You Are Mine (Forever)

by Kar, Alla

  “I have to pick my candidate, give me some time, jeez.” I climb onto a bar stool and lean back against the bar, crossing my legs. There are a few guys playing pool, and I narrow down my potential hustle.

  Damon is humming the Jeopardy theme song in my ear. I hold back my laugh and give him the death glare. He surrenders and sits back and watches. I don’t see many people I know and that I’m thankful for that. I mean Taylor is at the gym and thinks I’m working late. I hate lying to him but I know he would never let me come out here with Damon. Not that I can blame him or anything but his accusations are kind of crazy. I mean a tattoo that isn’t even the same but of the same thing? That doesn’t make him connected. The look on his face when he saw Taylor hit that guy was priceless. He was scared, petrified and he just doesn’t fit the bill to be a serial killer.

  As quickly as I start thinking about it, I push it aside. There is a pretty boy standing next to the pool table. He has been eyeing me since I walked in. A few seconds later, I hear Damon chuckle. He knows I’ve zeroed in on my prey.

  I see pretty boy give the bartender some cash. As if clockwork, a drink is placed beside me. I glance down at the glass and try not to laugh. So predictable. “Compliments from the guy at the pool table.”

  I grin, taking a long sip of the Long Island Ice Tea. Good taste. I down the entire eight ounces and slide it back to the bartender. He laughs and gives me an encouraging nod. If he only knew…

  I sway my hips as I walk toward the pool table. I still have my jeans on from work, but I changed into a tank top. Preppy guy is taking me in, slowly. He isn’t trying to be inconspicuous about it either. When I reach the pool table my stomach starts to turn. The feeling of excitement that I left behind suddenly starts to awaken in me.

  I know Taylor would kill me right now, but I’m just proving a point. It’s not like any of the guys I hustle got any from me. Only a damaged ego. That was the best part.

  “Hi, handsome,” I say, the words foreign on my lips.

  He pushes his fingers through his short-cut blond hair. “Hey, gorgeous. I take it you got my drink?”

  I nod, leaning against the pool table, crossing my long legs. “I did. I’m Layla,” I say.

  He presses his lips to my cheek. “Aiden, nice to meet you.”

  Polite, I’m shocked. I feel bad for a few moments, until I see him wink at the guy behind me. Ass. “Definitely nice to meet you.” I point toward the pool table. “I’ve been watching you play. You’re pretty good.” This is a total bullshit lie. He isn’t good, at all.

  He cracks his neck with false confidence and shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, just fooling around. You know how to play?”

  I hold back a smile. “No, but I would love to learn how. How about a wager?”

  Aiden laughs and elbows his buddy that’s been looking down my shirt for the last two minutes. “We don’t want to take your money, sweetheart.”

  Taking the tip of my finger, I slid it across the edge of my tank-top. Both guys’ eyes watch as I slowly trace the hem of the fabric. “Well, it will make it a lot more fun. I’ve got Daddy’s bank account opened and ready. What will it be?”

  I see the realization in his eyes. “A thousand.”

  Sucker.

  ***

  “I’ve seen it all!” Damon shouts over the music. I’m walking back toward the bar counting out one hundred one hundred dollar bills. If I had a camera I would have taken a picture of Aiden’s face. Priceless. He even dropped his jaw to the floor. “You just won one thousand dollars, Layla. This is freaking amazing.”

  I wave him off and shrug. “It’s not that big of a deal. Sure, I’m an amazing hustler, I’ve blown your mind, and I’m just that talented. We all get it.”

  Damon gives me a sloppy half smirk. “That guy is probably still picking up his jaw.”

  “He is the best to hustle. He won’t miss a thousand dollars. Because, unlike me, I don’t have a Daddy’s bank account at my free will. They will never notice it’s gone.”

  Damon laughs and then ruffles his hair. “Want a drink?”

  I glance over at the bar. There is a topless girl giving this guy a lap dance. Obviously, tequila isn’t for everyone. “Nah, not a big drinker. I better get home before Taylor does. I want to dodge that bullet.”

  Damon gestures for me to follow him. I’m about at the door when a sloppy drunk guy falls on me causing his beer to spill all over my tank top. “Shit. Watch where you’re going, asshole.” The guy says something incoherently and staggers off toward the bar.

  “Yeah, like he needs another drink.”

  Damon laughs and glances down at my shirt. I’m well aware that my tank top is stuck to my breast, so I cross my arms over my chest. Damon clears his throat. “Why don’t I run by my apartment and get you a shirt?”

  I debate this. If I go home with beer spilled all over my shirt, Taylor might jump to conclusions, leading me to telling him the truth. We all know how that would go. However, if anyone sees me go into his apartment, it would spread like wild fire.

  His bark of a laugh interrupts my thoughts. “I’m not going to kill you, Layla. I’m just offering a shirt. It will take two seconds and it’s on the way back to the coffee shop?” He holds his hands out, palms up, waiting for my answer.

  I hate myself. “Okay, really quick.”

  As soon as we pull up into my old apartment building I start to panic. Not a huge panic attack you see on TV, but I can barely breathe and my heart starts to pump into overdrive. I highly doubt scorpion guy is standing in the shadows, but I didn’t see him the last two times he ambushed me.

  Against my better judgment, I get out of the car and follow Damon up the stairs. He is blabbering about something at work. I nod and pretend to listen. He swings open his door, and I follow him inside. It’s a typical bachelor pad. There are pizza boxes lying on his living room table, a huge flat screen TV and a worn couch. It isn’t as messy as some I’ve seen, but it’s no doubt just a guy that lives here.

  He tosses his keys onto the dining room table, then turns to look at me. “Sorry about the mess, I’m a guy is the only answer I can give you. I wish I had a better excuse.”

  “As long as you’re honest about it,” I say. “Now, when can I get out of this shirt?”

  Damon bites his lip and holds back a smile. “That didn’t come out right,” I say. “I meant where can I change my shirt?”

  He raises an eyebrow and points toward his room. “I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick. My room is in there, you can find one out of the closet.”

  He disappears around the corner, before I open the door to his room. A simple full size bed sits against the wall, with clothes scattered around the floor. Typical. I walk into his walk-in closet and pull at a random shirt. It has football weightlifter on the front and some high school symbol. It swallows me but I’m just going home. I quietly shut the door, but something lying halfway underneath his bed catches my eye. I bend down, pick it up and hold it in front of me. My entire body runs cold. The blue, regular T-shirt is missing a piece of it. A piece that I have at home underneath Taylor’s bed. The piece that was hanging off of my balcony window.

  If I’ve ever been scared it is now. Calmly, I walk back into the closet, strip the shirt off and pull it on. Then I put the football shirt over it. “Found one,” I say, walking out. I pray that he can’t tell my body is shaking.

  He leans against the kitchen counter, eyes roaming over my body. I squirm underneath his gaze. “Oh, my old football shirt. I played in high school for a bit,” he says.

  Giving my fakest smile, I gesture toward the door. “I better get back. It’s getting late.”

  Damon nods and opens the door. “After you.” I walk by him and shiver. He doesn’t seem to notice, and I’m glad. My eyes are raking over the parking lot. This doesn’t make sense to me. Is he in on it? Did he set us up?

  I’m trying to be inconspicuous and not shake or stare. He hums along to the radio, laughing and chatting on the wa
y home. I nod and laugh when needed. When we pull up Taylor’s Hummer is parked in front of our apartment. He’s home from the gym early. Shit….

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at work,” he says, placing his thumb beneath my chin. I jump at his touch, but he just smiles and lets his hand drop.

  A million thoughts are racing through my mind. I can’t believe this is happening. When I get inside, Taylor is waiting for me on the couch.

  There is worry, fear and anger written on his face. He shakes his head. “Oh, Layla.”

  Ah, shit.

  Chapter Ten

  Taylor

  Layla is standing by the door, her bottom lip between her teeth. All the color has seemed to drain from her face. And that shirt…I know that isn’t my shirt. Anger is starting to creep its way up my body, attacking every rational thought that I have.

  “Layla, where did you get that shirt?” It’s the only thing I can seem to focus on. It’s as if a big red arrow is pointing toward it. Your girlfriend is wearing someone else’s shirt!

  “Let me explain, Taylor. Calm down,” she says.

  Calm down? My girlfriend is late from work, wearing another guy’s T-shirt, and she wants me to calm down? She has gone completely insane.

  “Please,” she whispers, a sob breaking from her throat.

  I ball my fists together at my side. “You’ve got ten seconds, Layla.”

  She clears her throat. “I was at work with Damon…and he said he couldn’t believe I use to hustle people. So, I said I would show him. We went down to the pool hall, and I hustled this guy.” She pulls a wad of cash out and tosses it onto the table. “Then when we were leaving this guy spilled beer on my shirt, so Damon took me to his apartment to give me one--,”

  She went to Damon’s apartment. I don’t think there is one thing in the world I would hate more than her being at his apartment alone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She shakes her head, pulls up her shirt and shows me a blue T-shirt below it. “Please, let me finish. I found this shirt.” She turns and shows me the back. A piece is missing. “This is the shirt that was ripped at my apartment. It’s the same color.” She steps closer to me, begging me to listen with her eyes. “Damon broke into my apartment.”

  A flood of anger erupts and beats against my skin. He really does have something to do with this. He broke into her apartment and is trying to be her friend? He spent the day with us, after he broke into her apartment? I feel like knocking his lights out for good. “Jesus,” I whisper, rubbing my forehead. “He is always around you…it makes perfect sense. He is relating back to him.”

  Layla looks like she is about to cry. Her eyes are watery, and her body shaking. “I don’t understand why—I mean has he been in on it the entire time?”

  “Hate to say I told you so, but…” I trail off. Snatching the T-shirt from her hands and marching toward my room. I pull out the shirt form my box and hold it up. “Perfect fit,” I say.

  A sob comes from Layla’s chest, and she covers her eyes with her hands. I’m so mad at her, I could scream. If she would just listen to my intuition everything would be fine. Sighing, I stand up and take her in my arms. She has a false hope for everyone. She believes everyone is innocent and means well. I can’t blame her for being so trusting. “Shhh,” I mumble into her ear.

  She shakes in my arms. “What are we going to do?”

  I stroke her hair. “We’ll go home. After my fight next week we’ll go to my mom’s house. I’m sure we’ll be safer there.”

  She sniffles into my shirt and nods. “How are we going to go to school? We’ll miss class –“

  “I’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.”

  “Okay.” She pauses for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry, Taylor.”

  As mad as I am that she went to the damn pool hall with asshole, I can’t stay mad at her. Moving her toward the couch, I sit her in my lap. “Listen to me,” I grab her chin, “we’re going to be fine. We just need to stay away from Damon.”

  “How?” She shrugs. “I work with him and have two classes with him.”

  The asshole had gotten closer to her and watched her every move. I swear I could break his neck. “Well, I guess we’ll have to skip a few classes this week. It’s time to put my charm to the test. What shall it be? Tonsillitis, cold, or the flu?”

  Layla laughs. “Flu.”

  ***

  The arena is packed tonight. If you even want to call it an arena. It’s a basement of an abandoned clothing store from the 90s. It works well for our fights, it’s secluded in an old mini shopping mall downtown. People rarely come this way and if they do everyone parks behind the building, or down the road. We switch up the place for our fights every other week, so cops won’t catch on. It’s safe to say this one is my favorite. Who cares that our mat is set up in the middle of a huge room with old clothing racks pushed to the side. It’s perfect for a fight. Plop some mats down, get the cage set up and I’m good to go. It’s not like we need a fancy place to fight, we’re punching each other’s face in, it doesn’t matter if we have brand new bleachers, or TV screens hanging everywhere.

  My “locker room” is a bathroom set off to the left side of the arena. It’s small, cramped but I don’t care. I can hear my opponent’s fist swooshing through the air next door. I’m standing in front of a small sink, my hands wraps around the sides. The mirror in front of me is dirty, cracked, and the light above me is flickering.

  I look just like him. I know I do. The same bone structure. The same slender nose and dark, thick eyebrows. The only thing that isn’t his is my eyes, which look just like my mothers. The face that I hated for years is staring back at me, smiling, haunting me. I never wanted to end up like him. I always said I would do better, be better. But, I’m not. I’m doing what he did. Fight. Too prideful to say no to a fight. My stomach churns at the thought of being like him. I use to love fighting, loved that I could beat anyone they put me up against. Love the attention I got, love everything about it.

  Now, I have too much to lose.

  Now, I have Layla.

  Knock Knock. Knock. A small rap of knuckles hit against the door. “Who is it?”

  “Me.”

  I unlock the door and look down at Layla. She is smiling, a slight crease in her forehead. Even though I know she is trying to hide it, I can see the slight circles underneath her eyes. She looks sad, and it breaks my heart. She shouldn’t look this way, she shouldn’t have to worry about her father’s burdens. Neither should I.

  A loud slam comes from the other bathroom. “Is that your opponent in the girl’s bathroom?”

  I nod. “That’s him.”

  She snickers and shuts the door behind her. “At least you got the men’s bathroom.”

  She’s too damn cute. “It was tough, but I finally got him down long enough for him to tap out. I was not changing in the girl’s bathroom.”

  Layla rolls her eyes and leans against the wall. “Any sign of him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, pulling at her jeans. “Nope. He finally stopped calling. I guess he’s given up.”

  I highly doubt it, but I nod and take a seat on the closed toilet seat. Since a chair is too much to ask for my “locker room.” Tapping my leg, I watch as Layla takes a seat on my lap. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course,” she says. “I’m here.”

  Running my fingers through her hair, I shake my head. “No, I mean in here.” I point toward her chest. A frown forms on her face, and I know the answer already.

  “I just want this to all be over. I want Damon and this guy to leave me alone.”

  “Why don’t we take it to the police, I don’t understand why you don’t want to.”

  Layla closes her eyes shut and places her hands on each of my shoulders. “Look, I told you, Detective Vice isn’t going to help us. He knows about my hustling in high school and doesn’t believe me.”

  “So, who did you hustle in high school? What happened?”

 
“I had loaded dice. I had seen my dad use them before. My grandparents didn’t have a lot of money, and I wanted an Xbox. I hustled the principal’s son and got suspended for gambling on school property.”

  “You wanted an Xbox?”

  She narrows her eyes and smirks. “Yeah, you never wanted one?”

  I laugh, I can’t help it. “Yeah, I had one, but I’m a guy. What did you play Barbie’s Sweet Sixteen?”

  She drops her mouth open in this adorable way and places her hands on her hips. “I’m a Halo expert, buddy. And don’t get me started on Call of Duty.”

  “Wow, your hot scale just went up like ten points in one second.”

  Layla’s cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink, and a soft giggle escapes her lips. If I weren’t going to fight in two minutes, I would take her against this damned bathroom wall.

  “Well, I’ll have to show you my skills…” she leans in and sucks my earlobe in-between my teeth “…after your fight.” She stands up and walks to the door. “Knock ‘em out quick.” She winks and disappears behind the faded bathroom door.

  Sexy. As. Hell.

  The faint sound of the crowd brings me back to reality. “Okay,” I whisper. “I can do this.” I stand and swat the air a few times to get my blood flowing.

  Several minutes later I hear a knock at the door. The door creaks open, and Jason Powers sticks his head in. “Five minutes, Jacks. You ready to get your ass whooped?”

  Jason Powers is the playboy of the university. I’ve wanted to kick his ass for four years. With me being some of his only competition at the school it’s left him bitter.

  “I’m ready to beat the hell out of you,” I say, lacing up my shoes.

  Jason leans against the door, clipboard in hand. “Too bad I’m not fighting.”

  Yeah, because you would get your pretty ass handed to you. “Riigghht,” I say, standing up. “Let’s do this.”

  I’m waiting at the entrance by the bathrooms. Jason is screaming at the fans, jumping up and down, being his normal obnoxious self. My palms are sweating not only because I’m about to go into a fight, but because I’m anxious for the fight to be over. Layla and I are heading to my mom’s house after the match. There isn’t much safety here with scorpion guy knowing where we live.