Chapter 11
July 4th 2011 9:45 p.m.
Fourth of July at a strip club could get interesting. There were lots of patriotic costumes, red, white, and blue sequins, pyrotechnics, and more than a few sparklers. One of our newer, more ambitious dancers had petitioned our boss to do an act that made me cringe in pain just thinking about it. Not only would shooting off a roman candle be against fire codes, but the way she wanted to hold the giant fire-stick would probably haunt me every Independence Day from now until the day I died. Some things just were not meant to be seen.
Tonight's music selection ranged from "American Woman" to "Cherry Pie" to—gag me—"Firework" from Katy Perry. Yes, Andre knew how to milk the holidays for all they were worth. To me, it was predictable and cheesy, but I wasn't the one in charge so there was little I could do about it. I simply followed the Independence Day spirit in my own little way.
I rebelled by gothing-out with black latex, spikes, and heavy liner and dancing to "Blood" from In This Moment. Andre had grouched about it, but eventually gave up. He had twenty other girls to be his little dolls. I was a lost cause.
Unlike the playful music the other girls danced to, this was raw and angry. Maria Brink's growling voice unlocked that box I’d carefully tucked my anger into. Everything from the shitty way I'd allowed myself to be treated in the past to the feeling of betrayal from my best friend got shoved in there and locked away until I let myself get lost in the dancing. For a few hours, I let it all spill out through my body in a sweet release of endorphins and sexuality.
Once my set was done, and my tips cleared from the stage, I ducked into the back and changed into my floor outfit. I had a few different ensembles I used when I walked the floor during the other girls' sets. It was pretty common to see a girl in two or three outfits each night. Kept things fresh and fun, I suppose.
I slid into a pair of black pinstriped shorts that fit like a second skin and were scandalously short. Bend over too far in them and a guy could almost see my ovaries. A black lace bra fit snug against my chest, helping to push up that supple bit of cleavage. A matching fedora and suspenders that hugged my curves finished the look, and I was ready to make my way to the main floor. First a drink at the bar, and then a walk through the club, looking for anyone wanting a dance or even just a little flirty conversation. Tonight was already pretty good as far as tips went. Anything else was just icing.
I slid over to the bar, smiling and flirting my way through the crowd, and hit the bartender up for a shot of whiskey. When I looked ahead of me, I found that Liz was there waiting for me, drink in hand.
"That was a refreshing change," she said as she sipped on whatever fruity cocktail she was trying out tonight. I had to love her for braving the tension between us right now.
"Thanks," I said awkwardly. I wanted to just forget about everything that happened that morning, wanted things to be like they were before all the crazy. I wanted that easy friendship back. "I thought I'd break the whole 'Born on the Fourth of July' trend."
"Well, it worked," Liz laughed. "That was a pretty... harsh song."
"Not if you really listen to it."
"How so?" she asked. "She's basically asking her guy to be a jerk to her."
"That's not how I hear it. To me, she's saying she hates all the good things he does because it's what makes her love him even when he's really just a bad guy."
"Hmm," Liz said as if she really didn't get it. "So why thank him for the abuse, then?"
"Because, that's what finally gives her the courage to break away from him," I said, my smile long gone.
I sat and thought about that for a moment. That song really did strike a chord with me. I hadn't thought about it much before, but it was exactly how I felt about Frank. He'd made me fall in love with him then hurt me. Over and over again. It wasn't until he finally showed me the real monster he was that I was able to leave him. I just couldn't pretend to not notice everything he did after that.
Liz gave a slow, considering nod before sliding an appletini in my direction. It wasn't exactly my favorite drink, but I decided to humor her. Who was I to turn down, what I assumed was, a peace offering?
"So, about this morn—" I started, ready to apologize.
"Harley!" A man's voice cut me off. I turned on the stool and found Andre moving through the crowd towards me, a suspiciously happy smile stretched over his face. "Hey, doll. You have an admirer."
My eyebrow arched, but the open skepticism didn't seem to derail the cheeriness of my boss. He looked like he was picking canary feathers out of his teeth.
"A young gentleman just paid a pretty penny for a private dance. He requested you."
"A private dance? Andre, you know that’s not really my—"
"Harley, it's a done deal. He wants you and he paid a vulgar amount of money for a half hour of your attention. I don't ask you to do this often—hell, ever—but business is business. Just be a good girl and give him a dance and a show then collect your tip and get out. Thirty minutes. Hardly seems worth arguing about."
Andre's tone was gentle yet authoritative. There would be no backing out of it. The customer already paid, and I was who he paid for. Andre even held a valid argument. He rarely asked me to do VIP dances. Every other girl here would get six or seven VIP's a week, at least, and most of them were more than happy to reap the benefit of a larger purse.
I stared at him, letting him know from my expression that this was only as a favor to him. Sometimes I just knew I was being stupid and difficult. What did I expect? I wanted easy, fast money, didn't I?
With an apologetic look at Liz, I downed the rest of my appletini and set the glass down on the bar.
"We'll talk later," I told her. The guilt for the way I talked to her was beginning to eat away at me.
"Get that money!" I heard enthusiastically from the bar as I made my way to the room.
I stepped into the VIP room, pulled the door closed behind me, and tugged softly on the string that held the red curtain open, letting it fall over the window. The mystery of what went on behind closed doors was part of the appeal. People paid the big money to explore the darker, more exclusive, side of the club.
The interior of the room upheld that promise. Red backlighting ran the entire space of the room, bouncing onto the crimson walls from a small black rail that ran the length of each wall, breaking only for the space of the door. Though the coloring of each private room was different, each one had an overstuffed loveseat, upholstered in soft velvet, and a small circular stage with a pole in the center. The floor of the stage was also lit with a red light. The only break in the color scheme was the white light that hung over the loveseat, pointing at the stage to give the customer a good view of their dancer.
A pair of legs stuck out from the shadows of the couch, covered in faded denim jeans. I gave the shadows my best flirtatious smile and walked towards a small table in the corner of the room.
"I'm Harley," I whispered.
Talking to the costumers wasn't my strong suit. I'd rather just dance and pretend they weren't real people with real thoughts. I grabbed the small, credit card-sized remote to the stereo and pushed the power button.
"Just sit back and relax. I'll take good care of you." Oy, what cheesy bullshit. Men really get off on this stuff?
The stereo played a low, heady beat that was commonplace in strip clubs. It was too cliché for my taste, but then again, the men weren’t drawn here for the music. I tossed the remote back onto the table and prowled towards the small stage, putting on a show for my customer.
"So, what do you like?" I asked as I grabbed the pole and pulled myself onto the stage slowly, pressing the front of my body against the cold metal.
"Actually," he said, the timbre of his voice making the hairs on my arms stand on end.
He pulled his feet out of the light and leaned forward, letting the soft white light spill over his face. Ice shot through my veins, my hand tightening around the pole.
"You sh
ould know exactly what I like." The grin that spread across his face was cold and dangerous. "Hiya, Harls."
"Frank," I managed to force out on a shaky breath.
I was frozen, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Eleven months I'd been free of him, and he still managed to grip me with fear as strongly as the day I left. Just saying his name aloud made my blood turn to shards of ice, cutting me up from the inside.
Frank apparently found triumph in catching me off guard. His lips curled with a self-satisfied grin as he watched how I reacted to him.
"Blonde, huh?" he said finally as he straightened up in his seat, pulling on the collar off his jacket. "Have to say, the darker hair was better, but I guess I could get used to it."
The idea of him being around long enough to get used to anything made me squirm.
"What the hell do you want, Frank?" I finally managed to say, though my voice seemed less confident than I had tried to make it.
Frank simply continued to smile at me, his ruggedly handsome face full of mirth and something much darker. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was absolutely giddy that we were in the same room again. He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, which was covered by a black bandana.
"What do I want?" he repeated, dropping the hand to hang between his legs. "Well, I want what I paid for. A dance."
Alarm bells rang out in my head. I needed to get out of there. Get as far away from him as I could manage. I wished Jackson had been working so I could run to him and tell him that I was in trouble, but he was still home recovering.
I’d seen this man crush a skull like a pop can. I wasn't sure any of the other bouncers were big enough, or strong enough, to take him down. All I knew was the longer I stayed there the more he was going to get into my head and that never ended well for me.
"Go to hell." I finally managed to peel my white-knuckled grip from the pole and step down off the stage. "Find somebody else to dance for you."
I turned and stepped towards the door, ready to make a run for it. Maybe I could withdraw all my cash and get my things out of my apartment before he caught up with me.
"Well that's fair, I guess," he said the moment I gripped the doorknob. "Wouldn't wanna cause problems. I'll just ask for that pretty little blond you were talking to at the bar."
My spine went stiff, and I stopped, my eyes peering through the cracked door and falling on Liz. She was laughing with the bartender. Carefree and completely unaware of the danger she was in because of me. He knew he had my attention.
"She's cute. Small. Doesn't look like she'd give me too hard a time. Tell me, Harls... She a good friend of yours?"
It sounded so innocent. Just small talk from anyone else, but coming from Frank, I understood the underlying threat that question held. I stared at Liz for a moment, my jaw clenched. Even though I'd been angry with her this morning I couldn't let him hurt her. She hadn't been spying on me for him because he was trying to use her as leverage against me. I closed my eyes as his question loomed in my head. He had watched us, and he was using it to his advantage.
"Fuck!" I growled, pounding the side of my fist into the wall just inside the room. I took a step back and slammed the door behind me, rattling the decor hanging on the wall.
"One fucking dance," I said through clenched teeth. "Then you get the hell out of my life."
I walked back to the stage and Frank's awaiting grin. I'd have loved nothing more than to slap the smugness right off his face, but that would only make things worse. I wanted to get him out of there not give him a reason to continue to fuck with me.
"Of course," he said.
Frank relaxed into the couch as I stepped back on the stage. I hadn't had this much trouble getting my head into dancing since my first night. It was hard to be sexy when I wanted to run away screaming. I tried to keep my breathing even as I wrapped my fingers around the pole and slowly began to walk around it. I closed my eyes and let the sound of the music fill my head, anything to push the thought of the man watching me from my mind, but I still found myself having to force one foot in front of the other.
"No," his voice cut through the music, stopping me before I even got started.
I looked past the pole to him, waiting for him to explain why he stopped me. He shifted in his seat again, leaning forward.
"I don't want a damn robot dancing for me. Dance like you did on stage earlier. Seduce me."
I stared coldly at him, wondering now just how long he had been watching me. An hour? All week? Or had it been longer? Had he let me believe I had actually gotten away from him? I stepped in front of the pole and started to close my eyes again when he made a disapproving sound, stopping me once more.
"Look at me." The teasing was gone and now his voice held a more serious tone.
It was lower, commanding, and held just a hint of that dark desire that was pure carnal instinct. It was the tone he used when he wanted me to do exactly as he instructed. To please him.
I bit back a few words that I wanted to throw at him. Fine. He wanted me to dance for him? I would give him a dance like any other faceless Schmoe and get the fuck up out of there. I pushed against that last shred of iron will I had and forced myself to do what needed to be done.
My hips began to sway slowly, and I locked eyes with him. A deep, penetrating stare in which I pushed every bit of cold, seething loathing I could muster. I wanted him to feel the burning hatred I held for him. My body moved, drinking in the music.
I concentrated on how sexy he was instead of the crazy he hid behind those rich brown eyes and that strong jaw. The more I allowed that, the easier it got to turn on the sex appeal.
Rough, rugged, and oozing masculinity from every pore, there was a time when that man would drive me wild. I thought about his broad back and shoulders, the way his body tapered into narrow hips, the rock hard biceps under smooth tan skin. I recalled the taste of that skin. The earthy, salty flavor of him as I'd nibble the underside of his jaw. The way his day's growth of beard scratched over my tongue and lips.
A little more inhibition slipped away, and I rolled my body against the steel pole, bringing a knee up, eyes still fixed on him. I twirled once around the pole before stepping down in front of Frank, going to a knee and dropping down into a languorous crawl. That simple movement made him shift in his seat again, and his body made it very clear he was enjoying it.
Reaching his feet, I pressed my hands to his shins, sat back on my legs, and slid my hands slowly up to his knees. I grabbed his knees and pushed them apart so I could slide my body between them. He let out a restrained breath and my hands explored his legs and thighs, working him up like any other man who walked into the club.
I knew he was much more than that. In the years we’d been together, there had been no shortage of heat and passion. We couldn't keep our hands off one another, and I let the memories of those distant days fuel the dance.
He felt just as I'd remembered. Solid. Strong. I let my fingers play over every inch of rock-hard muscle through his jeans and t-shirt, remembering days when even the thinnest cloth was too much barrier between our bodies.
The more I stepped into my memories, the easier it was to be the temptress I was being paid to be. I walked a fine and dangerous line. Where it helped me get in the right frame of mind to get this over with, it also brought me dangerously close to the feelings I had once held for him. Feelings I stuffed into that psychological back pocket to keep from running back to into the bitch seat. I needed to take care not to step over that quickly-thinning line of control.
I pushed myself up to my feet, sliding the front of my body over the front of his. The feel of his body beneath mine made my stomach clench. He felt like home. The one and only place I had ever felt as though I belonged.
The way his neck and shoulders tensed as I slithered over him showed me that I was giving him exactly what he asked for. I was holding up my end of the deal, and in my own little way, exerting my own type of control over him.
&nbs
p; I reached eye level with him and pulled my knees up, sliding them on either side of his hips until I was straddling his lap. I rolled my hips, pressing our lower bodies together until I felt the hard length of him rub me through thin cloth of my shorts. It made my body shudder, and I had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling backwards.
He made soft, eager sounds as I rolled against him to the sultry rhythm of the music. Using him to keep me balanced I bent back, my spine arching deeply, and continued the provocative hip rolls, mimicking sex as closely as I could with my clothes still on.
I felt a hand slide over my belly, barely touching my skin at first, but as it curved around my side it clung more desperately. My skin drank in the rough, calloused hands that rubbed small, greedy circles on my sides, guiding my body into a fluid rhythm. His skin was always so much warmer than my own and the more he touched me, the more I moved, the hotter his touch grew.
I thought I might melt in his hands.
Before I could stop it, my excitement rang out in a throaty groan, and Frank reciprocated with a whispered grunt of his own. He must have taken it as consent because he sat forward, grabbing me at my ribs, and pulled me towards him. His face pressed against the soft mounds of flesh peeking out over my bra and tugged at them with lips and teeth. His hands slid around my back and up my spine, his fingers tangling into my hair.
He growled into my chest with a gentle tug on my hair, "Come home. You belong with me." Though his voice was muffled against my body, the mix of desperation and triumph rang clear in my ears.
Just as I was riding along that dangerous edge, my eyes flew open. My body stilled under his hands as his words replayed over in my head. I stared down at the top of Frank's head, his face still buried in the softness of my breasts, lost in his desires.
Come home? Controlled and pushed around by a ruthless, sadistic criminal? I’d lived that life for so long that it all seemed perfectly normal. Get up in the morning, play a con to get a little bit of gas money, and head out to a new town by dusk. Did I belong with Frank and his pack? The thought of the others, of the wolves, helped to push me back into my head and clear the haze of desire.
Pressing both hands on either side of his shoulders I pushed away from Frank's hungry lips, sliding my feet back down to the floor. With a measurable step backwards, I stared coldly into his unfocused eyes and let all that burning desire frost over once again.
"Belong with you? Don't you mean to you?" I pulled my bra strap back over my shoulder and took another step away as Frank sat back, running his fingers across his lower lip as though he was trying to wipe the feel of my skin from it. He looked just as lost as I had felt moments ago curled up on his lap. Perhaps it ran both ways. Or maybe Frank was just another horny asshole, and any girl would have made his head spin.
"Get out of my fucking life, Frank. Stay away from me or I'll tell the police everything."
With the threat shaking on my voice, I turned and all but ran to the door. As my fingertips grazed the doorknob, the air around me stirred, and I was suddenly pushed into the door, a solid weight pressing against my back. My cheek crushed against the soft curtain that covered the window and hid what was happening in the small room from the public eye. His arms encircled me, trapping me in that one small space between him and the door.
"You'll tell the police, huh?" Fingertips pressed against the side of my face as he spoke, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "And what exactly will you tell them, Harls? That you watched men turn into wolves? Or that we killed people while you watched and did nothing to stop it?"
"Please," I managed to whisper through the pulse in my throat.
His fingers slid up the side of my face into my hair and pressed my head harder into the door.
"See, I don't think they'd believe you." His breath was hot on my cheek now, his lips so very close. "And if they did... well eleven months is an awfully long time to confess to murder."
"I didn't kill them."
"No, but you were an accessory. You could've went to the cops when you got back to town but you didn't. You helped us get away with murder."
I forced my eyes open, but I saw nothing but his shadow. If he was trying to intimidate me, he was doing a damn good job of it. Still, I’d seen this show. I swallowed hard, still trying to come out on top of his threats with a little more strength than I had shown him before.
"You can't scare me anymore, Frank." I almost believed it.
A bone-chilling laugh erupted in my ear.
"Is that so?" Frank closed what little distance was left between us and breathed in deeply, his nose buried in my hair. After a few silent moments of him smelling me, he pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, "You sure smell scared. It's intoxicating."
He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around to face him making my stomach lurch. Fear held my voice captive as I stared into his eyes. An amber glow flickered behind his irises, like fire behind a stained glass window.
"Let me tell you how it's gonna go down. You'll go tell the pigs about what happened. I'll get arrested, taken in for questioning, and then they'll start asking me who helped. You with me so far?" His eyes bore into me, searching for my tell. Something that would let him know he had me where he wanted.
His thumbs kneaded my collarbone as he continued, "See, I've been around the block with cops, babe. They're gonna want names. So, being the helpful guy that I am, I'll tell them everything. How you willingly went with me and my guys to a drug deal, how you didn't even try to stop me and just watched as I killed some poor bastard, and how you helped me cover it up. Then BAM!" He clapped his hands centimeters from my nose, making me jump. "They'll slap a pair of bracelets on you, too, and drag you off to prison just like the rest of us. By the time you get out, you'll be good and ready for some of me."
My eyes met his again; full of the cold hatred I had built up over the last year. It was no surprise he would spin a yarn like that. Embellishment was just another talent in Frank Essex's bag of tricks. Though I'd innocently happened across the entire situation, he'd twist it into some ugly tale of aiding and abetting.
My lips curled back, exposing my teeth. "You are unbelievable."
A smile stretched over his face but there was nothing friendly about it. "Thanks. I am pretty bad ass, aren't I?"
His hands slid over my neck and up my cheeks, brushing a hair from my forehead and holding me so that I had no choice but to stare into his handsome, smug face.
"That's option A. Option B... You forget about this little lie you’ve made for yourself and come back with me. Where. You. Belong."
Each word he spoke was a breath closer to my lips, raspy with growing desire, and before I could take in a full breath his lips were crushing against mine.
He didn't kiss me so much as feed at my mouth, his tongue sliding between my lips and filling it. I cried out around his tongue, trying to pull away, but his hands gripped the sides of my head roughly, holding me in place so he could ravish my mouth fully. Frank's desire poured into me and I found myself caught between wanting to kiss him back and wanting to bite his tongue off.
If one good thing could be said for Frank, it was that he was an amazing kisser. There were times when I felt starved for the taste of his lips. One kiss could make me forget everything I had been thinking or worrying about and leave me in a state of bliss for hours. But that was before. All I wanted now was to escape his hungry kiss before I said yes to option B.
It was much harder than it should have been. His hands roamed over my small frame, exploring places that hadn't been touched in quite some time. The line of his body pressed against mine and I could feel the length of him grow against my hip, pushing just that much harder at the thin sheet of glass that was my will.
My body betrayed my mind, reacting to his touch. It ached for him, having missed his attentions for so long. If I hoped to break free of his influence, I would have to do something quick. Something to snap me out of it before it consumed me.
I pushed agai
nst his shoulders, breaking the kiss. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, drowning in lust and desire. With every ounce of strength I could gather, I pulled my hand back and slapped him sharply across the cheek.
Stunned, Frank stared down at the floor between us, still pinning me to the wall with an arm on each side. He glanced up at me, the silence stretching on for far too long, and then the corner of his mouth turned up into a wicked grin.
"Oh, baby, you do remember what I like," he taunted as he brought a hand to his cheek and rubbed at the pink welt my palm had left behind.
The cat and mouse game was getting old. Beyond the incessant need to make me as miserable as he could, there had to be something else keeping him there. He had to have known I wouldn't go back to him willingly. So why was he still there toying with me? What did he really want?
Tired of the games, I ignored his comment and asked him exactly what I was thinking, "What do you want from me, Frank? The truth."
The humor receded from his eyes a little, and he looked at me as if I'd surprised him. His hesitation cemented my suspicions. There was something else after all, and I had called him out on it. Just a small wrench thrown into his plans, but like always, he recovered quickly. His hands dropped to his sides, allowing me a little more breathing room, and he shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Fine. Down to business it is." He locked eyes with me, and all the humor and playfulness in them was long gone. "You took something of mine when you left. Something very precious to me. Give it back and I'll let you get on with your glamorous little life here."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh," he shook a finger at me, taking a step back with his mouth twisted in an annoyed sneer. "See you really shouldn't lie to me, Harls. You took the Beast, remember? Hopped right up in my seat and drove like a bat out of hell. Probably thought it was pretty funny too, huh? The guys sure thought it was." He stepped back into me until we were nose to nose, his breathing faster. "But let me tell you something... I didn't!"
He screamed the word in my face, making my pulse trip over itself. I prayed that he had been loud enough to catch the attention of someone outside, but as minutes passed and no one came, I let go of that small glimmer of hope. No one was going to come to my rescue. It was too loud out in the main room to hear any of the screaming back and forth. The curtains were drawn down to cloak us from sight. As far as Andre knew, I was giving him a hell of a party and making him more money. No one would come until one of us left the room or the club emptied; whichever came first.
I let my face go slack, sliding into bored indifference. I was growing tired of the meek, helpless girl I used to be, and the new, more confident woman was ready to get this shit over with.
"Aww, what's the matter, baby?" I spit the words out like bitter venom. "The other kids making fun of you now that your girl decided to get off the bitch seat?"
"Harls, I fuckin’ run the pack, remember? The last guy that tried to prove something to me is rotting in the dirt. No one is stupid enough to run their mouth at me. No one but you." He brought his hand up to my face, stroking my cheek slowly. I tried to move out of reach but there really wasn't anywhere to go.
"Just give me the bike. Or I'll send some of the guys to get it."
"I'll tell you what. I'll give you the number of the chop shop I sold that piece of shit to. Maybe you can find all the pieces and Humpty Dumpty that shit back together again."
His nostrils flared at the mention of his bike being in pieces. I could see the force it took to control his urge to lash out at me. Anger shifted into mild amusement and the look made me swallow hard.
"Nice bluff," he said. "I almost bought it. Quit fuckin' with me, baby. Just tell me where it's at."
"I already told you. I sold it."
"To who?"
"Hmm. Don't remember," I said.
My heart was racing. I knew what would happen if Frank found the guy I sold his bike to. It didn't matter that he was innocent. Frank would work him up just for touching his property.
He let out a bemused chuckle. "You stupid, stupid girl. God, you really are a stubborn one. But hey, I like that. I really, really do."
One moment I was standing against the door staring at Frank, and the next he grabbed me by my arms and flinging me across the room to topple onto the couch. It rocked back and my body slid down the soft velvet until my ass was just barely on the edge of the cushion. I grasped the edge of the cushions tight as he approached unbuckling his belt, my eyes trained on his movements.
He slid the buckle from his belt and maneuvered it in his hands. I strained to see it more clearly, and when I did, my racing heart stopped altogether. The buckle was actually a small, silver dagger that fit in his palm. He wrapped his fingers in the loop, poising the tip on top of his knuckles so he could punch the blade into his target. Which, I was assuming, was me.
"We were good together, Harls. Given just a little more time and we would have been unstoppable. Then you had to go and fuck it all to hell," he said as he leaned into me.
He moved the blade dangerously close to my eye, forcing me to push my head back into the sofa as far as the cushion would allow.
"I didn't fuck anything up. I ran away from a cold, murdering bastard." Probably not the best thing to say with a fucking blade trained on my face.
"You just... you don't get it. Not at all. You didn't even stop to ask why it happened, did you?"
Something glimmered behind his eyes, something softer than I had seen in years. The look he was giving me didn't translate to what was happening right then, and I couldn't read it. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
Whatever I thought I might have seen, Frank realized I'd seen it and the storms returned to his eyes. He lowered the blade in a long, slow line down the center of my chest, the sharp edge tickling over my skin, and stopped just over my sternum.
"Just tell me where my bike is," he repeated.
"I'm not gonna sic you on some innocent guy, Frank. The bike is gone."
"Fine. Just remember, you made me do this," he said as he snatched my left arm and pulled me off the couch, spilling me to the floor in front of him.
All of the fight in me came surging back. The time for talking was over. I kicked and tried to pull free, but Frank seemed unmoved. A flash of white caught my eyes and brought my attention back to the small blade as he pressed it into my forearm. I cried out as he slowly and expertly cut a line across the width of my arm, near the crook of the elbow.
"I don't want to do this, Harley. Just give me the name and this will all be over." He stared down at me, lifting the tip of the blade from my arm.
"No... please!" I cried out as the blood began to well up in the thin cut and spill over my skin in warm streams.
Frank shook his head and pulled my arm to him again, pressing the cold steel back into the skin. No matter how hard I fought against him, he somehow managed to hold my arm perfectly still, absorbing all my wild thrashing with his own body.
He carved two more lines into my flesh until my forearm was adorned with a bloody 'F'. He stared down at his work with a strange mix of emotions on his face, but through the tears that were spilling generously from my eyes, I couldn't make it out. The floor was spattered with droplets of crimson under my arm.
When my throat was too hoarse to scream anymore, I pressed my tear-stained face into Frank's legs, sobbing softly into them. "Costa's... on Phoenix Circle. Please. No more."
Blood streaked down my arm as Frank cradled it to his body. He said nothing. Just an expanse of silence broken only by the sound of my soft, erratic sobbing.
He stared down at the bleeding wound taking in his work. He bent forward and brought his mouth to my arm and licked the blood up in one long, slow motion. It stung and unnerved me for more than one reason. With the taste of my blood rich on his tongue, he dropped my arm and wiped the steel on his jeans until it shined.
"Good girl," he whispered as he put his buckle back into place.
I turned a tear-stained face up to him, my good arm reaching up to clutch the bottom of his shirt.
"Don't hurt him. He didn't know it was stolen. Now will you please... just please leave me alone." I pleaded with him, staring up into his eyes, trying to ignore the look on his face.
He turned and lowered himself down to my level and wiped a stream of tears from my cheek. Grabbing the side of my face he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead.
"Pick yourself up Harley. You're better than this," Frank whispered before rising to his feet.
His face was twisted with a look of sad victory. "I'll be in touch. We have a lot of catching up to do."
His dark promise hung in the air as he walked towards the door. He looked back only once as he stepped over the threshold and out of sight.
A woman's scream rang out from the other side of the door, and soon Liz and one of the other bouncers rushed inside to find me in a heap on the ground, blood smeared all over from my arm. I looked up at Liz with exhausted eyes, red-rimmed and swollen from crying.
"What happened out there?" I managed to ask as the bouncer lifted me to my feet.
Liz ran her teeth over her bottom lip as she saw the crimson 'F' carved into my arm. "Shit. He, uh... He sucker punched Andre. Grabbed a wad of money out of his shirt pocket and took off past security. Jesus, Harley, what did that guy do to you?"
For the first time since this morning I didn't think about how Liz had lied to me or how I accused her of spying on me. At that moment, she was the only safety in my world. I let her arms wrap around me, holding me close as the bouncer raised my arm up to slow the bleeding. I wanted to tell her that he did what he had always done. That he had broken me. That some guy was going to get hurt because I gave Frank what he wanted. But I didn't. I didn't want to see her pity because I didn't deserve it.
Deny the Moon Page 19
