by Salsbury, JB
“You left to protect her. He hurt you?” he whispers.
Without permission to do so, my head bobs slowly. “Yeah, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Fuck me.” The fierce curse shoots from his lips in a hiss. He drops his head into his hands, kneading his eyes with the heel of his palms.
Strong reaction from a guy I hardly know. He probably thinks Stewart slapped us around. “It’s not like he hit us or anything.” The abuse I suffered at the hands of my husband wasn’t the kind that left physical scars.
His hands move from his forehead to the back of his neck and lock there. “Go get dressed, Mouse.”
“Blake, don’t think—”
“Go. Now.” He orders me away, and something tells me it’s more for my protection than needing to get to work.
His eyes blaze with a hatred that I’ve only ever seen in my husband. But this isn’t scary. It’s comforting. God, I’m sick.
I hurry from the table and head for my room.
“Layla.”
I stop and look over my shoulder.
“Wear your hair down.”
That sounded like an order. I feel my eyes narrow. I don’t take orders from men. Not anymore. And never again.
I don’t respond, but walk straight to my bathroom and grab the tightest ponytail holder I can find.
Blake
I’ve survived a lot of bullshit in my life. A raging asshole father. One of the toughest military schools in the country. The Marines. But none of that compares to the fight I’m engaged in now. My body is humming with homicidal thoughts.
Not only does Layla’s little fucking confession have me envisioning her and her kid at the hands of some prick, but she’s flipped my damn world on its axis with her reasons for leaving. Protecting her daughter. Pulling up stakes, living in a shit hole with no money, starting over… all for her kid.
Her story laughs in the face of my preconceived ideas of women. She didn’t show weakness, but immense strength. She wasn’t selfish, but gave up her comforts for another. Granted, her husband was a dick, but staying is taking the easy way out. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Layla chose the fight, the struggle, and the sacrifice.
All the times I prayed my mom would take us out of there, to live free from the control of my fuckface dad. She never stuck up for us, demanded a better life for her boys, fought to right the wrongs—damn. I need to pull it together.
Pacing the small living room does diddly-shit for my anger. It’s only a reminder of how these girls live in a shabby and inadequate apartment, alone to fend for themselves. There’s one ratty-looking couch, a small tube TV with rabbit ears, and cheesy plastic blinds on the windows with—I run my hand along the window frame. No locks. It’s unlikely anyone can crawl up to the second-story window, but if for some reason they had a ladder or—
“I’m ready.”
The sound of her voice spins me around. Facing her, I catch myself to avoid stumbling back as I take in her appearance. A skin-tight, pale-pink sweater clings to her body, the soft fabric enticing my fingers to touch. Her chocolate skirt is shorter than the knee-length ones I’ve seen her in before. This one skims her slender thighs, which are wrapped in patterned stockings that make me curious to know how far up they go. Do they stop at her thighs, held on by a sexy garter? Fuck me, this woman is a knockout. The T-shirt and pink socks had me hard as steel, but this is sex-on-a-desk hot.
“Your hair.” A smirk pulls at my lips. Not loose and flowing like I asked, but pulled back into a tight ponytail. Holy hell, her defiance only makes my dick harder.
She grins, throws out a heeled foot, and cocks a hip. “I don’t take orders.”
I glare at her and move across the room, stopping less than a foot away. She sways a bit but quickly recovers. Her bright brown eyes fix on mine, and she juts out her chin. My mouse is a rebel.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip to avoid the full-blown smile that’s surfacing. Her eyes flare, and I see it. For the first time, it’s unmistakable. Desire.
“So many sides to you, Mouse.” Clumsy and awkward, confident when she needs to be, insecure about the past, nervous when I get close. All the sides I’m diggin’, and each one just as hot as the other. But attraction is one thing, translating that attraction to real life is something else. And right now, if we don’t get out in public, I may throw my no-kids, no-baggage rule straight out this second story window.
“Let’s roll.” I sidestep her to the door, pull it wide, and hold it open. She doesn’t follow immediately, but studies the crappy popcorn ceiling for a few seconds before taking my lead and heading out.
Doesn’t take orders, huh? I can work with that. Just have to make her believe she’s not taking them, when she most certainly will be. My mind goes to a billion dirty places until we’re in the Rubicon.
She picks up the binder that holds my CDs and flips through the pages. “You have great taste in music.” She tilts her head to the side and squints to read the titles before turning to another page.
“No glasses today?” I’ve noticed she doesn’t always wear them. Not that I care. Hot librarian or doe-eyed babe, both looks are sexy as hell.
She closes the CD binder, and her eyes dart to mine before she shrugs and focuses out the window. “I usually only wear them when I read or watch movies.”
Silence simmers between us. Visions of her reading in my bed or watching a movie wrapped in my arms wearing nothing but her glasses flicker behind my eyes. I shift, suddenly restless in my seat. I’ve always been a horny prick, but lately I’m getting a stiffy from the friction of the wind. My libido is all out of whack. First her fluffy pink socks, and now her reading—wait.
When was the last time I got laid?
That’s got to be the problem. I make a mental note to take care of that ASAP. With all the pressure of the fight coming up, my back being fucked five-ways to Friday, and family shit poking at me, I could use a little extracurricular release.
And sure as shit, relieving the sexual tension will make being around Layla a lot easier.
We park in the lot of the training center and hop down from the Jeep. I click the alarm and find her waiting for me by the back end.
Her fingers are twisted in a tendril of hair from her ponytail. “Um… I wanted to say thanks, again, for helping me out.” Her gaze swings to the training center’s front door then back to me. “I don’t have any friends. But, this feels like something a friend would do, and I just want to say…” She lifts her eyes to mine. “Thank you. It’s nice to have a friend.”
That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten the “I just want to be friends talk”. Other than feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the gut, that wasn’t so bad.
“Sure thing, Mouse.”
A soft smile pulls at her lips before she walks away. I watch the roll of her hips and the way her ass swings in the opposite direction of the sway of her hair.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to have to get laid tonight.
Nine
Layla
“Bye, Mom!” Elle shouts from the kitchen.
“Oh, hold on! I want to meet—” The sound of the front door slamming cuts me off. “Or not.”
Elle and a girlfriend from school are hitting up a double feature at the theater tonight. It works out great for me, because I’m headed back to The Blackout to meet up with Mac. She’d told me that she always works on the nights Ataxia plays. And according to the band flyer Rex hooked me up with, they have a show there tonight. Blake’s been a good friend, but I need a girlfriend to gab and gossip with. Mac’s the closest thing I have to that, and having a drink and listening to good music is a bonus.
Deciding to go for casual, I throw on my favorite pair of old jeans with holes in the knees. I should’ve gotten rid of them years ago, but they’re so comfortable and do wonders for my butt. A long-sleeved thermal shirt, Pantera concert tee, black belt and biker boots. I’m ready.
I sit at the bottom of the steps, eyeing the Camaro
. Much as I’d love to cruise that beauty around town tonight, I might have a few drinks. Crashing a classic car that belongs to a man whose nickname is “The Assassin” doesn’t sound like a smart move.
A white cab with fare prices printed on the door pulls up. Right on time.
The drive to The Blackout is a short one. Pushing through the entrance and into the dark club, I spot Mac immediately. She’s behind the bar, slinging drinks like they’re an extension of her body. I weave through the few people and random tables and saddle up. She’s taking cash from a guy, so I sit and patiently wait for her to see me. The band is already setting up on stage, and it looks like they’re minutes away from starting.
“What can I get—oh hey, Layla! How are you?” She stands up on something so that she can fold her body over the bar top and pull me into a hug.
“I’m great. I thought you’d be on tonight, so I stopped by for a drink.”
She shrugs one shoulder while pouring drinks. “They have me behind the bar tonight. I’m glad you’re here. Wednesdays are never busy, so I’m usually standing around, bored.”
“Perfect, now I can keep you company.” I order a Corona and sit back while she grabs my beer.
The bar fills up, but it’s nothing close to how crowded it was the first night I was in. Girls suited up in their most eye-catching, flesh-baring clothes huddle around the stage.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” With a head tilt, Mac motions to the girls who’re clearly the masters of attracting a horny male. “Be a miracle if you could find one virgin in this town. You know, they’ve considered changing the name to Sex Vegas.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place.” Beautiful and young. I take a swing of my beer. You’d never see this kind of thing in Seattle, but then again, if you’re not wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, you’re freezing your ass off.
“Nah, it’s an optical illusion caused by the sun and copious amounts of silicone.” She squints her eyes at something just over my shoulder and then shakes her head. “Ah, wouldn’t be an orgy without ‘The Snake’.”
Huh? My stomach drops to my toes. I follow the direction of her mirthful glare and choke on my own spit. Blake is standing off to the side of the stage. And he’s not alone. He’s leaning into a very tall, extremely gorgeous blonde, and she’s got her hand behind his neck.
I try to turn my head, to pull my eyes away, but they stay super-glued to the couple. His lips are moving, and his head is tilted along with his smile. She’s nodding, her lip wedged between her teeth as if she’s biting back the urge kiss him. Yep, he’s definitely sweet-talking her panties off.
Ha. Like she’s wearing any.
He leans in close and whispers in her ear. Her lips move, and whatever she says brings his hand to her hair. With a few passes of his thumb against her jaw, he coaxes her lips closer to his. Oh, God. He’s going to kiss her.
Again, I try to avert my gaze. Unable to break the hypnosis, I watch in animal-documentary slow motion as he tightens his fingers in her hair and pulls her to his mouth. She melts into his hold, and he dissolves the space between them. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and my chest constricts.
I scan the room, searching for something, anything to look at, but my eyes gravitate back like heat-seeking missiles. And holy hell is there heat. It’s practically peeling the paint off the walls. His huge body presses her back, pinning her with his hips. His hands move over her body like he’s memorizing every curve.
I’ve never been kissed like that. Stewart never kissed me at all unless he was between my legs, grunting like a rooting pig. My heart pinches painfully.
“Layla?” Mac’s voice gets my attention.
“Hmm?” I blink a few times and take a long pull of my beer. No longer facing Blake and his female companion, I imagine where they’re at in terms of bases. My guess is second.
Mac’s unique tawny-colored eyes study mine. “You okay?” She motions to her own face but nods toward me. “You went pale.”
I wave her off and swallow the last of my beer. Boy, that went down fast. “Nah, I’m fine.” Although my back feels like it’s on fire from the intensity of what’s going on behind me.
Mac’s eyes move over my shoulder. Her face scrunches up. “Oh, God. Those two need a condom. Fast.”
I blow a slow breath out my mouth. Gosh dammit. What is wrong with me? Why does this hurt so badly? We’re just friends, but the way I’ve respond to the mere thought of him with a girl isn’t healthy. And seeing the eyeball-burning live version is like having my guts ripped out, William Wallace style.
Mac drops another beer down in front of me, and I make quick work of the golden liquid. Anything to keep from turning around. Ataxia starts their first set, and as much as I’d like to watch them, I can’t bring myself to face what might be going on behind me.
“It’s okay. You can turn around now.”
I peek up into sympathetic eyes. We’ve only just met, but I can’t help but feel like she knows more than I’ve told her.
“He’s gone. Left just a minute ago.”
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I wonder if I can ask the question that’s clawing at my skull without giving myself away. “Did he leave alone?”
Her expression softens with what looks like sadness. “No.”
I nod once, twice, three… Oh no, I’m doing the crazy quick nods. The kind I do right before I’m about to cry. This is so stupid. Why on earth would I cry? We aren’t together. Even if there was a possibility of us hooking up, that would be a twelve-degree fuck-up on my end. I’m here to focus on rebuilding my life with my daughter. Not to gallivant around with a guy, albeit a seriously hot guy, from my work. On top of that, there are probably strict rules that discourage interoffice dating. I can’t risk losing my job.
But my eyes still burn as I wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Blake’s attention. I’ve felt only a sliver of what he gave that girl tonight, and I was light headed. Maybe that’s all it is. Not Blake the man, but the way he makes me feel. I’ve never been looked at the way he looks at me. Like I’m some forbidden indulgence he’s been deprived of his whole life.
And if that’s the case, what does that say about me? That I’d be willing to cast aside my future, my plan to rebuild a life for Elle, all because some guy makes me feel wanted. I fist my hands into my hair. Ugh, I’m sicker than I thought.
“Mac, I need a shot of…” I study the bottles. “Whatever you got. Just, make it strong.”
She chews the inside of her mouth, her thoughtful eyes on me. “I’ve got just the thing.” Whirling around, she grabs a bottle.
Within minutes I’ve downed three shots of what I’m pretty sure is some fancy-ass kind of tequila. My head feels light, but my thoughts have turned to dead weight. Dammit.
I blink to focus and suddenly feel suffocated in the crowded bar. Fresh air.
Digging through my wallet for cash, I curse my impulsiveness. Those shots probably cost me a week’s worth of food.
“Layla, no.” Mac shakes her head, dropping a full drink in front of my heavily pierced neighbor at the bar. “It’s on the house.”
Oh, thank God. “Are you sure?”
She smiles, but there’s sadness in her eyes. Great. Now she feels sorry for me. I need to get out of here.
I drop a twenty on the bar and tell Mac goodnight. On my way out, I wave to Rex on stage, and he rewards me with a lip-ringed smile.
Now he’s a nice guy. I’ve been here for two of his shows and have yet to see him all over a girl. It’s possible to practice some self-control.
Unlike a certain someone who I’m not thinking about at all.
Once free from the stifling club environment, I take a deep pull of fresh, cool desert air. Fresh might be an exaggeration. But the chilly winter temps help to clear my head. I need to sober up. Across the parking lot, I spot a bench. Perfect place to wait for a cab. I weave my way through the cars to—
The sound of a woman’s keening makes my body stiffen. I look around, but can’t see anyone except for the small cluster of smokers huddled at the far end of the building, in the opposite direction. I scan the lot, hold my breath, and concentrate on my hearing. Another soft moan and I’m moving, following the sound. Scouring the surrounding area, I tiptoe through rows of cars, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Oh God.” The murmured voice again, this time a little louder and closer.
A deep grumble filters from a nearby SUV. I duck down low and creep up to the car.
The woman screeches. Oh no. Panic floods my system. Visions flash behind my eyes. The struggle. The fear. The pain of being taken against my will.
I’m at the door, my hand moving on its own to grasp the handle.
The deep voice again. Another female whimper.
I swing open the car door and lean into the backseat. “No!” The word flies, powered by the ferocity of my anger. The door bounces back from my aggressive yank, slamming against my thighs and pinching my legs.
“What the fuck?” The angered roar of the rapist ricochets off the windows.
I grab at the back of his jeans. “Leave her alone!”
My fingers burn, digging into denim as I struggle to pull him off.
“Crazy bitch, get out!” the victim says, her voice not at all panicked, but pissed.
Blinking away the fog, my eyes adjust to the dome light in the car. A pretty blonde girl frantically covers her naked body, pulling her bra down and sliding on her panties. The rapist is up, buttoning his jeans and righting his shirt. My eyes are painfully wide and firmly fixed on the man’s familiar green glare.
Shit.
“Blake…” His name slides from my lips on a whisper.
“What are you doing?” The girl’s pretty face twists in anger. “Get out!”
I scramble backwards, out of the backseat. Stumbling, my butt hits the car parked next to the SUV. I just stormed in on Blake’s make-out session like a fucking lunatic. He already thinks I’m crazy. I just proved him right. Oh, God!
