Better When It Hurts

by Skye Warren

  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.

  “I think he was just trying to make sure you didn’t fall into a ditch. He had some words to say about me giving you pills.” She snorted. “Corrupting you. As if you’re some innocent little girl.”

  I close my eyes, but they’re hot with tears. I’m just glad she isn’t here to see me, glad she can’t see the drops on my cheeks. My voice is hollow. “Far from it.”

  “I told him you could take care of yourself.”

  My gaze lands on the wallet. Yeah, real good job I’m doing taking care of myself. “I need to find him.”

  “Blue? That good, huh?”

  “Not like that. It’s because…I just need to see him, okay? Do you have any idea where he lives?”

  “No…” She draws the word out in a singsong way. “But I do know where he’ll be tonight.”

  “The club?”

  “Of course not, silly. But I’ll take you to him.”

  I want to demand she tells me where he’ll be, to find out what she knows, but I already know she’ll hold that secret like a goddamn lollipop—licking away at it all day long, dragging this out with perverse pleasure. But I don’t want to wait to give him the wallet longer than I have to. And neither do I want to risk handing it in at the club and Ivan finding out. If he got suspicious of me stealing from the customers, I’d be out on my ass.

  “Fine,” I say, my head falling forward.

  She’s silent a moment. “Lola, don’t you know why he’s not working tonight?”

  “Time off for good behavior?”

  “Oh, sweetie. You really don’t know. He’s not working tonight because you’re not. He’s only ever there when you are. The only reason he works at that club is to see you.”

  I tighten my hands around the phone. My stomach twists, threatening to send me back to the bathroom. Because she’s wrong about one thing—I know he’s there for me. I’ve always known. That’s why I’m afraid.

  * * *

  From the outside it looks like a warehouse. No streetlamps are nearby. We glide through the night air like I imagine fish in dark water, unseeing, using our senses to feel for sharks. The only way I know it isn’t abandoned is the hum of noise. It’s too thick to separate into voices, too steady to be any kind of music. It’s the buzz of a hive—this one made of people.

  There’s a single man standing outside a door at the side. Not much security for a place as big as this, even if they have more guys on the inside. But I don’t doubt he is holding down the door. His body looks as wide and as tall as the building itself, made of concrete and metal, his expression as cold.

  “Can I help you ladies?” His tone makes it clear he’s saying the exact opposite—go the fuck away.

  Candy smiles her megawatt smile that somehow lights up the space. Of course, it’s not hard to command attention in an empty freaking sidewalk. Clearly we are late, and I’m pretty sure Candy did that on purpose. She always likes to make an entrance.

  “We heard there was a party,” she says. “I love parties.”

  He looks bored, but I can tell he’s interested in her. All men are interested in her. “It’s a private party.”

  She takes a step toward him. “That’s the best kind.”

  There’s a pause where he could kick us to the curb. Something flickers in his eyes. Interest. Lust. A taste for danger. A man doesn’t get his nose bent like that because he likes to play it safe. No, this guy wants a piece of Candy in the back of a warehouse when he should be doing his job. It’s a rush, and he takes it.

  “Don’t make trouble,” he tells me.

  I don’t bother explaining that the girl voted most likely to cause trouble has her hands on his chest and her mouth on his neck. He wouldn’t have heard me anyway. He’s already dragging her into the shadows. Her giggle floats back to me, and I sigh, knowing I’ll owe her one.

  And Candy doesn’t collect easy favors.

  No one even looks my way as I open the door. They’re packed in like the club on a Saturday night, but it isn’t girls dancing onstage. No, those are men—big, brutish men with muscles bulging and skin glistening while they beat the shit out of each other.

  Underground fighting.

  No wonder the guy didn’t want to let us in. The fight itself is probably illegal, not to mention the betting and drug use that is no doubt rampant. I’m not judging. I have no right considering what goes on in the VIP rooms. And I wouldn’t want to judge anyway. I learned long ago that people needed to fight to survive. Sometimes they needed to fuck to survive too.

  I’m just wondering why Blue would be here. And why Candy thinks he would be.

  Is this some kind of hobby for him, watching fights the way he watches me dance? There’s a sea of people, of shouting faces, of angry faces, of drunk and grinning faces. They blend together in a macabre oil painting, my own vision gone skewed and sideways. I can’t possibly hope to find Blue in this mess.

  Someone bumps into me, and just like that I’m falling into the crowd. I land on another person—he shoves me off, and I bounce around like a pinball until I manage to stand upright.

  I’m pretty sure I got groped on the way, so it’s a typical night. Damn, I can’t see anyone. The smoke is thick, and there are barely any lights. Only spotlights focused on the fight, where a giant of a man is pummeling the other one…

  I go very still and squint my eyes to focus. Is that…? No.

  Another hit sends the fighter spinning toward the metal cage, and I gasp. It’s Blue in that goddamn death trap. What’s he doing in there? I can’t even believe that the guy is bigger than him. Blue towers over me and the other bouncers. And he has the muscles to match his height. He’s one scary son of a bitch, but the man he’s up against is like a mountain. A very angry mountain, and he’s raining down blows on Blue’s face.

  Next thing I know I’m shoving my
way through the crowd.

  “Watch it!”

  “Stupid bitch.”

  All I know is I have to get to the front. There are still three rows of people blocking me, and now that I’m close, I can’t see the stage. Where are my stilettos when I need them? But I can hear the stage, the smack of flesh against flesh, bone against bone.

  I shove people aside and end up at the makeshift railing. I’m not even sure this metal is supported by anything but the crowd itself—it sways with the movement, with the tides of the fight, leaning in as they smell blood.

  Blue is wearing long shorts and scuffed-up tennis shoes. His gloves are worn and fraying at the edges. He looks like he rolled into his neighborhood gym to go a few rounds on the weekend. It’s amazing he’s held his own this long, but still, he’s going to get himself killed.

  The other guy’s got glossy red-and-black shorts, almost like silk, and shoes so high and thick-toed they look like boots. It seems like that should be against the rules, but then a place like this probably isn’t huge on rules. From here I can see the guy’s face as he growls at Blue. I can see the smugness in his eyes, the deadness. He wants to make Blue hurt.

  I reach for the metal fence. Hands grab me and yank me back. “What the fuck are you doing?” a voice shouts in my ear.

  I tear myself free but stand behind the barrier. I don’t know what I’d planned to do anyway. It’s not like I can climb the cage and crawl inside. It’s not like I can stop the fight.

  My stomach is a knot of worry, of dread. I may not be close to Blue anymore, I may even fear him, but I don’t want him killed. This kind of shit can escalate fast.

  Blue ducks his head, almost resting his hand on one knee. He looks tired, worn down. He said he wasn’t going to let anyone kick him around ever again. Except that’s exactly what’s happening.

  Oh God.

  The opponent sees his chance. He charges like an actual bull, Blue’s weakness a red flag. Then even the man behind me can’t hold me back. I’m reaching for the cage, holding metal wire in my hands, shouting words even I can’t make out. No! Blue!