Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

I can’t really help the smile that spreads across my face. “You really care.”

“I really, really don’t.”

“Can we braid each other’s hair and tell ghost stories?” I tease.

An exasperated look crosses over her face, so vehement, so desperate that I think she might actually hit me. That’s how much she doesn’t want to care about me. How much she wants to stay detached, just like I did. But we can’t quite do it. Maybe that is a death sentence, but if it is, we’re already dead.

She glances to the door—empty—and then back at me. Her voice is quiet and, this time, sincere. She isn’t trying to pretend we don’t care. She’s telling me that she does. “You might be safe in my apartment. People know me there. But not on the street. Not wandering around alone. And if you got caught there, who would take care of whoever it is you’re hiding.”

My eyes widen, because I may have formed attachments at work, but I’ve never confided about Clara. She’s never been to the club, and she’ll never come here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve seen you take food from the kitchen at the end of the day. And since you’re thin as a beanpole, I figured you weren’t chowing down while watching infomercials.”

I shut my eyes. “Has anyone else—”

“Not that I know of. Even Lola doesn’t suspect. I’d know if she did because we talk about you.”

Despite my distress, my lips lift in a faint smile. “Gee, thanks.”

“It’s because we do care,” she whispers. “And we don’t want you to die.”

* * *

I’m blinded every time I go onstage, but this time is different. Because even though I can’t see, I know Kip is there. I can feel him watching me, wanting me, counting on me. When I am onstage, it’s impossible to hide. I’m exposed. And I have to face the pain in my chest, the one I feel because I’m bound to let him down.

I dance with sure feet and strong hips. I dance like this will be my last time onstage. I dance for him.

Even though I pretend not to see him near the front. For a man undercover, he isn’t hiding. He isn’t slinking near the edges, in the shadows, hoping not to be seen. He’s in plain sight—like me. We have that in common. It binds us together when I’d rather forget.

Blue finds me after my dance, when I would have gone onto the floor to make the rounds. He grabs me when I try to move past him. “What happened to Candy?” he demands.

I blink, taken aback. Sometimes he seems to almost care about us girls. Although maybe he’s just angry at damaged goods. And his fingers dig into my arm. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

“She talks to you.”

“Well, not about that.”

He blows out a breath and looks to the side. His hand falls away. “Is it the same place Lola’s gone?”

I didn’t even know Lola had left. If we are soldiers, we are falling one by one. What are we defending? I have Clara. I don’t know what Lola or Candy has. “I thought she wasn’t working today.”

“Only because she called and took herself off rotation. It’s not like her to miss a Saturday, though. Not when Ivan—” He stops abruptly, lips firming. He’s said too much, which is strange enough. But I can feel his distress, which is stranger still.

His concern feels like water tugging at my feet, an undertow. It’s swirling beneath the surface, waiting to suck me down. There’s a current in this club. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

“Lola can take care of herself,” I say because it’s true. Between the three of us, Lola is the tough one. The take-no-prisoners one. Men need to look out when she prowls through the floor, not the other way around.

“Yeah, right,” he mutters. “Just like Candy and you.”

I flinch. “We do our job. That’s all you pay us to do.”

His grin is dark and unpleasant. “And I do my job, which is to keep you ladies pretty and available.”

It’s almost soothing to hear his crude words, having the Blue I know and loathe back. He’s an asshole, and I wouldn’t know how to deal with him otherwise. “I’m available. For those who pay.” I raise my eyebrows to let him know that he hasn’t. Not ever.

Not for any of the girls, as far as I know.

His eyes darken as he looks me up and down, taking my measure. He’s had his hands on every girl in this club, if only to rough us up or move us around. We are dolls to him, and he’s the one pulling strings. There is lust in his eyes, and a threat. But his heart’s not in it.