Chapter Twenty-One
THE FIRST THING I noticed was the bass that seemed to reverberate from beneath the streets, shaking the car even while it was in motion. I felt each throb of the beat through my entire body, matching the pulse between my legs. My arousal hadn’t gone away since this afternoon. When Philip opened the door, I saw the true source of the sound—a club with a crowd of people clamoring outside.
There was no sign above a metal door, but I recognized the place. It was the place of my darkest memories, my nightmares. The Meat Market. The metal door opened, revealing a haze of smoke and flashing lights, before closing again. This was a shady underground club in a shady underground part of town.
Philip stepped out of the car. “Wait here.”
What? “Why bring me here if you’re going to make me wait in the car?”
I was still pissed off about earlier. Pissed off and painfully turned on.
He sent me a knowing look. “If I left you at the safe house, would you have stayed put?” Without waiting for an answer, he spoke to Adrian in the front seat. “Don’t let her leave.”
Then he shut the door.
“Really?” I said to no one in particular, falling back against the seat.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Adrian said. “He wants to keep you safe.”
I knew that, but all I heard was: he wants to keep you. Locked up. That was the only way he knew how to interact with people, his own personal form of caring. His brother, his lover, his sister—and one by one, they’d all broken the chains. I felt sympathy for Philip even while I understood why they left.
It hurt to be locked up, even in a warm leather interior that probably cost a fortune. It hurt to watch the world through tinted windows and droplets of rain. It hurt even worse for someone who had been held down, grabbed, groped—knowing this wasn’t all that different.
And some dark part of me wanted those chains. Family.
Across the street, the line of people persisted despite the drizzle, music and smoke bursting from the door at regular intervals.
I studied a group of girls in trendy halter tops and miniskirts. The door opened, releasing another spill of light and sound, admitting more people. A line remained, people shivering in skintight clothes and shielding their phones from the rain.
The door opened again, and a light strobed across two new arrivals as they walked inside—a couple of men, though one looked more like a teenager. More like the child I’d been when I came here.
My heart skipped a beat.
Tyler.
The profile of my brother was unmistakable. But how could that be him? He was supposed to be held hostage right now. Chained to the pipes in the bathroom, used by a bunch of drunk men in suits. I didn’t want that for him, but this didn’t make sense.
It was impossible.
But I had to check. What if it was him? And once my brain started on this track, I couldn’t stop. What if he had simply left? I wasn’t sure my mother had actually talked about armed men invading the home, dragging him away at gunpoint like they’d done with me and the club. She had just said there was no ransom note.
What if he had simply run away?
My parents would never have believed it of their golden boy. I didn’t love that idea much more than the idea of him being kidnapped, but it would change things. Drastically. And if by some chance that was him, I could talk to him, convince him to go home.
It was a long shot, but it was all I had—especially with Philip disappeared into the night.
I looked down at my tank top and jeans. Not exactly club wear. It would have to do.
Without pause, I bolted from the car and crossed the street. I heard Adrian’s shout behind me, but I didn’t slow down.
I made it to the door and went directly up to the bouncer, cutting in line. Breathless, amid angry cries from the other people waiting, I told the bouncer, “Please, someone is bothering me. Can you keep him out?”
The bouncer’s cold eyes studied me, then flicked behind me to where Adrian must be crossing the street to catch me. A short nod. Then he opened the door.
I blinked into the miasma of flashing lights and shadowy bodies. Adrian would kill me. If Philip didn’t kill me first. Maybe there was still some spark of the rebellious teenager inside me, after all—because I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me. I knew without looking that the bouncer wouldn’t let Adrian in.
The inside of the club was a shock to my senses, lights and sounds assaulting me from the ground up. It seemed to vibrate through my legs, throbbing by the time it reached my heart. I didn’t see my brother or the guy he was with—but I hadn’t gotten a good look at him.
I circled the crowd of grinding bodies and passed through a seating area made sweet with pot. No sign of them yet, but it was hard to tell if I was simply missing them. Too many people.
There was a particular place that two people might go—the back rooms, perfect for privacy. I didn’t relish peeking inside, but I couldn’t leave without checking.
A hand caught my wrist. “Claire?”
I glanced back. My body went cold. His name was Donny, a dealer I’d known back in the day. And a major asshole. He’d tried to trade sexual favors for drugs more than once. I moved to shake him off, but his grip just tightened.
“No,” I said, panic clawing at my chest. I hated being restrained. “I’m Ella.”
And I was Ella. I’d been christened with that name not by my birth mother or my adoptive mother, but by the first woman who had truly loved me unconditionally—by Shelly. I had been reborn.
When I’d returned home, I’d made the change legal. It hadn’t endeared me to my adoptive parents, but then nothing did—and I had realized that the partying and rebellion had only been hurting myself.
“No, it’s you,” he insisted. “I wondered where the fuck you went.”
The years hadn’t been kind to him. He had loose weight around his neck and belly, his eyes glassy and red from repeated highs.
“I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “I’m not who you’re looking for.” I moved away, but he tugged me back. I pulled harder. He didn’t let go.
Raw fear clutched my chest.
Oh no. Not now. Not again.
I couldn’t breathe. Air wheezed through the tight knot of my throat, but not enough. The people seemed to close in on me. My vision dimmed.
And still he held on to my wrist.
I batted him away, helpless in this state.
Then suddenly the pressure was gone. There was a wall supporting my back and a clear space in front of me. My breathing resumed—still wheezing, but I could think again. The desperate clawing for survival eased. And my vision cleared.
There was Philip, holding the other guy up against the opposite wall by his neck.
“Did he hurt you?” Philip asked between clenched teeth.
It took me a few seconds to answer. My wrist still felt sore, my lungs tight. But I knew saying yes would mean that someone died tonight. “I’m fine.”
“Apologize.” This to the man in front of him.
“I-I’m sorry,” Donny stuttered. “I didn’t know she was with you.”
Philip’s voice dropped to lethal softness, somehow completely audible over the pounding of the bass. “Apologize to her.”
“I’m sorry. Claire. Or—or—”
“Ella,” Philip supplied.
“I’m sorry, Ella!” A desperate shout, tinged with pain. Philip must have applied pressure.
“You’ll tell everyone that she’s not to be touched.”
“Yes, yes.” He was babbling now, making promises and incoherent sounds.
“And if I find out that you put your hands on her again, I’ll cut them off.”
The quiet authority of the threat chilled me to my core.
“If I find out you spoke to her again, I’ll cut your tongue out of your mouth.” Philip looked him over and must have come to the same conclusion I had. “While you’re sober.”
Donny flinched.
Philip released him, and he sank to the floor. An acrid scent filled the small hallway.
Piss. He had pissed himself. That was how scared he was of Philip.
The man who could inspire such fear took my arm—gently—and led me out a back entrance. There was a guard just inside the door, but he didn’t object to us leaving. He nodded at Philip—not with the kind of familiarity that male friends have, but with respect.
Philip waited until we were in the alley before turning on me. “What the fuck?”
“I thought I saw Tyler.” After all that, I was doubting myself. “He was with a guy, slightly older. He looked…like you, kind of. Black hair.” Lean, without the broad chest and muscles that made Philip so intimidating even if you didn’t know his reputation.
Philip gave me an odd look. On anyone else it would have been uncertainty. “You were mistaken.”
“How do you know?” And why was he so invested in me being wrong about this? But I leaned back against the brick, already resigned to it. It felt like a dream now. “Shit.”
“It happens,” Philip said gruffly. “You want something badly enough, you start seeing it.”
“A mirage?” It had felt so real. “And it’s happened to you.”
His gaze lowered to my mouth. “Yes.”
My throat went dry. “What did you want?”
What did he want so badly that he imagined it?
He bent his head and kissed me.
His lips touching mine—soft, almost tender—was somehow more intimate than standing in front of him naked. The brush of his fingertips as he cupped my jaw were more sensual than my fingers on my clit. With just a stroke of his tongue against the seam of my lips, my body roared back to life—the banked heat from earlier already boiling over.
“My fault,” he murmured.
I felt dazed, too strung tight with need to figure out what he meant. “Your fault?”
“I shouldn’t have left you like that, on the edge. Not before something dangerous like this. The adrenaline spike would have made anyone reckless.”
“I wasn’t reckless.” Or was I? Maybe I had a death wish. That would explain my attraction to Philip.
He kissed my forehead. “We’ll take care of that right now.”
“We…we will?”
“I said I would protect you, kitten.” Large hands grasped my hips. That was my only warning before he lifted my body higher, the brick wall scraping the skin of my shoulders, tugging at my hair. “This is protection,” he murmured.
His thigh pressed between my legs.
I gasped at the heavy pressure, the pleasurable ache that throbbed at his body heat. My jeans were still on, his slacks too. The fabric between us might as well have been air, I felt him so sharply.
I was gasping into his mouth, shattering. “I need… I need…”
“I know, kitten. And you’re going to get it. You’re going to make yourself come. But not with your fingers. With me.” He slapped my hip. “Ride.”
“What?” But even as I asked, my body was already obeying, rocking my hips toward him, the blunt pressure of his broad thigh like bliss against my clit. He was taller than me, larger than me. It was really like riding him, even though I was backed against the wall. My legs were spread wide by only the width of one thigh while his other leg supported us. Because God, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I could only rock against him, mindless, overwhelmed by him—his scent, spice and clean sweat. By the feel of him, hot and hard and surrounding me. By the heat of him, pressing against my clit with every forward motion.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice thick and low. “Make yourself feel good. Take what you need from me. I’m so hard for you. So hot for you. I’d do any fucking thing for you like this.”
And I understood for the first time why Shelly had felt so confident back then, the power that came from making a man weak with desire. Except my body was frantic, my mind white with need. It wasn’t only him brought low through desire—it was me too. I had to surrender first.
I fought it, a familiar fear rising up. The same fear that kept me holding back with Sloan, with every man I’d ever met. A fear born on a night long ago, but not so dissimilar to this. When cruel men had tried to take me by force. When Philip had rejected me just as cruelly. I was too much and yet not enough. I was wanted, but only against my will—only fighting it. This was the only way I could take it.
“No,” I whispered.
He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. “Yes,” he said, pulling my hips in a steady sexual motion. “You’re going to come so hard you’ll gush all over your panties. It’s already happening. You can’t stop this, kitten. You can’t stop me.”
My lips parted on a sharp cry, and then his mouth closed over mine—holding me in while I came apart. Lights gathered in my vision and then exploded, scattering across the dark, parting to reveal his face, his eyes, the triumph in his expression.
My sex pulsed in wild pleasure, leaving my panties wet and my body wrung dry.
Something hitched in my chest. My first orgasm with a man had been in my dorm room, with Philip bleeding and half-conscious. And now my second, in a dirty alleyway behind the Meat Market. Were we always destined for these strange and broken moments of pleasure? Was the wholesome and sweet simply out of our reach?
My breath caught again, and then I couldn’t hold them back anymore. Tears wrenched my chest, and I fell against him. He caught me in his embrace, murmuring to me, “I know. I know it was hard for you, kitten. You were so beautiful, so brave.”
He held me until the sobs turned to quiet sniffles, until the sniffles faded to a silent numbness. And all the while he stroked my hair, my arms, my back. All the while he cradled me in his arms as if I were something precious, something rare.
*
AFTER THE BACK alley orgasm, he took me with him to his initial destination.
A pawn shop.
And it was closed. At least that was what the sign said. Philip rapped once, glanced up at the ancient-looking security camera, and waited on the cracked city sidewalk. A minute later a mechanical buzz unlocked the door.
It looked like a standard pawn shop, with shiny garland and Mardi Gras beads lining glass casing. I could see watches, jewelry, cameras. The man who emerged from the back—and the smell of pot—were pretty typical too. So what was Philip doing here?
He was the only thing out of place, austere and aloof.
The man smiled when he saw us, exposing yellowed teeth. He nodded to Philip, a greeting of two men who have met before. Then he looked me over from head to toe—his gaze, clearly accustomed to calculating things of great worth. His expression was speculative when he turned to Philip again.
“What do you have for Raine tonight?”
Without speaking, Philip pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and set it on the glass case.
The man pounced on it with almost childlike eagerness, tipping the contents onto a black velvet mat. There was only one thing inside—a single, brilliant diamond. My breath caught.
The man sighed in obvious admiration. “Ah Murphy, you always bring the good stuff.”
“I’m looking for a kid.”
Raine glanced at me. “Looks like you already have one.”
“A boy. Her brother.”
Raine put a small cylinder to his eye—some kind of magnifying glass. He held the diamond with tweezers and examined it. The sound he made was almost sexual and a little disturbing. “Raine knows about this.”
“You do.” The statement was low and dangerous.
Raine might have sensed the danger, but he was a little busy having a visual orgasm with his new diamond. “I don’t know where they’re keeping him, mind, but I know why.”
My heart pounded. Tyler. He knew about Tyler.
“We already know why,” Philip said, just as low, just as dangerous as before. Maybe more.
Raine looked up with a smile. “Not because of no gambling debt, Murphy.” His smile faded when he saw Philip’s face. “Because of you.”
Philip took a step toward the counter. “You have exactly one minute to explain, or this shop loses my protection.”
Bloodshot eyes widened. “I’m not involved in that shit—you know I wouldn’t—Fuck. I keep my ear to the ground, don’t I? That’s my business, isn’t it?”
“Then tell me something that helps me find him. Where is he? Who has him?”
“Someone wanted to hit you.” Raine glanced at the diamond. “Where it would hurt. It ain’t nothing to be ashamed about. Everybody got a weak spot.”
Philip went completely still. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. And I was struggling to understand what Raine meant. Tyler hadn’t been taken because of my dad’s gambling debt? Then why?
He’d implied it was done because of Philip, but Philip didn’t care about my brother. He barely even cared about me. Except he’d been watching me. Protecting me.
Everybody got a weak spot.
If you would have asked me a week ago, I’d have said he didn’t have one.
Raine looked around at the glass cases and cluttered shelves. “People come in here, they love their things. Rings. Guitars. They can’t live without them, they tell me. But then they leave and realize that they can live without them.” He paused, studying me. Then he turned to Philip. “Let this be something you live without.”
“He’s not a thing,” I said. “Not a guitar or a piece of jewelry. He’s my brother.”
Raine smiled, a sepia-toned Cheshire cat. “I wasn’t talking to you, precious.”
I sucked in a breath. He meant me, that Philip shouldn’t help me. I was the weak spot.
“Leave,” Philip said on a breath, so quiet I barely heard him. Raine heard him. He shoved the diamond into the pouch and disappeared into the back room in a rustle of hanging beads.
“Who did you tell?” Philip asked without turning. Now it was his voice that sounded raw.
All that anger, the force of his will, was directed at me. He wasn’t even looking at me, but I could feel it—dissecting me, ripping me apart. “What are you talking about?”
“Who did you tell about me?”
My hopeless crush on him. The unsigned postcards. “No one.”
“Are you sure? Even a friend. Even someone you thought you could trust.”
“No,” I said, louder, more sure. I wouldn’t have told them about Philip. No one at school would have understood what I went through—or about my strange fascination with a criminal. “I never told a soul.”
“Someone did,” he said, finally turning to face me. The rage in his eyes hit me like a lash. The rest of him was deathly cold. “And we’re going to find out who.”
He brushed past me to the door and held it open.
Everybody got a weak spot.
It sounded wild, like some kind of dark fairy tale. It couldn’t possibly be true. Except that Philip seemed to confirm it with every action—with watching me, with saving me. With keeping me. It was more than sex he wanted from me. It was everything. He wanted all of me, and a man like Philip always got what he wanted.
Nothing about his posture invited me in. He didn’t offer his hand. He didn’t offer any comfort.
He didn’t have anything to give, I realized. Not comfort. Not acceptance. And definitely not love.
He had sharp, shiny diamonds in velvet bags. He had threats and money. He had desire, and that would have to be enough for me, because I had already made the deal with him—and this visit was the signed ink on the contract.