Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle

by Huntington, Parker S.

  Blue thinks I’m worth more than that. Even if I don’t believe him, if I can’t believe him, I don’t want to disappoint him this time.

  I stand up to move away. Surprise registers in his eyes for a brief second before anger resurfaces. His fist comes at me hard, and even though I move to block him, it’s no match. He punches me in the jaw, and I stagger back, hitting the wall.

  “On your knees,” he says again, louder.

  I think about that person across the street, peeking through their window. Are they still watching? How far would it go before they came to help? I think they’d wait forever. I think they’re just like me, doing anything to survive.

  Not anymore. “Fuck you.”

  Rage flashes across his face. That’s the only warning I have before his knee slams into my stomach. I double over, choking, gasping. I’m not going to survive this. My palms slide on loose gravel.

  “That’s right,” he says, smug. “On the fucking ground where you belong.”

  His spit lands on the back of my head.

  Slowly, painfully, I stand up. I’m not steady, and I have to lean against the side of the house to do it, but I’m upright. Every part of me is trembling, afraid of death like I’ve always been. I don’t want to die here, but I will. I’ll do anything to fight this time. Blue gave me that, a cold kind of strength.

  His face is a mask of fury. “I’ll grind you into the fucking ground,” he says, and I believe him. “Now get on your knees and open your fucking mouth.”

  My chin lifts. “Put your dick in my mouth and I’ll bite it off.”

  He comes toward me, and I brace myself for the final, killing blow. I don’t know if he even realizes how hard he’s being on me, how little I can take. I’ll be dead before he can fuck me, and I don’t think he’ll be happy about that. It doesn’t matter, though. This is the choice I made. This is the end.

  A screech of a screen door rends the air.

  The telltale thump of Mrs. Owens’s cane hits the porch. “Hannah?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I dream of gold that night. A dragon brings me to his lair, a shiny piece of treasure to add to his pile. I dream of fire as his anger consumes me, as he singes my skin and leaves me breathless. I dream of an awful sound—it sounds like pain, and I think it might be me.

  The sheets are tangled around me, holding me tight when I wake up. I’m panting, sweating, half-mired in my dream. I push damp hair from my face and try to calm down. I remember the attack. I remember Mrs. Owens coming out and stopping it. I remember going to bed, thinking it would be just fine if tomorrow never came.

  Then I realize the sound wasn’t only in my dream. It’s a real sound, something I can hear from my bed in Mrs. Owens’s house, loud and screeching.

  When it registers, I bolt from the bed, tripping on the twisted sheets as I cross the room.

  The burning smell reaches me first, acrid and harsh.

  My blood feels like a living thing, beating to get out of my chest, pounding through my veins. It only takes seconds to reach the stove and twist the knob. To grab a dish towel and move the pot of hot water to another burner. It feels like years. I’ve aged a lifetime when the screech cuts off, leaving only ringing silence in the room.

  You have to scoot between the stove and the counter to even see the plug. I stare at it, the plain black cord plugged into the skeletal socket without a cover.

  Did Mrs. Owens figure out to plug it in?

  Or did I forget to unplug it?

  I’d have already cut the damn wire and saved us both the trouble, but there’s no microwave here. A steady diet of cheap noodles, of beans and rice, means I need to be able to cook sometimes.

  She’s not in the kitchen or the dining room. I find her in the living room with her tea set already laid out. She was ready for the water to boil when she must have fallen asleep.

  I can’t help the anger that comes. How long I dance, how fucking hard it is to let them touch me—even accidentally. Even when they pay extra. And all of it could come crashing down, burning down because she can’t wait until I’m awake to have tea.

  The anger fades away, leaving only sadness.

  Why should she have to wait? She’s a grown woman, a strong woman. She was once the only person to give a damn—besides a certain boy who’s better not named. I messed things up with him, but I won’t do that with her. She deserves the loyalty I didn’t have for him.

  I wake her gently. “Mrs. Owens, it’s time for bed.”

  She blinks, taking in the teacup, the little pot of sugar cubes. And the afternoon light. “It’s daytime.”

  “I know, but my work schedule is strange, remember? I need to sleep during the day. And you like to take a nap.”

  She does need rest, but it also helps to know she’s occupied while I’m asleep.

  She looks at me, and her eyes widen. Surprise registers, and I know she doesn’t remember seeing me this afternoon with blood on my face. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “I fell down.”

  Deep understanding crosses her face. She may not remember, but she knows. “Let me get the first-aid kit.”

  “I took care of it.” What little I could do. “I really need to sleep now, and you do too. We can have tea when we wake up, I promise.”

  Her gaze drops to the empty tea-cup in front of her. A vague smile crosses her face. “I’ve already made tea.”

  It takes another ten minutes to convince her to go to bed without it. Another ten minutes where the responsibility I feel toward her—the fear that I’ll fail her—sits like an anvil on my shoulders. When I have her tucked in for a nap, the curtains drawn tight, I find my way back to the kitchen.

  It still smells awful, like something died in here. I don’t know how water and metal can burn like that, like flesh. I pull out the plug and shove the wire underneath the stove so at least it’s hidden.

  Something glints at me from the kitchen counter.

  A watch.

  I reach for it, then pull back. No, it can’t be.

  It’s definitely not mine. And I know it’s not Blue’s either. He wears a sleek black digital watch. This one is gold and garish. Cheap but trying to look expensive. I don’t know whose it is or how it got on the counter. Unless…

  Unless I stole it. Unless it belongs to Travis.

  Oh God, I’m so, so fucked.

  I sit on the floor in the dark and cry until I’m as dry and as done as the pot of water.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I swipe foundation over my cheek.

  The swath of beige is stark against the bluish color of my skin. There’s really no hope of covering up the bruise. Even if I could change the color, I can’t hide the swelling of my eye. Or the limp when I walk.

  I shouldn’t even have come to the Grand tonight, but I needed to leave the house. I needed to get the watch away from there so I can figure out what to do with it. I’ve told Mrs. Owens to stay inside no matter what she hears. She knows to lock the doors. That won’t hold him off forever. Eventually he’ll come back looking for it. Looking for me.

  The watch is nestled among my perfume and makeup. I can’t bear to touch it. I hate that it’s even touching my things. Infecting me. I can’t throw it away, but I can’t give it back. I’m trapped with it.

  I stare at the bruises under the harsh theater lighting around my mirror. It’s a lot worse than it looked in the dim bathroom at home. Worse than my reflection in shop windows as I walked here tonight. I look damaged. Broken.

  “I have to go,” I say to no one. It doesn’t matter. I have nowhere to go.

  Candy approaches from behind. She sits at her station beside me and begins applying hot-pink liner. She doesn’t stare at my bruises even though they’re obvious. She doesn’t act surprised, because she’s not.

  “Did Blue do that?” she asks, still running the pencil tip along her eyelid.

  “No.” Whatever happens, it’s important that people know Blue did
n’t do this. I couldn’t lie about that again, not even to protect him.

  “Then who?”

  “Who else?” I say, bitterness creeping into my voice. A client. She’ll understand. But even if it weren’t a paying client, it would be the same. Another man, another fist.

  They’re all the same except Blue.

  “You can’t dance like that,” she says.

  I shut my eyes and squeeze, ignoring the shot of pain. “I know.”

  “You’ll have to talk to Ivan. Explain why.”

  “I think the why is obvious,” I say drily, staring at my messed-up reflection. I look like a public service announcement.

  “He’s going to want more information than that.”

  I make a face, frustration and a little bit of fear. “He doesn’t want information. He wants me to beg.”

  Candy smiles faintly. “I’m sure you can do it pretty for him. He’ll like that.”

  Sure, she’s not afraid of him. She’s the only one in the goddamn city who isn’t. He’s always been fair enough to me, but I’m also careful not to cross him. I keep my head down, my tips high, and don’t cause trouble. At least until Blue showed up.

  As if I’ve summoned him, he appears in my mirror, his expression severe. “Lola.”

  “Bye,” Candy says, hopping off her stool with a little wave.

  My eyes narrow. “Did you call him?”

  She blows me a kiss. “Thank me later.”

  I will definitely not be thanking her for this, but I can’t focus on her now. She’s flouncing out the door, and Blue is advancing on me like a shark scenting blood. His dark gaze takes me in from the failed makeup job to my bare feet. I’m still in street clothes—jeans and a tank top—but it feels like I’m wearing nothing the way he takes me in, like he can see every mark and ache underneath.

  “Who did this to you?” he growls.

  I don’t know what to tell him. All I know is that I can’t tell him the truth. I catch myself eyeing the gold watch on the vanity and force myself to look at the ground. “It’s none of your business.”

  Wrong answer.

  He backs me up until I’m flush against my vanity. Lip gloss and eyeshadow tumble to the concrete floor. The bulbs around the mirror illuminate his face with harsh light and stark shadows. He looks menacing—not a man to be crossed.

  He’s rough and hard, but when he puts his hand on me, he’s gentle. His finger traces the bruise on my cheek, careful not to touch where I’m swollen and purple. He trails down my neck and runs his forefinger along my collarbone. When he gets to my shoulder, where my shirt covers my skin, I let out a small whimper.

  His eyes darken, and he pushes my shirt aside to reveal a red abrasion. “Fuck.”

  “It’s just a customer,” I say quickly, like fighting the tides. “It happens all the time to girls like me. You know that.”

  “Not in my fucking club, it doesn’t happen. And not to you.” His voice is threatening, and it makes me feel somehow safe because I know he doesn’t mean this toward me. Even though he should.

  It’s my fault men hurt me. It has to be my fault, because they always, always do. “It’s nothing.”

  His nostrils flare. “I don’t like them touching you. I don’t even like them looking at you. But this? This isn’t nothing. This is way over the fucking line. Tell me exactly which bastard did that to you, because he’s a dead man.”

  My breath catches in my throat. This is everything that happened before. This is history repeating itself. The way it ended last time broke me. And it sent him far, far away. I want to rail against the inevitable, to hold him close. That’s selfish, though. To want to keep him. If he goes away, he’ll hate me even more, but he will be safe.

  “No,” I whisper.

  His lids lower. He leans in close, his mouth touching my temple as he speaks low. “I will find out who did this, and I will crush the fucking breath from his throat.”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  The crisp voice of Ivan breaks through the haze, and Blue straightens. His gaze remains intent on me. He doesn’t jump back to break apart like I do. I’m shoved against my vanity, completely trapped by two men who have power over me. I’ve fought so hard against this, against weakness, against ownership, but here I am again.

  Blue speaks through gritted teeth. “Someone hurt her.”

  Ivan walks casually into the room and leans against the wall. He studies Blue. “Was it you?” he asks with deceptive mildness.

  Surprise and anger flash across Blue’s face. “Fuck no.”

  “No?” Ivan says, not seeming concerned at all. “You seem to have taken an interest in our pretty girl.”

  “She’s not yours,” Blue growls.

  Ivan’s gaze flickers over our bodies, the way Blue has me pinned. “I suppose she’s not. I’m surprised someone would touch her if she belongs to you now.”

  A rough sound of fury comes from Blue’s throat. “They won’t touch her again. They won’t touch anyone again, as soon as she tells me who it is.”

  That makes Ivan raise an eyebrow. He looks at me. “Who are you protecting?”

  Blue. He would kill for me, die for me. He’d get himself locked up for me. He’s the only man who’s ever cared about me, and I can’t let him do that. He would put his life on the line to protect me—and I will do the same for him. I don’t do it with my fists, though. I do it with my body and my lies. I protect him with everything I have, even if it hurts him too.

  “It’s no one,” I say, my voice hoarse. “A man on the street.”

  Ivan cocks his head. “A stranger?”

  Not a stranger. “You don’t need to get involved.”

  In a sudden movement, Blue slams his hand against the wall beside me. “I’m already fucking involved, gorgeous. I’ve been involved since five years ago, and God help me, I can’t fucking stop.”

  Ivan doesn’t look surprised at this admission. “Even after she accused you of raping her?”

  Blue narrows his eyes. “I never hurt her.”

  Ivan shrugs. “She said you did.”

  “She lied.”

  “Then why would you believe her now?”

  Blue’s gaze snaps to me. “Is that what this is? Some kind of twisted payback? Some kind of game?”

  It’s not a game, but it’s better if he believes that. It’s better if he goes far away and never comes back. I shrug, copying Ivan. “So what if it is? You know I like it rough. You couldn’t give it to me hard enough, so I found someone who would.”

  I see the realization hit him like a blow, that I fucked another man after him. He pushes off the wall and stalks away from me, to the other side of the room. To the other side of the moon, for how far away he feels. He runs a hand over his head. “Fuck, Lola.”

  I smile, more comfortable now as Lola. As the seductress. The whore. “I told you we didn’t have anything special. I told you I wasn’t yours. You refused to believe me. That’s not my fault.”

  Ivan stands and straightens his suit sleeves. “It appears we have our answer. What she does on her own time is her business. Unless, of course, it interferes with my business.” His cool gaze meets mine. “Obviously you can’t work the floor like that. You have two days to get yourself cleaned up. Show up like that again and you lose your spot here.”

  He heads for the door.

  “Wait.” Blue puts a hand to his forehead. “No. This isn’t fucking right.”

  Ivan stops. “She told you she wanted it. You heard her.”

  Blue’s dark gaze meets mine, accusing and pain-filled and relieved all at once. “She’s lying. She’s fucking lying, just like she did before. I don’t know why, but I know I didn’t hurt her then. And I know she didn’t ask for this now.”

  I make one last attempt. “Why would I protect someone else?”

  Shock fills his eyes before he closes them. “You’re not protecting someone else.” He laughs without humor. “You’re not even protecting yourself.”

  His
eyes snap open, and he walks closer to me. I look toward Ivan, hoping he’ll stop Blue. Hoping he’ll claim that I wanted this once more, that I’m just the slut I look like. Except he’s gone, apparently leaving me to my fate. And my fate is a seriously pissed-off Blue.

  “How fucking dare you?” he breathes.

  “I—”

  “No, not right now. I can’t even listen to your excuses right now. Your lies.” Pain flashes across his face. “All those years. I just need to—”

  He doesn’t finish his sentence, but I can fill in the blank when he drops to his knees. He pushes down my jeans, flinching at the bruise on the outside of my thigh. He undresses me carefully, methodically, and I can’t stop him. I can’t tell him he means nothing. I can’t lie, not when he spreads my legs and looks at me bare.

  He swallows, and I hear it in the silence. “Gorgeous,” he murmurs, gaze trained on my pussy.

  Briefly, I wonder if someone will come in and interrupt us. And then I don’t care anymore because his warm breath brushes my clit, his hands grasp my pale inner thighs. He gives me a kiss that’s sweet, almost chaste if it had landed on my forehead or nose—anywhere except my clit. But it is there, and heat courses through me, shocking and sudden and strong enough to make me gasp.

  “This is the only way you’re honest with me,” he says, his eyes dark as they look up at me. “If this is what I have to do to get you to tell me the goddamn truth, then this is what I’m going to do.”

  I shiver from worry, from apprehension, knowing he’s right. Knowing he’s determined enough to do it. I don’t want to lie to him anymore, but the truth might break me.

  His tongue might break me, sliding down my slit, sending shocks of pleasure through my body.

  He fucks me with his tongue, shoving it inside me and then back out, lewd and slick and so good I almost cry. My hips want to thrust, but I’m held up by the vanity—it’s already shaking with the force of us. All I can do is hold myself still while he teases me into madness.

  Then he stops. “Why did you lie, Lola?”

  I’m half-dazed with lust, confused and needy. “Please.”