“I think he was just trying to make sure you didn’t fall into a ditch. He had some words to say about me giving you pills.” She snorted. “Corrupting you. As if you’re some innocent little girl.”
I close my eyes, but they’re hot with tears. I’m just glad she isn’t here to see me, glad she can’t see the drops on my cheeks. My voice is hollow. “Far from it.”
“I told him you could take care of yourself.”
My gaze lands on the wallet. Yeah, real good job I’m doing taking care of myself. “I need to find him.”
“Blue? That good, huh?”
“Not like that. It’s because…I just need to see him, okay? Do you have any idea where he lives?”
“No…” She draws the word out in a singsong way. “But I do know where he’ll be tonight.”
“The club?”
“Of course not, silly. But I’ll take you to him.”
I want to demand she tells me where he’ll be, to find out what she knows, but I already know she’ll hold that secret like a goddamn lollipop—licking away at it all day long, dragging this out with perverse pleasure. But I don’t want to wait to give him the wallet longer than I have to. And neither do I want to risk handing it in at the club and Ivan finding out. If he got suspicious of me stealing from the customers, I’d be out on my ass.
“Fine,” I say, my head falling forward.
She’s silent a moment. “Lola, don’t you know why he’s not working tonight?”
“Time off for good behavior?”
“Oh, sweetie. You really don’t know. He’s not working tonight because you’re not. He’s only ever there when you are. The only reason he works at that club is to see you.”
I tighten my hands around the phone. My stomach twists, threatening to send me back to the bathroom. Because she’s wrong about one thing—I know he’s there for me. I’ve always known. That’s why I’m afraid.
* * *
From the outside it looks like a warehouse. No streetlamps are nearby. We glide through the night air like I imagine fish in dark water, unseeing, using our senses to feel for sharks. The only way I know it isn’t abandoned is the hum of noise. It’s too thick to separate into voices, too steady to be any kind of music. It’s the buzz of a hive—this one made of people.
There’s a single man standing outside a door at the side. Not much security for a place as big as this, even if they have more guys on the inside. But I don’t doubt he is holding down the door. His body looks as wide and as tall as the building itself, made of concrete and metal, his expression as cold.
“Can I help you ladies?” His tone makes it clear he’s saying the exact opposite—go the fuck away.
Candy smiles her megawatt smile that somehow lights up the space. Of course, it’s not hard to command attention in an empty freaking sidewalk. Clearly we are late, and I’m pretty sure Candy did that on purpose. She always likes to make an entrance.
“We heard there was a party,” she says. “I love parties.”
He looks bored, but I can tell he’s interested in her. All men are interested in her. “It’s a private party.”
She takes a step toward him. “That’s the best kind.”
There’s a pause where he could kick us to the curb. Something flickers in his eyes. Interest. Lust. A taste for danger. A man doesn’t get his nose bent like that because he likes to play it safe. No, this guy wants a piece of Candy in the back of a warehouse when he should be doing his job. It’s a rush, and he takes it.
“Don’t make trouble,” he tells me.
I don’t bother explaining that the girl voted most likely to cause trouble has her hands on his chest and her mouth on his neck. He wouldn’t have heard me anyway. He’s already dragging her into the shadows. Her giggle floats back to me, and I sigh, knowing I’ll owe her one.
And Candy doesn’t collect easy favors.
No one even looks my way as I open the door. They’re packed in like the club on a Saturday night, but it isn’t girls dancing onstage. No, those are men—big, brutish men with muscles bulging and skin glistening while they beat the shit out of each other.
Underground fighting.
No wonder the guy didn’t want to let us in. The fight itself is probably illegal, not to mention the betting and drug use that is no doubt rampant. I’m not judging. I have no right considering what goes on in the VIP rooms. And I wouldn’t want to judge anyway. I learned long ago that people needed to fight to survive. Sometimes they needed to fuck to survive too.
I’m just wondering why Blue would be here. And why Candy thinks he would be.
Is this some kind of hobby for him, watching fights the way he watches me dance? There’s a sea of people, of shouting faces, of angry faces, of drunk and grinning faces. They blend together in a macabre oil painting, my own vision gone skewed and sideways. I can’t possibly hope to find Blue in this mess.
Someone bumps into me, and just like that I’m falling into the crowd. I land on another person—he shoves me off, and I bounce around like a pinball until I manage to stand upright.
I’m pretty sure I got groped on the way, so it’s a typical night. Damn, I can’t see anyone. The smoke is thick, and there are barely any lights. Only spotlights focused on the fight, where a giant of a man is pummeling the other one…
I go very still and squint my eyes to focus. Is that…? No.
Another hit sends the fighter spinning toward the metal cage, and I gasp. It’s Blue in that goddamn death trap. What’s he doing in there? I can’t even believe that the guy is bigger than him. Blue towers over me and the other bouncers. And he has the muscles to match his height. He’s one scary son of a bitch, but the man he’s up against is like a mountain. A very angry mountain, and he’s raining down blows on Blue’s face.
Next thing I know I’m shoving my way through the crowd.
“Watch it!”
“Stupid bitch.”
All I know is I have to get to the front. There are still three rows of people blocking me, and now that I’m close, I can’t see the stage. Where are my stilettos when I need them? But I can hear the stage, the smack of flesh against flesh, bone against bone.
I shove people aside and end up at the makeshift railing. I’m not even sure this metal is supported by anything but the crowd itself—it sways with the movement, with the tides of the fight, leaning in as they smell blood.
Blue is wearing long shorts and scuffed-up tennis shoes. His gloves are worn and fraying at the edges. He looks like he rolled into his neighborhood gym to go a few rounds on the weekend. It’s amazing he’s held his own this long, but still, he’s going to get himself killed.
The other guy’s got glossy red-and-black shorts, almost like silk, and shoes so high and thick-toed they look like boots. It seems like that should be against the rules, but then a place like this probably isn’t huge on rules. From here I can see the guy’s face as he growls at Blue. I can see the smugness in his eyes, the deadness. He wants to make Blue hurt.
I reach for the metal fence. Hands grab me and yank me back. “What the fuck are you doing?” a voice shouts in my ear.
I tear myself free but stand behind the barrier. I don’t know what I’d planned to do anyway. It’s not like I can climb the cage and crawl inside. It’s not like I can stop the fight.
My stomach is a knot of worry, of dread. I may not be close to Blue anymore, I may even fear him, but I don’t want him killed. This kind of shit can escalate fast.
Blue ducks his head, almost resting his hand on one knee. He looks tired, worn down. He said he wasn’t going to let anyone kick him around ever again. Except that’s exactly what’s happening.
Oh God.
The opponent sees his chance. He charges like an actual bull, Blue’s weakness a red flag. Then even the man behind me can’t hold me back. I’m reaching for the cage, holding metal wire in my hands, shouting words even I can’t make out. No! Blue!
In the moments when Blue would be crushed, when he’d be k
illed, he suddenly spins and turns. A blow to the side sends red-and-black silk into the cage just a few feet away from where I’m clutching the side. The impact shoves me back. Hands catch me before I hit the concrete.
The crowd goes wild, their sound like a physical assault. It bears me down, and I can barely see, barely move. There’s just a glimpse of Blue’s hand being raised in the air, worn glove and all.
The man behind me pushes me into the crowd.
“Hey, what are you—” I look into the face of Oscar, another one of the bouncers at the Grand. Shit.
“Blue won’t be happy you’re here,” he says, too low for me to hear. I have to read his lips. It’s easy because I already know what he’ll say. Of course Blue won’t be happy to see me. He’s never been happy to see me since five years ago. That much will never change.
We’re almost to a door at the side—the dressing rooms?—when I tear myself away from Oscar and look back. Blue is still onstage, but he isn’t looking at the crowd. He’s looking at me, his body terrifyingly still. For once our roles are reversed. He’s the one in the spotlight, and I’m just a girl looking on.
I wonder if he feels powerful now. I wonder if he feels safe.
I wonder if this is why he stepped into that ring tonight—to kick other men around in a way that’s socially sanctioned and almost legal.
A girl in a bikini top and short shorts wraps herself around him, and just like that the spell is broken. Oscar drags me into a room that turns out to have lockers and benches. There’s a couple making out in an open shower stall, but Oscar bangs on the lockers with his fist and they make a run for it, half-dressed.
“Stay here,” Oscar says grimly.
Then I’m standing alone in a room, waiting for a man. Just like every night of my goddamn life.
Chapter Six
There are no other exits.
I know because I check the entire locker room after Oscar leaves me here. I’m sure he’s standing guard at the only way out. There are three shower stalls with only bricks dividing them—no doors or curtains for privacy. The urinals are also out in the open, up against the wall. Lockers line the other two walls with benches made of scarred wood and dark metal.
The door slams open, and Blue strides into the room. A burst of sound follows him in the seconds before the door swings shut. I shrink back against the lockers before I can help it. That doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t even slow him down as he steps right into my space, just inches from my face, still breathing hard.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His eyes are still wild from the fight, violence and victory mixed together.
I try not to flinch. “I wanted to…to talk to you about something.”
“How did you know I was fighting tonight?”
I’m not going to tell on Candy, even if he’ll figure it out as soon as he sees her here. Instead I bite my lip and try to remember the speech I was going to give him. “Congratulations?”
That wasn’t it.
He shakes his head. “No, Lola. This isn’t one of your little games. I’m not one of the men you can lead around by my dick. Not anymore.”
And then I do flinch, because the reminder of our past is too painful not to. “I’m not trying to lead you anywhere,” I whisper.
His lips curve into a cold smile. “No? You brought me here, didn’t you? Just you and me and the rest of the world locked out. You made that happen.”
Something pricks my eyes—tears. No no no. I can’t possibly cry in front of him. I don’t know why I’d cry at all. This is my life. I’m long past wishing for something different, aren’t I? I look down at the concrete floor so he won’t see me struggle.
Of course he doesn’t accept that. His fingers—sweaty and gloveless—lift my chin. “Why’d you come here, Lola?” His voice is suddenly lower and strangely seductive. Maybe that’s how fucked-up I’ve gotten, that cruelty turns me on. “What do you want?”
My fingers fumble as I pull the wallet from my back pocket. It’s still warm from my body as I hold it up. “This is yours. I stole it. I—I took it by accident.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant to say at all. I’d meant to explain the situation like it happened—that I’d woken up with the wallet in my bed. That I had no memory of it, but obviously there had been a mistake. I’d taken nothing from the wallet, no harm no foul.
Instead I’d stuttered like I was thirteen again, stealing everything I could slip into my pockets, confessing to my foster dad before he whipped me with his belt.
Blue takes the wallet from me, his expression speculative. It’s almost as if he’s never seen it before, even though I know it belongs to him. I rifled through his things, touched the stone-faced plastic image on his license. And he knows I invaded his privacy that way, just like I invaded his pocket when he brought me home.
He tosses the wallet onto a bench behind him, dismissing it. His hand lands on the locker beside me, blocking me in. His eyes meet mine. “You still steal.”
“No,” I say, but his wallet calls me a liar. Naturally he’d remember the worst thing about me. I’d helped him remember. “Not anymore. Not usually except…I must have been drunk or something.”
“You didn’t used to drink.”
“A lot’s changed.” I used to hate the taste of beer. It reminded me too much of foster brothers with groping hands and tongues. I still couldn’t touch the stuff, but every now and then I used alcohol to try and numb the pain. It was just a shame it never worked.
His gaze scans my body, unapologetic as it measures me, probes me, demands all my secrets. “I can see that.”
I shrug, pretending to be unaffected. No, I am unaffected, damn it. “You see more than this every night.”
“Less. When you’re naked up there onstage, that’s what you show to every man.” His eyes are hooded. “This is what you wore for me.”
My breath catches. I’d picked a white tank top and jeans because I’d had no idea where Candy was taking me. If I’d been to see any other man, needing a favor, apologizing, I’d have played up the sex-kitten act. I may have been the one on my knees, but he’d be the one begging. With Blue, I knew better than to try. There would be no power for me. Sex was just another tool he could use against me.
“Please don’t tell Ivan what happened, okay?”
One eyebrow rises. “Getting drunk?”
I snort. “As if he’d care about that, especially since Candy is the one who got me that way. He’d probably pay to watch.”
A smile curves those cruel, sinful lips. “Doesn’t he?”
Any amusement I’d felt fades away. “No. He doesn’t. No one gets to see me that way.”
I didn’t fuck around. Not for any amount of money.
Blue leans close, so close I can smell the sweat and heat of him, so near that his bulging shoulder blocks my view. His mouth is inches from my ear. “Not even if I tell Ivan you stole from me?”
I stiffen. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just figuring out the boundaries here.” His other hand slides over my hip and cups my ass. I let out a gasp before catching myself. “I want to understand exactly what you’re offering.”
“I’m not offering a damn thing,” I snap.
His laugh is low and sexy and frustrating as hell. “I think that’s exactly what you’re doing with those tight jeans and your tits like fucking heaven. You think I don’t see it? You think I’m fooled?”
I want to insist he’s wrong about me. I want to tell him to go to hell. But I can’t because he’s right. Even if I hadn’t dressed up for him, I would have for some other man. I’m exactly the kind of girl he thinks I am. I’ve already sunk that low.
So I let myself sink against the cool metal lockers behind me. I press my heavenly tits up toward his face. He wants a taste of this? Fine. Then maybe he can feel better about the fact that I stole his wallet, even if I gave it all back. And maybe then he’ll feel better about what happened all those years ago.
Even if nothing can ever make that right.
He grunts in approval. “Gorgeous. They look gorgeous naked and gorgeous with clothes on. How fucking unfair is that? That someone like you could look like this?”
My heart stops for a beat at the insult, my heart like a raw wound. Then his hands are cupping my ass, lifting me up against the lockers. His mouth is open and hot against my skin, sucking on the tops of my breasts, making me squirm against him. I’m off balance, up high, and I grab on to him for support. He’s slippery with sweat but somehow solid too, his shoulders massive, his body warm and unmovable.
I know I should hate him, but I can’t. I loved him too much as a girl. And even though he’s colder now, bigger and meaner now, he’s still the same boy I loved.
He finds the hollow at my throat, and just like all those years ago, he flicks his tongue against it. I shudder and rock myself against him, shameless and hungry for him. Only he knows about that spot on me. Only he has ever bothered to find it.
His hands are rough on my thighs. “Gorgeous,” he mutters as if to himself.
He hates me.
No matter what I said, no matter how much time has passed, I’m still the same girl he once loved. I deserve every bit of hate he has for me, considering what I did to him. Deserve the red marks he leaves on my skin with his stubble and his teeth. Deserve the crude way he rocks against me, thrusting his covered cock against my belly, getting himself off like I’m a fucking doll.
It’s degrading and humiliating—and still a disappointment when he sets me down and steps away. With him I want to be degraded. I want to be humiliated. Just being with him is its own sweet agony, and that alone makes my cheeks flush with tormented want.
That shouldn’t have turned me on, that little punishment make-out session. He didn’t even kiss me on the mouth. But now it’s done—I’ve paid my dues. He isn’t going to tell Ivan about me.
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 48