Wrong

by LP Lovell

  She nods quickly, but stays silent.

  “Good.” I hop up and go to the bathroom. I eye the toilet. There’s no way in hell I’m ringing the toilet with a hard-on like this. I stumble to the shower, push the door open, and piss, trying to take a second to calm my dick the fuck down. When I come back in the room she’s laying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling like she’s horrified. I skim over her body, unable to avoid the perfect little dots hiding beneath the thin cotton shirt she’s wearing. This is fucked up. She’s turned on by me, I’m turned on by her. How much more twisted and warped is my life going to get? She notices me staring at her and quickly yanks the covers over her chest.

  She huffs, her face blushing a pale, sex-flush pink.

  I run my hand over my bare chest and tap my fingers over the muscle. Her eyes follow my hand, and she swallows hard before slamming them shut. At this point there’s no reason to try and hide the fact that I was just staring at her. “Sorry. I’ve got a fucking dick, you know?” I shrug and shoot her a cocky grin. Her cheeks darken even more as she dips her chin and stares at the comforter.

  There’s an awkward silence. What the fuck am I supposed to do with her? She doesn’t belong in this fucked up shit I call my life. What the hell is she going to do? Stay here, in this house for the rest of her life? What the hell am I doing here? Sleeping with her, fucking making small talk...just fuck me. I’m not made to handle a woman. It’s foreign to me. Am I just going to cart her around with me every-fucking-where? Shit. This entire thing makes my fucking head hurt.

  Somebody needs to fucking say something. I narrow my gaze on her. “I’ve gotta go check on something tonight, and I’m not fucking leaving you here.”

  “I don’t want to go with you to kill people,” she grumbles.

  “I’m not leaving you here with the other guys, so you don’t really have a choice.”

  I open the passenger side door, and a chilly breeze swings it back just before she steps out. She looks so confused. Like this is the first time she’s been outside, and I guess, in a way, it is her first time. This is the first time since she was taken that’s she’s been off of my property, the first time she’s been anywhere since she no longer has anything to call her own.

  Grabbing her hand, I squeeze it as a reminder of how serious I am. “Now, like I said on the way over here, if anyone asks, you’re a date.”

  “Yeah,” she flattens out her shirt. “Great!”

  The gravel crunches beneath my boots as we walk across the dim lot. The light from the sign flickers, and she glances up as she swats her hair from her face. “A bloody strip club? This is where you take girls on dates? Wow, keeping it classy.”

  “You’ve no idea how classy I am.” I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me. She shoots an unnerved look up at me. “Well, gotta make it believable,” I say with a shrug.

  The steroid-enhanced bouncer manning the front door nods as he sees us approach. “JP. Haven’t seen you in a while.” His eyes dart down to Tor and his lips curl up. “How come you always have attractive women with you?” Leaning in to her, his voice lowers. His eyes meet mine, and I stare him down as I possessively pull her closer into me. “Don’t you know what a piece of shit he is?” he chuckles.

  She feigns a laugh. “I keep telling him he’s an arsehole.”

  “A sexy voice too,” he groans, his eyes seeming to reassess her.

  I usher her in and we’re swept up by the rumble of dance music. Men whistle and shout as half-naked women twist around poles. I pull her through the group of overweight, middle-aged men gathered around one of the booths toward the hallway leading to the dressing rooms. I push open the door and Tor yanks back on my hand. “Come on,” I say and drag her in the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

  The group of nearly naked girls primping and standing in front of the mirrors look over at us. Every last one of them glares at Tor, eyeing her before trailing their gaze over to me and smiling.

  “I need you to watch her,” I say and step toward the door.

  Ginger tosses her blonde curls behind her shoulder. “What in the--”

  I cock a brow. “Just watch her.”

  Ginger shrugs, tapping her brush against her palm as she cocks her hip to the side.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say, stepping out. I walk out into the club and take a seat in front of the stage, settling back as I glance at my watch. The lights flicker and one of the dancer struts out onto the platform, spotting me and winking.

  I keep glancing at my watch as girl after girl comes out on stage. The fucker I’m supposed to meet is thirty minutes late. With each passing minute, I’m growing more agitated.

  Just as a song comes to an end, I feel a tap on my shoulder and look over it to find one of the club bouncers.

  “The guy’s here. Up at the bar.” He points. “Red shirt.”

  I glance back at the bar and spot the man I’m supposed to meet. He’s leaned against the bar, nervously bouncing his leg. He’s scrawny and dressed in a golf shirt and slacks. He looks like a fucking tool. I exhale and rise, squaring my shoulders as I push through the crowd.

  I stop behind him, and he must feel my presence because he slowly turns, his head tilting up to look at me. “Uh...I’m, I’m…” he stumbles over his word and swallows. “JP?”

  “Yeah.” I feel my jaw twitch.

  “I’m Big Ole’ Boy--”

  I shake my head and glower at him. “Don’t ever use your handle like that, dipshit.”

  His eyes widen and he quickly nods. “Yeah, sorry.”

  I clasp my hand over his shoulder and squeeze harder than I should. “You got my money?”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. I sit on a barstool and drag the envelope across the bartop. I pull the flap open and dump the cash onto the counter. The man’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he nervously glances around the bar like he expects a SWAT team to swarm in at any second.

  “Relax,” I groan as I spread out the cash and count it. I lock my eyes on him, glaring. “You fuck around like that again and make me wait on my money and I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Got it?”

  He nods, cautiously backing away from the bar.

  “And don’t run late to another appointment with me,” I continue to hold his stare as I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it. “It’s fucking rude,” I snarl, smoke billowing from my lips. The guy’s just standing here frozen in place looking at me like I’m the fucking Wizard of Oz. “Fucking go!” I shoo him with my hand and he quickly turns to leave.

  Pinching the cigarette between my lips, I mumble, “Dumbass,” as I stack the bills together, I glance up to the stage and watch one of the girls swing around the pole as I pull my wallet from my pocket. I take another puff and cram the money inside as I make my way back to the dressing room.

  I have the cigarette halfway to my lips when I open the door, and I freeze in place. Tor’s sprawled out on the sofa, legs draped over the arm, with a near empty bottle of tequila clutched in her hand, and a drunk grin plastered to her face. She glances up at me and rolls her eyes as she waves her hands through the air. “Dum, dum, duuum!”

  I pull in a long drag and arch a brow at her. “Really?” I ask stepping toward her and snatching the bottle. “Who the fuck gave her liquor?” I look accusingly around the room at the girls who are all giggling. I drop my smoke into an empty glass and shake my head.

  One of them shrugs. “Coco thought it’d be fun to see a British chick drunk.”

  Slapping my palm over my forehead, I groan. “For fuck’s sake.”

  “You need to improve your vocabulary.” Tor slurs. “It’s always fuck this, fuck that. So angry.” She shakes her head.

  Coco walks past me, swaying her hips and smiling. “She’s funny. I like her, she’s got some spunk,” she says as she leaves the room.

  Tor grins. This is going to be a fucking ball ache for sure. “All right. Come on. Time to go.”


  She staggers to her feet and stumbles away from me. “Nooo!”

  Is she trying to fucking run? Fucking hell

  I exhale, preparing to throw her over my shoulder and cart her drunk-ass out, when the announcer comes over the speakers. “And please welcome the lovely Miss Coco Chanel to the stage.”

  Tor jumps up, squealing. “Oh, I promised Coco I’d watch her dance. I need some money to put in her panties.” She darts to the door, her shoulder slamming into the frame as she runs out.

  “What the…” I walk out after her, shaking my head.

  She makes a beeline for the stage and plops down in an empty seat. Tor glares at me, looking around before her eyes fall back on mine. A guy near us turns and drags his eyes over her body before winking at her. He’s blatantly undressing her with his eyes. She scowls at him.

  “All right, let’s go.” I reach down to grab her hand and she snatches it away from me.

  She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe that I am having to try and convince you to drink and watch strippers.”

  “Fine.” I shrug and take a seat in the chair next to her.

  The guy gawking at her whistles. “Hey, sweet thing, you gonna crawl up there and show them girls how it’s done?” he slurs, swaying in his chair.

  Tor nervously laughs and scoots her chair closer to me, and the guy keeps staring. He stands and she immediately hops up and drops in my lap. I frown and tilt my head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

  She leans in close to me, her hands flat against my chest. The smell of tequila nearly knocks me out of my chair. “That guy is creepy,” she whispers, her breath blowing over my neck. The fact that I am now her safety is beyond fucked up. I shift her weight in my lap.

  I place my hand on her leg and glare at the guy. His eyes immediately redirect to the stage. Her eyes drop to my hand. “Would you get your hand off of me?”

  “Relax, Tor.” I lean in to her ear. “You put yourself here, don’t blame a guy for taking advantage. I promise I won’t bite.” I whisper teasingly as I place my hand on her thigh. “Try to relax, maybe even enjoy yourself.”

  She eyes my hand on her leg. “I’m pretty bloody sure that’s something the devil says to you when he welcomes you to hell.” She huffs then glances back over to the guy still eyeing her. “And just so you know, I’m only sitting on you so I don’t get raped.”

  Smiling, I sweep her hair to the side. “Well, at least you think I won’t do that.” I hold my gaze with hers, watching her. A giddy squeal comes from behind me. “JP!” I turn, coming eye level with a pair nipples at attention.

  “You don’t come around as much as you used to. It makes all us girls sad.” Tara leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek as her eyes fix on Tor. “Is this your new girl?”

  “Not exactly.” I angle my head to look at Tor and catch her roll her eyes.

  “Oh, Crystal’s gonna be so mad at you!” Tara bats her fake eyelashes. “Want some drinks?”

  Tor hiccups, and I pull in a breath. She’s fucking drunk as piss, and I’m going to need a drink to handle her for the thirty minute drive back home. “Get me a whiskey, would you?”

  Tara nods and trots over to the bar. Tor glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where’s my drink?”

  I cock a brow at her. “You already had your bottle. You don’t need another drink. You’ll just throw up.”

  “I haven’t had nearly enough,” she grumbles. “At least not enough to deal with this hell hole.”

  Just as Tor mumbles that, Tara leans in with a tray of drinks. She looks Tara over from head to toe. “Tell Caleb to call me, would you?” Tara says.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She struts off, shaking her ass as she makes her way over to a man holding out a fistful of cash. “Oh, bloody hell no! Not Caleb.” Tor shakes her head. “Please tell me he’s not sticking his dick in that nasty shit.”

  I laugh and squeeze her thigh, allowing my eyes to drift up to the girl on the stage. “Oh, come on, now. All men fuck strippers.”

  “Gambling, murder, and whores. Might as well complete the repertoire, I guess.”

  I direct my attention back to her. “Would you expect any less of me?”

  She shrugs, slowly moving my hand from her leg and placing it on the arm of the chair. “My expectations of you are extremely low, Jude.”

  Ain’t that the fucking truth?

  “So”—I arch a brow at her—“how’s hell treating you?”

  “Hell has tequila. It could be worse.” She shrugs and pets my cheek like a damn dog “You’re an arsehole, but you’re a really pretty arsehole,” she slurs, the scent of tequila blows across my face.

  Fucking hell. She’s soused.

  “You’re drunk.”

  I toss my head back, laughing. “Shit, I need to be drunk around you. Hell, someone just hook me up to a fucking drip. Make this shit permanent.”

  He slumps back against the chair, running his fingers through his short hair and sighing. “Fuck. I have a feeling you’re gonna be even more annoying drunk than sober.”

  “Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ at the end of the word, and that causes him to narrow his eyes on me, almost condescending. “Drunk Ria is finding you much more tolerable.”

  I try to focus on what I know will be a scowl on his face, but my vision is still blurred. Fuck, I’m more pissed than an owl in socks. Not my brightest idea.

  “Let’s see how long it takes drunk Tor to throw up.” The bastard is smirking over his glass at me.

  A waitress, if you could call her that, prances over, stopping behind us. She tosses her bleached-blonde hair behind her shoulder and wiggles her hips. I can’t help but watch her boobs. They’re bigger than my bloody head. I place a hand each side of my head and try to compare it. Jude cocks an eyebrow at me. What? I mouth at him.

  “Would you like some more drinks, JP?” she asks.

  “Yes!” I shout, at the same time as Jude growls no. I shove my erect middle finger in his face as I smile at the waitress. “Tequila!”

  Another annoyed groan rumbles out of him, and he’s rubbing both his hands down his face. I swear to God, he sounds like an animal, like an actual growling, snarling animal. The waitress scurries away, fake boobs bouncing as she goes. I don’t blame her. Cheery here isn’t exactly the best company.

  He points at me. “You don’t need another fucking drink, woman. Your fucking eyes are crossing already!”

  “I can still see and hear you, which means I haven’t had nearly enough to drink.” I smile and turn up my empty glass.

  “Oh,” he nods, one brow arching, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or challenging me. “You want to get drunk? I’ll get your ass drunk.” He grabs a waitress passing by. “Six shots of tequila.”

  I watch the waitress nod and prance off. “Fina-fucking-lly,” I drawl. “You’re so….gnarly all the time.”

  I catch a slight grin flicker over his lips. “Hmm,” he laughs. “Don’t really know any other way to be, doll.”

  Two hours and fuck knows how many tequila shots later, and I’m so pissed that even arsehole extraordinaire over here isn’t seeming that bad. In fact, he’s looking pretty fucking hot. I squint and focus on his bulging biceps, the ink of his tattoos bringing a whole new level of sexy badass to the table.

  “You’re really hench,” I slur as I hang off Jude’s arm. We’re leaving apparently, but it’s slow progress. I can’t feel my legs...or my face...or anything, really. I’m beautifully numb, and everything just seems so much better.

  “Hench?” He glares at me, dragging me toward the door. “Would you speak fucking English?”

  “Muscley. Pretty.” I grope at his arm. “You’re really pretty.”

  He’s so pretty. I want to touch him. I reach out and stroke his face.

  “Okay.” He jerks his head away. “I’m not a fucking dog,” he says, and then proceeds to stumble into the wall.

  I laugh, and point at him. “You are definitely a dog...and a rat. A
drunk rat.” What am I even talking about?

  He slumps against the wall, mumbling as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Fuck, I can’t drive.” He fumbles with his phone and drops it onto the lobby floor. “Shit.”

  I bend down and pick it up, dropping onto my arse. I squint at the bright screen, trying to get my eyes to focus. “I can’t see! Fuck!”

  He eyes me, his gaze narrowing. “That voice of yours…” he groans, taking the phone from my hands and placing it to his ear.

  “Hey, I need you to come get me.” There’s a brief pause. “Just come get me. I’m at the titty bar.” He groans and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He shakes his head and looks around. “You can’t be all sprawled out on the floor of my club.” Bending over, he picks me up and slings me over his shoulder. “You need fresh air anyway.” He carts me out of the doors and into the parking lot.

  “Jude.” I try to struggle, but I can barely lift my own arm. The air is cold, but I can’t feel it. I have my alco-jacket. I have to close one eye to see straight. The club gets farther away as we move deeper into the shadows. His breathing is ragged and with each step his grip on my thigh tightens. He stops under the shadow of a tree. I can’t see anything and I have to squint in the dim light from the club. We’re far enough away that no one can hear us. No one can see us.

  He puts me down, my body sliding over every inch of his on the way down. I wobble slightly and his arms tighten around me, pulling me against him. He says nothing for what feels like forever. His eyes are locked on mine, a dim green in the fading lights of the car park. His hand moves, his fingers inching under the hem of my top to brush the skin at the small of my back. My skin prickles under his warm touch. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a very sparkly, very pretty flame. What the fuck? I frown as I try to work through my tequila-induced fog. What am I doing here? How did this happen? Shit. How much did I drink? You know it’s too fucking much when the murderous psychopath is starting to look appealing. Well, technically he’s my protector now. Does that make it okay? Fuck knows. My drunken mind can’t work this out right now.