14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
HARLOW
It’s official. I’ve lost the plot. I know this because no sane person would let her stalker-slash-hitman bend her over her dead priest of a father’s headstone and then moan when he fondled her.
Jesus. I must be more mentally unstable than I thought.
Frustrated and wearing a groove in the dressing room floor of The Devil’s Den, I press my fingers to my temples and breathe through the perpetual panic that’s been ripping through me since the moment I laid eyes on Lynx in the diner.
I know he ordered me to go back to my apartment and wait for him. But since when has it ever been a good idea to listen to the man hired to kill you?
Hell. Since when do I listen to men ever?
The answer: not since I was a child. And even then, I was defiant. Rebellious. Only ever conforming when I was physically forced to mold into whatever plastic form my father tried to stuff me into.
Ask me how that worked out for him.
Judging by his current state of decay, I’d say not so good.
Mind reeling, I come to a stop in front of one of the vanity mirrors and stare back at myself.
I look like death. Not just in the metaphorical sense.
But the literal physical embodiment of death.
My skin is pale, taking on the same waxy sheen as a corpse.
My hair hasn’t seen a hairbrush since … I can’t even remember.
And I’m a little thinner than usual, my collarbone and hips protruding from my body.
Most people wouldn’t notice much of a difference in my weight.
But after a lengthy stint of deprivation and malnutrition, I see every pound I gain or lose.
It’s as if someone has hit the rewind button and I’m becoming her all over again. The sad, scared little girl I once was. The sickly, weak, beaten-down child who was forced to make hard decisions far before she was mature enough to do so.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
Just as I’m smoothing my shaky hands down the front of my roiling stomach, the door swings open and in saunters Sage. She pauses when she sees me, a concerned look etched into her face as she looks me up and down.
“Reb. Jeez, girl. I’ve been worried sick about you. You haven’t responded to a single one of my texts. Are you okay?”
I wince. “Yeah. About that. I’m sorry. Just been busy.”
“Busy.”
“Yeah. Busy. I’m, uh … moving,” I lie.
She angles her head at me and slowly approaches. “Moving? Really? Where to?”
“A new apartment. My lease is up on this one and it’s a total dump. So I’m upgrading.”
Her brows rise. She’s not buying a single word of it. But instead of calling me on my bullshit, she placades me. I’d be annoyed if I weren’t so mentally exhausted.
“I see.”
We stand there for a while, staring at each other, until she finally says in a reserved tone, “Trinity decided not to take the job.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Sage. This place would’ve chewed her up and spit her out.”
Sage shrugs one shoulder. “She’s tougher than she looks. Also smarter. She’s a little like you, actually.”
I fold my arms across my chest and pop a hip, a welcome smirk tugging at my lips. “Are you saying I don’t look smart or tough?”
Sage’s smile is playful when she says, “You’re the toughest smarty-pants in this whole club.”
I snort. “Says the girl who’s in school to become a doctor.”
Sage casts her gaze downward at the floor, her smile vanishing in a poof.
Oh god. She’s crying. I don’t even know how to handle my own stupid emotions. How am I supposed to know how to handle hers?
“I’m dropping out of med school. I can’t afford to go to class and take care of my mother.
I already have debt collectors breathing down my neck, and I’m not even halfway through the program.
And she needs the care more than I need a fancy degree.
Maybe I’ll go back and finish someday. But for now, she’s my priority. ”
There’s a lump in my throat that wasn’t there before, memories of my own mother lying sick and helpless in a hospital bed while cancer ate her alive.
“There must be a way to do both, Sage.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve tried everything.
Financially, I’m tapped. And the course load is too much with caring for her and working this job.
I’m so tired, Reb.” She glances around to make sure we’re alone, her tone lowering an octave.
“I’ve had to start taking sleeping pills just to get some rest between shifts. ”
“Sage—“
She raises a hand in the air, cutting me off. “It’s not what you think. I’m not addicted or anything. Besides, it’s just for a little while. Until my mother …” Her voice cracks. Tears flood down her face, leaving a trail of black mascara on her cheeks.
I know what she’s going to say. Until her mother passes away.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp, emotion clogging up my airway. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you know you can call me.”
Her green eyes meet mine. “I know you mean well when you say that. But you haven’t even responded to my texts, Reb.
” Guilt trickles in. I’ve been telling myself that I play the cold, hard bitch in this place to protect the other girls.
But now, I’m not so sure that’s true. “I know you don’t really like people.
And you’re kind of mean sometimes.” Her smile is watery.
“But I guess I thought we could be friends or something. God knows I could really use one in this place.” Her shoulders lower a fraction.
“It’s fine, though, because I know you have your own problems to deal with.
And I don’t want to add to them. And it’s not like there’s anything you can do anyway. ”
“I wish there were. Truly.”
She sighs. “I know. But hey … that’s life, right? It sucks sometimes.”
I swallow. “Tell me about it.”
Another quiet beat passes where I consider telling Sage she has a friend in me.
That I think she’s brave and strong and super fucking sweet.
But before I have a chance, the dressing room door opens and two other girls walk in.
They’re laughing, their arms linked as they bump into each other and make their way to the dressing tables.
I don’t remember their names, but I remember they’re fraternal twins but look nearly identical. Which works to their advantage because that’s a pretty popular kink. I bet they rake in the dough putting on shows together.
They take a seat in front of the mirrors and start touching up their makeup.
I return my attention to Sage, who’s looking all sorts of defeated.
“I should get out there,” I tell her gently. She nods. “I’ll try to do better at responding to texts, okay? And I meant what I said, if I can do anything to help, call me. Please.”
“Sure, Reb. I’ll do that.”
I force a weak smile and exhale a ragged breath. Then I slip back into my signature resting bitch face and make my way out into the lounge.
As I do at the beginning of every shift, I take a seat at the bar and order a martini to settle my nerves.
And then I wait. For what, I’m not sure.
Maybe if I’m lucky, an asteroid will fall on me and end my miserable existence.
I thumb the scar on my wrist.
Lord knows I’m not strong enough to do it myself.
Feeling utterly miserable and like I’ve been run over by a truck, I prop an elbow on the bar and run my finger over the rim of my glass, staring at the poor little olive that’s been impaled on a wooden toothpick.
It causes a disturbing memory to surface. One of a rusty steel bar tearing through flesh. A sharp gasp. The gurgling sound of blood flooding lungs. And the bone-chilling silence that followed.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
I blink the vision away and seek out a distraction. Perhaps an obnoxiously wealthy man I can lure into a private room. The perfect pick-me-up.
But before I have a chance to choose a target, something silver catches in my periphery and I dart my gaze to the table at the back. The one in the darkest corner of the room. The one where Lynx sat the other night after cutting my stage performance short by purchasing me.
As if I could ever be owned by a man.
I’m not surprised to find him seated there once again, his dangerously dark blue eyes glaring daggers at me.
We lock gazes briefly before mine moves to the object in his hand.
A knife.
My breath hitches.
It’s the same knife he used to kill the two men who attacked me in the street. It’s larger than I remember, the blade slightly curved and handle made of polished black leather. It makes my jackknife look like a cheap prop from a shitty horror movie.
But it’s not the knife itself that causes my blood to run cold. It’s the position of it.
Upright, with its pointy tip carving a hole in the wooden tabletop as a large tattooed hand slowly spins the weapon around and around, it taunts me. With each rotation, light bounces off the blade, the sharp edge winking at me, reminding me of where it’s been and what it’s done.
My lungs constrict.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
I lift my gaze to Lynx’s again and find him shaking his head slowly at me, as if disappointed to see me here.
The urge to stomp over to him and stab him in the throat is palpable. But since I know he takes pleasure in getting a rise out of me, I flash him a smile, twiddle my fingers at him, then flip him the bird and spin around in my stool, giving him my back.
Fuck him.
Leo appears before me, pressing his palms into the bar top and leaning in.
“Hey, Rebel. Boss says you’ve been requested.”
I recoil. “Requested? Where?”
“Room six.”
“By who?”
Leo shrugs. “A high-paying customer, apparently. Better get back there. You know how Dom feels about tardiness.”
I glance over my shoulder and confirm Lynx is still seated at the table. Which means it’s not him who’s requesting my company.
An icy pit forms low in my gut, and I return my attention to Leo.
“If I’m not back in thirty minutes, come get me.”
His brows furrow in concern. “Is everything okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”