The Token 6 (New Adult Dark Romance)

by Eros, Marata

  Mom sighs, and I hurry to finish my dialog—my truths. “There is no explanation that works, Mom. None.”

  I stand. I love her, but I can't talk about Mick. He's kept his promise of taking care of her. That’s the most important thing.

  But I owe her something. I lean over her face and kiss her cheek.

  I release the air I've been holding. “It was a misdiagnosis. Mick spilled beans he shouldn't have.” I meet her eyes, and there's triumph in them—a mother's faith. “You're right. I'm not dying.”

  She shakes her head, hands covering her mouth as happy tears spill down her face. “How?”

  “They mixed up my name with one that was very close.”

  Mom's hands drop to her lap. “I knew He wouldn't take my gorgeous girl.”

  “Who?” I ask, feeling my brows knit.

  “God, Faren.”

  I don't tell her that I'm not sure there is a God. I look at the small gold cross she wears around her neck.

  I say nothing and smile.

  As if to affirm her faith, my mom's hand closes around the cross.

  I kiss her again and back away to leave.

  She calls me when I'm across the room, and I turn.

  “Don't shut every door that stands open.”

  I know she's talking about Mick. She's definitely chosen his side.

  “Some should stay closed,” I say and softly shut the door behind me.

  ~ 3 ~

  Kiki and I haul the last box of my stuff into my dump of an apartment. Old man Humphrey called and said I could come back.

  I had four months on my lease. Cheapskate. Of course I can move back in.

  We walk to the freight elevator for the fiftieth time, the Out of Order sign had been removed. It clanks its way up to my floor again.

  Kiki plays with a large collarbone sweeper hoop. “So let me get this straight. You're gonna spawn for Mick...”

  I roll my eyes and laugh.

  Kiki goes on without pause. “And not try to lay the golden egg in the money nest?” Her brows come together as the elevator lurches to a stop.

  I get out.

  “Yeah.” I glance behind me at Kiki bringing the last three boxes stacked on a wheeling dolly thing. “Mom is taken care of. I'll take his money for that. He can see the baby.” I insert the key in my lock.

  A man looms in front of me.

  He comes forward as Kiki bellows like a pig on a skewer. “Faren!”

  I whip my purse into his head.

  He swats my purse away and pushes open my door, ignoring me completely.

  He speaks into his hand.

  “All clear.”

  I watch him listen.

  “Roger...th—” he begins.

  Kiki moves in behind him and kicks him in the ass with her high heel.

  “Take that!” She sinks her four-inch spike up his ass.

  Muscleman howls and twirls around, his mouth an O of agony, one hand gripping his ass.

  Kiki spills the boxes onto the ground and swings the lightweight dolly into his face.

  “Fuck me!” he screams, swinging at her with the hand that isn't defending his face.

  “Not on your life, dick hole!” Kiki shrieks back.

  I back into the doorway, subtly dialing 911.

  Muscles's eyes flick to my hand, and he bats my cell out of it. My bad hand obligingly opens, and the cell that cost me over two hundred dollars shatters on my wood floor. The battery spins toward his foot, and his toe goes over the top, halting its motion.

  Kiki moves in for the kill, twirling the dolly around her head like a clunky lasso of metal.

  “Stop, you crazy-ass bitch!”

  “Ha!” Kiki screams, shoving the wheels into his chest like a charging bull.

  “I'm her bodyguard!” he screams as she thumps him for the third time.

  “What?” Kiki and I say at the same time.

  She comically halts, wheels out and ready for another stab.

  A man who outweighs us by seventy pounds backs away from warily.

  I glance at Kiki. Her hair's wild, her eyes are bright and filled with vicious intent.

  I smile then cross my arms.

  “Who are you?” I think I have a pretty good idea.

  He swipes at his sleeves and tries to straighten his crumpled button-up. My eyes move to the black wheel marks on the shirt, and I feel my lips turn up.

  “I work for McKenna Enterprises.”

  “I just bet you do,” Kiki says, thrusting the dolly in warning.

  He puts out a palm. “Jesus, lady, calm the fuck down.”

  Kiki grins like a shark. “No.”

  “I don't want to hurt you.”

  “Unless you want your balls for earrings, I wouldn't worry about pain inflicted on me.”

  He frowns then turns to me, the reasonable one. Yeah right. Every pregnancy hormone in my emotional circuitry is lit up. I feel as if I could beat him up myself.

  “You're a bodyguard?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Not a real Einstein though,” Kiki notes, looking him up and down. He glowers, losing whatever patience he'd been working with.

  “I don't have to protect you. Just Red here.”

  Red?

  Kiki shrugs. “Man up and tell us what's doin'.”

  He rolls his powerful shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “I need to check out your apartment for issues.”

  I look around, thinking about Ronnie. He's dead but there's still Jay Hightower. And the unresolved cop, Tagger. Somehow, those two running around make me feel less safe. I see some of what I'm thinking run across Kiki's face too.

  “Fine,” she says, waving him away. “Go skulk around and see what ya turn up.”

  He snorts, giving Kiki an eye flick that should make her crawl under a rock. Instead, she flips him off. “Sit and spin later, pal. Right now, be a good boy and find the bad guys.”

  His scowl is incendiary, but he marches off.

  Kiki doesn't go up in flames though. Her lips curl into a smile as she leans against the handle of the cart. “That's kinda fun.”

  Not fun at all.

  I don't appreciate Mick getting a meathead to shadow me. It freaks me the hell out, not to mention the zero-privacy issue.

  Mr. Mountain of Muscle moves back into the living room and talks to his hand again. “All clear.”

  “Pfft,” Kiki says.

  He glares at her and she taps her nails on the top of the dolly. His eyes track her movement. “You're a violent broad.”

  She smiles like a feline in front of a bowl of cream. “Yeah.”

  He grins, and Kiki bats her eyelashes.

  Unbelievable.

  “Out!” I announce, pointing at the door. “You've scared the crap out of me enough for one day. I've moved back in, and I want you out.”

  “Don't have to ask me twice,” he says, though his eyes travel to Kiki.

  “See ya, stud,” she says as he passes her. She flutters her fingers at him.

  “It's Butch.”

  Her eyelashes flutter as much as her fingers. “Bye-bye, Butch.”

  Butch walks away with a slightly stunned expression, and I shake my head.

  Kiki closes the door.

  “That was fun.”

  “No.”

  “Oh yes. Did you see the pussy power in action?”

  I had.

  My lips quirk, and Kiki plops down on my couch, hoops swinging a millimeter above her shoulder.

  “I had him this close.” She puts her index finger and thumb almost together.

  I feel my eyebrow lift. “To what?” I set the tea kettle on the burner and light it off with a struck match.

  I hear something clank, and I turn around as Kiki rummages inside her purse.

  “Anything,” she says, popping open her compact and setting her lipstick to rights.

  I'm quiet as I prepare our tea.

  I turn to put a tea cup on the table in front of Kiki, her fingers are flying over her
cell screen.

  “Who you texting?” I ask.

  “Thorn,” she says without looking up. “I've got poles tonight. I'm asking for another hour.”

  I think of something. Something I've wanted to ask for awhile.

  Kiki stirs her tea, watching my expression. “What?”

  She blows, takes a sip, and grimaces. She sets the tea down and squeezes a ton of honey inside the cup, stirs, then takes another sip. Bliss covers her face.

  “Have you ever... done anything with Thorn?”

  I think of my little audition with him.

  Kiki grimaces slightly and shakes her head. “He keeps threatening to give me a private audition. He was opening up a California club when I got my job at the BR. I lapped on a sub.”

  “Who?”

  She shrugs. “Some dude who works the BR once in a while.” Kiki stands and saunters over to the peephole in my door. She peers through and makes a small sound. “Brains is out there doing nothing.”

  I smile. Butch the bodyguard probably makes more in a month than I do in a year.

  I shake my head. “I don't want him taking over my life.”

  “McKenna?” Kiki guesses, and I nod.

  “You're gonna have to tell him.”

  I know.

  Kiki jerks a thumb toward the door. “And for the record? I think it's great that oaf Butch is out there.”

  I lift my eyebrows.

  Kiki gives a helpless little shrug. “You seem to be a magnet for bad shit, Faren. Ronnie's gone.” She watches my involuntary flinch. “But his type likes your type.”

  “Oh?” My hand moves to my belly.

  Kiki nods slowly.

  “What type is that?”

  “Fragile. You're like glass, Faren.”

  I'm not! I've been brave for years. I survived Ronnie. I'll survive Mick's rejection, being a single parent, and figuring out my future.

  Kiki studies me, sipping the last of her tea. She looks a little sad.

  “Glass breaks,” she whispers.

  Her words vibrate in my psyche.

  ~ 4 ~

  “Butch,” I all but growl, whirling on him.

  His palms fly up. I can't take a pee without him up my butt.

  He flicks a hand at his crotch. “Listen, Faren, Mick will have my gonads if I let you out of my sight.”

  I roll my eyes. “I am safe. Do you hear me?”

  He just does a slow shake of his head. “That's what you think. McKenna is a powerful man. He's made enemies. If they knew that... if they knew, you could be used as... collateral.”

  Whatever.

  This needs to end.

  My phone buzzes. Another text from Mick.

  He must've had a break from watching Tonka Tits flop her big watermelons around.

  I’m about throw my phone when another buzz vibrates my palm.

  I squint at my shattered screen, the Duct Tape's residue transferring to my fingertips from covering my battery sleeve.

  Thorn.

  Thorn: I need to see you.

  Why? Me: I think we're done, you and I.

  Thorn: Girl—not by a long shot.

  I don't like it. Me: Why?

  Thorn: Just… Damn, come by the Black Rose.

  Seconds pass while I don't answer.

  Thorn: Please.

  I grip the phone, casting a surreptitious glance behind me at Butch. I jog and hail a cab instead of going to my normal coffee shop. I can't have caffeine anyway.

  “Faren!” Butch yells.

  I slip inside the cab, and a guy with a turban asks, “Where to?”

  I tell him the address for the Black Rose.

  His eyes condemn me, but I don't care. I lean against the back seat. Before I close my eyes, I see Butch in the side mirror, flinging up his hands.

  I sigh with relief.

  A moment of freedom.

  The cab lulls me as I think. It jerks to a halt in front of the Black Rose, and I peek out the grimy window and give the cabbie a ten. I step onto the sidewalk, and he squeals away.

  The entrance is subtle, a neon sign that’s off during the day and bright purple at night. The rose lies on its side, as though discarded. A dim scarlet, its leaves are serrated and bright green that fades to black, as if it's dying on the vine.

  My low heels click; my maxi skirt is elastic enough to stay up even though my frame has grown too thin. My light tunic-length sweater skims my hips and helps with the boho-vibe I'm trending on. I know my champagne hair burns like a low flame against the emerald of the sweater. I feel as good as I'm going to get, so I take a deep breath and walk through the glass door. I nod at the doorman who serves as a bouncer. My eyes adjust to the light.

  “Faren.” Gus nods.

  I say hi. He'd always made me uncomfortable. Some men have a sheer physicality that's intimidating, and he's no exception. He's six feet five and muscular. I've seen him toss a guy barely smaller than him the length of the sidewalk.

  “You quit the poles?” he asks.

  I nod with a hard swallow. “Yeah.”

  His eyes move down me, my curves hidden by my flowing outfit. “You were good.” he says, his eyes flicking to mine.

  Yuk.

  I back away with a small smile. “Yeah, thanks.” My eyes fling around the dim hall, searching a little frantically for Thorn.

  His hand wraps my wrist, and he pulls me to him. “Why don't you give Gus the time of day, Faren?”

  Oh god. Really? Could my luck be this bad?

  I open my mouth for a scathing response.

  “Fuck off, Gus,” Thorn says from nowhere.

  Gus drops my wrist as if it burnt him. “Just playing with the girl here.”

  “Yeah?” Thorn asks and telegraphs nothing. His fist is suddenly in Gus's nose, and Gus howls, staggering back.

  “She's not the girl. She's McKenna's girl, fucktard.” Thorn turns to me.

  I step back.

  Way back.

  Thorn's black eyes glitter at me, and I see Gus rise behind him like the sun.

  Gus lands on Thorn, but he's already in motion.

  “Fucking. Slow. Learner,” Thorn says, jerking his knee into Gus's chin.

  More howling that sounds like a slow gurgle as it leaks to a stop.

  “We done?” Thorn asks, chest heaving.

  Gus gives hate from his hands and knees. His shattered nose is swelling up into the wells of his eye sockets.

  “No, you cock suck.”

  I can't back up any farther. My butt is against the wall.

  “Stay down, you dumb fuck,” Thorn warns in a growl.

  I notice Thorn’s hand is bleeding. A drop distracts me as it trembles off his knuckle and splatters to the black granite floor.

  The front door opens, and my palms smack the wall. I yelp.

  Mick moves into the foyer. His face shows nothing. His eyes move to my face—probably tight with my fear—to a bleeding Gus on the floor, and then Thorn.

  “What's going on here?” He’s calm, but it's a facade. Mick's body is tense, spread legs and loose fists dangling by his side.

  I guess some quality control is in order.

  Gus doesn't respond. Instead, he charges Thorn. They crash next to me, and I scream, trying to get out of the way.

  Suddenly Mick is there, putting his body in front of mine like a shield.

  My nose is stuffed between his shoulder blades. I smell him: clean male, cinnamon, and the undertone of his suit, fibers of silk and the faint touch of cleaning solution. It’s a bouquet that is uniquely Mick.

  I barely stop myself from hanging onto his back for dear life.

  I push him away when every bit of me screams to cling.

  He isn't expecting that and stumbles forward. I squeeze out between the wall and his body, and Gus's hand hits my mouth.

  My face goes numb, and I see stars. I feel the wall again as I slide down it until my ass hits the floor.

  “Faren!” Mick yells.

  It's the first time I
've heard true panic in his voice.

  And rage.

  Gus is getting the better of Thorn, and I'm just collateral damage.

  I watch Mick from my stupor on the floor. Mick steps in like a dancer, his fists coming from his shoulder as though he'll drive through Gus. He delivers a one-two punch to Gus with a precision born of practice.

  Thorn steps back and remarks, “Looks like you're McFucked, Gus.” He spits blood on the floor.

  But then Thorn's face changes. “Mick! Hey! No!” Thorn lands on Mick, who can't, or won't, stop hitting Gus.

  Thorn hauls him off. “She's okay, buddy. Faren's okay.”

  Mick's chest heaves, and his eyes move to mine. His fancy shirt is covered in blood. Gus lays moaning and rolling around on the floor.

  Mick’s eyes flick over my body, landing on my sore face.

  “You're fired, Mr. McKinney.”

  Thorn chortles, his arms still around Mick. “Surprise!”

  “Let me go, Ty.”

  Thorn's eyebrows jump. “You sure, bro? 'Cause you still have your game face on.”

  Mick stills. I watch him cram that ready rage back down inside wherever he stores it.

  He's just shown me that he can be scarier than Ronnie ever was.

  ~ 5 ~

  “Faren.” Mick crouches down and stares at my face, his fingertips lightly brushing my wounded skin.

  I pull away from his touch.

  “Thorn texted for you to come.”

  I glare at Thorn like he’s the enemy, and I walk myself up the wall with my palms.

  “Yeah.” I toss razors at him with my eyes. “Thanks.”

  Thorn just smiles.

  Prick.

  “We need to talk,” Mick says.

  I shake my head as a low moan comes from Gus. I turn away toward the doors, and Mick grabs my arm, spinning me around.

  I open my mouth, and he crushes his against mine.

  I'm starving.

  For him.

  I hate him. I hate that he had that naked girl in his office. But my mouth moves under the press of his lips as though hypnotized, operating under a will of its own, eating at his lips.

  My arms wind around his neck. I bite his lip and taste his blood.