Club Erotica

CLUB

EROTICA

By

MARIE GREEN

Copyright 2014 Marie Green

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design by Wayne Hastings

http://www.waynehastings.net

Edited by Lisa Luddy-Courcy

Author Photo by Paula Geerligs

All rights reserved

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Flashback

Day Six, Part Two

Day Seven

Day Eight

Day Nine

Day Ten

Day Eleven

Day Twelve

Confession

Day Thirteen

Day Seventeen

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Leslie Bobb, Kortnee Johnson, and Kenneth J. Kiefer, Jr. - for being my beta readers.

Brian Gaffney and Rachel Stravinskas for helping me out with a couple of details that I missed.

Lisa Luddy-Courcy for all her hard editing work.

Wayne Hastings for the brilliant cover. Check out his work at www.waynehastings.net.

My daughter Joanne who made me keep going and my son Quentin who made me stay on task by whining at me when I wasn’t writing.

Robbie Lawson, Kelly Lenahan, Chris Getto, RD Betz, Dana Fournier, Kurt Herbel, Bjornar Haveland, John Siorda and everyone else who applauded me along the way.

And of course my parents Mike and Nora and my stepmom Carol for looking out for me when I needed it.

For Mr. Cumberbatch

Day One

Limey prick, I liked that song.

Trevor Welling had decided that no matter how low the volume was, it was too early in the morning for Motley Crue. He turned the car radio off, which put his back seat passenger in a worse mood than she was already in.

He ignored her as she rambled on about how she "liked that song, you’re just being an asshole to me on purpose" as he pulled into the parking lot located in back of the popular Manhattan Beach strip club, Beach Babes. He decided he wasn’t going to waste his breath explaining to her that he was going to have to turn it off when he parked in the next minute or two anyway. He knew too damned well that she was going to bitch and complain anyway, no matter what justifiable argument he could come up with. Trevor discovered a long time ago that being reasonable wouldn’t matter to Charlene White.

Of course, she probably wouldn’t have been as angry as she was, if he had kept his mouth shut earlier, and not made the remark that he did.

They had left Harbor UCLA hospital after getting the cast on her right wrist removed. As she got in the car she smiled and said, It’s finally off.

Without missing a beat, Trevor replied, contemptuously. If you had behaved properly, you wouldn’t have needed it in the first place. He did not even know why he said it. It slipped out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Trevor had barely turned off the engine of the powder blue Honda CR-V, when the busty, burgundy-haired Charlene, looking like she hadn’t received a decent night’s sleep in her entire life, unlatched the back door and kicked it open.

Dammit Charlene, he mumbled under his breath. He unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. He walked around the car toward her as she stepped out and briefly combed out her hair with her fingers.

Do you want me to come in with you? he asked, with an irritated huff. It wasn’t even noon yet, and she had already managed to piss him off for the entire day. Trevor realized that he had started the feud for the day by making snide remarks about her drunken antics, but she didn’t make things any better by taking her anger out on the car.

Trevor should have expected it though, considering his brief history with her.

Charlene slammed the car door and glared at the tall, bright-eyed driver with contempt. She didn’t have to say anything; Trevor knew exactly what that look meant:

"Go fuck yourself."

Trevor watched as the haggard woman walked past him, across the parking lot and into the back door of the strip club. He sat on the hood of the car and decided against following her inside, as he normally did.

Once upon a time, Trevor thought Charlene was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. When he had met her husband Ren in London the year before and was shown a picture of her, Trevor was immediately smitten.

Looking at her now, he had to admit she was still rather fetching, even though she was not his type. Then again, Trevor never believed he had a type. The curves and hills that the roads of Manhattan Beach consisted of had nothing on her figure. She had a large bust, a round, perfectly shaped bottom, and an hourglass figure that kept him awake at night.

At least it would, if he didn’t hate her so much.

Nearly ten months ago, in late January, Ren White had gone missing. At the time, Charlene was seven months pregnant with their daughter. By the time Trevor found out about Ren’s disappearance, the baby had been stillborn, and Ren’s older half-brother, Steve Hanson, was the new owner of Beach Babes.

Knowing Charlene must have been an emotional wreck after her husband’s disappearance, Trevor wanted to visit the States to see if there was anything he could do to help locate Ren and comfort Charlene. But he kept putting it off.

When Trevor finally did arrive in May, he found not only was there no missing person’s report, but also that Charlene was not alone. Steve was living in Ren’s home – with Charlene. When Trevor went to the police with his concerns over Ren’s disappearance, they told him that, lacking evidence of foul play and no missing person’s report having been filed, there was nothing they could do. By all appearances, Ren had merely sold the club to his half-brother, and took off with the money, leaving Charlene and his child behind.

Under the guise of a man desperate to learn more about the strip club business, Trevor begged Steve Hanson for a job. He told Steve that he met Ren in London and he had promised to take him under his wing. Steve agreed on one condition.

Steve explained that Charlene had become grief-stricken when Ren vanished, so much so that her baby girl had been still born. She had confined herself to the house, but had no way of getting around for doctors’ appointments, shopping trips, etc. And it was hard for Steve to do all that running around for her while trying to run a club and get some rest. So, Steve hired Trevor to keep an eye on Charlene at home, take her where she needed to go, and make sure she made it to the club on time when it was her night to entertain. In return, Steve agreed to teach Trevor everything he knew about the business. Part of his salary would be that he could live in the guest cottage on the property, rent-free.

Trevor accepted the arrangement. Anything he could do to locate his missing friend, he would do it.

The clearly concerned Steve shared with Trevor that he was worried that Charlene may have had something to do with Ren’s disappearance and the reason she went off the rails was probably out of guilt. In fact, he was convinced of it. When Trevor asked him why he was living in the house with her, Steve explained that it was only to help her out, so she would not be alone. After a few months, Steve told him, Charlene managed to slink her way into his bed. He admitted to Trevor how bad he felt, her being his brother’s wife, but he felt so much pity for her, that he did not have the heart to tell her no.

Trevor had rapidly lost respect for the woman. It didn’t help that the entire time he was there, she went about her business, not once showing any concern about her husband’s whereabouts, or even that she had lost her child so tragically. Ren was gone; her child was dead. Yet, she was sleeping with her husband’s half-brother, and back on the strippers pole like nothing had happened.

In fact, Trevor believed that he was more interested in finding out what happened to her husband than she was.

The first couple of months he was there, Charlene made no eye contact with him, nor even spoke to him. The more he started to despise her however, the more she looked at him with contempt. After a while, the insults started.

And his suspicions of her started to grow.

He also found it pathetic that a woman pushing forty would need someone to keep her from going off the rails again, and that she needed someone to keep an eye on her when Steve could not. He thought she was a contemptible, insufferable cow.

But while Trevor kept his feelings about her to himself, Charlene made no big secret of the fact that she hated him. Her attitude towards him was hateful and completely hostile, and Trevor had no idea why. Despite his feelings, he was never anything but courteous and respectful to her (at least he thought so), but she could be completely rude to him.

Trevor did take into consideration that despite his best efforts, Charlene suspected his complete disgust with her.

It could have also been the fact that her guardian had hired a babysitter for her, was more than she could take. And since she never uttered an unkind word to Steve (or any word to him, as long as Trevor was around) she must have decided to take it out on him.

Quit looking at me with your creepy alien eyes, she snarled, snapping him back into the present as she started walking towards the club.

Trevor watched as her hips wiggled and her bottom slightly bounced as she angrily made her way across the parking lot to the back entrance of the club. He brushed his wavy, dark auburn hair back from his face. You’re so damned hot, he murmured to himself when she was out of earshot. Too bad you’re such an insufferable bitch.

Whatever her reasons were for hating him, Trevor didn’t care. He didn’t like her and doubted he ever would. However, it was his job to help her out and look after her, and no matter how nasty and spiteful she was, he believed he performed his duties as a gentleman.

Charlene slammed the door as she stormed into the back of the club, blood boiling as she made her way across the floor, slipping into the dancers dressing room. As she walked out towards the adjacent hallway, she glanced at the call sheet for that night and saw her name on the ten p.m. schedule. Just couldn’t wait, could you? she muttered. She ripped the paper off the wall and continued down the hallway Steve? Charlene called out as neared his office. You here? The doctor removed my cast…

You sadistic prick, she continued, lowering her voice. As angry as she was, Charlene didn’t relish being slapped in the face so early in the morning.

She walked towards Steve’s office and was surprised to find the light off and the door open. You know, next time I have to go to the hospital because of you, she whispered, taking a deep breath. I should just tell them the truth.

Charlene carefully walked into the darkened room and as she approached the light switch, she tripped on a heavy object on the floor, and fell forward, landing on her stomach. Passed out drunk again, aren’t you? she snarled. As she began to push herself up, she felt something warm and sticky on the ground. The hell is on this floor? she mumbled, as she rose to her feet. Flipping on the light switch, she saw out of the corner of her eye, her own bloody fingerprints and suddenly noticed a familiar, coppery scent. Her heart started to pound in her chest as she looked at her hands, then the floor. Her eyes focused on the puddle where she had fallen, then towards the side of the desk, where she found the source of the puddle.

Lying with his back against the wall, his eyes wide open and a gaping hole in his chest, was Steve.

Oh God, she mumbled, horrifyingly aware of what caused her to slip and fall. She looked down and saw Steve’s blood on her hands, right forearm and on her grey halter-top.

Charlene tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth but a strangled gasp. As she slowly backed out of the office, she could feel the blood on her halter-top soak through to her skin. She could now feel it on the slope of her breasts and her arm.

Tears started to run down Charlene’s face as she leaned against the wall opposite the office. She looked around her, hoping to God that whoever had killed Steve, wasn’t still there somewhere. Looking back inside the office she looked at the wall where Steve’s body rested. She saw the blood and what looked like pieces of bone and human tissue coating the wall.

That’s when the screaming started.

~~~~~

Charlene sat on the ground outside of the back entrance, leaning against the wall, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t come home last night, she said, as one of the crime scene technicians walked away after swabbing her hands for a blood sample.

Trevor, who was standing behind the technician, automatically knelt down on the ground next to her, holding a damp washcloth in his hands.

Two crime scene technicians walked by and made what Trevor considered an off-color joke about Steve no longer wearing his heart on his sleeve because now it was splattered all over the wall. He understood that they had a grim job and needed to lighten the situation by joking about it, but he didn’t think it was funny in the least.

Apparently feeling differently, Charlene started giggling as the two men walked by.

Trevor scowled at her. This was just another example of what he felt was her complete lack of empathy for anything going on around her. Her former brother-in-law now lover was brutally murdered, and here she was giggling as though the whole situation was somehow amusing.

Fuck you. That was funny, she mumbled, as if she knew what he was thinking. "Pull the stick out of your ass.

There’s a time and a place, he mumbled back, as he roughly grabbed one of her hands and started to wipe the blood away. And this is not it. Show some respect for…

Ryan Foster, the detective assigned to investigate the murder, was five year veteran in Homicide, but still considered a virtual newbie at the Manhattan Beach police department, as he had only transferred there from the Torrance PD eight months previously. He shook his head as he listened to Trevor’s exchange with the clearly traumatized Charlene.

Okay, that’s enough, he snapped, interrupting Trevor’s chastisement. Was it unusual for him to sleep in his office?

No, she replied, shaking her head. Sometimes he slept there if he got too tired to drive.

Did he have any enemies?

Charlene laughed.

The entire city of Manhattan Beach, she replied sarcastically, snarling at Trevor as he washed her right hand. And parts of Hermosa. Good luck with that. He was a Class A prick. If being a prick was a religion, he would be the most devout prick you ever met.

Trevor scowled as he dropped her hand and motioned for her other one. He wasn’t that bad, he mumbled as Charlene thrust her left hand towards him.

Oh that’s right, our posh Brit friend here thinks the sun shined up his ass. Can’t say anything bad about Saint Steve or it will hurt poor little Trevor’s feelings, she snapped. You’ve known him for less than six months, what the hell would you know? Go fuck yourself.

Charlene yanked her hand away from him and dropped it in her lap as she started to stare straight ahead. Trevor started to reach over to clean the dried blood off her cleavage, but a low growl from her made him think better of it.

Did you kill him Mrs. White? the detective asked. Charlene didn’t respond, but continued to stare straight ahead.

She couldn’t have, Trevor replied, standing up. She had a cast on her right wrist up until about an hour ago.

Could she have left the house at all after you dropped her off last night? Ryan asked, as a younger, tall African-American man approached him.

I did mention the cast, right? Trevor asked, rolling his eyes at the detective in frustration. Besides, she doesn’t drive and I would have known if someone else drove up.

How?

A red light flashes when a car either pulls into the driveway or on the street in front, and it usually wakes me up. I think Steve called it a perimeter light?

Check with the local cab companies to make sure they did not get any calls from the house after one a.m., Ryan said, turning to the man next to him. He then turned back to Trevor. And what did you do after you dropped her off?

Checked in with Steve like I usually do.