Provocation (Explicitly Yours 3)

They were both getting what they deserved. Her, a chance to start over and find peace, and him—nothing. They couldn’t both win the game. She had to choose herself over Beau.

Lola started the car. She didn’t have to go by Cat Shoppe on her way, but it would be her only glimpse of victory, even if it was through her black-tinted windows. She looped around and waited for a lull in traffic, then drove by the flashing, neon Girls sign. Beau paced the sidewalk, his eyes glued to Cat Shoppe’s front door. Had he understood, while being escorted out against his will, how little control he really had? Had he started to realize yet just how much he’d lost?

Lola turned her eyes back to the road, pressed her high heel to the gas pedal and gunned it.

She was out of town within half an hour.

19

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

* * *

Beau didn’t remove his eyes from Cat Shoppe’s front door except to check his Rolex. Seconds slid by in a steady rhythm until almost ten minutes had passed. The bouncer sat on a stool, watching Beau pace like a caged tiger. He’d been instructed to remain twenty feet from the entrance.

“I just want my girlfriend so I can get the fuck out of here,” Beau said across the sidewalk.

“Any closer, and you’re leaving here in cuffs. Like I said, security didn’t take too kindly to your attitude.”

Beau pulled his wallet from his suit jacket. “A hundred bucks if you get her out here for me.”

The bouncer remained slumped on his seat, chewing gum like it was his job. After a few seconds, he shifted to unclip a radio from his belt. “What’s she look like?”

“We arrived together. Black hair, tall.”

He globed a hand in front of his chest. “I mean the titties—big? Small?”

Beau glared. “Fuck you. That’s my girlfriend.”

“Hey, I don’t mind the small ones. More of an ass man myself.” He chuckled, held the receiver to his mouth. “You got a read on the chick in the kitten ears?” He winked at Beau.

Of course the doorman had noticed Lola, her black Burberry trench and red pout. He had a heartbeat, didn’t he? Beau tugged at the ends of his shirtsleeves, though what he really wanted to do was push them up, knock the fucker out along with the rest of the men in that place. They stood between Beau and something that was his. He would’ve barged back in to get to her, but that’d either land him in a hospital or a jail cell, and then he’d be leaving Lola alone with brutes. He wiped sweat from his hairline, an all too familiar feeling settling in him as the image of Lola with a gun under her chin flashed by.

The radio shrieked with static. “It’s Kincaid. That was Lola Winters, worked here back in the day. We checked everywhere. She’s gone.”

They looked at each other. Beau took a step closer. “Gone?”

“You sure, boss?” the man asked. “She didn’t come out this way.”

The LED Girls sign by the door burned into Beau’s retinas. He rubbed his eyes with stiff fingers, searched the sidewalk. The street was busy with cars. A group of people passed by, looking at him, none of them even remotely familiar—as if he’d exited the strip club onto another planet.

Beau took out his phone, his adrenaline spiking when he saw that neither of his last two text messages to Lola had gone through.

“She ain’t in here,” Kincaid said. “Must’ve gone out the back.”

“There’s a backdoor?” Beau started toward the corner.

“Yo—what about my money?” the doorman called after him.

Beau broke into a jog, shouldering through a human cluster. Lola’d definitely promised to meet him out front. Had she needed a quick exit from security? Coming here had been a bad idea. Parking in back, where she was probably waiting in the dark, was a bad idea.

His Lamborghini was in an end spot, close to the street. The only light was a distant sidewalk lamp. Not a person in sight. He looked in the passenger’s side window. He got onto his hands and knees to check underneath. She wasn’t there, or behind a nearby dumpster, or in the next building’s parking lot. He went to the backdoor and pulled on the handle, banged on the metal slab.

He called her. A black shadow near the driver’s side door caught his eye—something hanging from the side mirror. He got closer, bending to see it better.

After three melodic beeps over the line, he heard, “We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error—”

Beau ended the call and picked up Lola’s black kitten ears. On the glass was a red lipstick mark in the shape of a kiss. He looked between the headband and the mirror. The ears had been on her head. She’d been wearing red lipstick. Had Lola been outside at some point in the last fifteen minutes?

He looked up suddenly. “Lola?” he called, her name fading instantly. “This isn’t funny. It’s not safe out here.”

He turned in a circle. It wasn’t funny, but no part of him thought this was a joke. The strip club had been busy, but he hadn’t noticed a single person. Not one except her. That didn’t mean someone hadn’t noticed them. He tried to picture a face, anyone’s face, or something out of the ordinary. The only thing he saw was Lola’s back as she’d led him to the VIP room.

He clutched the cat ears. He’d let security separate them. He shouldn’t’ve left her side, not without a fight. Someone might’ve hurt her, drugged her, taken her somewhere.

He turned and kicked the dumpster. A metallic thud echoed around the lot, reminding him how empty it was. He paced the sidewalk, rubbing his temples. Think, think, think. He was used to remaining calm during a crisis, but his thoughts jumbled. His palms sweat. Her phone was disconnected—how long did that take? Could it be done in—? He checked his watch. Eighteen minutes?

He beat the door with his fist until his palm began to throb, and finally, it cracked open with a heavy click. An older man peered at him. “What?”