Nine
Layla
“Bye, Mom!” Elle shouts from the kitchen.
“Oh, hold on! I want to meet—” The sound of the front door slamming cuts me off. “Or not.”
Elle and a girlfriend from school are hitting up a double feature at the theater tonight. It works out great for me, because I’m headed back to The Blackout to meet up with Mac. She’d told me that she always works on the nights Ataxia plays. And according to the band flyer Rex hooked me up with, they have a show there tonight. Blake’s been a good friend, but I need a girlfriend to gab and gossip with. Mac’s the closest thing I have to that, and having a drink and listening to good music is a bonus.
Deciding to go for casual, I throw on my favorite pair of old jeans with holes in the knees. I should’ve gotten rid of them years ago, but they’re so comfortable and do wonders for my butt. A long-sleeved thermal shirt, Pantera concert tee, black belt and biker boots. I’m ready.
I sit at the bottom of the steps, eyeing the Camaro. Much as I’d love to cruise that beauty around town tonight, I might have a few drinks. Crashing a classic car that belongs to a man whose nickname is “The Assassin” doesn’t sound like a smart move.
A white cab with fare prices printed on the door pulls up. Right on time.
The drive to The Blackout is a short one. Pushing through the entrance and into the dark club, I spot Mac immediately. She’s behind the bar, slinging drinks like they’re an extension of her body. I weave through the few people and random tables and saddle up. She’s taking cash from a guy, so I sit and patiently wait for her to see me. The band is already setting up on stage, and it looks like they’re minutes away from starting.
“What can I get—oh hey, Layla! How are you?” She stands up on something so that she can fold her body over the bar top and pull me into a hug.
“I’m great. I thought you’d be on tonight, so I stopped by for a drink.”
She shrugs one shoulder while pouring drinks. “They have me behind the bar tonight. I’m glad you’re here. Wednesdays are never busy, so I’m usually standing around, bored.”
“Perfect, now I can keep you company.” I order a Corona and sit back while she grabs my beer.
The bar fills up, but it’s nothing close to how crowded it was the first night I was in. Girls suited up in their most eye-catching, flesh-baring clothes huddle around the stage.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” With a head tilt, Mac motions to the girls who’re clearly the masters of attracting a horny male. “Be a miracle if you could find one virgin in this town. You know, they’ve considered changing the name to Sex Vegas.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place.” Beautiful and young. I take a swing of my beer. You’d never see this kind of thing in Seattle, but then again, if you’re not wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, you’re freezing your ass off.
“Nah, it’s an optical illusion caused by the sun and copious amounts of silicone.” She squints her eyes at something just over my shoulder and then shakes her head. “Ah, wouldn’t be an orgy without ‘The Snake’.”
Huh? My stomach drops to my toes. I follow the direction of her mirthful glare and choke on my own spit. Blake is standing off to the side of the stage. And he’s not alone. He’s leaning into a very tall, extremely gorgeous blonde, and she’s got her hand behind his neck.
I try to turn my head, to pull my eyes away, but they stay super-glued to the couple. His lips are moving, and his head is tilted along with his smile. She’s nodding, her lip wedged between her teeth as if she’s biting back the urge kiss him. Yep, he’s definitely sweet-talking her panties off.
Ha. Like she’s wearing any.
He leans in close and whispers in her ear. Her lips move, and whatever she says brings his hand to her hair. With a few passes of his thumb against her jaw, he coaxes her lips closer to his. Oh, God. He’s going to kiss her.
Again, I try to avert my gaze. Unable to break the hypnosis, I watch in animal-documentary slow motion as he tightens his fingers in her hair and pulls her to his mouth. She melts into his hold, and he dissolves the space between them. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and my chest constricts.
I scan the room, searching for something, anything to look at, but my eyes gravitate back like heat-seeking missiles. And holy hell is there heat. It’s practically peeling the paint off the walls. His huge body presses her back, pinning her with his hips. His hands move over her body like he’s memorizing every curve.
I’ve never been kissed like that. Stewart never kissed me at all unless he was between my legs, grunting like a rooting pig. My heart pinches painfully.
“Layla?” Mac’s voice gets my attention.
“Hmm?” I blink a few times and take a long pull of my beer. No longer facing Blake and his female companion, I imagine where they’re at in terms of bases. My guess is second.
Mac’s unique tawny-colored eyes study mine. “You okay?” She motions to her own face but nods toward me. “You went pale.”
I wave her off and swallow the last of my beer. Boy, that went down fast. “Nah, I’m fine.” Although my back feels like it’s on fire from the intensity of what’s going on behind me.
Mac’s eyes move over my shoulder. Her face scrunches up. “Oh, God. Those two need a condom. Fast.”
I blow a slow breath out my mouth. Gosh dammit. What is wrong with me? Why does this hurt so badly? We’re just friends, but the way I’ve respond to the mere thought of him with a girl isn’t healthy. And seeing the eyeball-burning live version is like having my guts ripped out, William Wallace style.
Mac drops another beer down in front of me, and I make quick work of the golden liquid. Anything to keep from turning around. Ataxia starts their first set, and as much as I’d like to watch them, I can’t bring myself to face what might be going on behind me.
“It’s okay. You can turn around now.”
I peek up into sympathetic eyes. We’ve only just met, but I can’t help but feel like she knows more than I’ve told her.
“He’s gone. Left just a minute ago.”
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I wonder if I can ask the question that’s clawing at my skull without giving myself away. “Did he leave alone?”
Her expression softens with what looks like sadness. “No.”
I nod once, twice, three… Oh no, I’m doing the crazy quick nods. The kind I do right before I’m about to cry. This is so stupid. Why on earth would I cry? We aren’t together. Even if there was a possibility of us hooking up, that would be a twelve-degree fuck-up on my end. I’m here to focus on rebuilding my life with my daughter. Not to gallivant around with a guy, albeit a seriously hot guy, from my work. On top of that, there are probably strict rules that discourage interoffice dating. I can’t risk losing my job.
But my eyes still burn as I wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Blake’s attention. I’ve felt only a sliver of what he gave that girl tonight, and I was light headed. Maybe that’s all it is. Not Blake the man, but the way he makes me feel. I’ve never been looked at the way he looks at me. Like I’m some forbidden indulgence he’s been deprived of his whole life.
And if that’s the case, what does that say about me? That I’d be willing to cast aside my future, my plan to rebuild a life for Elle, all because some guy makes me feel wanted. I fist my hands into my hair. Ugh, I’m sicker than I thought.
“Mac, I need a shot of…” I study the bottles. “Whatever you got. Just, make it strong.”
She chews the inside of her mouth, her thoughtful eyes on me. “I’ve got just the thing.” Whirling around, she grabs a bottle.
Within minutes I’ve downed three shots of what I’m pretty sure is some fancy-ass kind of tequila. My head feels light, but my thoughts have turned to dead weight. Dammit.
I blink to focus and suddenly feel suffocated in the crowded bar. Fresh air.
Digging through my wallet for cash, I curse my impulsiveness. Those shots probably cost me a week’s worth of food.
“Layla, no.” Mac shakes her head, dropping a full drink in front of my heavily pierced neighbor at the bar. “It’s on the house.”
Oh, thank God. “Are you sure?”
She smiles, but there’s sadness in her eyes. Great. Now she feels sorry for me. I need to get out of here.
I drop a twenty on the bar and tell Mac goodnight. On my way out, I wave to Rex on stage, and he rewards me with a lip-ringed smile.
Now he’s a nice guy. I’ve been here for two of his shows and have yet to see him all over a girl. It’s possible to practice some self-control.
Unlike a certain someone who I’m not thinking about at all.
Once free from the stifling club environment, I take a deep pull of fresh, cool desert air. Fresh might be an exaggeration. But the chilly winter temps help to clear my head. I need to sober up. Across the parking lot, I spot a bench. Perfect place to wait for a cab. I weave my way through the cars to—
The sound of a woman’s keening makes my body stiffen. I look around, but can’t see anyone except for the small cluster of smokers huddled at the far end of the building, in the opposite direction. I scan the lot, hold my breath, and concentrate on my hearing. Another soft moan and I’m moving, following the sound. Scouring the surrounding area, I tiptoe through rows of cars, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Oh God.” The murmured voice again, this time a little louder and closer.
A deep grumble filters from a nearby SUV. I duck down low and creep up to the car.
The woman screeches. Oh no. Panic floods my system. Visions flash behind my eyes. The struggle. The fear. The pain of being taken against my will.
I’m at the door, my hand moving on its own to grasp the handle.
The deep voice again. Another female whimper.
I swing open the car door and lean into the backseat. “No!” The word flies, powered by the ferocity of my anger. The door bounces back from my aggressive yank, slamming against my thighs and pinching my legs.
“What the fuck?” The angered roar of the rapist ricochets off the windows.
I grab at the back of his jeans. “Leave her alone!”
My fingers burn, digging into denim as I struggle to pull him off.
“Crazy bitch, get out!” the victim says, her voice not at all panicked, but pissed.
Blinking away the fog, my eyes adjust to the dome light in the car. A pretty blonde girl frantically covers her naked body, pulling her bra down and sliding on her panties. The rapist is up, buttoning his jeans and righting his shirt. My eyes are painfully wide and firmly fixed on the man’s familiar green glare.
Shit.
“Blake…” His name slides from my lips on a whisper.
“What are you doing?” The girl’s pretty face twists in anger. “Get out!”
I scramble backwards, out of the backseat. Stumbling, my butt hits the car parked next to the SUV. I just stormed in on Blake’s make-out session like a fucking lunatic. He already thinks I’m crazy. I just proved him right. Oh, God!
His tall, wide body folds out of the back of the car. He’s fastening his belt—were they? Oh. My. God!
“I… I’m sorry Blake… I didn’t—”
He steps into my space, his jaw clenched tight. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
What’s wrong with me? Where do I begin? I roll my lips between my teeth and shake my head. The urge to run, to get the hell away from the embarrassment, is overwhelming, but I can’t move. It’s like my feet are sunk in concrete.
The horror of my past mixes with total humiliation. My eyes burn. Rivers of emotion stream down my face. I’d blame the alcohol if that little surprise hadn’t sobered me up completely.
The blond from the club pulls her shirt on over her head and leans toward me. “You’re a fucking psycho!”
“I’m sor—”
“Hey!” Blake turns his back to me and faces the girl, his body blocking my view of her. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her. Understand?”
He’s sticking up for me?
“She jumped all over us in my car. How can you defend her?” The girl’s high-pitched shriek draws the attention of a few people by the front door.
Great. An audience.
I try to sidestep away on shaky legs, ignoring the sickening twist that plagues my belly.
“I’ll take care of her. You get yourself together.” Blake’s voice is low, clearly trying to avoid any more attention.
“She saw us…” She’s speaking softly so that I can’t hear, but the words I do pick up on are unmistakable. “… inside me.”
Crap. I knew it. A spasm rocks my chest so hard that I grasp my neck. My lungs struggle for breath. He was having sex in the backseat of a car.
A sob rips from my throat. I’ve got to get out of here. “I’m really sorry, you guys.”
I turn and make my way… away. My eyes follow the asphalt forward, no clue which direction I’m walking. Salty tears burn my nose, and I’m grateful no one can see my breakdown. What was I thinking? Nausea threatens to upheave my tequila shots. I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to calm my overactive gut. I mistook her cries of pleasure for cries of pain. The memories flicker behind my eyes, the burn from his hold, his weight on my chest, still so vivid and—
“Mouse.”
Blake grabs my arm from behind. I thrash out of his hold and flip around. He flinches and holds up his hands, running his gaze from my neck to my hairline, his eyebrows pinched together.
I wipe my cheeks and try to calm my galloping heart. “I’m fine. I’m fine, Blake. Really. I’m sorry and… I’m fine—”
“Stop saying that. You’re not fine.” He drops his hands, but steps in close. “Hell, look at you.”
“These”—I make another attempt to dry my face—“have nothing to do with you.”
“Then tell me. What the hell happened back there?” He motions in the direction of the SUV that’s pulling out of the parking spot.
How can I tell him the truth? I already feel like a pathetic loser.
“It’s no big deal—”
“Mouse.” He says my nickname with a growl, and judging by the determination in his eyes, he isn’t giving up anytime soon.
I exhale and drop my head. This is so humiliating. What’s worse, letting him in on my issues or having him think I broke up his backseat date because I’m certifiably insane? Maybe it’s better that he think I’m nuts. The truth is so much worse than his assumptions.
Clearing my throat, I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Don’t care.”
“Blake, please. You don’t want to know.”
His gaze swings up to the stars for a few seconds, then back to me. “The fuck I don’t. You just ripped the backdoor off a car like you were about to commit murder. Your fuckin’ eyes were practically glowing, you were so pissed. And then the tears? I may not want to know, but you fuckin’ owe me an explanation.”
Well, when he puts it like that…
I sift my shaking fingers into the ends of my hair and twirl, hoping to hide my nerves. “I heard her screaming.”
He tilts his head and leans forward. “What?”
I clear my throat. “She was screaming.”
His narrow glare turns soft. “No, Mouse. She wasn’t.”
“She was.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and fight to keep eye contact. “I heard her.”
He studies my face, eyes roaming from my cheeks to my lips. “What did he do to you?” His question is barely audible.
The hurt is so intense it swells and billows behind my ribs. I want to say it, scream it, and hope it relieves the stifling confinement of my shame. “Nothing that wasn’t within his right. He was… my husband, after all.”
He steps back, putting distance between our bodies. “Are you saying…” He shakes his head side to side. “No.”
Confused by his words, I keep my mouth shut, fighting the urge to dump my rotting and rancid dirty laundry at his feet.
“He raped you.”
Those three simple words strung together pull at a deep part of my denial. “Not rape if it’s your husband.”