Even at Your Darkest

by A J Love

  I growl and ignore them to finish cleaning the oil off Trev’s bike that I’ve been working on this afternoon. The Black Rippers have actually turned out to be decent customers, and they take up most of my time. They have a habit of trashing their rides; I choose not to ask questions. I can’t complain. The money is good and they don’t fuck about. They’ve also made sure I’m aware that if I get any crap while here, they have my back. It’s not necessary, but better a friend than foe.

  “So, this girl of yours?” Trev starts.

  “She’s not my girl,” I cut in.

  He snorts. “Anyway, she’s not one of Rick’s girls, is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who’s Rick?” Nolan asks.

  “Rick Michaels. He owns the main strip joint in town—Liquid. He’s a second-rate criminal,” Grip answers.

  “And a first-rate asshole,” Trev adds.

  “If she’s there,” Grip’s eyes grow serious. “The you gotta get her out, whether she’s your girl or not. It ain’t safe for anyone there.”

  I shake off the warning and finish the job, so they can get the hell out, ignoring Nolan’s silent questions. Who am I to tell Layton where she should and shouldn’t work? We fucked, that’s all. Nothing more and nothing less. Still, Grip’s words stay with me as I make the drive home later that day and piss me off enough to knock at her door. She doesn’t answer, so I check the time and huff out a breath when I see it’s after seven. She’s probably working at that club tonight, probably getting ready to expose the most intimate parts of her for all to see.

  I pull my cell out and tap out a text to Grip. Where is this Liquid?

  His reply is almost instant. I’ll pick you up. It’s not the place to go by yourself, brother.

  I shake my head, annoyed, and head into my apartment to shower. I’m only going to make sure she’s okay, that’s it. She may not even be there, she may be working at some other club. Some place where seedy men go, but the girls are safe.

  I just want to make sure, that’s all. I’m just being a good fucking neighbor.

  Yeah, Thatch. Keep telling yourself that.

  I don’t know what I expected to walk into when we pulled up outside of the club, but the classy red and black interior wasn’t it. The way Grip has been banging on at me about this Michaels guy, I was expecting peeling wallpaper, whips and chains, and fat, greasy men. Half of the guys in here look like they have more than enough cash.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Grip leans in and says, “even assholes have money, brother. Just watch yourself. We’ve already been clocked. The Rippers aren’t exactly loved in these parts.”

  I snort. “Are you liked anywhere?”

  He laughs and shrugs as we head over to a small round table at the back. From where we’re sitting we can see the whole stage, but we’ll only be dark figures to whoever is on them. The last thing I need is Layton seeing me creeping on her.

  A short bundle of red hair and giggles sidles up to the table and flashes us a wicked grin. I all but hear Grip swallowing his balls next to me.

  “Hi, boys,” she purrs. “I’m Sasha. What can I get you guys?”

  “Water,” I grunt, not interested in her. I keep my eyes on the stage.

  “And what about you, handsome?” She asks Grip.

  “Whiskey on the rocks, darlin’,” he smirks. “And your number.”

  “You can have the whiskey,” she leans down low to him. “But you can’t afford my number, darlin.”

  She finishes on a wink and struts off toward the bar. I laugh as Grip stares after her.

  “Haven’t you got a wife?” I ask.

  “Sure, and a couple of brats. Sadie and the kids are my whole world. Doesn’t stop her from banging whoever the hell she wants, though,” he laughs. “We’ve got somewhat of an open relationship.”

  I shake my head, not really wanting to know more. Other people’s relationships are exactly that—for other people. I turn my attention back to the stage as the lights dim, ignoring Sasha as she places our drinks on the table. The maestro announces that the main event is about to start and introduces their star of the night. I breathe a small sigh of relief when he calls the name Ruby and not Layton. Maybe she isn’t here after all. The crowd cheers, obviously a fan of this girl, and I settle back in my seat. I pick up my water and drink, only half watching the stage. I feel like an idiot, coming here to check up on her. She clearly got on fine with her life before I moved in. What the hell am I doing?

  Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of a rose tattoo and turn almost automatically. The grip on my glass tightens when I see the star of the fucking show wrap her leg around the pole in the center and twirl. She flashes a wicked red smile at the audience and tosses a wink out to some guy at the front. He thanks her with a ten-dollar bill that he shoves into the string of her thong.

  I don’t know who the fuck this Ruby is, but her real name is Layton, and I am struggling to contain myself as the rest of the assholes around the stage toss money at her.

  “Stay calm,” Grip says beside me, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “They have strict policies in here about people getting shitty over the girls.”

  I growl under my breath and keep my eyes on her as she performs, her body fluid like water as she moves. I watch without blinking, without, I think, breathing. She’s beautiful, and she’s letting the whole fucking room see it.

  When her lacy bra comes off, I stand and leave, not caring if Grip follows me or not. I don’t look back, and head straight out of the doors.

  Outside, I ignore the looks of the men in black at the door and keep my head down. I make it around the corner, just before I slam my fist into the wall. The pain shoots through me but I squash it and hit the wall again.

  I know Grip is close to me, but he doesn’t say anything. I rub my hands over my face, desperate to get the image of her out of my head. God, I hate it, fucking hate how comfortable she looked up there letting those animals throw cash at her. I want to go back in there and drag her ass out; the urge is almost overwhelming and it hurts like a motherfucker keeping it in check.

  Fuck.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  I wasn’t supposed to give a damn.

  “So, she’s not your girl, huh?”

  I barely flick Grip a glance as he drives me back to my apartment. “No. She’s not.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  I thank him for the ride and head straight up to the apartment, shutting myself in there. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I need to let this shit go.

  She’s just a pussy, and I’m just a dick.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  Layton

  “There’s still no McKenna,” Vinny tells me down the phone, “And the new girl has stopped showing up too. I don’t know what’s happening to these girls. At least Jess had the decency to file a fucking resignation. I’ve no idea where McKenna is.”

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief. At least if Vinny doesn’t know where she is, then she’s probably managed to get herself away.

  “Are you calling me to ask me to come in?” I ask, praying to whoever the hell is listening that he isn’t. After working the last three Thursday nights and dealing with the corporate assholes, I really don’t want to work this one.

  Vinny laughs, “No, relax. I made you a promise, and I keep my promises. I was just letting you know what was happening. Look, I know you don’t really talk to anyone, but if you hear anything about McKenna can you let me know?”

  Shit. I cough. “Yeah, sure,” I lie. “But why would I hear anything? She hasn’t spoken to me for months.”

  Not a complete lie. She dropped me like a sack of shit when she discovered all the Class A's, and my reluctance to follow her down that particular path.

  “I know, I know,” he chuckles. “But she did bring you in, and you’re probably the only person that she’d ever go to. I mean, you’re not exactly threatening.”r />
  Weirdly, I take a little offence to the comment. I can be an asshole when I want to be, sort of.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” I say, swapping arms with the phone to grab my purse as I head out of the grocery store. “But don’t hold your breath.”

  “Yeah, okay, Lay. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Do you need a ride from the store?”

  “No, I’ll see you there.”

  I click off before he can ask questions, not wanting to tell him I’m not working at the store tomorrow. For the first time ever, I have the night off the club and then the day off the store. I glance at the time on my cell as I walk back toward my apartment. I officially have thirty hours off work. Seriously, I could cry with joy over this. In fact, I might go get myself curled up in bed and do just that as I plan to sleep for at least twenty of those hours.

  I take the stairs up to home two at a time, glancing only briefly at the door on the left before quickly letting myself in to the one on the right. This is progress. I’m no longer staring at it all moon-faced for an hour before sulking away. I don’t know what I was expecting—he’s not the nicest of guys—but I figured after the early morning session we had last month he would have at least said hi.

  Apparently not.

  And I should get over it.

  I mean, I saw his face when he learned what I did for a living. He’s not the first guy to ditch me over it, and I doubt he’ll be the last. It was obviously just me that felt like the fucking earth moved when we were together. Ugh, I hate myself for being like this. It’s the exact reason why I don’t like to overcomplicate my life. I had one night where I found some spine for about half a minute and now it’s causing me nightly headaches.

  I force him out of my head and look around the apartment. I sigh. It’s a mess. I have seriously neglected my cleaning for weeks now and I know I won’t be able to settle until I’ve dealt with it. I start by going into my room and changing into shorts and a crop top, then I open all the windows to let some air in. I open the front door and prop it with the plant pot, then pull all of my cleaning supplies out of the cupboard. The one good thing about being raised by my mother is that I know how to clean house, and I know how to do it properly.

  I wrap my hair in a messy bun on the top of my head, turn my stereo loud, and then get to work.

  It takes longer than I’m proud of; it really was disgusting, but finally the place doesn’t look like a shelter for the homeless. Taking my disinfectant spray and a new rag, I head out to the hallway. I’m a girl on a mission now, and this awkward communal space between mine and his is gross. I’ve already done the window out there and the railings, now the floor. It’s not like the super is ever going to take care of it.

  I brush up the debris first, scooping it up and dropping it into the trash. Then I spray the liquid all over the floor and drop to my hands and knees. The only way to get anything done is through grit and elbow grease as my father has always said. I blow out a breath and begin to scrub.

  I’m almost done when I feel him behind me. And, of course, I’m bent over on all fours. Why do these things happen to me? I groan and wonder idly how fast it would kill me if I was to smother myself with the disinfectant soaked rag in my hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  I sigh. Not fucking fast enough.

  “Cleaning,” I answer him simply. “Sorry, I’ve nearly finished.”

  “Hi, Layton,” I turn to the voice and smile when I see Nolan and some other guy with Kane. “How’s it going?”

  “Oh, you know, all good down here,” I reply. “You good?”

  I like Nolan. He was cool when he helped Moody Ass fix my stuff, and he’s hilarious. I know that him and Kane go way back, but I don’t know this other guy. He looks all right, as men go. The guy’s not staring at my tits or ass which is a bonus. He’s probably another friend from forever ago. It’s not like Kane Thatcher is the kind of guy to attract a bunch of pals.

  No.

  No, that’s not fair. I don’t even really know Kane. He could be the happiest pig on the farm for all I know. Maybe it’s just me he doesn’t want to be buddies with. Not many people do want to do the friend thing with a stripper.

  “I’m Grip,” new guy beams. “Nice to meetcha.”

  “Grip?” I ask, amused. “Really?”

  He laughs and holds a hand out to help haul me up. I like him already. “That’s me. I like my women with hips big enough for me to,” he winks. “Grip.”

  I snort a laugh. How ridiculous.

  “Got your music loud enough?” Nolan laughs. “We could hear it in the parking lot. I thought someone was having a party that they forgot to invite me to.”

  “No parties here,” I laugh. “Ever.”

  I dust myself down, knocking off all the bits of crap that I seem to have collected while down there. I really wish I was wearing more. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body—I work hard to keep it in shape—but I can feel eyes on me and it’s making me feel like I’m at work. “Well, guys, it was good to see you,” I wipe the sweat off my forehead like a tramp, “but I need to go shower.”

  “You fixed it then?” Kane asks.

  “Uh, yeah,” I reply, choosing not to tell him that I called a guy and paid for someone to do it.

  I leave them standing there and head inside, kicking the door shut behind me before he can quiz me. Not that I think he’ll care about that now. We haven’t spoken a word since that night. I glance briefly at the kitchen sink, letting the memory of him taking me hit me all over again. A shiver runs through me as I recall it. He might be an asshole, but he definitely knew what he was doing. And I all but begged for him, didn’t I? Damn vodka. Which is a lie I keep telling myself, as it was definitely me, and definitely not the vodka. Still, I should avoid that drink while he’s around. And generally just avoid him. He’s not good for my life plan, or my mental health.

  He might be the devil.

  A deceiving package of hard muscles, harsh words, and a beautiful face.

  He’d destroy me, or we’d destroy each other.

  The devil was an angel once, just one wrapped in sin, and Kane Thatcher is drowning in sin.

  I shake off the thought of him and walk into my bathroom, stripping off my clothes ready to once again wash the memory of him from my skin.

  This is the best day ever.

  Which makes me the most pathetic twenty-one-year-old ever.

  Still, I sigh happily as I curl into the sofa. I’ve been here for the last hour or so watching a crappy movie and I feel amazing. All I have to do tonight is decide what to cook for dinner. I’ve already settled it with myself that I’m not having takeout, no matter how appealing Chinese food is right now. I may be getting slightly more cash from the club at the moment, but I’m still not flush with it. Plus, all spare money is going toward my new apartment fund. I am in desperate need of a new place, one where I don’t have to come and go like the SAS in order to avoid certain neighbors. My only option is to move.

  When the movie finishes, I head into the kitchen and pull open the fridge. In all my excitement at having time off, and with Vinny whining down my cell, I forgot to buy groceries, so there isn’t much to choose from. Tomatoes, half a block of cheese which is probably best left untouched, and one bottle of beer. This isn’t going to work.

  Huffing, I change into some jeans in my bedroom and hunt for a shirt. I find a thin, white one on the back of a chair at the kitchen table. Frowning at the neatly folded blue fabric in the center, I groan out loud. I’d forgotten about Kane’s curtains. It’s not like I can just toss them, he earned them by fixing everything and he paid for the material. I finished them ages ago and should have passed them to him by now.

  Okay, Layton. You can do this.

  I give myself an internal pep talk and find a box to shove them into. Stuffing some cash into the back pocket of my jeans, I slip on my flip flops and head out the door. I pause before knocking on Kane’s door. What if he blows me off? Or laughs
at me? God, what if he’s forgotten all about the stupid curtains and thinks I’m offering him a gift as some sort of thank you for fucking me into another world? Nope. I can’t do this.

  Instead, I place the box on the floor in front of his door and rush down the stairs.

  I’m such a chickenshit.

  Kane

  She hits me like a barrel and almost knocks me on my ass.

  I bang into the wall behind me and grab her around the waist to stop her from falling. Her eyes round out as she turns to look at me, her breathing heavy from the shock.

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she rushes, her chest rising against mine. “I wasn’t looking, and I just needed to get out and—”

  I cut her off, releasing her. “It’s fine.”

  She looks like I’ve just slapped her in the face and I instantly want to pull her back into me. Seeing her before was fucking torture, especially since she was bent over with that perfect ass in the air, but I’ve had to cut myself off. Not that it’s helped. I still can’t get her out of my goddamn head; the way she took all of me, the way she moaned my name and begged for me. Fuck, I’m even hearing it in my sleep.

  Layton chews on her lip slightly and then turns quickly and heads down the rest of the stairs.

  “Hey!” I call after her. Shit. Damn. Bastard. What am I doing? “Where are you going?”

  She’s at the bottom now and turns to look up to me, “I’m just running to the grocery store.”

  “Why?” I take a few steps down to her. “You’re not working tonight?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “It’s my night off. I need stuff for dinner.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you.”

  I don’t give her time to respond and walk by her to the car lot, ignoring how much I feel like an idiot with his first crush. Jesus, I’m taking her to the grocery store for an excuse to be with her. I need to take her somewhere else, somewhere she’ll finally relax. Fuck, I don’t know who I am anymore. I can hear her footsteps behind me, so I open the passenger door of the truck and gesture for her to climb in.