‘That’s probably why she didn’t tell you.’ She sighed. ‘I only took her because I knew she’d find her own way if I said no. I didn’t want her hitchhiking or anything like that.’
He swore under his breath. ‘She makes me lose my cool, Willa.’
‘She must be the only girl ever.’
He ignored the jibe. ‘I’ll go get her.’
‘Good.’
By the time Brodie had sailed back up the coast, the sun had dipped low in the sky and his blood had reached boiling point. He wasn’t sure what made him angrier: the fact that she’d left him the morning after or that she’d returned to a crappy job that was not only beneath her but a possible threat to her safety.
Okay, maybe he was overreacting, but that bar was shady. The guys who hung around it were rough. He could only imagine what the on-site accommodation looked like. The thought of one of those men following her after she’d finished her shift…
His fists clenched. He had to get her out of there.
He strode across the car park, ignoring the catcalls from a group of scantily clad girls leaning against a souped-up ute with neon lights and chrome rims. Inside, a band belted out metal music, the screaming vocals grating on his nerves.
Bypassing the growing crowd, he took the stairs up to the second floor. Would he be able to grab her before she performed or would he have to sit through the sweet torture of watching her up on that stage again?
The bass thumped deep in his chest as he climbed the stairs. Chantal wasn’t on stage. Instead the crowd was cheering for an older woman wearing sparkling hearts over her nipples. Brodie squinted. Were those tassels? The stage was littered with a pair of silk gloves, a feather boa, and something that looked like a giant fan made of peacock feathers. The woman shook her chest, sending the tassels flying in all directions.
Find Chantal now! Otherwise she might be the next one on stage, shaking her tassels.
Two girls who sat at the bar looked as though they might be dancers. Their sparkly make-up, elaborate outfits and styled hair certainly seemed to suggest it.
‘Excuse me ladies,’ he said, approaching them. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine who dances here.’
‘I can be your friend who dances here.’ The blonde batted her false lashes at him, silver glitter sparkling with each blink.
‘We come as a pair.’ The redhead chuckled, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
‘That’s tempting,’ he said, turning on a charming smile. ‘And I’m sure you’re both a lot of fun. But I need to find a girl called Chantal.’
‘You can call me whatever you like, sugar.’ Red winked, blowing him a kiss from her highly glossed crimson lips.
‘Are you her boyfriend?’ asked Blonde, tracing a lacquered finger up the length of his shirt. ‘Most of the girls here don’t stick to one guy. They get too jealous.’
‘The guys?’
Blonde nodded. ‘They start fights. You’re not going to start a fight, are you?’
‘I’m a lover, not a fighter.’
He watched the bartender eyeing him. The guy was old, but his arms were covered in faded prison tattoos. Brodie directed his eyes back to the girls.
‘You sure look like a lover.’ Red licked her lips. ‘A good one, too. But all guys go crazy for the right girl.’
‘Chantal is a friend. So, have you seen her?’
‘A friend? Right.’ Blonde laughed. ‘If she was just a friend you wouldn’t be here with that puppy love face, looking for her.’
He opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Trying to reason with these two would be a waste of time—time that could be better spent looking for Chantal and getting her the hell out of this hole.
‘Thanks for your time, ladies.’
‘Good luck, lover boy.’ Red chortled as he walked away.
He stood by the bar and scanned the room. Mostly men, a few women who might or might not be dancers, muscle stationed by the stairwell and by an exit on the other side of the stage. That must be where the dancers went backstage.
He was about to attempt to get past the muscle when he spotted Chantal. In denim shorts and a white tank top, she looked dressed for the beach rather than a bar. But her face and hair were made up for the stage. She had a bag over one shoulder. Perhaps she’d already danced?
As she attempted to weave through the crowd someone stopped her. A guy much bigger than her put his hands on her arms and she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. The bouncer looked on with mild amusement, but made no attempt to step in and protect Chantal.
Brodie rushed forward, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her back against him. She yelped in surprise, but relief flooded her face when she realised it was him. She stepped back, standing partially behind him.
‘Is there a problem, mate?’ The guy towered over Brodie, and he saw a snake tattoo peeking out of the edge of his dark T-shirt.
‘Yeah, you had your hands on my girl.’ He looked the guy dead in the eye, ready to fight if it came to that.
A wave of guilt washed over him. Was this how Scott had felt that night at Weeping Reef?
He shoved the thought aside and pushed Chantal farther behind him. Nothing mattered now but getting her out safely.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t be letting her parade around in next to nothing, then.’ He leered, exposing an aggressive gap-toothed smile. ‘Some of the guys here aren’t as easygoing as me.’
Brodie turned, wrapped his arm around Chantal’s shoulders and steered her towards the stairs. They moved through the throng of people and he didn’t let go of her. Not once.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as they exited the bar. Her brows were narrowed, and her face was streaked with conflicting emotions.
It wasn’t dark yet. An orb of gold sat low on the horizon while the inky shades of night bled into the sky. Chantal hovered at the entrance of the bar, her eyes darting from the driveway to the accommodation and back to him. The red neon sign from the bar flickered at odd intervals.
‘I’m saving your butt—that’s what I’m doing.’ He raked a hand through his hair, tremors of adrenaline still running through him. ‘I’m giving you a place to stay.’
‘I have a place to stay.’ The defiance in her voice rang out in the night air, and her fists were balled by her sides.
‘And how is it? I’m assuming you came back here after you hauled arse this morning?’
The breeze ruffled her dark hair, sending a few strands into her eyes. She blew them away. ‘I did.’
‘And?’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘It’s serviceable.’
‘And you’d take “serviceable” over a luxury yacht? Or would that just be to spite me?’
Why was he even worried? She either wanted to stay or she didn’t. They weren’t in a relationship. So why was the thought of her staying here alone like a stake through his gut?
Too many years playing big brother—that’s all it is.
‘I’m not trying to spite you, Brodie.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t need you following me around playing macho protector.’
‘What would have happened if I hadn’t been here?’ He threw his hands up in the air, the mere thought of anyone harming her sending his instincts into overdrive.