Foxy AF

Chapter 1

Elsa

“Excuse me,” I say as I head back behind the bar with some empties, dodging the customers as I go. As usual, Twelve Dogs is packed – which, as the manager and person responsible for helping make this place what it is, makes me feel like I’m at least getting something right.

“Brandon, we need someone to clear the booths and the back tables,” I say as I dump the empties on the side.

“Sure thing,” he says. “And by the way, we’re out of a few things. Note’s on the side there.” He gestures with his head as he continues serving a customer.

Great, I thought I had everything under control. I like my bar to be stocked and ready to go for the whole night. But then I look around and it’s easy to see how busy we are. I have a quick, quiet word with myself, assuring myself that being out of something is a sign of how well business is going and not necessarily my lack of planning.

Sometimes it’s difficult not to be hard on myself, but I’m getting better at it these days. Instead of looking at what’s not going right, I’m learning to look at what is. From the number of people in here, not just tonight but most nights of the week, I know that something is definitely going right.

Not only that, but it’s because of me. I started here as a busser and worked my way up to management. A strong work ethic and no-nonsense attitude will do that, and I have that by the bucket load.

It’s not what my parents wanted from me, something that I’m very aware of. I was the high school cheerleader who dated the football player. I moved to Vegas from small-town Texas because the expectation was for me to settle down with him – marriage, babies, the whole lot.

But I wanted to make my own life. I love my work and for me, it feels right. Far better than being a teacher, which is what my mom wanted me to do – follow in her footsteps. It just wasn’t for me. I’ve always wanted to tread my own path, whatever that was, knowing that I couldn’t live a version of someone else’s life. Doing so would just make me miserable, and that’s no way to live either.

Besides, I’m a night owl. I love being here at the club, working until the small hours. I love seeing people socializing, having fun, meeting up with friends, and of course, the new relationships that are formed. A lot goes on in places like this, and it’s interesting to watch and be a part of it.

I carry on with my usual rounds, checking that the staff members are all okay, that they’re sure of their jobs for the night, and that their breaks are all arranged in a way that suits them and me. Then I head to the stock room with the note that Brandon made.

He’s right. We’re out of a few key items, mainly because a promotion we had was so successful, but I can sort it out by tomorrow, I’m pretty sure of that. Also, I can arrange another promotion to use up some of the excess stock.

There’s always a way around these things, I think to myself as I make my way to the office to place some orders.

As I come out of the storage room, a few things rattling around my mind, I hear what sounds like a muffled moan. What is that? I follow the sound, trying to work out what it is and where it's coming from. The bathroom?

I don’t call out at first. I’ve been in this game far too long to know the types of things that can go down, so I make my way silently to the last door where the individual bathrooms are. When I try to open it, it won’t budge. Something isn’t right – this one is out of order and shouldn’t be locked.

Rattling the door, I decide I need to make myself known now, just in case someone is in there that might need help. Maybe someone has overindulged or had an accident. You never know when it comes to working with people, anything can happen.

Silence.

My gut tells me something’s up and that what I heard wasn’t just my imagination. This doesn’t add up. That’s when I hear the rustling of fabric and the click-clack of heels on the hard floor, followed by a loud thud.

Now I’m putting two and two together, and I know I’m going to get four because I’ve seen this before. Still, my stomach clenches because I know what this probably means. I kick at the door, releasing it from the latch as it cracks against the wall.

Rage and nausea hit me simultaneously as I see two assholes forcing a drink down a woman’s throat. The first man gets another of my kicks, straight to the shin. I reach for the mop in the bucket beside me to smash the other asshole with.

The poor woman falls to the floor, coughing, as I try to keep these guys at bay.

“We have a situation in the back! I need backup!” I scream into my comms headset, taking another swipe at one of the men.

Please, someone hear me!

One of them lunges forward, and I stumble, but I’m relieved to see them run out and not lay into me. “You okay?” I ask the woman on the floor quickly. She nods at me and pulls herself up. Once I see she’s unharmed, I follow after them, gesturing at the doormen to catch them.

The bar descends into chaos, and it becomes obvious there are more than two of these bastards. I dial 911 as security does its best to get to them but as drunk as some of them are, they manage to run for it.

“Screw these assholes,” I say under my breath. Then I turn to the staff, who are looking wide-eyed at the scene before them. “Make sure none of them ever get back in here again. You see their faces, you tell me, and you tell security. Got it?” Each of them nods. “There’s no place for assholes like that in my club.”

I just won’t have it.