Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
That was the last time. From now on, he was going to forget Detective Connelly Reid even existed.
“Princess?” His client’s voice sounded over the thundering club music.
Z refocused on him. “Rain check?”
He stood and made his way to the bar where Terry waited. “One heaping serving of liquid courage, please?”
Terry tilted his head. “What’s eating at you, sugar?”
Z blew out a breath and sank to his elbows. “I’m an idiot.”
Terry’s laugh was warm and gentle. “Welcome to the club. You want a shot?”
“How about an Adios Motherfucker?”
“No one is that big an idiot, sugar. You sure?”
“I’ll work it off, promise.”
“It’s gonna be a long one, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s good. It’s what we wanted.”
Terry went about mixing the rum, tequila, vodka and gin with the blue curaçao and soda. Then he poured the whole thing over ice and pushed the tall glass toward Z. “You sure about that?”
Z took a long swallow and hissed as the alcohol burned down his throat. “Well, I should say it’s what Tam wanted. The rest of us are just along for the ride.”
Terry nodded like he understood.
“Z. Oh my God, Z.”
Z spun to find Becca, Cindy and few of the other waiters from Sal’s standing in a group behind him.
“Wow, hey, guys. What are you doing here?”
“You owe us drinks,” Becca said. “You took off so fast after your last shift we didn’t have a chance to tell you that you won Battle Tips.” She handed over his winnings.
“We caught your dance. It was fantastic, as always.” Cindy had come to The Vibe a few times before but it was the first time seeing the rest of them there.
“If I’d known you were coming I could have saved you a table.”
“No worries.”
“Listen, I need to go make the rounds, but you just tell Terry what you want and I’ll take care of it.”
“Cool, thanks, Z.”
With his drink in hand, Z left his coworkers. He really should pick his first trick of the night but he still wasn’t feeling up to putting on his happy face, so he pushed through the backstage door instead and sat in front of the makeup station. The vanity mirror was framed by obnoxiously large light bulbs that highlighted every single flaw. All the things he tried to hide with layers of makeup and an attitude that kept people at a distance.
He brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back. The sweet and tangy taste of it hit his tongue but the burn followed close behind and singed Z’s esophagus with every swallow. He shouldn’t be drinking it like it was fruit juice. He knew that wasn’t smart, not if he wanted to have enough wits to outsmart the clients expecting him to entertain them. Unlike Ansel, he didn’t usually need the escape from reality.
He preferred the hard cold truth, even if it hurt.
The empty glass made a dull sound when he slammed it on the counter. It reminded Z of the hollow click-click-click of the machines his mother had been hooked up to. Just like that, he was twelve years old again and she was dying.
Her bald head made her look like an alien. He’d been so afraid when they’d brought him into her hospital room. He hadn’t been able to stop the tears from falling even though his grandfather and uncle had scolded him for crying. His mother hadn’t been his mother anymore. She had withered into something unrecognizable. Even her voice had changed from the full, warm tones he cherished to her dry and brittle breath. He hadn’t wanted to be close. He’d tried to run away. But his uncle had pushed him to the side of her bed and she’d clutched his hand.
“Azariah, my love,” she’d said. “You are the best thing that I ever did. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
He hadn’t understood those words at the time, he’d been too caught up in his fear and grief and pain.
“Stay strong, sweetie. Be as strong as a diamond and shine just as bright. Promise me.” Her grip on his hand tightened.
“I promise,” Azariah had said.
“You are the master of your own fate, Azariah. You will do great things.” As if she’d stayed alive only to pass along that message, she let out a relieved breath and closed her eyes. Beside her, the machine’s constant beeping turned into one long, endless hum.
* * *
Connelly didn’t go to his apartment after leaving the club. Instead he walked to the precinct through Central Park. The nouveau streetlights glowed like stars lining his path, but he barely noticed. He crossed Bow Bridge and stopped a moment to admire the view over the lake. To the west, the luxury apartment buildings whose towers looked like fairy-tale castles, and to the east the shining art deco turret of the Carlyle Hotel.