Hush (Pandora's Box Book 2)

by Liza James

  My eyes fall to K again, who stands in her ripped up jeans and torn black graphic tee against the far wall of the club. Skilla is at her side, her gaze on K while she talks about something she's clearly upset over. But K doesn't even glance her way, doesn't offer her any kind of attention because she's far too busy watching me on stage with Trevor.

  I tug the hem of my panties a little lower, swaying my hips while I drop a few inches and arch against his chest as he stands behind me. I look back to him and realize he's watching me; his eyes are dropped over my shoulder and his hand begins trailing across the strap to my matching gold top.

  I know what he wants to do—untie it while we're like this—while we're dancing and while everyone's eyes are already trained on me.

  It's a good time for it. I know it is. And even though I squirm at the idea of showing everyone my tits, I know this is it for me. This job. This life. This gig.

  And at least I'll piss K off in the process and make a few more bucks to pay my rent.

  So, fuck it.

  I let my head fall forward, offering the back of my neck where the tie rests against my skin, a clear answer to what he's asking. He doesn't waste time, and while I straighten my shoulders and roll my head to the side, the top drops free of my chest while I stand up again.

  We keep moving, keep dancing, and his hands trail up my ribs while I drop my own hands over my head. I grind against him before stepping away, the click of my shiny white stilettos tapping in sync to the music.

  Dropping my hand to the pole, I step around it before pulling myself up and swinging. Trevor steps toward me, and halts my motion as we both dance against each other with the pole as a barrier. People begin whistling and shouting filthy words and phrases I choose to ignore. But they're entertained, and even more money is thrown at our feet. I glance back to the wall I know K is watching from, but feel my heart sink in frustration when I realize she's no longer there.

  Fucking bitch.

  Thankfully, the music finally ends and I quickly reach for the ties to my bra while I adjust it back into place. Trevor and I step off the stage, and one of the newer girls walks out to collect the earnings for us while the lights dim over the stage.

  I hurry forward, pulling my sweat slicked hair on top of my head while I step toward the back room. Trevor is on my ass, and I'm not in the mood to deal with him yet. I want to smoke again, take an Adderall, and then maybe I'll be ready to do whatever it is he wants to jump into.

  "Caly," he shouts behind me, and I feel the heavy sigh in my chest when I realize I'm going to have to slow down and talk to him.

  "What's up?" I ask, attempting to keep my voice light and bright despite the ache for a fix working through me.

  "Some of us are grabbing drinks after this," he pauses, glancing down between us. I don't follow his gaze, because I don't want to see whatever it is he's looking at. But I notice how he's holding himself—tense, casual, shoulders back. Trying to impress. "You want to come with me? I'll give you a ride home afterwards?"

  Fuck. A ride home. I wouldn't mind that, especially because I usually ride the bus and at this time of night? It can be a bit uncomfortable. No matter how baggy my sweatshirts or pants are. There's always someone who feels he's entitled to something of me because of where I work.

  I absently suck in my bottom lip and Trevor's eyes fall to the action. A slight smile pulls across my face when I release it, and his gaze slowly lifts to meet mine again. Well, a ride is a ride and maybe I'll drink a bit and let loose before crashing tonight. "All right, let me change and I'll meet you out front."

  His face lights up, clear excitement and approval dancing across his features. He's scored somehow, and for a reason I can't discern, my chest feels heavy and I feel nothing but disappointment.

  In life. In living. In whatever this is I'm surrounded with. Why can't I just be happy?

  I turn around just as he does the same, hurrying back to the dressing room so I can at least smoke and take another pill before I head to the bar. I round the corner, realizing the light is off in our communal space. It usually isn't, so I stumble over a chair in the darkness while I quickly search for the light.

  But it's the sounds that immediately catch me off guard. A muffled moan and heavy breaths from three figures I can barely make out.

  "For fuck sake you guys, in here?" I mutter, annoyance lining my tone for the sheer fact that I fell over the chair. I don't actually care what goes on back here, but the frustration from earlier is simply being placed in this moment.

  I finally find the light and flip it on, and that's when my heart actually pounds out of my chest. Three girls are in front of me, all of them missing some article of clothing somewhere.

  Skilla.

  A new girl.

  K.

  "Yeah, in here," K's firm voice speaks first, and at the same time, her hand dips between the legs of new girl. Her head falls back and moan slips from her lips while K's eyes stay focused on me. "You want to join? Or are you still the same prude I remember all those years ago?"

  She continues working herself in and out of the other girl, and Skilla simply watches the exchange between us with a tensely bouncing gaze and parted lips.

  "You confuse my lack of attraction to you, as being a prude. But I can promise that isn't the case. I could suck cock all night and take it every which way and be happy," I reply, reaching for my bag while I keep my eyes on her. "I just don't want it from you."

  K scoffs, and I watch as her tongue rolls across her bottom lip. She doesn't say a word, and instead turns back to Skilla who leans in for a kiss while K continues playing with the other girl. They all go back to their business, and I sigh in frustration while I throw my bag over my shoulder and turn around.

  I'm just about to step out of the room—leaving the lights on—when K's raspy voice breaks out behind me. "Keep playing your games, Lyp."

  My steps slam to a halt at the name. She's the only one who calls me Lyp, and it's been years since she's said it until recently. Now, she uses it whenever she can. Not as a term of any bit of endearment, no. She uses it because it scrapes against my mind in painful memories of our past. It's a reminder of when things were different between us.

  A time when I thought she cared.

  A time when I was sorely mistaken.

  My mind is still reeling with thoughts of K. Visions of her and those two girls keep flashing in annoying depictions of what she's doing. I don't care who she fucks, who she spends her time with, I only want to be left alone.

  Or maybe I want to see her in pain. The dark thought springs forward in my mind.

  I can never decide which option takes precedence.

  But another shot is placed in front of me on the bar and I glance to my right to find Trevor watching me with a smile on his face. He's thrown on an old black and white baseball tee and it hugs across his chest and shoulders in a way that highlights his muscular frame.

  He's fucking hot. It's true. But his entitled attitude ruins it for me.

  I might be able to fuck him though. If I get drunk and high enough to forget how he knows he's hot.

  "Oh no, not another one," I drone out, my tone mockingly upset while Trevor laughs at my side. I throw the shot back and the liquid burns as it slides down my throat. Tequila. My least favorite drink of choice, but it'll get the job done if I have to suck dick in order to get home.

  "So, are you—" he pauses to take a casual sip of his beer before continuing. As if it's my joy in life to sit here and watch him drink. "—seeing anyone, Caly?"

  I laugh, loudly. I can't help it. What a fucking joke. "I don't see people," I reply, turning back to my empty shot glass and absently twisting it against the counter.

  "What does that mean?" he asks, and for a split second, I'm not sure how to explain it to him. Relationships don't interest me. Materialistic things don't occupy my time. My head is constantly elsewhere, buried in books or art, in music or nature.

  I'm far too lost to tie myself to so
mething so steady.

  "I fuck, I play, I do drugs, and then I dance. I don't date." Simple. Easy. Straightforward. No strings attached for him, and honestly, he probably prefers it that way.

  His eyes narrow for a moment, as if he's contemplating what I've said. He drops his gaze to my lips and that's when I know I've already sold him. He doesn't care about dating me, he cares about fucking me.

  I lean forward and lift a hand to his shoulder, trailing my finger down the bicep of his arm and further down until I'm grazing across his fingertips. "Why, do you have a girlfriend?" I tease, a tiny smirk lifting one side of my lips. I tilt my head to the side while he watches me, his eyes dancing with dark desires and salacious intent.

  He scoffs, "Would you care?".

  I pause for a moment, feigning consideration. But I already know my answer. "No, I don't give a fuck who you go home to."

  I settle onto his gaze while I speak, straightening my shoulders and sliding the tip of my tongue along my lower lip. He watches far too intently and just before I'm about to remind him of that ride home, a shift in the corner of the bar catches my attention.

  It's pretty packed in here, several girls and guys from the club are drinking and playing pool. But that's only a small portion of the people here, the space is filled with strangers, and while I usually don't mind that, the large obscure figure in the corner draws my attention.

  I shift to the side so I can look around Trevor a bit more clearly, but in the same instant, the figure is gone and I'm staring into the empty space it once occupied. I narrow my eyes a bit but shake the uncomfortable thought free of my mind; the mix of alcohol and drugs must be clouding my judgement.

  My head is swaying a bit more now, the extra shots finally taking hold of my blood and slowing my movements. I wouldn't care too much except for the fact my eyes catch the sight of the only person I never want to see, stalking through the bar.

  K. Again. For fuck sake, why can't she leave me alone tonight?

  This is embarrassing for her, honestly. How incredibly wasted she is around that meat head dancer she's clearly going to fuck tonight.

  I take another sip of my drink—Malibu and soda water with lime—and set the glass on the table in front of me. I'm supposed to be meeting Ruby here tonight so we can catch up. She's been distant over the last few weeks; her and Aura both have been and I'm determined to figure out what the fuck is going on.

  I glance at my phone just as it chimes with a new text from Ruby. Be there in five.

  I take another sip and intentionally try to avoid watching Lyp. I actually hate her, but her energy always draws me in too deeply. There's this connection, that at one point meant everything, but is now the sore reminder nothing good ever fucking lasts. Nothing.

  My phone rings, and the screen illuminates with a name that makes my heart sink and my head spin. Alex. I drop my finger to tap the ignore button, but something stops me mid action. The weight of what it would mean to him, maybe. The potential consequences of how he would come after me.

  I tap answer instead and cautiously lift the phone to my ear.

  "Little sister," his voice draws out the words as if he's happy to say them. I bet he is...eager even.

  "What do you need, Alex. Money?" My eyes scan the room again and can't help but fall on Lyp. Trevor has shifted behind her, and runs his hands over her waist while leaning over her shoulder to speak. God, she's such a fucking flirt. Always asking for it.

  My brother laughs in the line against my ear, a sound that's bitter and cold and suddenly turns into an assumedly painful, raspy cough.

  "Drugs?" I realize why he's calling. Something to take the edge off of whatever health condition he has eating away at his insides.

  "Just a little," he replies, working the firm stance into his tone so he seems the one in control.

  "I don't sell shit, Alex. You know this." Lyp laughs, a sound that's in complete opposition to my brother’s and somehow distracts me momentarily from this awful conversation. Her smile spreads wide across her face and Trevor is clearly enraptured.

  I can't blame him.

  I was there too, once.

  The difference, however, is that Trevor will remain the manipulated fool while I watch things unfold knowing her filthy little secret.

  She feels nothing for him. He's probably offered her something of value, something she doesn't mind trading a fuck for. It's written all over her face and I laugh at the fact that Trevor is so blind to her obvious tells.

  "You have to know where I can find some, come on. Dad needs it too, and you don't want to disappoint your daddy and big brother, right?" Alex’s sick voice penetrates my concentration and I drop my eyes to the glass in front of me. I need a fucking shot.

  "No, I don't know where you can get them. Take a walk outside of your fucking apartment, I'm sure you'll run into someone on the corner willing to sell to you." I bite the words out and pull my phone away in order to hang up, but his harsh words are still loud enough for me to hear.

  "Fucking bitch. Find some, or I'll find you. Don't forget, little sister, you're the one who will end up paying for it."

  End. Godfuckingdamnit.

  I slam my phone down on the table a little too loudly, just as Ruby rushes up to jump in the seat across from mine. "What the fuck was that about?" She asks, and my eyes dart up to meet hers as she speaks.

  But something is off. Shit, something is incredibly off. Her short hair is a wild mess around her face. Dark circles lay under her eyes and it's clear she simply threw on a pair of jean shorts and a baggy shirt before running out the door. Her skin seems a little whiter, a little paler in contrast to her usually vibrant self, and suddenly the worry of my brother is quickly replaced with the worry for my closest friend.

  "What the fuck is going on with you?" I retort, ignoring her initial question. My brother, my problem. "You look like shit."

  A sarcastic smile pulls at her lips and she lifts her hands to run them over her hair. "Seriously? Do I look that bad?"

  "Yes, dude. You really do." I turn my head and wave toward a waitress to order Ruby a drink. She looks like she needs to breathe, to fucking relax. She needs to let go of whatever it is resting on her shoulders. "Does it have to do with Aura?"

  Ruby's eyes jump up to mine, a sudden wave of ferocity blazing within them. Her shoulders tense and her hands land on the edge of the table. I can't tell if she's angry, or defensive. But I've learned to expect a chaotic mix of emotions when it comes to her claim on that girl.

  "No, Aura and I are perfect," she whispers defensively and I lift my hands in mock surrender between us. "It—I can't talk about it. Not yet."

  "Wait—" I start, the rush of realization instantly slamming into me like a ton of bricks. "Fuck. Is it Dom? Is it The Nation?" We haven't heard a word from Dom since he disappeared after Ruby and Aura's encounter with the Nation. Nothing more has been recovered from what was left of the cult, and anyone who was found, was already arrested. Dom was the single most important member to escape because he held the foundation for everything. He could rebuild if he wanted to, he could have connections and access to people a part of the Nation outside of their small compound.

  "Fuck no," she starts, keeping her voice quiet but heavy with frustration. "I almost wish it did." The tail end of her sentence is barely audible, but I catch it nonetheless and my eyes narrow in confusion.

  "What in the Hell could be worse than the Nation?" I question, just as the waitress arrives with Ruby's drink—Coke and rum.

  She laughs, but the sound is empty and her eyes fall to the small beverage in front of her. "Hell," she repeats, a strange, crooked smile still pulling at her features. "What an odd concept Hell is."

  Just as I'm about to ask what she's talking about, the mic at the front of the bar sounds out with a couple of loud taps. I turn my head and find someone standing in the center of the small stage, a middle aged man with a receding hairline and obvious beer belly. "Hi guys, thanks for stopping by my bar." Owner, fig
ures. "I wasn't going to open the stage up for karaoke tonight, but you guys can thank Magic Mike back there." I scoff as the older gentleman points to Trevor, who has his arms wrapped around a clearly embarrassed Lyp while she covers her face with her hands. She's laughing, and her skin has flushed bright red all the way up her neck and over her jaw.

  Seriously, a Channing Tatum Stripper reference? Classy.

  "We heard there's a little gypsy in here who loves playing the guitar?" The man continues speaking, and the room continues feeling more and more oddly strained. Ruby looks back over her shoulder, smiling at Lyp while waving her toward the stage and in that same instant, it all finally clicks.

  Lyp? Playing the guitar?

  "She doesn't play anymore," I bite out, waving my hand in front of Ruby's face in order to stop her. But Ruby's confused and narrowed gaze only sets me on edge. As if I wouldn't know whether Lyp is playing again or not?

  "Yes she does, dude," Ruby replies, turning back toward the stage and clapping her hands in encouragement.

  Lyp's swaying form catches my attention again, and I watch as she slowly makes her way to the front of the stage. She's drunk, every paced step and intentional breath is calculated to make it seem like she has her shit together.

  She fucking doesn't. She's high on whatever she's been taking or smoking and she's mixed it with alcohol at the same time. Anger swells inside of my chest, spiraling out through my limbs in bitter resentment.

  My mind flashes with past moments, brief exchanges of pained lyrics and out of tune songs from our childhood.

  Fuck her. And fuck her shitty music.

  She thinks I'm not paying attention, that I couldn't care less what she's doing and who she's doing it with. And to a certain extent—it’s true.

  But I can't simply ignore what she's doing. I can't unsee every angry expression, every disgusted glance, every troubled twist and dance on her shifts at the club.