“Hold on,” she whispers and shuts the door.
I stand there counting and picturing fuzzy baby animals to avoid going ten kinds of Hulk on the front door.
Layla knows me better than to think I’m going to walk away with a simple brush off from Axelle. I don’t know what’s going on—maybe she really is sick. All I know is I’m not moving a motherfucking inch until I hear it from her mouth.
Impatient, I reach for the door and twist. Locked? I pull out my key just as the door inches open.
My heart slams into my ribs so hard I stumble back a step. Layla is dressed in a fire red dress that she wears like a second skin. Her honey-colored breasts are pushed up and overflowing at the top, while the bottom cuts off just inches below her perfectly round ass. And to top it off, she’s wrapped in a big red bow. I feel my hand splayed over my chest before I realize I’d put it there. “You… you’re…” I blow out a long breath and blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.
“Blake, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”
Her words bring me back. I fix my eyes on her, and damn if her body in that dress killed me, her face and hair just buried me. “Mouse, you look like an angel.”
She doesn’t blush. No smile, not even a twitch of her lips. This isn’t my Layla. “I’m sick, Blake. We’ll uh… I’ll take a rain check, okay?”
I rub my head and tug at as much hair as I can fit between my fingers. “I don’t get what’s going on. Axelle’s lying to me, you’re fucking lying to me. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Wait, why won’t they let me in the house? A fiery rage explodes behind my ribs. My vision blurs, and I step back. “Who’s in there, Layla?” My growled words are the first thing that gets a response.
Her eyes grow wide, and her jaw falls open. “Why would you say that?” The pitch of her voice is unusually high.
“Move away from the door.”
“Blake, no—”
“Who the fuck is in there?” Fuck this. I slam into the door and stumble into the tiny kitchen.
“Blake, no.” She grabs my arm and I shrug her off easily.
Kitchen’s empty. I move to the living room, where Axelle’s standing hunched over, her elbows locked to her sides, her hands balled together tight. What in the motherfucking hell is going on here?
There’s movement from the hallway that catches me off guard. I spin around fast.
A man saunters toward me with the confidence of a fucking royal. “You lost, boy?”
Twenty-seven
Blake
I move fast and unthinking. On pure possessive instinct, I’m inches from the guys face. “Who the fuck you calling ‘boy’?” I spit my words through clenched teeth.
“Blake, no,” Layla says from the kitchen doorway.
A whimpering sob comes from Axelle’s direction in the living room.
“It’s okay, Elle. Your mother’s little toy was just leaving.” He swings his gaze from Axelle back to me. “Weren’t you, boy?”
He called Axelle, Elle. This is Stew, the cocksucker who ruined my woman’s life. The one who belittled her, embarrassed her, fucked her against her will. Rage, hot and welcome, floods my body. I’ve been waiting for this day. My fists clench, and my heart races to throw the first punch. It’s time to teach Stew a lesson.
He’s a dead man.
I put my nose inches from his, which isn’t hard. The dickhead’s my size in height and not far behind in weight. “You’ve got one chance to step outside with me. One. Chance. You pass it up, I’ll drag your ass out of here. But you and I are going to settle this man to man, whether you like it or not.”
Stew smiles and chuckles. “Oh, that’s funny. Laylay, you didn’t tell me how funny your little friend is.”
He moves toward Layla with an outstretched arm. Her body visibly tenses.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I roar.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Excuse me, but I’ll touch my wife if I damn well please.”
“She’s not your wife. Not anymore.”
“I beg to differ. I’m contesting our divorce. We’re still married.” He hooks Layla over her shoulders and drags her to his side. “I let her go for a few months so she could get her head straight. But I decided it’s been long enough.” He runs his hand through her hair, and she cringes. “It is Valentine’s Day, after all. The day for lovers.”
My head pounds, and I’m dizzy with the urge to attack. I’d knock the shit out of this guy, but I can’t. Not in front of Axelle. Fuck. Killian should be here soon. He can get her out of here. I can hold off until then.
“If you don’t mind, my wife and I have some catching up to do.” The lascivious curl of his lips makes my muscles jump to get at him.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to kill me to get alone with her.”
Layla pulls away from Stew, only to be pulled back. “Blake, please—”
“Look at you, throwing out the threats.” Stew runs a finger down her bare arm, but she doesn’t cringe away from his touch. “How about this, you leave right now or I’ll call the police.”
I bark out a laugh. “Call ‘em, fuckface. You’re the one they’ll be wrestling out of here in cuffs. City of Las Vegas doesn’t look kindly on sexual predators.”
“I’m her husband. You’re an intruder.”
“Blake, please, just go.” Layla’s pleading voice calls my attention. Her mouth is locked in a tight line, and her shoulders are set back.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m okay, but I need you to leave,” she says with a firm edge in her voice.
Has she lost her damn mind? “I’m not fucking leaving you with this guy.”
“I want you to leave.”
I shake my head. She can’t be serious. “No.”
“It’s over, Blake.” Her usually warm eyes are cold and hard.
“The hell it is.” Nausea curls in my gut.
She leans toward me, but not enough to get out from under that fucker’s arm. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to see you. Not now, or ever again. You were a distraction. Nothing more.”
I flinch and take a step back. “You don’t mean that.”
Her body leans a fraction of an inch into Stew’s. “I mean it. I’m married, Blake. Did you really think we’d have a future?”
Tilting my head, I glare at the woman whose bed I was in hours ago and is now as familiar as a stranger. “Why are you doing—”
“If you don’t get out, I’ll call the cops myself.”
Axelle sobs from the living room. “Mom.”
A billion sharp pains splinter my chest, like being stabbed on repeat and never dying. “Mouse?”
“Get the fuck out!” Her chest is heaving, her face flushed.
Her words shake and rattle around inside, destroying my earlier anger and replacing it with nothing.
Void.
Stew steps to the door and swings it open wide, flashing a razor-sharp grin. “You heard the woman. Out.”
I can’t believe this. She’s choosing him over me. All the reasons why I don’t date women with baggage flood back. That shit holds on so tight that it destroys any chance of happiness with anyone else. Here’s proof. No one can take her out of an abusive situation. That’s on her. And if she wants to stay in her fucked-up life with her fucked-up husband, well… fuck her.
“This is bullshit.” I walk up to Layla, and she straightens her shoulders and steels her expression.
I used to find that shit adorable. Now I see it for what it really is. Fake confidence. A big fat fucking lie. Just like my mom and all her bullshit. Layla’s no different. She’s not the strong woman I thought. She’s an insecure housewife who’s cowering under the oppressive arm of her piece-of-shit husband. And the worst part is, her daughter’s standing here watching it. What the fuck kind of woman, knowing what that shit does to her, seeing firsthand what poison it is, would continue to do this?
No, this isn’t the woman I
fell in—fuck.
I smile, actually fucking smile and laugh. I’d never fall for a woman this stupid. Whatever shit she pulled over my eyes was potent. But I’ve seen the light. And I’m moving toward it and the hell away from this fuckstorm.
I look into the cold chocolate eyes of the woman who pulled my strings like a motherfucking puppet. “Well played. I gotta give it up to you. You had me fooled.” I move my eyes from Stew’s face back to Layla’s. “Yeah, you two belong together.” I direct a chin lift toward Axelle. “Tough break, kiddo. Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick our parents.”
Without looking back, I leave the apartment behind, along with the man I’ve been for the past month and a half. A life of one night stands, threesomes, and strip clubs is better than putting my fucking heart through a shredder. Yeah, suddenly Zeus’s Playground on Valentine’s Day doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
What’s that saying? The best way to get over a girl is to bang as many chicks as humanly possible in one night? Sounds like a brilliant idea.
Anything to dull the all-consuming pain that’s slashing my chest.
Layla
I’m numb.
Again.
Right back where I left off before I moved.
Exhaustion is the only thing that penetrates my deadened emotions.
Even unfeeling, I register that something was taken from me. Or rather, that I gave a part of myself away.
The look on Blake’s face when he left burns through my mind on an endless loop. The void in his green eyes when they stared right through me. The disgust on his face right before he walked out, as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I shut my eyes, blink, rub my temples, but nothing erases the memory.
I deserve that.
The words flew from my mouth on instinct. I knew he’d never leave unless I forced him to. When I said Stewart fights dirty, I wasn’t kidding. He’s had people fired for something as trivial as bringing him the wrong drink. Who knows what he’d do to Blake, the man sleeping with his wife. I had to get him to believe me. To see me as someone unworthy, who’d jerk him around for selfish reasons. In order to protect him, I had to hurt him.
“Elle, your date’s here.” Stewart calls to Axelle, who’s slumped over in my lap on the couch. “Would you rather me talk to him?”
Killian’s here? I didn’t even hear the door. Was Stewart waiting for him?
She hauls herself up, her expression mirroring the detachment I feel. “I got it.”
Stewart’s phone rings. “Remember what we talked about, Elle. Make it fast.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Talk to me.” He barks his words to the caller and walks into one of the bedrooms, I’m assuming for privacy.
Axelle watches him until he disappears then scurries to the side table and scribbles something on a piece of paper by the phone. I can’t imagine what she’d be writing, and I can’t bring myself to care.
I sit staring across the room while she gives Killian a handful of lies to get rid of him. He doesn’t push as hard as Blake, and within minutes she’s back with her head in my lap. My fingers run through her hair, pulling loose all the curls we spent the afternoon perfecting. A perfect illustration of my life.
I’d worked so hard to come this far. Getting back the person I used to be, one piece at a time. I’ve been molding and shaping those pieces, strong-arming them into place. And finally, I started to see the shadow of who I was before Stewart fire-bombed my life at sixteen. All to have it destroyed in minutes.
Part of me wonders if I should’ve let Blake and Stewart fight. If I had, maybe now we’d be in the comfort of his arms. In the safety of his house, and far away from the memories of what we used to be.
Ruined. Broken. Beyond repair.
Blake will never forgive me.
It’s over.
Blake
The music throbs through my already aching body. The fall from the adrenaline rush is always a bitch. Luckily, a few shots of whiskey with beer chasers make the fall less excruciating.
A blonde named Trix swivels her hips on stage. She looks like a girl I know. Her hair the same shade of sunshine, and her body just as tiny and tempting. But her tits are a lot bigger, and I can tell she doesn’t have a jagged scar on her lower belly from a shitty C-section. But all that aside, she looks like that girl. Even her eyes seem as dark at this distance. I imagine for a second that she is that girl. It’s a fucked up game to play, but it feels good. Paying for a woman’s attention is a lot fucking easier than earning it.
Less messy. Less painful.
My stand-in fantasy girl dips down low, her breasts close to my face. “Do you like what you see?”
Her nipples are darker than that girl’s, but they look pretty good. I’m sure they don’t taste like vanilla. They’re probably bitter, like the smell of the perfume that wafts off my stand-in’s body in waves. But I can pretend.
“Yeah, I do.” I slip my fingers into her hair, running them down one long strand. Not as silky, but not bad.
“Fifty for a lap dance.” She leans in, and I feel her breath against my ear. I tilt my head and imagine she’s asking for what she wants. Begging for me to touch her. Just like that girl. “Two-fifty if you want to make it private.”
She pulls back and twirls around, allowing me a moment to check out what she’s offering.
“How private?” I down the rest of my beer and notice the waitress dropped another shot in front of me. I throw that back too.
“It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ll make it as private as you want, baby.”
Done. “Lead the way.”
She giggles. “Let me go clear a room. I’ll be right back.”
I watch her g-stringed ass walk away and then stare blindly in front of me. Not seeing, not feeling, just being. This is a much better way to live. I feel sorry for all the dumb fucks that put their feelings out there. Who share personal things with people who could and most likely will end up walking away. Leaving and taking a chunk of their soul upon departure. I laugh. No one will ever make me that weak again.
“Interesting place to spend V-Day, Blake.” The female voice comes from my side.
I jerk when I see who it is. “Look who’s talking? What the fuck’re you doing here?”
“I brought her.” Jonah’s voice rumbles from my other side.
My head swivels back and forth between Raven’s grin and Jonah’s scowl.
“Dude, you brought your pregnant wife to a strip club on Valentine’s Day?” I laugh, and think that just days ago I thought of bringing that girl here too. “Man, romance is well and truly dead.”
“So this is it, huh? I pictured it being, I don’t know, brighter?” Raven scans the bar and stage. “Also a little less…” She snaps her fingers. “You know… bow chickie bow wow.” She reaches into her pocket. “So how does this work?”
“Baby, don’t you dare pull out a dollar. We’re out of here in fifteen minutes. You promised.” Jonah’s growled words have Raven rolling her eyes.
“Wait, you asked him to bring you here? On Valentine’s Day?” I double over as laughter hits me hard. “That’s fucking funny.” Damn, it feels good to laugh. I’m still chuckling when Raven’s sympathetic expression dries the last of my humor. “What?”
She turns her body toward me. “Killer called. He told us about Stewart.”
I shrug. “So?”
She leans in. “He told us that Layla and Axelle cancelled on you guys.”
The sound of that girl’s name makes my stomach tip on end. I reach for my beer. Empty. Fuck.
So that’s why they’re here. “Wait, how did you know where to find me?” I ask Jonah.
“Lucky fucking guess.” The deadpan way he says it has me glaring.
“Killer said that Axelle was upset.” She isn’t giving up.
Yeah, she wasn’t the only one. I lock down my urge to start tossing tables and focus on a stripper with hot pink hair who’s ripping her top off to a Sex Pistol’s song.
“S
he slipped him a piece of paper, Blake.” Raven’s voice is louder than before.
I keep my stare to the stage, and try like hell not to listen.
“The paper said that she didn’t want to leave her mom.”
This gets my eyes, but only for a second. “They aren’t my problem anymore.”
Jonah leans in. “Killer thinks they didn’t want to cancel. He thinks they were forced to.”
“No, he’s wrong. He’s just a love-happy little prick who doesn’t know better. He thinks women are all soft and fucking sweet, and that they’re not conniving little bitches who act loyal and devoted until they’re forced to choose. They pretend to be strong, and fake it until they get me to believe I’m safe… and loved. Then turn on my ass. Ratting me out and kicking my pussy ass to the curb.” I hurl my empty beer bottle across the room, and it shatters against a wall.
The stripper on stage startles, and a bouncer makes his way over to me, only to get waved off by Jonah.
Raven grabs my forearm. “Not everything’s as it seems, Blake.”
I jerk out of her hold.
“Blake, man.” Jonah moves closer, but doesn’t touch me. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I’m not saying what she did is right,” Raven says. “But is it possible that she sent you away because she loves you?”
Yeah, just like my mom snitched on me because she loves me? I laugh without a hint of humor. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you know it.”
“Can’t you see? She’s sacrificing herself for you.”
“You don’t know her.”
“I don’t have to know her. I know love. And love makes you welcome torture if that means keeping the person you love safe.”
I swivel my body so that I’m facing Raven head on. “Safe? I’m a six-foot-two, hundred and ninety-pound jiu-jitsu black belt. You think I need a tiny woman to keep me safe? That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Blake,” Jonah warns.
I slump back in my chair, thinking this has turned into the most jacked-up day. Amazing how I could wake up with plans for the best night of my life, and now I’m here having to listen to this bullshit when all I want to do is be left alone with my lap dance. Fuck.
Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) Page 30