Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  “Excuse me?”

  She glanced over at me but quickly looked away and kept walking.

  “Excuse me? I’m looking for someone.”

  “If you’re smart, a pretty girl like you would get the fuck out of here.” She glanced at me once more, a black eye now visible under the washed-out streetlamp.

  I rolled up the window, making sure the doors were locked. There was one second where panic settled deep in me. My throat closed up, and my heart started to make this warlike tempo in my chest, the pain strangulating.

  I closed my eyes, gripped the steering wheel, and tried to breathe through the fear. When I opened my eyes, I was exactly where I had been five seconds ago.

  There was a flash of headlights, and I glanced in my rearview mirror, seeing a shiny dark SUV pull up behind me. That panic grew tenfold. It was probably nothing, or maybe it was something. Didn’t know, but what I did know without a doubt was that if I didn’t figure out what in the hell I was going to do, I’d be dead.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MY MIND WAS FILLED with white noise, this static that consumed me. I stared down at the empty coffee cup, the insulated Styrofoam fragile in my hand. Before I knew what I was doing, I had it crushed in my palm, my fingers digging into the slightly raised exterior.

  “Excuse me?”

  I lifted my head, feeling like there was this rush of waves around me, filling my ears, making noise muted, blurred. The lady in front of me had this confused look on her face, or maybe it was fear. She looked at me like I’d grown two heads.

  “Are you going to make my coffee?”

  I swallowed, my hands shaking. Why the hell was I even at work?

  “Take fifteen,” Cambria said, pushing me toward the back.

  I blinked, my vision blurry. I was crying.

  I found myself walking into the room, stopping, standing there, looking around but not taking anything in. I felt lost, so lost my mind was a jumble of images and words, sounds of what happened around me. But just as promptly I turned and went out of the back room and right to a table.

  I sat in one of the empty booths, wanting to leave, to get away from all of this, from everything, but I needed the money.

  God, I could have laughed at that fact. I had a shitload of money back at my apartment, but still I was broke, wondering how I would survive.

  I scrubbed my hand over my face, over my hair, wanting to rip the strands out. At least the pain would have given me something else to focus on. The flat screen that hung in the corner showed the news. That’s all that was on, every day, all day. I stared at the muted screen, the news anchor saying something, but the volume was so low I couldn’t hear anything. I watched her mouth move, stared at her perfectly placed and made-up face, and wanted to scream. I was frustrated, my mind and body feeling like it was wrapped around itself, like it was this tangled mess inside of me with no hope of becoming right again.

  And then the screen switched to a neighborhood, one I recognized because I’d just been there the other day. I sat up straighter, staring at the shitty complex where Marshall lived. The apartment building was the focal point, and the people standing around were more interested in the fact that a camera was there than the body that was being wheeled out on a stretcher. I obviously couldn’t see who they were taking away, but I didn’t need to see to know it was Marshall. The image of him flashed on the screen. The news anchor was back on, the little square to the upper-right side of her showing the guy I didn’t really know, but who I felt responsible for at this moment.

  He looked lost in the picture, his eyes red-rimmed, his face ashen. His death had to be something vicious, something truly newsworthy if they were taking time to report on it. Hell, his neighborhood probably had a high violence and death rate, so whatever had happened to Marshall had to be pretty bad for them to give it the time of day.

  I’d killed him. He’d told me about Ricky, tried to help me, and because I’d opened my mouth, his death was on my hands. I found myself standing, went over to where the TV was mounted, and craned my neck back. I stared at the picture of him, everything moving in slow motion, the world around me spinning, then promptly speeding up.

  I don’t know what made me look out the window, but before I knew what I was doing, I stared out at the passing world before me. The only thing separating me from it was glass and steel. There, sitting like an idling devil, or maybe the Grim Reaper, was a black SUV. The black SUV I’d seen at Marshall’s place.

  I couldn’t see who sat in the passenger’s or driver’s seat; the windows were too tinted, too dark with violence and death. But I knew they were there for me. I knew they were there to incite fear, promise.

  I had to decide what I was going to do. Now.

  THE MUSIC FILLED MY HEAD, the crush of bodies, the heat…all of it had this calm settling over me. Maybe I was a fool, an idiot for coming to the club, for not locking myself up, trying to hide, maybe even escaping the city. But all these people made me feel safer. These strangers made me feel like I was already hidden, a dot of color in the middle of a rainbow.

  I didn’t need to see Ricky to know he was in that dark SUV, that he was watching me, waiting for me to do something, anything that would give him an excuse to react. Or maybe he was just taunting me, torturing me with the promise of what my future really held.

  I stood in the center of the room and turned around slowly, taking in the sights and smells that surrounded me. I felt like I could hide in plain sight, like nothing could touch me. There was strength in numbers, right?

  Stupid. None of these assholes would look your way if you needed help.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in and out slowly. Sweat, stale beer, the promise of sex in the air, all of it filled my head, made me dizzy. The music was loud, the vibrations settling into my body, twisting me up, making me sway like I was in the ocean and the current was trying to take me under, to make me its bitch. I had no money on me, couldn’t even get a drink to numb my emotions. I could have gone to the trouble of asking some poor asshole here to buy me a drink, ply him with the false promise of sex for a bottle of beer, but even that seemed like too much work. Just being here, the crush of bodies making me move back and forth, was enough to placate me.

  It was enough to make me feel a modicum of safety.

  Up until I step out of these doors and am forced to go back to my shitty apartment.

  “Dance with me.” The voice came through like a whip to my back. I didn’t even turn around, didn’t even look at whoever was offering his company. I just pushed my way through and walked toward the bar.

  There were people milling around, throwing out their drink orders. The three bartenders worked fast, concentration etched on their faces. I glanced up to where several security cameras pointed to the patrons, taking in every little move, every hand being lifted. Who was on the other end? Who watched everyone from the safety of a padded chair and an eagle eye?

  Did I even care?

  “Let me buy you a drink.”

  I glanced to my left, my head feeling like it weighed a ton as I turned it. The guy sitting next to me looked nice, with a light gray button-down shirt, his tie loosened and his hair slicked off to the side. He was clearly a businessman, maybe coming to the club to unwind after a stressful day of mergers. I looked down at his hand, saw the gold wedding band, and lifted my gaze back to his face. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed that he was here, trying to pick up some random girl while his wife was probably at home with his kids.

  I didn’t even bother responding. Being here wasn’t helping me, not like I’d hoped. I’d wanted to be surrounded by people, to feel like I was nothing among a sea of everything. Instead I felt suffocated, like my own thoughts, my own needs were taking me further into the recesses of a place I’d never be able to claw myself back up from.

  But going “home” wasn’t an option. I needed fresh air, needed to breathe. I needed to still be close enough to something, to someone instead of surrounded by nothing. I pus
hed my way past the deadbeat husband, through the heavy crush of bodies gyrating on the dance floor, and finally made it outside. I sucked in a deep lungful of air. A few people were smoking to the side, the stench of cigarette smoke cloying, suffocating. I moved past them, turned the corner of the building, and found myself in a semi-quiet, pretty dark alley.

  I had some privacy, some breathing room, but stayed close enough to the corner of the building to feel like I wasn’t alone and foolish for coming out here. When I sat on the curb, the smell of piss, vomit, and stale beer filled my head, making me want to gag. But I didn’t move. I felt this tingle of reality deep inside me, this problem that I’d never solve making me its prisoner. I could hear people around the corner, their laughter, their drunkenness causing them to be carefree.

  I stared at the alleyway before me, the darkness creeping around, promising absolution, nothingness. That’s what I wanted, to just be swallowed whole.

  This alley wasn’t where my problems stemmed from, just the one where the mystery man had taken control and “saved” me with a gun and unconcern. No, my problems had started when I was born into a world that didn’t want me, when I was introduced into a life that already hated me.

  I looked up and into the “eye” of the security camera pointed at me.

  I pushed the tears away with angry swipes to my cheeks. I wouldn’t cry for anything, for anyone, least of all myself. I’d gotten into this mess, and I’d figure out a way to get out of it.

  Leaving. Running. That was my only option. They might find me, probably would if I was being honest, but they’d just take me here, now, anyway. Running would at least not make me a victim. It would make me a fighter, and that’s how I’d survive.

  Until they catch up with me, which they will eventually.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face, so tired. I hung my head, closed my eyes, and just let the deep bass of the music come through whenever the front door was opened. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. I lifted my head and saw large black boots in my vision. I couldn’t see the man who stood in front of me clearly, the shadows were too thick, but for some inexplicable reason I knew I’d seen him before.

  That night in the alley. He was with the man in the suit.

  They’d been dangerous, the violence swirling around them like an imprint, a promise. They hadn’t said one word, yet their message had come through loud and clear.

  And then he held his hand out to me. I should have gotten up and left. I didn’t need any more trouble, but I found myself just sitting there, looking at it, wondering if it was a lifeline or an offer to drag me further into hell.

  “He wants to see you,” the man said, his voice deep, serrated. I felt his words slice into me like a rusty knife, opening me up, draining me dry.

  But instead of going, leaving the clear threat I knew awaited me, I found myself placing my hand in his, letting him lift me off the ground, and following him as he led me farther into the darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS SOON AS I stepped through the door I knew exactly where I was, who sat in front of me. I didn’t know his name, but I knew he was the man who’d been in the alley, the one who’d pistol-whipped that asshole who’d assaulted me.

  His office was hot, or maybe it was the way he stared at me. It was like he could see right into my very soul, and threatened to snatch it up and devour it if things didn’t go his way.

  He didn’t say anything for long seconds, but his silence spoke volumes. “Come closer,” he said—ordered—calmly.

  I took a step forward.

  “You know who I am?”

  I shook my head. “I mean—” I swallowed after I said those two words. “You’re the man from the alley, the one who saved me.”

  “Saved you?” He leaned back in his chair, his focus on me.

  I nodded. “From that asshole.” I stared at the TV monitors behind him, an array of shots of the interior and exterior of the club. He was the one behind the “eye” then, watching, calculating.

  I heard the door behind me shut with a deafening, final click. I was now left alone with this man.

  I’d been a crying mess, broken and so damn scared of where my life was going, when that other shoe would drop, I hadn’t even been able to stand. But here I was, for some unknown reason, and I didn’t know whether to beg for help or run in the other direction.

  I felt like I was this little rabbit facing a feral, starved lion.

  I had no doubt I’d find out soon enough. My heart raced, my head swam with the realization that this was bad, and that I’d put myself in a dangerous situation. Coming here hadn’t been smart; I felt that as strongly as I felt my heart pounding in my chest.

  I’m already in a dangerous situation, one that will get me killed…or worse.

  It was that “or worse” that scared the shit out of me. It was the image of being tied up, beaten, bloody, naked, my body a vessel for men who wanted nothing more than to empty themselves in me. Hell, I didn’t know for sure he’d even do any of that to me, but I wasn’t a fool either, despite my actions.

  But this man in front of me seemed different, more calculating, and more dangerous.

  “I’m Cameron Ashton,” he said, his head now cocked to the side, his gaze taking me in as if he could see into the very depths of my soul. “You really have no idea who I am, despite coming to my club all this time.” He didn’t phrase it like a question.

  I just shook my head.

  I stared at the monitors again, reality and relaxation settling in. “You’ve been watching me?” I whispered those words, knowing my voice sounded accusing.

  “I have,” he said with no remorse, no shame.

  No, I could see he was different than Ricky, more organized, more controlled. He probably did things that would make me cringe, but was also powerful in every sense of the word.

  “Why?” I didn’t know why I asked or why I even cared. But the word came out on its own, refusing to be silenced.

  He didn’t answer me, just watched me like a hawk about to strike.

  This man could help me. This man who seemed far more powerful than anyone I’d ever come up against. I didn’t know how I knew that, or why I wanted to go down this road again, but I had no other options. The words played in my head, over and over again. A cry for help was poised at the tip of my tongue. Surely a man like him, a man who could hold a gun to a stranger’s head, could help me.

  And you’re foolish enough to ask? Isn’t this how you got into your current situation?

  I could see by looking into Cameron’s dark, bottomless eyes that he was a man used to owning the world. And it was an ugly world. Ricky would use me up until there was nothing left.

  Fucking Ricky. I should never have gone to him for help. God, poor Marshall.

  Is this how David felt when he went up against Goliath? The one thing I knew for sure was that I wouldn’t be getting out of this alive. Asking Cameron Ashton for help was the equivalent of asking the devil to promise not to drag me deeper into hell.

  I’m already in hell. How much deeper can I get?

  Neither of us said anything, and I had a feeling I could stand here all day and he’d just watch me, being the calculating bastard that I felt he was. I didn’t know why he’d brought me to his office. But I assumed he’d known, or at least sensed, that I was in trouble. Or maybe he just wanted to fuck with me. He’d been watching me this whole time, that feeling of being watched more literal than I’d ever imagined.

  “Why did you bring me in here?” Saying the words, questioning a man like this seemed almost abhorrent, like I was basically asking him to snuff me out.

  “Why did you agree to come here?” he threw back, his voice still calm, still so damn collected.

  “I need help.” And the words just came out, like spilled water refusing to stay in the glass. It was a thick string of letters mashed together. I didn’t want to wait for him to say anything, for him to be the one to start this, if he even would have.<
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  Still he was silent. Still he watched me as if I intruded on his time, his space, even if he had called me here.

  “I have nowhere else to go, and I assume that’s why you brought me here?”

  “Is that what you thought?” His question had a sharp edge to it.

  I breathed out slowly, trying to appear calm, but I knew I was failing miserably at it. “I don’t know what I thought, what to think.”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow, maybe waiting for me to continue or for me to shut the fuck up.

  God, my throat was so thick. My heart raced, my hands shook, and I felt like I was on drugs, like I’d taken some speed and had no control over my body right now.

  When he didn’t say anything after that, I clenched my jaw, feeling light-headed, like I could pass out right now. Would he turn me down, beat me for being so brazen as to ask for help? Shit, why had he brought me here anyway? He still hadn’t told me that much. Maybe seeing me squirm got him off? And if he agreed, what would he want in return?

  Oh, you know.

  But I could handle some rough sex, even if I had no experience with it whatsoever. I could be whoever, whatever he wanted me to be if it meant saving my life.

  It wasn’t until the earth opened up and hell presented itself that I realized my life wasn’t disposable. I wanted to live, wanted to be a better person. I wanted that silver lining, that happily ever after. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I’d ever get any of that, but I still wanted it, and I was willing to do anything to make sure I kept moving forward.