LIV

 

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” I complain to Helena while looking around the dark, dingy club. “I’m pretty sure my feet are stuck to the floor,” I complain again, pulling one heel at a time from the tacky carpet beneath my soles.

“What?” Helena chirps, shrugging her shoulders and winking. “It’s not that different from ShadowBox.”

“That’s rubbish,” I state as I follow her toward the bar. “ShadowBox may be dark, but your feet don’t stick to the floor, and we’re always safe.”

We reach the bar, and Helena turns to face me. “Technically, it’s your shoes that are stuck to the floor and anyway, guys grab at us there, too,” she states, turning back to order our drinks.

“Yeah, maybe, but I’ve never felt like I was going to be stabbed in the loos,” I return, crinkling my nose and looking around. A guy at the bar stares at me, and I can feel my eyes widen as I take him in. Brooding, dark, mysterious, and definitely dangerous. He looks away, and I can breathe again. He’s scary, but I still know one guy who’s scarier.

“Seriously, you have to stop thinking about that tosspot,” Helena shoots out.

“How do you know I’m thinking of him? You’re not even looking at me.”

“You’re always thinking of him,” she replies deadpan, and I shut my mouth.

We both worked tonight and only finished at two a.m. After cleaning up, we decided to go out clubbing. We started out at Regents, but Helena got bored with the dance music and wanted something a little darker, rockier. So she dragged me here, and while it’s slightly ominous and probably not very sanitary, the music is good. Three Days Grace’s ‘I Hate Everything About You’ comes on, and I throw back the shot Helena offers me.

“Dance?” she questions raising an eyebrow with a knowing look.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply and drag her into the throng of clubbers.

“Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” Helena asks me.

I shrug. “Probably, I mean we’re dancing in the middle of a club.” I glance between us. “You’re wearing a skin-tight pair of jeans and what is essentially a boob tube.” I grin.

“It’s summer!” she shoots back.

“Hel, it may be late August, but it’s also four in the morning. Not exactly hot.”

She harrumphs. “It’s hot in here with all these bodies,” she informs me with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” I wink back.

We’re both still dancing, and our skin glistens. The sweat beads all over me. It gives the illusion that my tattoos glow. I catch a few admiring stares, but I’m not interested. My heart is smashed to smithereens, and at this point, I’m not sure it’s ever going to work again.

“Anyway, you can’t talk about what I’m wearing, lady,” she says pointing at me. I glance down at my clothes or lack of them. She’s right, there isn’t much of my skin that’s covered, at least not on top anyway. I chose to wear a black Lycra pencil skirt. It’s so tight that I have no underwear on. It’s an unusual choice for me as it restricts my dancing but I want to feel girly and sexy tonight. The skirt is attached to braces which run up and over my shoulders. I guess that under the braces, I’m supposed to have a top on or maybe a grandad shirt. I have a black bra on. That’s it. My skirt, a black bra, and black slinky heels that are so high, they should be illegal. My hair trails down my back, and I’m like a walking showcase for my tattoos.

I giggle and pull her into me. We dance like hookers for the next twenty minutes laughing and enjoying ourselves. Finally.

Once Helena has had enough of dancing, we go to the back of the club searching for a table. We find an open booth and settle in.

“So what’s going on with you and Noah?” I question her. Helena only came back from her grandparents last night, so we haven’t had much time to chat.

“He’s picking me up early next week, and we’re going for dinner.”

I raise my eyebrow at her. “Wow, how… domesticated.” I smile.

Her lips pinch together, and she narrows her eyes. “I will never be domesticated, Liv, I just…” She shrugs, pink stains her cheeks.

“Hey,” I say reaching across the table and grabbing her hand. “It’s okay, you can like him, and you can want to go to dinner with him. Just because you have tats, and we’re not altogether straight laced, let’s call it…” I say with air quotes, “… that doesn’t mean you have to date a biker covered with tats who has a Mohawk.”

She laughs, and it starts me off too.

“Hello, ladies.”

We both glance at the man greeting us. He’s not overly tall but as we’re both fairly short, he would still be at least five or six inches taller than us. His suit is a shiny grey, and his skin is leathery.

“Hi,” I reply.

“I was hoping to buy you ladies a drink,” he tells us, sliding into the booth beside me. I scoot over as I don’t have a choice and instantly feel creeped out as he brushes his thumb up my thigh.

“No thanks,” Helena instantly feeds back to him. He offers her a cursory glance—which is more like a sneer—before looking back at me. “Can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?”

What a sleazebag!

I shudder, but I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s because I like him. Every hair on my body stands on end, and my brain shouts at me to move away from this guy, but I’m blocked in by him. I decide tact would be the best way out at this juncture.

“Erm, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m here with my friend, and we’re in the middle of talking. Sorry, girls’ night.” I smile, hoping he gets the idea.

“No boyfriends?” he asks looking around.

“No. Just us,” I inform him.

He smiles, but it’s fake and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry to have bothered you, ladies,” he tells me smoothly, and my hackles rise.

“That’s okay,” I return, but I’m spooked as I watch him slither away, taking a last glance back.

“Well, that wasn’t creepy,” Helena whispers the minute he’s gone.

“Hmmm… that didn’t feel right. I think we should go,” I tell her looking over to the bar and mentally calling a cab.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a party pooper. I need to drink and dance, I don’t want that dick ruining our night.”

My shoulders drop, and I force myself to relax. “Okay, fine.”

“Drinks,” she says and drags me to the bar.

Twenty minutes later and we’ve had another four shots. I can’t see straight, and I can’t stop giggling, but when the song ‘Always’ by Saliva comes on, my feet take me to the dance floor. The emotion that moves through me is all my pent-up frustration, all aimed at one man. I have no idea where Isaac is, and my brain says to forget him, but my heart still loves him, and I fear it always will.

 

 

ISAAC

 

My muscles are rigid. I’m completely strung out, every inch of me pulled tight like the strings on a bow, ready to snap. I’ve felt like this since Via came into Crimson, but when one of my marks went over to her table and sat next to her, I lifted from my stool. Arlo and King appeared and locked me down—kind of. I could have pushed it, could have still gotten to her, but there was no reason to hurt my friends. If he had tried something with Via, though, all bets would have been off, and if Arlo and King hadn’t have let me go, things would have turned out differently. I have a new purpose, that’s why I know I need to leave, because Black Ops, the mission, my team, they don’t come first anymore. She does. I think she always has, but now I know I can’t live without her, not anymore.

 

 

Via’s heavily drunk, but as soon as the Saliva track ‘Always’ comes on, she starts dancing to the song. She dances as though it’s her lifeline, like the words are what feeds the blood pumping around her body. It reminds me how much I hurt her, and how she feels about me.

Two things happen simultaneously.

I realise this time she’s never going to forgive me—not ever, and that realisation happens at the same time a pair of muscly arms grab her and pull her toward the back of the club.