Author's note

Like all of my stories, this started off as a one shot back in 2019.

It was a hard story to write and I wanted to get it right, so I hope you will enjoy this journey as much as I did.

This story features Alcohol and drug abuse, PTSD and man on woman assault (not sexual).

Also the Spearmint Rhino Birmingham is the actual Strip club I am describing below.

Enjoy!


Steph's POV

I squint at the screen and swipe right to answer with a sigh "Again?" I ask, already pushing myself out of bed.

"Yeah. I already sent you the address to your GPS..." Tank pauses on the other end. "It is getting worse and as much as I hate calling you, you are the only one who can get him out of this. He won't let anyone else near him."

"You trust me right?" I ask, putting the phone on loudspeaker to get dressed.

"Yes." The answer comes without hesitation.

"I found a place where he can go immediately. I won't give him a choice. I will send you the phone number. Call it and tell Dr. Pokter that I am on my way. This has to stop."

"Got it." And with that Tank hangs up.

Less than a minute later, I am out of the door and down the lift to my car, with an overnight bag in hand. This isn't my first after midnight call, but it sure will be my last. I am done. He needs help and he is going to get it whether he wants it or not.


Walking towards the upscale strip club in front of me, I brace myself for what I am about to walk into. Luckily it is Ed at the door tonight, he knows me and will let me in without any fuss. Last time a new guy was holding guard, I had to argue with him till Ed came back from his break, before I was let in.

"He is in the far back, room three." Ed lets me know as soon as I step up to the entrance and he opens the door for me.

"Thanks" I discreetly slip him a fifty, to show my appreciation and for him to keep quiet, while walking past him and into the club. SHE is not your usual strip club. Once through the door you walk onto a mezzanine restaurant, where dinners are served small portions for a lot of money by clothed waiters. The Restaurant also overlooks all three floors of the club. The open room style building has plush black carpets and light marble walls, which have accented yellow lights shone onto them, on all floors. Below the mezzanine, on the second floor, you will find the bar. Obviously if you are a regular, you will get whatever exotic alcohol you desire. This level also has a few tables scattered all round, overlooking the VIP area below. They are private enough and it is rumoured that the deal for the new downtown development was struck at table five.

A few short steps down lead you to the third floor, the VIP area, which has a large marble table with a silver stripper pole in the middle and is surrounded by black ledger seats. Table service is a given down here and no one but the strippers are getting naked. A strict dress code applies, hence I am wearing a pencil skirt and blouse, which I wore to a court hearing yesterday.

The girls are pretty and well looked after. There is no touching, no sex and no head jobs. Not even pushing money into the strippers barely-there underwear is allowed.

Thanks to the VIP entrance and exit and the confidentiality agreements all employees need to sign, the rest of Trenton's citizens will never know what goes on behind these closed doors. Entry costs a pretty penny and you do not get through that front door unless you have a healthy bank account. No one in this building will ever talk about what goes on in here unless they want to admit to being patrons themselves. I have seen the mayor and the chief of police here a few times, which, really, shouldn't have surprised me. They are both corrupt and sleazy, they just hide it better than most.

For all its rules to get into the door in the first place, classy veneer and high end clientele, the back rooms tell a different story and I would have never known about them, if it wasn't for the man I come to find in room three, snorting coke from a stripper's tits and pounding into her, while she screams out her orgasm.

A stab of pain shoots through me seeing this, but I have no right. He is free man and can fuck whoever he wants to, but the drugs and alcohol have to stop. "Classy Batman...not cliché at all" I step into the room, close the door behind me and lean against the wall. I am not afraid to catch anything here, because even though it is a strip joint, you could eat off the floor.

"You want to join in?" He questions in a bit of a slur and shoots me a lopsided grin.

"No, thank you!" I reply. "I wouldn't want to catch whatever she just gave you." I add, besides knowing full well that these girls are clean, they get tested every month, and when my eyes glide down there, I can see he is wearing a condom. THANK FUCK.

He starts fucking her harder, while his eyes are still locked on mine, before he comes with a loud grunt. His pupils are dilated, which tells me that that just then was not the first line going up his nose and if the two empty bottles of Santiago de Cuba are any indication, he is also very drunk. Throwing the girl on the couch, he gets rid of the condom and pulls up his pants. "See ya later hot stuff" He winks at the stripper, who is still trying to catch her breath.

I have never had a problem getting Ranger out of wherever he was held up. He seems to always know that when I arrive it is time to get out of there. But as soon as the Merry men show up, it has the opposite effect on him. When this whole thing started, just shortly after he returned from overseas a year ago, Tank and Lester tried getting him out of a club in Philly, which Ranger in turn trashed by fighting them tooth and nail. Naturally, he is now banned from that place and had to pay for the damages.

He has not been himself and at first it was only in the evenings, but now he is taking drugs and drinking alcohol at work too. We only know because Tank installed a camera in his office to keep an eye on his best friend. These nights have gotten worse and worse and I am done. It is past time that he comes back to us and sobers up.

Once we are outside, Ranger immediately pulls out a joint and lights it. "What's the matter Babe?" He asks and throws his arm around me while dragging on it "Afraid to have a bit of fun?" I push him away, not wanting to inhale any of the weed.

"Finish that and get in the car, Ranger." I tell him and press the remote key while rounding the vehicle towards the driver side. It always surprises me, but Ranger does as he is told without complaining, as I get behind the wheel. With one look into the back seat, I can see Tank dropped off a large duffle bag with Ranger's belongings. How he got into my locked car, I don't want to guess. "Buckle up" I order and pull away from the curb.

"I am hungry." Ranger informs me and I barely suppress a sigh. I should have known and planned ahead. The one thing we are all very grateful for is that he is actually eating. For someone that has a substance abuse problem he looks good. Ranger is shaved, dressed in a nice suit, his hair seems to have been freshly cut and he still works out. And again, he is eating three square meals a day. So outsiders don't know that he has issues.

In order to feed him we stop at McDonalds on our way out of town, which Ranger doesn't realize, because he is trying to connect his phone to my car via Bluetooth.


Forty-five minutes into the drive, I am questioning my decision to drive him to Alaska for Rehab. His legs start bouncing uncontrollably and he keeps wiping his nose with his hands. Ranger also starts complaining about the early morning sun being too bright, despite him wearing his sunglasses.

I have seen him come down from a high before, but this is different to a whole new level. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch him pull out a package of the white stuff. When he is about to pour it onto the back of his hand, I make the split second decision to grab it and throw it out of my open window. "WHAT THE FUCK?" He bellows and punches the console, leaving a dent. Thankfully the airbag doesn't go off. "That was my last."

"Too bad" I shrug and concentrate on the road again.

"You do realize you just threw a grand worth of coke on the street, right? What the actual fuck, Steph?" I nearly choke on my own spit when he mentions the price tag on that bag. That is a lot of money for some white powder. Must be of good quality.

"You have had enough of that." I simply say, without looking at him.

"Jesus Steph, I need that."

"No, you don't! You do not need that shit!"

"Yes I DO! You don't understand what goes on in HERE." Ranger smacks his temple with his hand.

"Ranger…." I start, but he just waives me off.

"Don't start." And like always he dismisses the conversation before it has even begun. Shortly after that he is deep asleep.

He is right, I do not know what is going on up there in his head, but not for the lack of trying. I have tried to get him to talk to me. But he doesn't want talk to me. Ranger doesn't even want to go and speak to a professional. Tank tried to get the details on his last OP, to see how bad it was, but he is getting stonewalled, so we don't even have an inkling what happened to him.

Tank assumes it was black ops, with no paper trail to speak of, so we will never know unless Ranger decides to tell us. Which I don't think will be anytime soon, if ever. He will be mad once he discovers where we are going and in the condition that he is in, I don't think he will forgive me or the Core Team for this.

Too bad, but he needs this.