Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mase
Ipark down the street from the club, the engine rumbling softly under me as I sit behind the wheel for a moment before getting out.
Not for the first time, I question what I’m doing as I stare out my dirty windshield.
Turning up here almost every night to walk a woman home that I hardly spoke to in high school—a woman who doesn’t even want me around, is prickly, and overall wary as fuck of me—is hardly normal.
But the thought of something terrible happening to her, like it could have the other night if I hadn’t miraculously appeared when she so clearly needed someone, constantly pokes at the back of my brain.
What would happen if they followed her again, and I’m not there?
That’s the main reason I keep turning up, night after night—or so I keep telling myself.
Pushing my truck door open with a creak, I jump out onto the worn road, then start my trek down the street on an even worse sidewalk. I walk past cracked windows and boarded up doors, past people resting on decrepit steps, hunched over and lost in their fucked-up minds.
It’s depressing in these early morning hours, but I can’t imagine it looks much better during the day when the sun is shining.
I’m fortunate enough not to have to start work at the gym until noon and can usually sleep in, so while my late nights have left me a little more tired than usual, I’m not struggling to get up and get to work.
I’m perfectly able to concentrate on my clients, which is important when working with weights.
Resuming my usual position of leaning against the uneven brick wall, I pull out my phone, scanning over the texts with Neil from earlier. He’s expecting his second child with his wife, Sienna—Jason’s younger sister, of all people—sometime soon, but that’s not what he texted me about.
Neil: I’m not sure if you’ve been keeping up to date on things, but Jacob is being released soon. A few months ahead of time due to good behavior.
Me: Why are you telling me this?
Neil: I just thought it would be good to know.
I guess it is good information to have. What would happen if I suddenly ran into him on the streets of Chicago and was totally blindsided? What if Jayne runs into him? Does she know he’ll be released soon?
I simply thanked Neil and then switched topics by asking about Sienna and his son.
There’s always been a need to keep in contact with him. Perhaps it’s just that I don’t want to cut myself off completely from a good, decent human and live my life in complete isolation, like Mom suggested I’m doing.
My finger hovers over our text thread, but the sound of a door banging open, followed by the chatter of women, pulls my attention up to see a small group of them filtering out of the alley beside the club.
Gone are the tiny strings of fabric they wore all night, replaced with clothes meant for comfort. Some are still dressed up, as if their next stop is another club, but even the dresses ending just under their ass cheeks can be considered modest compared to their previous outfits.
I started standing farther down the street than I did the first couple of nights, away from their assessing eyes as they passed by with a mixture of curiosity, interest, and suspicion on their faces.
The ones who hadn’t come to my class saw me waiting there and gave me a wide berth, even as their eyes strolled down my body.
I was the distrusted stranger lingering in the dark alley at two a.m., so their wariness was understandable.
Whether they thought I was a threat is still unclear.
They should think of me as such.
Only the ones who had gotten a lesson from me were friendlier in their glances.
But they never asked what I was doing there. Never tried to stop Jayne from walking my way or stop me from trailing after her.
Regardless, I didn’t want to worry them too much, so I moved out of plain sight.
I’m not sure if Jayne told them who I was and what I’ve been doing, but something tells me she doesn’t have a close relationship with any of them.
I’ve never seen her walk out of there, talking to any of them. And in our few conversations, she’s never talked about any of them.
Why she works there is no less a mystery to me, even after the nights I’ve spent walking with her. There was no part of her that looked happy with her choice of work when I went in there that first time. And the misery seems to follow her out after every shift.
She said she was working with her dad before this, so what the fuck happened? Obviously, they must have had some kind of falling out.
The door opens again, and I watch to see who it is this time. When the light brown jacket with dark fur comes into view, I return my gaze to my phone.
This is the game we play: I pretend not to be waiting for her, and she pretends not to notice me as she approaches.
Sometimes, she’ll speak up when she reaches me, or when we’re waiting for the bus—an indication that we’ll likely be walking together the rest of the way.
But other times, she remains silent, and I keep my distance, all while she sneaks glances back at me.
“Heyyyyy, stalker,” she says as she approaches, her voice loud.
Gaze flicking up, I immediately know something isn’t right.
She doesn’t talk like that, and usually, her grim face represents what she’s probably feeling on the inside.
Unhappy.
Tortured.
Broken.
But right now, there is an unsettling, crooked smile on her face.
She giggles when her steps falter and she falls into me, hands pressed to my chest to steady herself. “Ready for our walk?”
I hold on to her waist with one hand and pocket my phone with the other. “You feelin’ okay?”
It’s when she’s this close, staring up at me, that I smell the alcohol on her breath.
But it’s not only that, not when the light from a nearby lamppost illuminates her eyes: wide and glassy, pupils swallowing all the gray.
“Jesus, are you high?”
Jayne tries to pull away from me. “It was just a tiny pill. Don’t you judge me.
” She pauses, brows furrowing. “Or wait . . . do judge me. Sometimes it gets all mixed up.” A self-deprecating laugh slips out, followed by the twist of her lips.
“I’m going to walk myself home.” She turns, her intention clear but steps crooked.
Does she honestly think I would let her walk home by herself in this condition?
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
I catch up to her in a few steps, gripping her forearm and pulling her to the side when it looks like she’s going to step into an open crack in the ground would have her toppling over in this condition. The hiss that scrapes through her teeth has me releasing her quickly.
Jesus, that’s the second time I’ve grabbed her without thinking. “Sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be.” She says it matter-of-factly, a blank smile on her face, but almost a decade of pain radiating from her.
We start walking again, and I gesture for her to cross the street, making sure she takes the step at the gutter and watching her every move as we go. “Is this something you normally do? Take pills, I mean.” She hasn’t appeared high any other time I’ve seen her these past few weeks.
“No. I don’t even like to drink, either.”
Hm, so she doesn’t drink or take pills, yet she’s done both tonight. Maybe she has heard about Jacob’s upcoming release and isn’t taking it well.
“Want to tell me what happened, then?”
A small chuckle. “Oh, if you only knew, Mase.” Jayne slowly comes to a stop, standing in the middle of the street, then tips her head back, arms wide. “Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re flying?”
“Sure,” I answer, stopping beside her and burying my hands into my pockets, concern creasing my brow. “I think everybody has.”
She hums. “That’s how I feel right now. Light and carefree. Like I don’t ever want to land . . . but I know I have to.”
It happens quickly, a blink, a breath, and then she’s tipping backwards without making any effort to stop her fall. Thankfully, I’m close enough to jump into action and catch her under her arms at the last second, before she connects with the asphalt.
“Shit. What are you doing?”
A delirious laugh spills from her as she peers up at me, still in my hold. “Landing.”
I shake my head. “What the fuck happened to you tonight?”
“Tonight.” She blinks. “Tonight was my turn in the room.”
A chill sneaks up my spine at those ominous words. “What do you mean, your turn in the room? What room?”
“The private dance rooms.”
Understanding dawns on me as I lift her to her feet, my hands braced on her hips to make sure she won’t tip over again.
“And you didn’t want to be in there?” She shakes her head slowly.
“So, you what, took something and drank as a way to cope?” She nods, and I huff an exhale.
“Can’t you tell your boss you don’t want to do it? ”
She closes her eyes, half leaning into me. “Chester says it’s a requirement that we all must do. It keeps the clients happy and his pockets lined. I just . . . couldn’t do it without help.”
I feel the scrape of my molars as my jaw muscles tense and shift. I knew that motherfucker seemed shady.
Jayne wanting to dance is one thing, but for someone like her, being forced to work in an enclosed room and perform a sexually enticing dance to a stranger would be distressing.
I understand enough about women who have suffered like she has to know this.
“Why do you work there?” I ask softly.
A weary sigh fills the night, but she doesn’t answer; she just leans into my hold for several long beats.
Tipping her head back against my chest, she smiles up at me. “I think everything is wearing off now. I’m getting sleepy. Your chest can be my pillow.” She angles her head to the side, then rubs it up and down like a cat looking for pets. “Mm. Too many clothes, though.”
I might have laughed if I wasn’t so fucking concerned about her behavior.
Instead, my brows dip. This is nothing like the Jayne I’ve come to know, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she’d ever do such a thing sober.