a text message notification. She checked it absently, using a baby wipe to blot away the sweat from her chest.

Her mother wrote:
Sorry to bother you at work, but Jamie is missing. I think he snuck out the window.

Janelle rested her forehead against the cool metal locker, cursing under her breath. She couldn’t leave work early. Not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Tiffany asked, sashaying by in a schoolgirl outfit.

“Jamie took off from my mom’s house.”

“No way.”

“He didn’t want to move there.”

“He’ll come back.”

She stared at her phone, which was slippery from makeup and perspiration. “I have to go find him.”

Tiffany removed a water bottle from her locker. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding. He’s twelve years old. What if a child molester gets him?”

“We’re already short-staffed, J. Wait until after the finale to launch the search party. It’s only another hour.”

She moistened her lips, conflicted.

“He’s a boy. He’ll be fine.”

“I need a cigarette,” she muttered, digging through her purse. Her fingertips hit the edge of a rectangular object.

Ace’s card.

She fished it out and studied his number. Ace had seen the boys Jamie had been hanging around with the other day. Her mother’s house was near Slab City, Ace’s old stomping grounds. Maybe Jamie had gone there, looking for revenge. He seemed hell-bent on getting into trouble. Ace had told her to call if she needed anything.

Hands shaking, she dialed the number.

Chapter Nine

Ace was having a very dirty dream about Janelle.

They were back in the VIP room, and she was giving him a private dance. But she was fully nude this time, her sleek body undulating against his. She straddled his lap and thrust her gorgeous tits in his face. Her bare pussy was on display, rubbing all over his fly. He groaned as she climbed off him and dropped to her knees. Instead of feigning oral sex, like she had before, she unbuttoned his fly and did it for real.

His cock sprang free, straining upright. She bent her head and closed her pretty mouth around him.

Yesss
.

Then the buzzer sounded, ending the dance.

Ace awoke with a start. His muscles were tense, his heart pounding. His cock was weeping in protest, ready to explode. He could feel moisture at the tip and dull pressure in his balls. The buzzer continued to sound—his phone. He rolled out of bed, wincing as his hard-on got tangled in the sheets.

He needed to jerk off. Now.

His caller ID showed Janelle’s number. Anyone else he would have ignored until he’d taken care of business.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ace?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Janelle.”

“I know. What do you need?”

When she hesitated, he gripped his shaft and imagined her saying
your cock
. He was dying to give it to her.

“My son is missing.”

Ace paused, mid-stroke. “Your son?”

“My mom just sent me a message. He snuck out of the house. I’m worried that he went to Slab City or something.”

Her mother lived in Niland, only a few miles from Slab City. It was a tempting place for a boy his age, like Pleasure Island from
Pinocchio
. Ace released his jutting wood, hissing a breath between his teeth.

Fuck.

“I don’t get off work until two,” she said, sounding miserable.

“I’ll go look for him.”

“You will?”

Her voice was flat with shock, as if she hadn’t expected him to offer. Even though she’d obviously called in hopes that he would.

He didn’t
want
to, of course. He didn’t want to go anywhere near her son. Granting her this favor might be the pathway to her hot little body, which he was salivating over, but it was still a major inconvenience. The devil on his shoulder urged him to ask for something in return. What was she willing to do for him, if he found Jamie?

“I’ll fuck you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

“Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. Only a heartless asshole would agree to this deal. Although those two words described him pretty well, he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He didn’t want a gratitude fuck or a goddamned martyr. He didn’t even want a sexy faker. What really turned him on was the idea of turning
her
on. He wanted her begging for his cock, her hands bound and her legs spread wide.

Jesus wept.

His cock wept, too. It throbbed against his belly, threatening to jet all over. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet and you’re hungry for my cock. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”

Silence greeted him.

Damn her. Damn
him
. And damn this stupid attack of conscience.

“Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m not used to asking for help.”

Ace dragged a hand down his face, feeling like a surly, horny son of a bitch. Why was he so bent out of shape over her suggestion? He’d been thinking the same thing, but the note of desperation in her voice had triggered his guilt reflex.

He hated guilt. Fucking hated it.

“I’m leaving now,” he said, and hung up.

He rose from the bed and yanked some clothes on, his mood dark. Sobriety, sexual frustration and shady club rivalries had taken their toll. The custody situation with Skye was so far out of his control.

He wanted to be in control again, and he wanted to fuck. He wanted to dominate Janelle and make her his woman. To brand her with his come. To own her body, to penetrate every orifice with his fingers and tongue and cock.

But her desire was a crucial part of the fantasy. He wasn’t interested in coercion, or sex he had to pay for, or women who feigned interest. She could save that sexy stripper act for her customers. He’d take the real deal or nothing.

Buttoning his fly, he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into boots. He’d had a long day. He’d been too tired to haunt the parking lot at Vixen’s, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself by falling asleep in his truck again. He’d heard that White Lightning was having a bonfire in Bombay Beach, anyway. Chances were slim that Jester and his friends would leave the party to pester Janelle.

He grabbed a caffeinated soda from the fridge and left, lighting up a cigarette on his way out the door. Slab City was about forty miles from Coachella. The road there was flanked by the Salton Sea on one side and train tracks on the other.

Courtney had died in a car accident on this very stretch after an epic fight between them. She’d been drunk and high at the time, definitely not safe to drive. He’d always wondered if she’d crashed on purpose. She hadn’t braked until the last minute, right before she’d slammed into the concrete wall.

Ace had brought Skye to the wall twice in the past two years, to commemorate her mother. They’d left flowers there and at her gravesite. Ace didn’t think Skye remembered her. She’d been too young at the time of her death.

The memories of Courtney made him feel numb. He
was
a heartless bastard, because he hadn’t loved her. If he had, maybe she’d still be alive.

She’d been a needy, troubled girlfriend at best, and a drug-addicted parasite at worst. They’d both been irresponsible parents. He’d enabled her and lost control of himself. Their relationship had been a roller coaster from hell, and he should’ve left. He shouldn’t have slept with her in the first place.

Shawnee blamed him for Courtney’s death. Ace blamed himself. But he felt guilt rather than grief. Guilt, and a twinge of relief. She’d been a mess of a mother. He was glad Skye didn’t have to grow up with her.

Only a cold-blooded son of a bitch would be glad his former girlfriend and the mother of his child was dead, but there it was.

He took the exit to Slab City, wondering where he should look first. He knew all the good hideouts. A twelve-year-old boy wouldn’t be partying with adults, because even in Slab City some of the adults asked questions. He probably wouldn’t be at the teenage hotspots, either. Not unless he wanted to get beat up again.

When Ace was Jamie’s age, he frequented a couple of places in particular. The first was the communal bathing area. Slab City had its own hot springs pool, surrounded by scrub brush. Ace had spent countless hours crouched in the shadows, hoping to see naked women. He’d been disappointed with old-man ass nine times out of ten.

In addition to honing his pervert skills, he’d hunted for rabbits in a big open field on the old gunnery range. His third favorite spot was a graffiti-covered barricade where he liked to set off firecrackers.

He drove by the barricade and didn’t see anyone. On impulse, he headed toward Kelly Kincaid’s trailer. The kid who’d punched Jamie had been a Kincaid. Ace had hooked up with Kelly once or twice, so he knew where she lived.

Ace spotted two figures lurking in the dark across from her place. They were standing behind an abandoned vehicle. Ace pulled forward, illuminating the space with his headlights. Two boys stared at him with wide eyes.

One was Jamie.

The other, who clearly had more street smarts, took off running. Jamie started to follow and stopped. He returned to pick up an open backpack. A carton of eggs tumbled out, spilling all over the ground. He slipped and fell down in the mess.

Ace had never seen a clumsier escape attempt. He laughed, turning off the engine before he exited the vehicle. He didn’t even have to run to catch up with Jamie. The kid was still flailing in egg yolks.

“You making an omelet?” he asked, arching a brow.

Jamie scrambled to his feet, wary. He zipped up his backpack and put it on. “What do you want?”

“Your mother sent me to look for you.”

His shoulders slumped with defeat. He’d been caught, yellow-handed.

“How’d you get here?” Ace asked.

“I walked.”

“With that other kid?”

“No. He lives a couple of rows over.”

Ace nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Call your mother and tell her you’re on your way home.”

Jamie wiped his grimy hand on his shirt and dialed her number. Janelle didn’t pick up, so he left a mumbled voice message. Then he followed Ace to the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.

Ace got behind the wheel again. Instead of starting the engine, he glanced at Kelly’s trailer, which was dark. “Did you throw any eggs?”

“No.”

“Were you going to?”

Jamie shrugged.

It was none of Ace’s concern, but he found himself annoyed and puzzled by Jamie’s behavior. Ace had advised him to leave Patrick alone. “Why would you do that? Do you want to get your ass kicked again?”

Jamie reached into his backpack for a crumpled-up piece of paper. He handed it over.

Ace used his phone screen as a light and skimmed the contents. It was a flyer for Vixen, showcasing three of the dancers with framed headshots. One might have been Janelle in a cowgirl hat. It was a grainy copy. Someone had drawn a spurting penis by her face and scrawled “Jamie’s mom sucks cocks.”

Ace stuck the paper out the window and set it on fire with his lighter. He dropped the last corner before it burned his fingers.

“His mom is the cocksucker,” Jamie said, sullen.

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone says it.”

“So what?”

“So, he shouldn’t talk.”

“He’s doing it because it bothers you. He can tell you’re ashamed.”

“He’s the one who should be ashamed,” Jamie said, his eyes narrow.

Ace started the engine and pulled away. He lit a cigarette as they left Slab City. “I grew up here.”

“Really?”

He exhaled, nodding. “My mom was sixteen when she had me. She worked as a waitress at that ‘50s-style diner in Brawley. You know the one?”

“Yeah.”

“She had this condition called endometriosis. She didn’t get it diagnosed until I was older. But she was in pain a lot, and she got fired for calling in sick too much. It was hard for her to keep a steady job.”

“What did she do?”

“She turned tricks.”

Jamie appeared to know what that meant. His mouth dropped open and he closed it quickly, glancing away.

Ace took another drag of his cigarette. “She didn’t do it often. Just when money was really tight, and we needed groceries or whatever. One day when I was about your age, she left on a date and never came back.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see who she went with, and neither did anyone else. I finally reported her missing, and they put me in foster care, but I kept running away. I lived by myself in our trailer all through high school.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Good question. He flicked the ash from his cigarette, uncertain. “I guess because I would’ve given anything to see her again. You’re lucky to have a mother. Not everyone does.” Skye didn’t. She had Shawnee, the imposter. “You shouldn’t look down on Patrick’s mother, or on yours for doing her best to support you.”

“She could do other things. She’s not sick.”

“Well, she’s been in college. It can’t be easy to work and go to school and take care of a kid on your own.”

Jamie couldn’t argue his logic, so he went on the defensive. “You’re not my dad,” he said in a low voice. “You’re just another guy who wants to get in my mom’s pants. So you can spare me the life lessons.”

Mouthy little fucker. Ace put his cigarette butt in the soda can, where it extinguished with a hiss. He was irritated for a few minutes. Then he pictured Jamie slipping on eggshells and laughed, shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?” Jamie asked.

“Nothing.”

They arrived at his grandmother’s house and Jamie got out. Ace hadn’t planned to stay, but Janelle’s mother was standing in the front yard and it seemed rude not to acknowledge her. He followed Jamie, feeling awkward.

“I was so worried,” she said to Jamie, clutching the lapel of her bathrobe. “What were you thinking?”

Jamie shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Is that egg on your pants? Did you take my eggs?”

“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow,” he said.

Ace stepped forward to introduce himself. “Hi. I’m Aaron.”

Janelle’s mother shook his hand weakly, studying his tattoos. She was a plump, petite woman in her fifties. “Renata Parker.”

“My mom said your name was Ace,” Jamie pointed out, as if Ace was trying to pull a fast one on his grandmother.

“Either way,” he said with a shrug.

“Would you like to come in for some lemonade?” Renata asked. She had a slight Southern accent.

Ace glanced at Jamie, who seemed opposed to the idea. “That’d be great.”

Renata gestured for Ace to come in. She shooed Jamie to his room and walked to the kitchen, where she poured Ace a tall glass of lemonade. He hadn’t really wanted any, but the drink was tart and delicious.

“Thanks,” he said, looking around. Her place wasn’t fancy, but it was nicer than any of the trailers he’d lived in.

“Have a seat.”

His stomach sank as he realized his mistake. She wanted to grill him about Janelle, and now he was stuck. He took a chair across from her, clearing his throat.

“How do you know my daughter?”

Ace tried not to wince at the question.
Well
,
ma’am
,
I
paid her for a lap dance.
Then I kidnapped her.

“It’s okay if you met her at work,” she said.

“I’m not a regular customer,” he said, feeling his neck warm.

Jesus. Why was he embarrassed? He was a fucking hitman, or he used to be. Visiting a strip club was the least of his sins.

“What do you do?”

“I own a demolition business.” He took a card out of his wallet to prove it.