Just a Little Nudge

Just a Little Nudge

Copyright © 2015 by Jesi Lea Ryan

ISBN 978–0-9863596–0-6

All rights reserved. This book or any portion there of may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created in the United States of America

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Publisher

Jesi Lea Ryan

Cover by Damonza

Formatting by Champagne Formats

For more information, please feel free to visit Jesi Lea Ryan’s website at www.jesilea.com.

Other Books by Lesi Lea Ryan

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Just a Little Nudge Play List

About the Author

Other Books by Lesi Lea Ryan

The Arcadia Series

The End of the Line: Arcadia—Book 0.5

Arcadia’s Gift—Book 1

Arcadia’s Curse: Arcadia—Book 2

Arcadia’s Choice: Arcadia—Book 3

If not for fellow author Jordan Castillo Price, I’d probably still be agonizing over this story.

Thank you for your support and friendship.

MAMA ALWAYS SAID, Some people so bad they just need killin.’

’Course she was referring to the most villainous characters on her daytime soaps, and not about the corpse lying at my feet, but I figured the sentiment applied.

Oh, holy Jesus! sobbed my co-worker, Destiny, from where she knelt in the back-alley grime, ripping the hell out of her thigh-high stockings and poking the dead man with her talon-like fingernails. Then she gave a half-hearted shove on his chest in what I assumed was a bastardized version of CPR. I could’ve told her there wasn’t anything she could do that would be bringing that man back, but it seemed to make her feel productive until the ambulance arrived. I’d called them ten minutes before, but in this neighborhood? Even emergency personnel paused to draw straws before sending the losers out on the call.

I should’ve felt bad for killing the guy, but the truth was I didn’t. He was a new face at the gentlemen’s club where we danced, and trust me, he was no gentleman. In fact, when I’d stepped out back to make a call to the home to check on Mama—the club didn’t get cell reception for shit—that man had Destiny half-beaten to death and was all set to force himself on her. No, I didn’t feel bad for ridding the world of a violent, despicable person. But I was plenty freaked out at my ability to kill him from ten feet away with only the power of my mind.

Misty, don’t just stand there. Do something!

I worked to still my shaking hands. Dest, honey, there ain’t no more helping that man. He’s gone. We just need to sit tight until the cops get here. Why you helping him anyway? I saw the way he attacked you.

Destiny stopped her incessant pounding on the man’s chest and slumped back with her ass in a puddle of what I hoped for her sake was water, even though it hadn’t rained a lick in Austin in months.

Yeah, she sniffed. But what kind of person can just sit back and watch somebody die?

Me, apparently. No way was I lifting a hand to help a would-be rapist.

She buried her snotty face in her hands and sobbed silently, overwhelmed by the weight of the night, or maybe her life. I’m sure to her I looked calm and in control, but inside, shock raced through my veins for an entirely different reason.

You know how some people predict the weather? Or how some know when company’s coming? Well, Mama always called my gift nudging. I sort of implant suggestions in people’s heads. Don’t get me wrong . . . I can’t lead people around like puppets on strings . . . but if a person is set on doing something, I can kind of nudge them into a slightly different direction. Say I see someone at McDonald’s ordering a small coffee. I can nudge them into making it a large. Or when men reach for their wallets to get a dollar to shove in the band of my G-string. I can nudge them to grab the twenty instead. Now, don’t judge me. If those men were home with their families where they ought to be, and not panting after strippers, they wouldn’t have to worry about keeping track of their cash.

In the past, my nudging was just that . . . a small suggestion, barely noticeable. Like I said, I’m not a very impressive psychic. But when I’d stepped outside the back door and saw a man easily three times Destiny’s size, shoving up her skirt and ripping off her undies, I took one look at her split lip and swollen face, and I nudged him to stop. Before I knew it, he’d let go of Destiny, blown out all the breath in his body and never inhaled again. All of him stopped at once.

I shivered and sort of wished I smoked so I had something to do with my hands. The sound of sirens tickled my ears, distant, but headed our way. As I straightened, a movement in the darkness down the alley caught my attention, and my heart jumped. A shadow shifted . . . no. Must be my freaked-out imagination.

An ambulance rounded the corner, blocking us from view of the main avenue and sending the red and blue disco lights glittering off the broken glass and condom wrappers around us. As the EMTs wrestled with the gurney, two of Austin’s finest jogged over. One officer knelt beside the body to check for a pulse. The other helped the hysterical Destiny to her feet and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. I leaned heavily on the brick of our club to make way for the rushing EMTs.

Marco, the owner of the club, and Jimmy, the head of security, came out to see what all the commotion was about. Seeing me doing my best to appear invisible, Jimmy slipped off his giant-sized jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. February nights in Texas were chilly, especially for someone wearing a micro-mini and a tube top.

It didn’t take long for the EMTs to halt resuscitation and step out of the way so the crime scene investigators could do their thing. The cops’ attention fell on us. Cop #1 examined Destiny’s busted up face with a flashlight, and Cop #2 asked Marco if there was somewhere he could take us to get statements. Very reluctantly, Marco led us to his office. It was the only room in the house with a door thick enough to hold out the club’s thumping bass.

While Marco hustled to clear his personal papers from his desk and leave, the cops introduced themselves, names that I immediately forgot. I wasn’t good with names on a good day, and this definitely wasn’t a good day.

Cop #2 produced a small notepad, leaned his ass on Marco’s desk and set to asking his questions.

Can I get your names?

Destiny sniffed and dabbed at the horror show the running make-up made of her face. Destiny Star.

He looked over her skimpy, glittery outfit and sneered. Your real name?

Darla Parsons.

He glanced to me still huddled in Jimmy’s tent of a jacket on the sofa. And you?

Marley Sexton. My stupid stripper name was Misty Showers. When I chose it, I did it as a joke. Like, what’s the worst stripper name you can think of kind of thing. I thought I’d work at the club for a couple of months, free up some cash from cheating husbands and college boys, and then be on my way to California. What I hadn’t counted on was Mama having a major stroke and me having to pay for her nursing home. So now, almost three years later, I was still taking my clothes off and being referred to by that ridiculous name.

I assume you both work here at the club?

We nodded.

You’re a dancer, he said to Destiny, before turning to me. But what about you? Bartender, waitress?

Now, I almost took offense to that. Okay, I might not look like the other glamazons riding the pole. My body was too skinny and short on curves. And the red hair/freckle combination I had going on made me look better suited for an episode of Hee Haw than Girls Gone Wild, but hell, I was the best paid dancer in the place! So what if I didn’t come by all my tips honestly.

I’m also a dancer.

He raised one brow but wisely moved on in his questioning.

Miss Parsons, do you want to tell me how you came by those bruises?

We spent the better part of an hour explaining the same thing over and over. Destiny had stepped out back for a smoke after her set. Mr. Gomez—or so his driver’s license read—followed her out for a little something extra, figuring she’d be an easy lay. When Dest refused, he got violent. Just when he had her pinned and reached for his zipper, he suddenly stepped back, turned blue and fell dead.

I was written off as an innocent bystander.

Okay, ladies. I think that’s all. Here’s my card if you think of anything else.

Marco gave us the rest of the night off, but Destiny headed out to the bar. Said she needed a drink to cool her nerves. I, on the other hand, didn’t need to be told twice I could leave. The less time I had to spend in The Henhouse, the better. I ducked into the dressing room, winding around women in various states of dress to get to my locker. I didn’t bother removing my pancake make-up. I’d take a shower at home. I just tugged on some jeans and grabbed a hoodie before heading for the back door.

This time I paused with my hand on the cold metal handle. The memory of Destiny being attacked by that man filled my head, and for the first time, I let myself think of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there to stop it.

You okay, Mist? Jimmy asked, placing his sausage-fingered hand on my shoulder.

I nodded. I’ll be all right. I just never saw someone die before, is all.

You need a ride home? I can call you a cab.

Nah. I have my car.

He gave my shoulder one last comforting squeeze before he reached around to hold the door open for me. Okay. You just text me if you need anything. Drive careful.

I held up my pepper spray and called back, Don’t worry, Jimmy. I’m covered.

His chuckle rumbled as the door closed. Then, alone in an alley lit only by one dim bulb, I immediately regretted not asking him to walk me to my car parked at the far end of the long block. My feet