That gets my attention. My mouth runs before I really think about what I’m saying. “Are you serious right now? Are you fucking kidding me?"
He glares at me, his brows drawing down even more. "I hope he wasn't your boyfriend because he's not gonna be happy when you get your ass home."
I blow out a frustrated breath and hug myself, the heat of the night doing nothing to ease the chill in my blood. "I'm not doing extra. He was an asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer. What was I supposed to do? He was leaning on my car at The Boulevard and I could either say yes or get beaten to death."
He turns to look back at the puddle of blood Finley left behind but he's crawled off somewhere else while we were distracted. "You coulda called."
I shrug. "Diamond would've hung up on me. Hell, I think any of the girls would. I’m not exactly popular.“
Tomi stalks past me and climbs onto his bike, grabbing a helmet out of the pack and holding it out to me. "Get your ass on."
Oh God.
I've never been on a motorcycle before but I don’t need experience to know there's no way to stay on it without wrapping myself around him. My nerves are already shot to hell and he's going to know exactly how fucking terrified I am if I do.
"Get on, for fuck's sake, I have work to do that isn't chasing around after dumbass strippers all fucking night."
My feet move at the command in his voice and the self-loathing starts roiling in my gut. I’ve gotten better at shoving that shit aside to function but there’s something about his voice that breaks the tethers.
Can't fucking do anything right.
Always fucking trouble.
Be better for everyone if you were fucking dead, Angel.
Why can’t you just fucking disappear?
It's all in my own voice too. It's not like anyone else is saying it to me because even Paul didn't say that shit to me. No, he told me how pretty I was. He told me all about how much of a special girl I really was, all while he was breaking me open and playing around with my insides until I was a fucking shell.
He might have thought I was special, but I know for sure that I'm worthless.
"Jesus fucking Christ, put your foot on mine and swing your leg. Right, hold onto me. No, hold onto me properly. Fuck, you've really never done this before, have you?”
It's like an echo of the shit in my head and maybe that's part of my trauma because that roiling feeling settles down a little. He hates me like I hate me and maybe that's comforting.
I sit there and hold him as tight as he asks me to, my entire body crushed against his. He drives like he wants us both to die, the motorcycle eating up the road like a fucking beast, and I don’t have time to think about how freaking scared I am to be this close to him.
I’m too busy flirting with death and trying not to answer its call.
I could let go of him right now and just die.
I could.
Fuck, a heady feeling takes over and… is this what being high feels like? My head goes all loopy and light, like I could fly off into another plane if I could find the tether to cut.
We get back to The Boulevard way too quickly.
I get off of the back of the bike with his help and stumble over to my truck. I fumble for the keys in my pocket and he calls out to me from where he’s still straddling his bike, looking dangerous and sinful in the early morning light.
"Listen to me, Angel. You're a dancer here which means until the club chooses otherwise you're our property. If some asshole tries to damage club property, I wanna know about it. That ass of yours makes us a lotta money, no one touches it without answering to the club."
Okay.
There's my trauma again.
I shouldn't want to be club property but, fuck, that's the closest to having someone give a shit about me that I've come since my dad died.
I nod and he waits while I unlock my car and check my bag is still in there. It is and the money is untouched, thank God, and before I can slide in he says, "He comes to this town again and he'll be dead and buried here. Simple as