Like I got pushed around today. Like I got touched.
“I want to go home,” I whisper.
“I’ll take you there.”
He doesn’t know that I don’t really have a home. Not one that’s mine. Nothing much has changed after all. Lola’s just a name. She’s not a real person. In the end I’m still dumb little Hannah, with nowhere to go and no one to care.
Except Blue.
Chapter Four
“Did you see the new boy?”
I don’t look up from applying lipstick at the mirror. It’s not my lipstick. I swiped it from one of the older girls before she ran away. It’s also not my mirror. Nothing here is mine except the vacant eyes staring back at me. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
Lucy smirks. “They say he’s dangerous.”
I have a lot of experience with dangerous boys. “I’m not afraid.”
“You will be.” She lowers her voice. “They say he killed another kid at his last home.”
My eyes widen. Okay, that’s new. I’ve been in the system a long time. I’ve been in homes with a lot of strung out, violent kids. But I’ve never met a murderer. “What for?”
A shrug. “Dunno.”
It’s enough of a mystery to propel me to the window. I look downstairs where a maroon town car sits in the driveway. Mrs. Moreno is my caseworker too. She stands with a clipboard, her gray hair frizzy in the summer heat. A boy lounges against the hood of the car, his body relaxed, his expression bored. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and black boots.
Was he wearing the same thing when he killed a boy?
All I can think about is if the blood spattered on his white T-shirt.
* * *
He doesn’t walk me home. I guess that would be too sweet, some twisted version of wholesome. We could have held hands as if we were coming back from a date instead of leaving a strip club. I would have pretended the Grand was still a theater and that my whole life was just a show, something I could leave behind at the end of the night.
That was just a fantasy. In reality he led me to his beat-up truck and pushed me inside.
“Which way?” he asked as he turned out of the parking lot.
“Toward the freeway.”
A mechanical click from the door makes me jump. The locks. Right.
The Grand isn’t that safe, but near the freeway, where I live, is closer to a war zone. I don’t have much of a choice. It isn’t even my house. Stripping pays for the electric bill and keeps the fridge stocked, but I can’t move. Not yet.
He drives with a cool efficiency I envy. I’ve never driven a car. I don’t even have a license. Driving lessons aren’t exactly a priority when you’re living on the streets. But Blue knew how to drive when I first met him. He’d told me about the way he used to race the cars owned by his previous foster dad before he got kicked out.
There’s a new alertness to him now, a competency born of experience. He’s been to the military, driven through a real war zone, and I imagine he looked just like he does now, focused and calm.
“Why’d you come back to Tanglewood?” I ask softly. The alcohol has worn off, along with the laughing, blustery high I’d been on. Now I’m just thoughtful and curious—and uninhibited enough to act on it.
“Where else would I go?” His voice is bland, as if he doesn’t care where he ends up.
“And the Grand? Why work there?” I don’t know why I’m pushing him. It’s like pressing on a bruise. I know it’s going to hurt, but I can’t help myself. As sick as it is, I crave the pain.
And at least if he tells me why he’s here, at least if he pushes back and holds me down—that will be honest. It’s worth a lot to me, honesty. After a life of lies, it’s worth everything.
He grunts, and I think that’s all I’ll get, a caveman answer. A refusal. After a beat, he adds, “The pay is good.”
That makes me smile. “Yeah, it fucking is.”
His glance is dark, expression intent. “So that’s why you do it?”
My defenses go up fast and hard. “Do what? Fuck men for money?”
“You don’t fuck them.”
I hate how sure he sounds. I hate how right he is. “How would you fucking know what happens in the VIP rooms?”
“Because I watch you.”
I cross my arms to hide my shiver. We go under the big freeway bridge, the wide shadows smoothing over us like we’re underwater. “Take a right at the next light.”
He nods and keeps driving. I watch his profile in the moonlight, how hard it is, how fierce. I imagine him on a mission like that, heading off to kill someone. I wonder if he’s killed a person. No, I know he has. I just wonder how many. Maybe he’s on a mission right now. Maybe he’s planning on taking me down. Not by killing me. That would be too easy. He’s going to make me suffer.
Candy thinks I’m wrong. She thinks I’m overstating how much he hates me, that he doesn’t want to hurt me at all. Some days I want to believe her. He just wants to fuck you, she says, and some days—God, some days—I think I wouldn’t mind that at all.
But then I see those big hands grip the steering wheel, relaxed and powerful. I see his forearms flex. I see the memories in his eyes when he looks at me. And I think he can’t possibly forgive me. Not when I can’t forgive myself.
I point in silence at the remaining turns, one after another, rats in a maze.
He pulls into the driveway, so cracked down the middle we dip and roll in the seat. Before I can get out or even reach for the door, he has the engine turned off. Then he’s stepping out of the truck.
“No,” I say. “You don’t have to…”
It doesn’t matter. He can’t even hear me until he opens the door beside me. By then I’m too shocked to speak. No one has ever opened the door for me. It feels like some kind of extravagant gesture, one that can’t possibly be real. And definitely not sincere. It’s like he’s mocking me with it, making me see how it would be if we were actually dating, if he actually liked me, if I actually deserved for him to.
I step out of the truck quickly, stumbling in hurry and shame, still drunk but mostly sad.
I don’t wait for him to say anything. I just walk quickly to the door. His footsteps follow me. His heat follows me. Even his musky scent follows me, and I duck my head as if that will help me escape him. The door is blocking my path. To get through I’ll have to dig through my purse and find the key.
I’ll have to face him.
When I do, he’s standing two feet away. He has his hands in his pockets. It makes him seem strangely vulnerable. At the same time it makes his arm muscles thicken, and I can’t help but be aware of his strength, the inherent threat of his body.
“Good night,” I whisper, because I want him to leave.
“Hannah,” he says, his voice so low I barely hear it.
“My name is Lola.”
He sighs and steps closer. “Hannah, you and me, we have unfinished business.”
My throat tightens. I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready. “That was a long time ago.”
“Maybe so. But I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten how we were together. Or what you did. Have you?”
There’s a stampede in my heart, thundering loud enough and hard enough I think I might pass out. God, I want to disappear. I want to melt onto the warm night’s pavement. “Blue, I—”
The door opens behind me, and I gasp. I don’t like things sneaking up on me. Nona is standing in the doorway, a confused look on her face. “Hannah? What’s going on out here?”
It scares me to think she doesn’t know, that Blue could be any strange man and she still would have opened the door. That’s probably true. I could be getting attacked in an alley and she’d come to my defense. She’d get herself killed to protect me, and in this neighborhood, that’s a reasonable outcome. But I can’t leave her here. She needs someone to make sure the stove is off and the doors are locked. She needs someone to pay the bills.
Blue is looking at her, speculating. He puts his hand out. “Blue Eastman.”
Nona studies him for a moment. She doesn’t get lucid very often—and it’s worse in the middle of the night like now. But the hand extended must trigger an automatic response. She shakes his hand with a pleased smile. “Nona Owens.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Owens.”
And then suddenly it does feel like that imaginary date, that twisted version of wholesome where he brings me home at the end of the night. And here he is meeting my parent. Except Nona isn’t my real parent. She was just my foster mom for a few months. The only one to give a damn.
And Blue definitely isn’t my date.
“Go inside, Nona,” I tell her softly. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”
Her expression is worried. “Will he come too?”
“No, of course not. I’ll lock the door when I come in.”
“And turn off the stove,” she says as if reciting a poem.
Alarm flares inside me. “Did you cook something today?”
“No,” she says, a little wistful. “But I wanted tea.”
“I’ll make you tea,” I promise her. “Go inside and wait in the living room.”
She complies, and I sigh in relief. Having her face-to-face with Blue makes me nervous. Not that I think he would hurt her just to get back at me. He’s too fucking honorable for that. No, I don’t want him seeing her because it reveals too much about me. This run-down house that still manages to be the nicest building in a two-block radius. What must he think of me?
Then I don’t have to wonder anymore; he’s going to tell me.
He takes a step forward. Then another.
He’s looming over me, this big, beautiful, terrifying man. He looks like an avenging angel, and I’m the devil who needs to be slayed.
I’m backed against the door that was just open. I close my eyes against the sight of him.
“Hannah,” he murmurs. “You’re so gorgeous.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment. Not when he says it. Not when any of the men at the club say it. That’s because it’s not really a compliment. I don’t want to be gorgeous or sexy. I want to be loved.
“Why are you helping me?” I whisper. “Why’d you defend me?”
Some part of me can’t help but wonder if Candy was right. Maybe he does just want to fuck me.
His job is head of security, but we both know he could’ve let it go a lot longer. He could have waited until I cried out for help. He could have kicked the guy out without putting him in a choke hold. His voice is quiet when he responds. “Like I said, we have unfinished business. You owe me something.”
No, I’d been right all along. He wants to hurt me. He wants to fuck me. I’m sure he’ll end up doing both. My throat is dry. “Your pound of flesh?”
He curves his hand around my jaw, cradling me. Threatening me. Promising. “I’ve earned that much, don’t you think?”
A tear snakes down my cheek. “Yes,” I whisper.
“I’m the only one who gets to fuck you.” He leans close, his breath warm against my neck. “I wasn’t going to let him slap you around, Lola. The only person who’s going to mark this pretty skin is me.”
Chapter Five
I wake up with a pounding headache. The sun is too bright against my eyelids, and I turn my face into the pillow. What the hell happened last night? I feel like I got wasted, but I barely even drink, much less get drunk.
As I lay there, breathing in against my lumpy pillow and worn sheets, I start to remember. The night comes back to me in hazy underwater scenes—getting pushed around in the VIP room, being rescued by Blue. And then lying on the couch while Candy hands me a pill.
That explains a few things.
My memory is fuzzier after that. Did we hang out at the club until closing? How did I get home? I hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing. Especially if Blue was there. I didn’t even want to think of how I looked when he walked in on me in the VIP room, clothes twisted, body held down. No hint of the confident vixen persona I used onstage.
“Don’t think about that,” I mutter.
I keep my eyes closed as I sit up, partly from lingering embarrassment and partly because I’m worried I might throw up. I make my way to the bathroom by feeling along the wall. The room is small and familiar. I’ve only lived here a few years, but it’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere.
I leave the door open and shower in the dark, with only the faint light from the room itself to light the way. After standing under hot spray for ten minutes, I feel almost human again.
By the time I leave the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body, I’m fully awake. There’s still a lingering headache, but I’m guessing that will stick with me all day.
At least I don’t have to work tonight.
I freeze at the sight of something small and square and black on my bed. I don’t recognize it, but it was clearly in bed with me while I was sleeping. I inch closer, my heart in my throat because I can already tell what it is.
A wallet.
I just don’t know who it belongs to. Or where I stole it. Or how. But why…oh, I know why I stole it. Because I’m a thief. Some of my earliest memories are of hiding in the closet holding a tube of my mom’s lipstick while she tore the place apart looking for me.
Who was I kidding? She was looking for the lipstick, not me.
The habit had continued even when she’d died. Stealing shit from other kids was a great way to get beat up in a group home, and it was only by latching myself on to the biggest, baddest boy I could find—by giving him my body so I’d have his protection—that I survived. I don’t even mean to steal. In fact, I despise doing it. But I don’t always realize it until after the fact, when I’m left all alone, holding something that doesn’t belong to me.
I clutch the towel like it’s a goddamn lifeline and stare at the wallet. I wish I could throw it under the bed and pretend I’d never seen it. Instead I force myself to sit though I’m still two feet away from the small square of soft-looking leather. It’s so intimate, a wallet. Money, identity. So intimate that people wear it on their body. And that’s what I stole.
My stomach lurches, and this time I can’t hold it in. I run for the bathroom again and barely manage to grasp the edge of the bowl before hurling inside. The towel falls down around my knees, and I’m naked, chest heaving, stomach clenching, staring into a swirl of stale liquor and my own acid.
My legs are shaky as I stand up and brush my teeth. It’s not a great start to my day—and it’s only going to get worse. Because I’ll have to find whoever that wallet belongs to and return it. There was a time I wouldn’t have done that. I would have actually used the cash and then tossed it. Or later, when I started to hate what I’d done, I would drop them in the same place I’d stolen them, hoping some good Samaritan would call the person up to come get it.
God, it had been so long since I’d stolen anything. Six months. I’d hoped it was over.
I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I approached the wallet like it was a snake—and it was, coiled to attack, teeth filled with venom. I knew exactly what had driven me to steal last night. I’d been so freaked out by that customer. And then Blue…
He’s wearing me down without even touching me. Without even hurting me.
Just knowing he’s there, biding his time, makes me clench.
I slide my forefinger into the fold and flip the wallet open. And there, staring up at me, is Blue. My heart pounds. He isn’t smiling. It looked more like a military ID than a driver’s license—he was intense, intimidating. Threatening.
Without meaning to, I take a step back. Away from the thing I stole. Away from him.
This is so much worse than I’d expected. If it had been some random guy on the street, I’d have to worry about how to find him. If it had been a customer at the club, I’d have to worry about whether Ivan would find out. But Blue? He was the worst of all. I knew exactly where to find him,
and I suspected he wouldn’t tell Ivan.
No, he wouldn’t want Ivan to know. Blue would rather punish me personally.
I’m already in enough trouble. Really I shouldn’t make this worse. But curiosity drags me back to the bed, back to the clues about a man I’d once loved, about a boy all grown up.
He has a couple hundred in cash. I never see him spend money at the club, not on drinks or on girls. Even though the bouncers are pretty good guys, they’ll take an opportunity for some fun when it happens. Not Blue.
I wonder what he does spend his money on.
My finger runs over the raised numbers on his credit card.
My phone rings, and I practically fall off the bed. My blood races. Christ, I have a guilty conscience. I shouldn’t be looking through this.
I find my phone on the bedside table, half expecting to see an unknown number on the caller ID. Half expecting that it will be Blue demanding his wallet back.
Instead Candy’s smile flashes on the screen.
Just her smile, because she took the picture on my phone and set it to show up when she called. All those pretty white teeth and everything else in darkness makes her look like the Cheshire cat, playful and smug.
“Hello?” I say, more breathless than I intended.
“Are you alive?” she asks.
“Barely. What was in that pill you gave me?”
“It’s better that you don’t know. I know you get weird about illegal shit.”
I groan. “You’re right, don’t tell me.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Wait.” I rub my forehead. “That’s all you called for?”
“Pretty much. If you ended up dead, Blue would never forgive me.”
It was like a fist around my throat, squeezing every time I heard his name. “Look, about him. Did something happen last night?”
She laughed, the sound both innocent and sexy. A neat trick, that. “You tell me. You’re the one who took him home.”
“What?” The question came out as a squeak. My gaze wildly takes in the tiny room, the shabby furniture, the tattered, somber vibe of the whole house. And I’d brought Blue for some kind of one-night stand? The idea makes me flush hot with humiliation—and something else too.
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 47
