Heaven to Hell (A Naughty Box Production Book 1)

by Rue Volley

  The door of the bar opened and music from the band floated toward me, reminding me that it wouldn’t matter if I had a knife in my chest. If I were late, I’d owe Frankie. And the kind of payment he looked for wasn’t the kind I was in the mood to give.

  “Where the fuck have you been? You’re thirty minutes late! He tore into me the second I entered the backroom. Forget the fact that I was just nearly run over by a truck, I was bleeding all over his floor. At least the blood from my back wouldn’t be noticed as strange.

  “Not now, Frankie.” I turned and looked at him. I could feel the bones tear through my skin as they pulsed.

  “Jesus, Mila. What the fuck?” He ran over and took my face in his hands.

  Something resembling compassion sparked in his eyes, and for a moment I was hopeful that he’d forget that I owed him thirty minutes. The man could do a lot of deranged things in thirty minutes.

  He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around my arm as he barked to Jose, one of the bouncers, to grab the first aid kit.

  “What happened?” he asked as he ushered me to the couch in his office.

  “I was running to get here on time, and out of nowhere a pickup truck came barreling out of the parking lot and almost hit me. I don’t know how I wasn’t hit, I froze, and the next this I knew I was sliding across the road.”

  “There’s a lot of gravel in this wound.” He took the shirt from around my arm and used a wet towel to clean it out.

  It took nearly an hour to clean me up and get me moving like half a human. Frankie gave me some random pill that had me feeling no pain and wrapped my arm in bandages. My ankle was taped tight to control the swelling. He pulled me up from the couch.

  “You okay to work?”

  I wasn’t, but I need the money and he knew it. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. You let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.” I hobbled toward the door, but he grabbed my wrist a little tighter than he should’ve.

  “You owe me thirty minutes.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against mine before he winked and let go.

  My stomach sank as I opened the door to the front of the bar. I should’ve known better than to think Frankie thought of anyone else but Frankie. Of course, after all the shit I’d done in my past, there was no reason to ever think I should be treated any better. And he wasn’t a bad guy. Because of him, I had a job. Because of him, I had food in the fridge. So what if he asked for a little in return? It was sex. And sex, I realized early on, was just sex.

  Except with Damien. That wasn’t just sex. That was something different. Something random. And something I’d never experience ever again.

  “Thank God the band is on a break. They sound like a bunch of cats in heat.” Megan sidled up next to me as I pulled beer for a couple of regulars. “You look like shit, doll.”

  “Thanks.” I could feel the lip-shaped imprint her lipstick left on my cheek. It wasn’t unwelcome and it brought in more tips. She and I were known to put on a show for the customers once in a while; a show that often continued after closing time.

  “Frankie said you got hit by a truck?”

  “Almost.” I rolled my shoulders and winced. “Almost hit by a truck.”

  “Why the fuck are you here?” She took one of the beers I pulled and handed it to a customer.

  “I need the money.” Plastering on my best fake smile, I carried the other two beers to the end of the bar.

  “You could get another job.”

  “So could you.”

  “The difference is, I can’t do anything else. I’ll be stuck in the shit hole until they carry my cold, dead body away. You’ve got options.”

  “Like what, Meg? What options do I have?”

  “You’re smart!”

  “I’m a high school drop out, remember?” I spit out one of the lies I held onto ever since Gabriel cast me out.

  “Right.” She chewed her lip. “You’re beautiful and super organized—”

  “Jesus Christ!” I laughed. “I’m so fucking organized that I was thirty minutes late because I was almost hit by a truck.”

  “Frankie noticed?”

  “Of fucking course he noticed. But what else can I do? He’s good to us and you know it.”

  “Listen,” she leaned in, “you and I should talk. I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you, and I haven’t been able to find the right time. I think, after the truck and all, I shouldn’t put it off anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Later.” She grabbed my face and kissed me softly on the lips, drawing a round of cheers from the men at the bar. “Promise you won’t leave until we talk?”

  “Fine. Now go.” I looked across the bar. “Frankie’s watching and we don’t need you owing him time too.”

  “Wait,” she turned. “Do me a favor. Eat something. You’re getting too skinny.”

  “Fine.” I rolled my eyes and laughed.

  She gave Frankie the finger, smiled sweetly, grabbed her tray, and made her way to the back table of new customers. I frowned. A large group of new drinkers usually meant trouble for the bar. The last thing I needed was to be ducking bottles and chairs.

  I was bent over, cleaning pint glasses when I felt someone take up the stool in front of me. “What can I getcha?” I didn’t look up.

  “What do you have on tap?”

  I froze. I knew that voice. Slowly, I looked up and stared into the soul-black eyes of Damien.

  A glass slipped out of my hand and hit the floor, bouncing off the rubber mat and onto my bad foot. I winced and tripped. Damien’s hands shot over the bar and caught me before I fell.

  “Thanks.” I pulled my gaze from him. I felt like I was hit in the chest with a bat. My heart raced, my stomach clenched, and my head swam with images of us in his apartment.

  “Are you okay, Mila?”

  I sucked in a breath as he said my name. “I’m fine.” I grabbed a beer from the fridge, opened it, and set it in front of him. There was no way it was normal to feel like this with someone. I was sure it was better to act like he didn’t matter, act like he didn’t affect me.

  “Mila,” Frankie yelled as the band took their places on the small stage, “ customers!” He nodded toward the group of men who looked at me like I was their last meal.

  “How can I help you?” I glanced at Damien from the corner of my eye and saw he was watching me over each sip of beer.

  “How ‘bout you come sit on my lap, pretty lady?” A particularly raunchy man with missing teeth smiled and patted the part of his lap that wasn’t holding up his enormous belly. I saw Frankie nod as if he expected me to do whatever it took to make money.

  “How ‘bout you order a beer first and we’ll see where the night takes us?”

  “I have a pretty good idea of where the night will take us. Why don’t we skip all the formalities and take care of business?” No teeth popped a cigarette between his lips, lit it, drew in a long drag, and blew it out in my face.

  “I’m pretty sure you can take care of your own business.”

  Toothless grabbed my wrist as I walked away. “I was told I’d get thirty minutes.”

  I looked at Frankie and realized he sold me out. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a hooker, and Frankie wasn’t my pimp.

  “Listen, douche bag, I don’t know what you were told but I’m not for sale. Get off me.” I yanked my hand from his grip.

  “Mila, I need to talk to you.” Frankie walked behind the bar and squeezed the bandages around my arm as he backed me up against the wall. Pain seared through me as my body instinctively attempted to take flight.

  “I think you need to take your hands off her.” Damien sipped his beer, a trucker hat low on his brow. I cursed the clench in my pussy. It was certainly not the time to throw out the “time to fuck” vibe.

  “I think you need to mind your own fucking business.” Frankie spat before turning his attention back to me. He breath reeked of beer and Meg
’s pussy.

  “I don’t want to ask again.”

  “I’ll put my hands wherever the fuck I want. You can go fuck yourself.”

  Damien climbed over the bar and grabbed Frankie by the arm, twisted him, and slammed his head into the wood. “I said you need to take your hands off her.”

  “Fuck you!” Frankie shouted.

  Damien calmly pulled back and popped Frankie’s shoulder out of its socket. He then turned, took my hand, and calmly guided me through the bar and out the door.

  “Get on.” He climbed onto a motorcycle and held out a helmet.

  I stood, staring at him, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

  “Seriously, Mila. Get on the bike.”

  I took the helmet and held it in my hands.

  “Please. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t know.” I knew I should run the hell away from him. From Frankie. From the bar. From everything. It’s what I did best. Gabriel wasn’t there, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know where I was. There was no reason for me to stay.

  Instead, I placed the helmet on my head and took his hand as he helped me climb on behind him.

  I didn’t care where we were going. I didn’t care who he was.

  I didn’t care.

  SIX

  I don’t know how long I slept or what day it was. All I knew was when I woke up, it was next to him. And unlike the last time I was in his bed, I wasn’t in a rush to leave. Reaching over, I ran my hand along the bandages on my arm and saw they were new. Damien must’ve changed them for me.

  I was wearing a shirt that was a few sizes too big and a brand new pair of panties that I hoped hadn’t once belonged to someone else.

  I didn’t want to disturb him, so I carefully slipped out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. It didn’t look as dingy as it had before, and I was happy to see he had toilet paper available.

  I noticed bloody bandages in the trash and a bottle of pain pills on the sink. A small knock at the door startled me. Damien was standing on the other side with sleep in his eyes and a bag in his hand.

  “Here.”

  “What’s this?” I took the bag.

  “A toothbrush, some deodorant, a hairbrush. Just stuff I picked up while you were sleeping. I also,” he pointed at the mirror, “bandaged the, uh, wounds on your back.”

  “Thank you.” I stared at the floor feeling more exposed than I should considering I’d been more naked with him than anyone else since Eryn.

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to walk away.

  “Damien.”

  He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  I shifted my weight, relieved to find my ankle didn’t hurt as much as it did before. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Awhile.”

  “How long is awhile?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days?” My stomach fell. “How is that possible?”

  “Well, you were nearly run over by a truck, almost forced to sell yourself because your boss is a dick fuck, and you pretty much quit your job. I’d say your body and mind, needed the rest.”

  “I lost my job?” I remember Damien popping Frankie’s shoulder. I remember walking out.

  He laughed and leaned against the doorjamb. “All of that and you’re worried about your job?”

  “Not like I’m independently wealthy. I needed that job.”

  “That job was shit and you know it. You’re better than that job.”

  “But it was my job. You don’t know anything about me.”

  I moved to step around him but he stood solid in the doorway.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need my stuff. I need my phone. I need to call Frankie before he gives away all my shifts.” He finally let me walk past, and I dug through my purse but couldn’t find my phone. Tears stung my eyes and I became more frantic. “Fuck!” I threw my bag at him. “Do you have any idea what I’ll owe him for this?” I squatted in the middle of his living room and buried my face in my hands.

  “Oh, I think I have an idea. A few blow jobs, a dick in the ass?”

  Shocked, I looked up and saw anger cross Damien’s eyes. It infuriated me. “You don’t fucking know me.” I stood and pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t judge me.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “I don’t want your fucking pity either.” I shoved him.

  He crossed his arms across his chest and said, “I don’t pity you. I want you.”

  I snorted out half a laugh and stood. “Want me?” I closed the small gap that separated us. “You want me?” I placed my toes on the top of his feet.

  He responded by fisting the hem of my shirt, pulling me toward him. Giving him my best smile and heavy lidded gaze, I lifted my right foot and stomped hard on top of his. The curse he sent me under his breath satisfied me momentarily.

  “Too fucking bad. Where the hell have you been the past month when I wanted you? Where have you been? Oh right, running around in my head making me think I hear things, see things.” I grabbed his jaw and shoved his head against the wall. “You don’t fuck someone like that and disappear. You don’t make someone feel something they swore to God they’d never allow themselves to feel again. You don’t. You just don’t.” I pushed his head back again for emphasis before turning and walking away. If he caught even a whiff of how bad I wanted him inside me, it would have been all over.

  A familiar burn spread across my shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to claw inside my body and rip out whatever Gabriel had left inside me. In the small moment, I welcomed whatever death had in store for me.

  A tear slipped down my cheek. I was tired of using and being used. I was tired of always getting the shit end of the stick. I needed to get the fuck out of his apartment. I needed to pack my shit. I needed to leave. I’d been in one place too long anyway. Gabriel probably knew exactly where I was and was simply biding his time. It was, once again, time to go.

  “You know what?” I whipped around to face him but he was gone. A tap on my shoulder had me jumping out of my skin.

  “What?” He smirked.

  I turned and looked toward the bathroom before facing him again. “How the fuck did you get here?”

  “What do you mean?” He leaned against the wall, his broad shoulders blocking my path.

  “I fucking mean you were just standing in the fucking bathroom and now you’re down the hall standing in front of me.” My arms gestured wildly.

  “Why are you running?” he asked.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Answer mine first.”

  “That’s not how this works.” I gestured between the two of us.

  “Then why don’t you tell me what’s going on. I thought we had something going one minute and the next you’re ready to bolt. Why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “You’re crazy. There is nothing going on between us. We fucked. We fucked hard and we fucked long, but that is all we did. If you’re going to get all attached and shit, I don’t have time for it.”

  “Make time.” He grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past. “Don’t run.”

  “Don’t talk to me like you know me.”

  “Oh, but I do know you, Mila. I’ve known you for a long fucking time. Longer than you can fathom. I’ve waited too long for you to come into my life to just let you run out now. You are going to sit here and fucking listen to me. If you don’t like what I have to say, then leave.”

  He waited until I reluctantly dropped into an armchair and curled up, refusing to look at him.

  “Don’t pout.” He reached over and pulled my lower lip. He licked his lips, groaned quietly, and pulled away. It was somewhat comforting to know I wasn’t the only one affected.

  I said nothing while I waited for him to speak. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  He sat on the edge of the sofa and began, “Life can’t be planned. As much as you’ve mapped out, as
set as your path is, you’ll never be prepared for the connection you can’t break. For the one you can’t shake. You’ll never see them coming. You’ll never be fully satiated from the pent up anger disguised as lust. From the hatred masked as love. Beautiful lies you’ll tell yourself. Your denials will be perfect. You’ll light yourself on fire just to prove you still feel. The ache of life without turmoil will cloud your mind, and you’ll wonder how anyone else could live without passion. Because what you have is real. Passion. Unbridled fear at a costume ball for lovers.

  “Others will look at you and judge. When you’re black and blue and racing back for more, you’ll laugh because they don’t know. They don’t know what you know. Pain is better than not feeling anything at all. And the temporary bandage you wrap each other up in does little more than bridge the distance to the next war. After all, to you, to her, to him, this is what you deserve. No more. Probably less. You’re hungry and all you need to curb your appetite for destruction is standing across from you in the mirror.”

  I understood everything he was saying and hung on his words as if he were speaking my thoughts. He knew me in ways I tried to hide from everyone else, in ways I hid from myself.

  “Something in your broken heart will tell you what you’re doing is right. Your fractured soul will hide the messiness, the inevitable crash you’re heading toward with vague promises and warnings that your last chance has arrived. And when they rush to save you from yourself, you’ll smile because they’re idiots. They’ll never know what it’s like to crash. And you want to crash. You want to crash so fucking bad that you’d trade your soul for it.”

  “I want to crash.” I whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Would you trade your soul?” He was standing above me.

  “I want to crash.”

  “I need you to tell me what you would give if I could make that happen for you.”