Fighting for Forever

by J. B. Salsbury

  She lifts an eyebrow and drops a satin number back into the bag. “There’s no way this shit is gonna fly, Trix. This is a titty bar, not a burlesque club. You’ll get booed off stage and then fired.”

  I slam a stack of papers down on my dressing table harder than I intended. “What are you talking about?” I reach in and pull out a strappy one-piece that has cutouts across the stomach and back. “This is sexy.”

  She flinches away from the offending lingerie and points. “That is a bathing suit.”

  Whatever. I drop the thing back into the bag, feeling irritated at how right she really is. No one pays to get into a club to see what they can find at any public beach.

  “Trix, what’s going on?”

  I dig through my purse to find a pen. “Nothing.” At least nothing I want to talk about.

  “These are job applications.”

  My eyes slide to her as she sorts through all the papers I had on my table. “Yeah, they are.” I continue to search for a pen, avoiding her eyes.

  “Are you getting a second job?” Her question is tentative, like she already knows the answer to the question she’s asking.

  Frustrated, I drop my purse and grab the applications from her hands. She doesn’t seem to get the hint and pulls the folded up newspaper from my purse. The classified section.

  Can’t really lie my way out of this one. “I think my time here has run its course, that’s all.”

  “So you’re quitting.” Not a question, obviously.

  “I think so. Yeah.” My scalp prickles as I anticipate Angel’s reaction.

  “No!” She pulls up a stool to sit next to me, her eyes searching mine. “You can’t! I can’t do this if you’re not here.”

  I’m moved by the emotion shining through her dark eyes, but cringe because I’m letting her down. I return to my applications, pulling out the one for the Youth Center which is hiring for a camp counselor. The pay sucks, and it’s only part time, but it’s a sure thing, and Sylvia said the second something full time opens up I’m in.

  “Trix, why?”

  “My heart’s just not in it anymore.” And sometimes when someone great comes along, a girl is forced to decide what’s more important: living for a dead sister or living for herself.

  “Well shit.” Angel slumps back against the wall. “This sucks so bad. Santos is going to cry. You know that, right?”

  “Please, don’t say anything until I put in my official two weeks in tonight after my shift. And quit with the pouty face. I’ll come in and visit. I promise.”

  She frowns and moves back to her table. “No, you won’t. Everyone knows once a stripper leaves the life she never comes back.”

  God, hope she’s right.

  “Let’s give her a welcome worthy of the gods.” The DJ’s voice powers through the speakers, and I will my body into action, knowing this is my last dance of the night before I get to go home to Mason.

  Warmth fills my chest, beating out the hungry roar of the crowd. I smooth my hands down the black satin of my corset to the clips of my garters.

  “Put your hands together for our own . . . Trix!”

  The bass throbs all around me, and I force my stiletto-tipped feet to move. I focus on the fact that after I speak with the club manager tonight I’ll be able to share with Mason that I’ve given my notice. I expect to be naked shortly after sharing that with him, and he’ll undoubtedly want to show his appreciation with his hands and mouth.

  My hips sway to the music when I imagine Mason’s soft lips, his slick tongue as it glides down my neck and over my breasts. My joints turn to liquid as I think about all the wicked things he does with his tongue, and excitement builds in my chest.

  I’ve shared my body for way too long. Anyone who has had enough cash to pay a cover charge has seen me naked, felt every curve of my body, and some even tasted my skin and mouth.

  I drop my clothes piece by piece, refusing to allow the strange betrayal I feel over my past to penetrate my mind. Soon enough, I’ll be able to leave this life behind and move forward with Mason. Two more weeks at Zeus’s is an easy sacrifice for a future with my fighter.

  The thought alone brings me peace. I can’t pinpoint the time and place where my desire for revenge died, but it was somewhere between running into Mason at Caesars and yesterday, sitting on the swing at my parents’.

  The music picks up, and I run though one of my go-to routines. I could dance it in my sleep.

  “Hey, over here!” I turn toward a table of guys no older than I am. They wave money at me, and I smile and slink over on my hands and knees with a swing to my hips that I’ve perfected over the years.

  I toss my hair around and shove my hip out for them to stuff wads of their parents’ money into my lingerie. Then suddenly, it’s as if the air around me becomes electrified. There’s no sound out of the ordinary, but it feels like I’m surrounded by violence. Like a silent war is waging right in front of me, but I can’t see it. I continue to dance, but my heart picks up a frantic pace. My skin pricks as I scan my surroundings.

  And then I see why.

  Black eyes fix on me. Desperation rolls from them in waves. I freeze, staring straight at him. A face that used to bring hope now shatters my soul. My stomach churns and dizziness throws me off balance. The corner of his mouth lifts.

  And just like that, with one look, my future plans are forgotten.

  Twenty-six

  Mason

  “Bea, it’s me again.” I check my kitchen clock as I pace. “It’s two thirty. I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but . . . did I do something or say something?” My fingers fist into my hair. “Please, call me back. I’m starting to worry.”

  I hit “end” and shove my phone into my pocket. She told me she had to work until one a.m. but that she would come straight to my place after. Now it’s almost three in the morning and still no word. I’ve called, texted, left messages, even called Zeus’s, but got nowhere.

  She was quiet when she left this morning, but I just thought it was because she had a lot on her mind. I’ve spent the last hour going over everything I said. Maybe I pushed her too hard?

  Maybe Blake was right and she’s having second thoughts about quitting her job? Second thoughts about us?

  No. That can’t be it, not after the weekend we had. She was excited about us, about our future, wasn’t she?

  Shit. I grab my keys and jog down to the truck. If she won’t come to me, I’ll go to her. Not a chance in hell I’ll get any sleep tonight wondering if she’s okay.

  My phone chimes in my hand. A text from Trix.

  Sorry about tonight. I came down with a fever out of nowhere. Got sent home early and fell right to sleep.

  Oh, shit. Now I feel like a dick.

  I’m sorry, baby. Do you need me to bring you anything?

  I hit “send” and wait nervously, hating that she’s sick and I’m not there to take care of her.

  No, I just need to sleep. Call you tomorrow.

  Well, fuck. I frown and my stomach clenches. I’d like her to run to me when she feels sick. Want me to take care of her. But maybe it’s too soon to expect that kind of thing.

  Of course. Get some rest. If you need anything, I’m a phone call away.

  I hit “send” and wait for a text back that never comes.

  Trix

  I squint my eyes to focus, the booze doing a number on my vision, as I punch out another text to Mason. My fingers hit all the wrong buttons, and I teeter on the edge of typing “I love you.” No. I need to tell him that in person. He needs to hear it from my lips and believe me. That’s the only way he’ll understand the reasons why I have to break both our hearts.

  I erase the garbled words and toss my cell onto the patio table in front of me. I’m not sick, at least not physically. Mentally is another story. I stare at the roughed-up man across from me in my own backyard, and a shiver skates down my spine.

  Hatch is back.

  Lingering in the shadows at Zeus’s all
night, he waited until I finally approached him. Buying me shots to celebrate his return morphed into a party of two at my place. And here we are, almost as if no time has passed at all, except for the subtle changes in his face. Whatever he’s been up to this last year has given him an edge, a darkness in his gaze that speaks of violence and rage.

  “Why are you here?” I force my lips to enunciate the words, not wanting to give away how buzzed I am. Expose any weaknesses.

  He takes a long drag of his cigarette, his jaw now covered in a full beard and his hair longer than it was the last time I saw him. “Some dumb fuck turned himself in, went down for the shit the cops were trying to pin on me. I’m off the hook.”

  “How long have you been back?” My guess is he didn’t just breeze into town today after being on the run for a year.

  “Few weeks. Had some business to take care of before heading back to Denver.” He puts out his smoke and throws back a shot of whiskey. “Figured I’d stop in, say hi, grab a quick fuck.” Lust coats his expression and my stomach roils in response.

  “Not tonight, Hatch. I know what we used to have, but it’s going to take me some time to warm back up to that.” Understatement of the year.

  His eyebrows drop low over his eyes. “Used to like how uncomplicated you were, Trix. You’d hear my bike pull up and your legs would fall right open.” He scratches his hairy jaw. “Gone a year, come back to an uptight bitch I gotta warm up to?” He laughs, low and garbled. “Fuck that.”

  I wish I could watch him walk away, shove his ass out my door, and never see him again, but I can’t.

  The second I saw him at Zeus’s my whole world, my plan to move on, all my dreams of a future with Mason, crumbled in an instant. God dropped the opportunity in my lap, or rather in a strip club, and I can’t pass it up. No matter how much I’d like to. This is my second chance.

  “I just need . . .” To talk to Mason. I pour myself a shot. “A day to adjust to you being back.”

  Hatch’s dark eyebrows drop low over menacing eyes. “What’s up with you?” He’s thinner now. Time on the run obviously doesn’t pay well, or he’s been living on tequila.

  I throw back my shot and grunt through the burn. “Well, let’s see. You kidnapped my best friend, got her hooked on drugs, and then left her to die so you could save your own ass.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re not givin’ it up,” he says with a frustrated tone. “First off, I didn’t fucking kidnap anyone. She came willingly.” A lecherous smile pulls at his lips. “You’re pissed about Annie—”

  “Don’t you fucking call her that!”

  “Trix, calm your shit down.”

  Fuck him! I pour myself another shot of whiskey and can’t help but feel like I’m partying with the devil. Is this even worth it? Even if he does end up telling me who killed Svetlana, is it worth it when I have to betray Mason and Gia, the two people outside of my family who mean the most to me in the world?

  I set my eyes on him, knowing the girl he sees now is Trix. Cold and dead inside. Mason brought Beatriks back, the real me. After our trip, I felt more like myself than I had since before Lana died, but setting eyes on Hatch in the club brought Trix back in the span of a breath.

  “Before you left, you told me a story.”

  “Told you a lotta shit.” He leans back in his chair and sips from his beer. “Shit I never told anyone.”

  “This story was about a guy who picked up a young girl. She thought his bike broke down, stopped to help. Do you remember that?”

  He shrugs but purses his lips. “Probably fucked up, makin’ up stories.”

  “You weren’t making it up, Hatch. I remember.”

  “Trix—”

  “Finish the story.”

  “Don’t—”

  I chuck the full shot glass across the back patio in an arch of amber liquid and glass shatters on the deck. “Finish the fucking story!”

  Tears burn my eyes and I’m shaking.

  He sets thoughtful eyes on me and registers my extreme reaction. I’m fucking this up. I know I’m fucking this up! I can’t push him. If he spooks, I’ll never get him to tell me. Never.

  I breathe deeply and focus on relaxing my muscles.

  He pushes up from his chair, slamming his beer bottle onto the table so hard it makes me jump. “I’m out.”

  “What?” I hop to my feet, but his legs are carrying him through the house and into the garage where I had him park his bike.

  “Later, Trix.” The door slams behind him, and shortly after, I hear his bike roar to life.

  “Fuck!” My head spins and tears drip from my eyes. “I need a plan. I need a plan.”

  Mason

  I don’t know what woke me up, but I’m up. Staring at the ceiling, I’m wide awake. I rub my eyes and check my phone.

  It’s almost five o’clock in the morning.

  Either the sun is just starting to rise, or it’s a full moon because my condo is already tinted in muted light. I need to check in on Trix, but it’s too early. She needs her sleep. Not too early for a run—Knock-knock-knock!

  A frantic pounding on my front door tenses my muscles. Just the sound alone radiates panic. What the hell?

  I rip off my comforter and charge down the steps, whirling around the corner and flinging open the door.

  “Trix?”

  She rushes into my arms, her body going almost completely slack once I grip her to me.

  “Trix, baby, what’s wrong?”

  Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the smell of liquor is all over her. She shakes her head and squeezes me tighter. Something’s not right. Fear floods my veins.

  Shutting the door, I hook her beneath the legs to scoop her into my arms and take her to the couch.

  “I’m sorry.” She buries her face in my neck, her forehead cool against my skin. No fever. “I’m so sorry.”

  My gut clenches and I hold her tighter. “Shh, it’s okay, what are you sorry for?”

  She shakes her head, her nose brushing against my neck. “I lied to you. I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning.” She continues to whisper a mumbled “I’m sorry.”

  My hold on her lets up at the sudden need to see her face. Sliding her off my lap, I release her to pull back enough to see her. “Lied about what?”

  Her face, still heavily made up from her shift at the club but smeared with dripping mascara, bunches with a cringe. “I’m not sick. I’m a little drunk though.”

  Okay, that explains the booze smell. “Didn’t drive, did you?”

  “Cab.”

  Good. “So you lied about being sick?”

  “Yes, and . . .” She dips her chin for a minute before her eyes search mine; fear and worry shadow her expression. “He’s back.”

  My stomach drops with a sickening thud, and my fists clench. “Who is back?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Mason.” She shakes her head as tears roll down her face. I’ve seen this look on a woman before, the struggle between what she needs and what she wants. The war behind her eyes says she’s about to crush the soul of a man who cares for her more than she can return. If memory serves, I’d say history is about to repeat itself.

  I straighten and stalk to the other side of the room, fisting my hands in my hair and wishing I could turn off my feelings. Shield myself from what’s about to happen and fall into numbness. Pain slices through my chest, and I force my mouth to ask the question. I need to hear it from her lips, but pray, by some miracle, it’s not what I think. “You’re leaving me.”

  “I . . . need to explain,” she whispers. “I don’t have a choice.”

  There. She said it. It’s done.

  A numbing heat envelops me, and I glare at her. “So that’s it? Just like that.”

  Blackened splatters of mascara-soaked tears drip from her eyes and dot her white shirt. “I thought he was gone for good.”

  Son of a bitch! An ex-boyfriend.

  “. . . but he showed up tonight
. I—”

  “Fine. You said what you had to say. Now you can leave.” Unable to look at her for another second, I storm upstairs to my room and straight into the bathroom.

  I practically punch on the shower and rip off my shorts, ducking under the spray, needing to be wet and naked to avoid chasing after her. This can’t be happening. I wasn’t wrong about this girl. Jessica and Eve, yes.

  But not her. Not Trix.

  Bracing my weight, I force my hands to stay planted against the tiled wall, fighting the urge to run back downstairs and beg her to stay. I’ve chased after women in the past and it got me nowhere but alone without even a sliver of pride to call my own. I won’t do that again. I allow the hot water to beat down on my neck and shoulders in hopes that it’ll calm my racing heart.

  Her words run through my head on a loop—over and over again until I’m no longer pressing against the tile with my palms, but with my fists.

  “Mason?”

  I jerk toward the sound of her voice, strands of my hair hanging wet and heavy in my eyes. She’s standing on the other side of the glass shower door, totally and completely naked. My eyes rake over her body, and again, I’m struck by her beauty. She reaches a shaking hand to the door, but her gaze locks on mine, waiting for permission.

  What is this? One last fuck before she runs back to her boyfriend? If that is what’s going on, I don’t have the strength to tell her no. I’m too weak, too sold out for her to turn her down. Pussy-whipped and fucking drunk on her to push her away.

  I keep my gaze on hers and she pulls open the glass. Stepping one delicate foot at a time onto the heated tile, she closes the door behind her and stares up at me. Her eyes communicate a pain that she hasn’t given a voice to. God, I wish she would. Is she hurting as much as I am?

  A war wages within, the fight to run from the pain, but the draw that demands I soothe her. My fingers itch to touch her and before I can contemplate the consequences, they move.

  I cup her jaw, wiping the dark smudges beneath her eyes with my thumbs. “Why are you crying?” Steam rolls around us, leaving a sheer mist upon her skin that calls for my lips. This is wrong. I should let her go, but—