Sin on the Strip (31 page)

R
honda didn't do color. And if lace wasn't black, why wear it? But considering that everything in her wardrobe was basically graveside vintage, she could understand why no one had taken her objections seriously. Still, lavender? She despised lavender. For one, why not call it what it was—purple? Lavender was something you dried, then shoved in your underwear drawer.

She needed to snap out of her mood. This was Maggie's wedding day after all. Like it or not, she'd agreed to be a bridesmaid. But even here, in the bride's room of the church, she couldn't shake the feeling. Although her gown fell to her toes and the high, halter neckline covered the scar on the back of her neck, she felt more exposed now than she ever had dancing on stage.

She glanced down at her once black, now lavender fingernails. Stranger's hands. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. Gone was the Goth persona she wore like a second skin. Hell, since Maggie had forbidden her from wearing black panties, even her butt didn't feel like her own. She wiggled uncomfortably, remembering the lavender thong covering her girl parts.

Her skin crawled with the dread of everyone seeing her like this, and she prayed she wouldn't sweat through the silk fabric. She listened to the chatter of the other women in the room with her and told herself to stay calm. Maggie's three closest friends made up the rest of the wedding party. They were hardly shrinking violets, so Rhonda was counting on people paying more attention to them than her. Then, of course, there was Maggie.

Rhonda's boss, and the closest thing she had to family, was getting married. And the hottie waiting for her in the church would make any woman consider taking that long, miserable walk down the aisle. If these lovebirds could survive a serial killer, then they could survive anything. Rhonda touched the scar still healing on her neck, a reminder that she too had survived. If she'd made it through being left for dead and two surgeries, she could make it through a quick skip down the aisle of a very full church and bear witness to her friend's big day.

She found a chair in a corner to watch the other women fuss over Maggie's hair and veil. Somehow she doubted Maggie's father, Reverend James Hopewell, would approve of the crass jokes being tossed around. To Maggie's credit, she ignored the ones at her expense. That was Maggie, always a lady. Unless you were threatening one of her dancers. If you didn't behave in her club, your ass was hers. Rhonda smiled. She couldn't imagine what her life would have been like if she hadn't found Maggie's club.

In Vegas, raunchy strip clubs were in abundance. Sure, some looked nice on the outside, some even looked nice on the inside. It was the bowels of the club a girl had to watch out for. But luck had been on her side the day she walked into Heart's Desire. And she'd lived in Vegas long enough to know that luck and good fortune went hand in hand.

“Ronnie, you okay back there?”

She caught Maggie's reflection in the full-length mirror. “Sure, why wouldn't I be?” She hoped that sounded cheery.

“Because,” Wendy answered for Maggie, “we stripped you down, no pun intended, and girlie girled you all up.” Wendy smiled smugly and unapologetically. The accountant didn't believe in beating around the bush. Facts were facts, she'd say. Somehow, that woman could tell a cop he was a complete ass for trying to give her a ticket one minute and the next, he'd be asking for her number.

“Girlie?” Alice chimed in before Rhonda could defend herself. “Hell, Elvira there looked like she had a part in
The Walking Dead
. We made her human again.”

“We're in a church,” Maggie reminded her.

“And your point?” Alice asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

Even on her wedding day, her friends loved to push Maggie's buttons. Honestly, Rhonda was honored to have been included in this mishmash of odd women who'd do anything for each other.

“Her point is that if you don't pull the wild, wild west out of your Texas ass, Maggie will unleash the wrath of God upon you,” Shannon answered with such a sweet smile and fake southern accent that everyone, including the bride, laughed.

“Yeah, that's it,” Maggie said, slapping Shannon's hand away from her hair. “Enough already. Stop fussing. You did a great job.”

“Seriously, Mags, stop fussing, stop cussing. Anything else you'd like to control? Rhonda, tell us how you did it. How did you manage not to succumb to her tyranny?” Shannon asked with a well-practiced straight face.

Actually, it hadn't been easy. A time or two, she'd considered taking Maggie's offers to help her quit stripping and return to school. But then she'd have to admit to herself how screwed up her life had become. “I learned to tune her out.” Rhonda could tune out anything. She had to. It was the only way she'd make it through her performance. “Besides, she's more bark than bite. If she likes you, that is.”

“Yes, and aren't the four of you lucky I like you?” Maggie spun her hand in the air, indicating their group.

“Oh, bull—” Alice groaned with an unapologetic grin, “bull hockey. You love us.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Truth is, I tolerate all of you. Except Ronnie. Her I love.” Maggie smiled at Rhonda.

But it was more than a smile, and as the women continued to exchange jabs, friendly and not so friendly, Rhonda was never more grateful. That smile carried more weight than words. Maggie did love her. And Rhonda loved her too. But it was more than love. It was respect. When her father's drinking had reached a new low, Rhonda had made the difficult decision to kiss her EMT job good-bye and start stripping to pay his bills. It had been humiliating. Other women might think of Rhonda as cheap, slutty even. Not Maggie.

But she wasn't going there. Not today. Today was a happy day, and damn it to hell, she was going to keep it that way. She glanced at Maggie. Did swearing in your head count as blasphemy in a church?

Someone knocked on the door.

“If that's you, Christian, get lost. It's bad luck and you know it,” Shannon shouted out.

Rhonda believed in luck, good or bad. People talked of fate. But fate meant a predetermined event; luck was a chance happening, whatever the universe felt like tossing your way. And the universe tended to screw Rhonda over.

Dean, the wedding coordinator, stuck his head inside. “Ten minutes, ladies.” He waved then closed the door.

“Okay, last call. How do I look?” Maggie turned away from the mirror.

As if there had been anything else to say, all four replied, “Beautiful.”

Rhonda wouldn't compare herself to any of these women. They were successful, respected individuals. They had a bond no one could break and God help anyone who tried. Maggie had risked her life to save Shannon from the hands of a serial killer. Had the tables been reversed, Shannon would have done the same. Rhonda couldn't hold a candle to them. She wasn't a lawyer, a designer, or accountant, and least of all, she wasn't a person who dedicated her life to help the women that society kicked to the curb. She was just a stripper whose bad luck had killed her mother, whose father used booze to cope, whose childhood had been flushed down the toilet because she needed to be a parent to that father.

Rhonda reached into the large octagonal cardboard box and took out the white magnolia bouquet intended for the bride. She passed it to Shannon, who smiled then handed it to Maggie. The two women exchanged a wordless look.

“Don't you make me cry,” Maggie scolded her maid of honor.

“There you go being pushy again. Considering how long it took me to like Christian, now I feel sorry for the guy.”

“He's lucky to have her,” Rhonda said. They all were.

Telling herself no way was she going to join in the tear fest, Rhonda proceeded to hand each bridesmaid her small, pink magnolia bouquet. Inhaling her own flower arrangement, she led the way out of the bride's chambers and into the rectory.

Dean waited outside the entrance of the closed nave. After the final touches to Maggie's dress and veil, the processional march began. Two large oak doors were drawn apart and Rhonda positioned herself at the end of the aisle. Before her, a church overflowing with people waited. She told herself to relax. No one cared about her. They were here to watch Maggie. Praying she wouldn't trip and draw attention to herself, Rhonda held the bouquet in a vise-like grip. Taking her cue from Dean, she began the unnerving walk down the aisle.

Rhonda refused to meet anyone's gaze, even when the girls from the club tried to get her attention. They chalked it up to nerves. Anyone who'd had a nightmare that involved being naked in public would understand. She had no armor to protect herself, no wall of black, no layers of make-up to hide behind. At rehearsal, she'd counted the steps and knew the exact number to her spot. There, her back would be to the congregation, and all eyes thankfully on the happy couple.

She practiced this in her mind. At twenty steps she'd look up to see the groom, smile and take her place. Seventeen, eighteen, the quick beating of her heart made it difficult to count. Nineteen, twenty, she looked up. But it wasn't just Christian she saw. Beside him stood his best man. Distracted, she missed her cue to step to the side. When their eyes met the man smiled. Then her feet forgot how to walk. She stood there, like a dummy, until Christian quietly cleared his throat. Mortified, she slid into her place.

Maggie had warned them. She'd told them he was Scottish and so beautiful they wouldn't believe it. Given that he and Christian were once special agents, she'd imagined a Jason Statham-type guy, hot and a little rough looking. But with rich blond hair most women would kill for, and eyes that made you picture him naked and in bed with you, he was anything but rough looking. Both men and all of the groomsmen worked for ICU, a private investigation unit specializing in missing people or objects. Every man standing up for Christian was either ex-military or ex-FBI. Maggie had said Ryan Sheppard, their boss, handpicked his teams, each man chosen for a set of skills. So the man standing next to Christian was chosen for what? Being so pretty he made women jealous?