Page 1 of Ruthless Roses
prologue - leontine
december 1981
I don’t belong here.
As I get out of the yellow taxi and step onto the wet curb, I’m more than aware I’m somewhere I don’t belong. I look the part—my metallic mini dress swishes about my thighs with every move I make—but I might as well have a huge ‘I’ imprinted on my chest.
Imposter.
A cold breeze scuttles by and draws a shiver out of me. Thirty-eight degrees and icy out, and women are still expected to prance around in the shortest skirts and most uncomfortable heels. My feet ache enough from my real job without having to add tonight to the list.
Beatrice comes around from the other side of the taxi. If I look like an imposter, she’s a child in dress up. Her ankles bend and her legs wobble as she tries to walk in a pair of heels way too advanced for her, and the shade of blush she chose is all wrong for her deep complexion.
She sulks when I catch her eye. “This is dumb, Lee. What are we doing in downtown Northam at this hour? That guy across the street’s staring.”
My gaze wanders over to the man she speaks of. “He’s waiting for the bus.”
“Have youbeenpaying attention to the news? All the muggings around here?”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I wasn’t about to let my lil’ sis come out here alone. Are you crazy?”
“Shhh. We have to make it inside. He’s waiting for me.”
“Lee!”
I turn and strut toward the nightclub known for its after-hours proclivities. The neon sign flashes at the entrance where three beefy bouncers stand outside. One by one, hopeful partiers approach and show their IDs. They’ve waited at least an hour to see if they can get in; the rest of the line wraps around the block.
I skip the wait, strutting past the dozens of people queued up, with Beatrice on my heels.
“They’re not going to let you skip the line,” she mutters. “You see the dirty looks people are giving us?”
“Who cares? We’ll get in.”
I march up to the bouncers and hold their gazes the second they look over. “Leontine Bernard. I’m on the list. Clay’s expecting me.”
The trio glance at one another and then back at me. None of them seem impressed.
My expression tightens. “Are you letting me in or not?”
“Get your ass in line.”
“See,” Beatrice hisses from behind me. “Told you.”
I step toward the bouncer in the middle. “If you don’t let me in, Clay isn’t going to be happy.”
A second passes by in which they appear to take me seriously—the threat leaves them speechless—but then they reveal what’s really surprised them.
My audacity.
They bust up in a chorus of laughter.
Beatrice and I stand there and bear the brunt of it. We look like fools to outsiders who may not know the story.
But I couldn’t care less. I don’t need to make any more demands. A small smile starts at the corners of my lips and spreads wider.
The men laugh without realizing who has walked up behind them. They only notice when Clay taps one of them on the shoulder. Their laughter drops off as they turn around and receive the shock of a lifetime—an unamused, stone-faced Clay pinning them with an intimidating level of fury.