Pretty Broken Wings (Hollows Grove #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

There’s nothing better than making a grown man cry.

I love the little sounds they make—the little whimpers and quick puffs of breath, wet sniffles, and tiny hiccups. The way their body shudders when they want to do something that I won’t let them do. It’s like playing with a chained lion—dangerous, stupid, and a little thrilling.

The man currently under me is definitely crying. I feel his body jerking, my stiletto pinned to his shoulder, and his silk tie wrapped around my fist. I wish they’d turn the club music down so I could hear those pitiful sounds better.

I lean down, careful not to touch the stall walls. We’re in the men’s bathroom, and I know there’s urine all over them. The man is bent forward, kneeling at my feet, one hand rubbing his cock from outside his dress pants.

“You’re pathetic,” I say loudly to make sure he hears me over the music. “You think you’re good enough to get a taste of me?”

The man looks up at me slowly, his eyes trailing up my fishnet stockings and locking on my tits. I know he can see my pussy, but he won’t look at it. His cheek is still red from where I slapped him for that earlier. Then I told him he was an embarrassment and a shame to his family and mankind.

I don’t know him, but I made a guess. I met the man at the bar tonight, and he just screamed, ‘I need a mommy.’ He was too eager. He tried to play it cool, but when I slid in next to him and told him his suit made him look fat, his pupils dilated.

Was it stupid? Yes.

Was I drunk, and did it feel good? Also yes.

The alcohol gives me courage.

“Lick it,” I demand, staring down at the man under me. He barely fits between the toilet and me. There’s a brief flicker of fear in his gaze when he looks up at me, which only makes me stab my shoe into him harder.

The man is big. Easily six feet and packed with muscles. He’s in his forties, but he’s kept up with himself. He could get up at any point. But he chooses not to. Because secretly, he likes this. Which both arouses me and pisses me off.

“You think I’d let your small dick get anywhere near me?

Lick my shoe.” The demand fills me with a rush of adrenaline.

Licking the pissy bottoms of my shoes may be where he draws the line.

Might be where he gets up, slams me against the door, and calls me a crazy bitch.

Might be where I get my ass handed to me.

Fucking hurt me. If a man isn’t hurting me, it makes me jumpy. I don’t like men who wait for me to let my guard down before they strike.

As the man drops his head to lick my shoe, I get a whiff of something. I pull in a breath, sorting around the smell of urine and disinfectant.

Cologne. And not just any cologne. The kind he used to wear. The kind I always thought smelled like cassette tapes right after you opened them. This man is wearing it.

Immediately, my body locks up, and I feel hot.

“Get off me,” I say, my blood heating. My whole body is on fire, and before I realize it, I’ve backed into the stall door with a bang. My other foot comes down to steady myself. The man is moaning, rubbing himself through his pants, and all I can smell is that damn cologne.

Fuck. I gotta get out of here.

Scrambling for the lock, I realize that the door opens inward, and it won’t open with both of us here. I’d have to step into the man.

Gotta get out. Gotta get away.

“Get up!” I demand, trying to kick the man out of the way.

He just continues to moan, jerking himself.

“Move!” I shove him back, the world blurring. Somehow, I burst out of the stall, stumbling into the bathroom. The air surrounds me like a blanket of cologne and ammonia.

It’s not him. It’s not fucking him.

I have to get out. I stumble to the counter where I left my purse.

Only I’m not alone. There’s another man in here blocking my way. He’s tall, over six feet, and heavily muscled, with thick-rimmed black glasses and a ball cap on his head. But something seems… off.

“Wow.” The man slowly starts clapping his hands.

Fear skitters down my back like ice shavings. He’s not only blocking the door, but he’s blocking my access to my purse, which is sitting on the counter. My purse, which has my wallet and the only cash I have left to cover me for the next few days.

I can’t leave that.

“Excuse me.” I step around the man, and he moves, only he backs up into the counter, further blocking me.

I don’t let him stop me. I dart my hand back, my fingers brushing the leather of my purse, when the man’s hand snaps down, grabbing my arm.

“Hey!” His voice is startled.

I jerk back, managing to free my arm. “Fuck off!” Stumbling back, I stare at the man with wide eyes. And as I take him in, I realize why he looks so different—he has no eyebrows. Or eyelashes. Or hair.

Only he does. But they’re white. And behind his glasses, his eyes are…pale. It’s almost like the features that would normally have pigment are covered in frost. He has a haunted look about him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man holds up his hands, palms out. “Thought you were grabbing me.” He flashes me a playboy smile.

There’s a loud bang, and I flinch, turning around. The door to the stall I was just in is moving back, only it looks like it’s happening in slow motion. Then, slowly, the man I was messing with comes stumbling out.

“Sorry.” There’s a touch on my arm, and I jump again. The frosty man is grabbing my arm, smiling at me like he knows he’s attractive.

“Hands off, asshole,” I spit, and suddenly, I’m hit by the scent of mint, and it breaks me slightly out of my daze. The man with the icy hair chews absently, squinting his eyes at me.

“He bothering you?” Behind his glasses, his eyes narrow.

I suck in a breath, getting a whiff of that mint again, and it overpowers the smell of cologne. I straighten, sucking another breath into my lungs. Because, like fuck am I going to have a panic attack right here and now.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

The man turns and grabs my purse, then hands it over to me.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I needed him to give me my purse. I was just weak. So fucking weak. And if there’s one thing I’ll never be again, it’s weak in front of a man.

I snatch my purse from him and waltz out of the bathroom. I should be running. I don’t like the unnerving intensity the man with glasses looked at me with. Like he was soaking in every tiny detail to use against me.

And I’ll be fucked if I give him that.

It takes about ten minutes to walk home in the shockingly cold fall air. It gives me a chance to clear the alcohol from my brain.

Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. Can’t help getting myself in trouble, and for what? I didn’t even get to ruin that man’s orgasm.

Fuck.

I check to make sure no one is following me.

The street is empty, lit up by the street lamps and yellow Halloween lights strung up in the bushes outside the gas station.

I have a car, but gas is expensive, and almost everything in this stupid town is close together.

All the shops and department stores are in one small area.

Everyone here knows everyone. I’ve only lived here a few months, but this town is odd.

Lots of people like to say it’s haunted, but I don’t believe in that bullshit.

By the time I make it to my studio apartment, my nose is running. It takes me three tries to get the key in the front door, and it’s not just because my hands are numb. I check again to make sure no one followed me.

Fuck, I’m being paranoid.

Finally, the key slides in, and I step inside, shivering in the warmth that floods over me. I can only afford to keep the place at sixty-five, but it still feels far better than outside.

Flipping on the main light, I wince. It’s bright and harsh, lighting up the sparse apartment.

There isn’t much. Just a small kitchen built into the side wall, and beyond it, my bed, baseball bat, my meager collection of childhood books stacked on the floor, and my plastic drawers full of clothes.

It looks so bleak with the fluorescent light.

I think this place used to be a shop, but the owner turned it into three narrow studios.

I’m the only sucker who saw the old creepy department store and said ‘Sign me up!’ I keep meaning to find a lamp at the secondhand shop, preferably one with a yellow bulb. Easier to read with the soft light. Not that I have the energy to read much anymore.

I can feel the buzz leaving my body, leaving me numb and hungry. I shouldn’t eat this late, but I open the fridge anyway. Inside is my container of rice and beans from earlier.

I shut the door.

I shouldn’t eat it. That’s lunch for tomorrow.

Pacing to the bed, I strip my clothes off. It feels like the urine and cologne are sticking to my skin. I need a shower. A scalding one.

During my shower, I can’t keep the anxiety away. I don’t like the way the minty guy looked at me. And the way he had his hands all over my purse.

My purse. I didn’t check it. I just grabbed it and ran.

My stomach twists, and I turn off the water, ripping the towel from the rack that never stays up.

Paranoid. I’m being paranoid. No reason to rush.

But I do. I towel off quickly, my hair still dripping wet, and jump into my old sweats and oversized T. Then I dart to the kitchen, snatching up my purse from the counter. I rip it open, feeling around inside, my hand meeting nothing.

No. No, it’s gotta be in the corner. I feel around frantically, but it’s not there.

My wallet is gone.