The Spanish Prince's Safe Haven

Haven’s POV

The Big Apple - New York City, New York. A city constructed for the arts and dreams of hundreds of starving artists with college degrees they spent way too much money on for the chance to grace the big stage. Broadway. Carnegie Hall. New York Philharmonic. Alice Truly Hall. The list of famous halls is practically endless.

On the flip side, the city goes by another name - The City that Never Sleeps - and there’s an obvious reason why.

Nightlife here in the heart of New York City is, in a word, endless. Music, both live and recorded, blasts along the streets, carried on the wind of every taxi cab that speeds by as it tries to make the impossible red light. Street performers line every corner as do people looking for, to be polite about it, “a good time”.

They say that once you come to New York City, you never leave. Whether it’s because there is something about the city that is in your blood that you do not want to leave behind or you sell yourself to some hard-nosed pimp who managed to pull you into the fold, making a living in the city is the only way to survive.

Thankfully, I do not have one of those jobs that forces me to spread my legs for every grease ball that slinks by my spot on the corner. I do not have to strut the streets with anything but my good intentions on my sleeve and an extra pair of underwear in my purse.

For all intents and purposes, I have a good job, even if it is a bit sleazy for my taste. Well, good is a relative term, isn’t it? The burlesque lounge I work at, Midnight’s Cocktails, is one of the classier places to work if I do say so myself. The music is decent, and I know all of the girls are decent and kind when they have a good night.

What matters is that the job tips well and I don’t have to undress to be a server. How did I manage this? Quick thinking and a sacrifice of three nights a week. Thanks to a deal I struck with the manager, I get to keep my top on and, in exchange, I stay late and help deep clean the place, which I honestly think my manager got the better part of the deal on that end.

Still, I can’t complain. Most of the guys keep their hands to themselves and our door guys are Johnny on the spot when it comes to escorting out guys who are being a little too handsy with me or any of the other girls. Everyone looks after one another, like a family, and I can definitely use that right now.

I glance down at my watch and see that it has just passed the midnight hour. We still have a few hours to go, but the audience is far from ready to leave. Our Friday night to Saturday morning crowd is a bit unruly tonight and, for the fifth time, I go to the back to see all of my fellow servers complaining about one table or another.

“I mean, this guy has hands like meat hooks! Gruff and Gross is my new name for this one. Look what his calluses did to my hose! A run a mile long!” moans Celeste as she pulls up her frilly maid-themed skirt and shows the clear tear of what I can only describe as three finger pad-shaped holes leading to a run all the way down to her knee.

“I tell you, sweetie, it is nothing like this chick over at table six,” counters Chastity as she readjusts her breasts in her lacy white push-up bra. “I lean over the table, clearly out of the way, and she practically plants her face right there in my boobs.”

“You put that perfume I told you about in there? The pheromone perfume?” asks Silky as she reapplies glitter to her eyes and chest.

“Well, yeah,” Chastity mutters, folding her arms over her chest indignantly. Silky snaps her fingers and winks at her.

“That’s why, sweetheart. Couldn’t get enough of whatever she was smelling. Ciao!” says Silky as she picks up her tray and heads back out into the fray.

I tiptoe around the other girls and take a second to lean against the shelves at the far end of the wall. It rattles with disrepair but holds my weight as I take a moment to decompress.

While resting, I readjust the corset on my body, a lovely soft pink lace with boning that ties in the front, and the frilly skort in the same color. It is just revealing enough to keep my customers interested, but it covers the essentials.

The conversations continue for a few more minutes before I push myself off the rack and head back out into the crowd.

I readjust my earplugs the moment I step out from the beaded curtain in the back and walk down the hall to the main lounge area. The music is so loud that I swear it is changing the rhythm of my heart, but at least the tunes for tonight are good. Sometimes the playlist is all base and no melody, but not tonight.

The floorboards, slick with what I can only hope is spilled alcohol, bend just a little under my weight as I descend the stairs and look out into the crowd.

The entire lounge is basically a large room with three tiers and three separate stages that are connected by narrow walkways. Dark midnight blue velvet tablecloths are on every table and dimly lit chandeliers which are lined with fake crystal glass that looks like dripping wax. The ceiling looks like hundreds of twinkling stars above, playing into the name, and a massive cocktail glass is on stage for the girls to climb up into and dance.

At that moment, I see Diamond, Peaches, and Vixen on stage, all three doing a dance together and all three only wearing boas that are made of massive pink feathers. I do not need to be close to the stage to see that all three of their garter belts are stuffed with crumpled bills.

Tonight is a good night for them.

I snag an extra tray and pick up a refill order for the far table before making my way through the crowd. I feel several sets of eyes on me, following my movement as I slip through the crowd with cat's grace, and deliver the drinks with a smile.

The group I deliver to is what I can only describe to myself as frat boys who think they’re being sleek and cool with their undercut hair and partially buttoned-down shirts that are horribly wrinkled.

One of them gestures to me and, naturally, I lean down to hear him better. His eyes are obviously swirling with intoxication. They probably shouldn’t be getting these drinks now that I think about it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says in a poor attempt at a musky tone. His words slur out of his mouth like the string of drool threatening to lull out of his friend’s mouth.

I smell the alcohol on his breath as well as his oversaturated cologne. He must stink if he forgets to put this stuff on.

I keep smiling as he continues to speak, “You look like you’re working too hard. Your shoulder has to be tense. Let me give you a massage. You won’t regret it.”

He takes my hand and presses some cash into my palm. My heart skips a beat as my stomach does an uneasy backflip. How much is it? I quickly glance down at the palmed cash so that he doesn’t notice. It is a ten wrapped around a wad of ones.

What a cheapskate!

Not that I would entertain the idea of going with him in the first place, but he could at least have the decency to put the ones on the outside to proclaim he is a broke college dropout.

I smile and slip the money into the clip on the tray in my hands.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not for sale, and my shoulders feel just fine. Thanks for the tip though,” I say. He makes a grab for my rear, but I’m too quick and vanish into the crowd before he has a chance to snag his money back.

I will definitely be telling the door guys about this sleazeball.

I stride across the room and point out the table to some of the door guys who go and “politely” ask the table to leave. I watch all of them leave, complaining loudly that they are not overly intoxicated.

Feeling a momentary relief that there is one less group that will have to be thrown out later, I begin to push my way through the crowd when I feel a cold chill sprint down my spine. Someone is watching me, and I can feel it.

I take a breath and casually glance around the room to see who is staring when, to my horror, I meet the eyes that are fixated on me.

I have to catch my breath when I meet the man’s gaze, which is a striking blue. He is sitting in the corner across the room by the drapes. His suit, ebony in color, practically makes him meld into the shadows behind him. Dark hair and sharp features, I see a smile curl onto his lips as he sees that I noticed him.

My mouth is suddenly dry. The thumping music around me seems to dull momentarily. Our eyes are locked in some kind of unspoken staring contest. My eyes are daring me to look away and return to work, but I physically cannot will my body to do so.

It isn’t until I feel a tap on my shoulder and see Cam, my boss, come into view. His suit hangs over his frame, but it is supposed to be a play. Cam, though a little lankier in appearance, is deceptively strong and quick, lithe enough to wrap around unruly patrons as they were escorted out. Hair slightly greased back into a low ponytail, he leans in to talk to me.

“Hey, Haven,” he says, having to raise his voice to a shout to compete with the music. “You’re cut for the night. Go home and get some rest. Double shift Monday.”

I nod and smile at him.

Good.

I was feeling a tad worn down for the night.

I glance back over my shoulder to see that the mystery figure is still staring at me, a grin on his lips. I only now notice that there is someone behind him, looming in the shadow just behind the table. The hulking figure behind the man seems like the kind of guy who would go by “Chuckles” and have “pain” tattooed onto his knuckles.

Was he some sort of bodyguard?

Whatever.

What mattered was that I was getting to go home.

I rush to the back, slip on my jacket, grab my purse, and wave goodbye to the girls before heading toward the door. Usually, I would have one of the door guys walk me to the subway, but the night is young and there are loads of people out, so I should be all right.

I walk out of the building, sensing that man’s eyes on me once again, and head out into the brisk evening air. Groups of people are outside huddled by food carts in the desperate hope that their drunken stupors will be cured by a greasy snack.

Fools.

I quickly step past the groups and make my way through the crowd of people toward the alley when I hear a familiar voice just behind me.

“Hey, sweetheart!” I know better than to stop, but it doesn’t deter me from glancing over my shoulder. My heart drops into my shoes as I see the group of guys who I had thrown out. “Where are you going?”

My moment of glancing over my shoulder is immediately met with regret as I fumble over a box that fell out of the dumpster. It gives the guys just enough time to gather around me in some kind of semicircle.

“Excuse me, but I’m leaving. Thanks for coming and please come-”

“Come?” asks the one snidely, his friends chuckling at the word. I roll my eyes behind my eyelids as I grip my purse tightly. “What I think is that you should come with us. Come on. We’ll have a good time together. Besides, I already paid.”

He takes a step forward just as I take a step back.

My heart is starting to pound in my chest.

Where are the door guys when you need them? Probably staring at the washer for some reason or another.

“You’re in my personal space. Please step back,” I say firmly, trying to hide the quake in my voice.

“I didn’t hear a no, did you?” The drunken smile the guy gives as he takes another step closer tells me I’m in trouble. His fingers reach out with surprising precision and snatch the tie at the front of my corset. “Now, let’s see what this is hiding.”

“N–”

I don’t get the word out before I hear an odd sound.

Clapping?

All eyes turn, mine included, and I see the same guy from inside step around the corner, the hulking bodyguard behind him.

“Very good boys,” he says, voice laced with some sort of lingering accent. Hispanic maybe? “Now that you’ve successfully proven yourselves drunken fools with one brain cell between you, perhaps you could step aside and let a gentleman have his turn with the lady.”

I can barely utter a squeak of surprise as he breaks through the crowd, places his arm around me, and guides me out of the crowd, draping his coat over me and wordlessly guiding me back down the alley.

I hear the protests of the group of men from behind me, but all I can focus on is the feeling of the mans hands on my shoulders.

“Sir, please see to it that these boys don’t follow us,” says the man. His cologne, subtle and exotic, surrounds me as we walk in tandem. When my senses come back to me after we round the corner, I politely pull myself from the man’s grasp, fearing he won’t let me go.

To my relief, he lets me step away.

“Apologies for the abrupt introduction, but I can’t resist a damsel in distress,” he says, voice deep and rich like chocolate. “Please, allow me to introduce myself to you properly. My name is Cruz. And you are?”

I have to swallow the lump in my throat before my name comes to me.

“Haven,” I say politely. “Thank you for interrupting them, and thank you for coming to Midnight’s Cocktails. Please, feel free to come again.”

“Haven? Lovely name. Please tell me that’s not a stage name,” says Cruz. I shake my head.

“No, that’s my name. Now, I do need to leave, so…”

“One moment, please,” says Cruz, taking a single step to the side to prevent me from leaving.

Great! Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Please, I really need to get home,” I say firmly.

“Absolutely,” states Cruz. “I just need one moment of your time. You are, if I may say, a particularly stunning woman. It would be a delight to have you accompany me to a few special events this week. Actually, more like the entire month. I can make it worth your time.”

“I’m sorry,” I say stiffly. “But I’m sure any of the other girls inside would be happy to accompany you and… keep you entertained all night.”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression,” says Cruz, his brow furrowing in concern. “I truly do mean accompany me to a few special events. I have a few dinners I need to attend and need a date for the evening.”

I see clearly the guy is not getting the hint. In a moment of sarcasm, I give him a look and teasingly say, “Sure. Base price starts at one million dollars.”

“Done.”

Wait.

What?

My mind goes numb.

Did he just say what I think he did?

“Um… excuse me?” I ask.

“I said done. Would you prefer cash or a check? Check would be more conspicuous, but I can arrange a wire transfer,” says Cruz.

I swallow dryly again. There was no way this guy was serious, right?

He smiles and quickly pulls out a card from inside his wallet, which I can see half a dozen hundred dollar bills peeking out of. “Tell you what, why don’t you think about it and give me a call? First event is tomorrow. Call me.”

Numbly, I take the card and nod, still not sure if this guy is being serious.

“Um… thanks,” I mutter, staring at the lovely scrolled letters making his name on the fancy card in my fingers.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Now, shall I accompany you to your car?”

“No thanks,” I say, a little too quickly. “I mean, thank you for the offer, but I’ll be all right. Thank you again.”

I keep my purse close and fish my fingers around my keys, practically sprinting the last little bit to the subway entrance just down the road. I throw myself into the first seat I find and settle in as the subway car speeds away, taking me back home.

Who was this Cruz guy?

There was no way he was serious about the money, right?

Goodness knows I need it right now…