Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

The startling thing is to realize he has a heart after all.

“Look, if you want to keep us pretty, check on Candy. Someone’s hurting her.”

“No shit,” he snaps. “She looks like a fucking evidence photo. How am I supposed to put her on the floor?”

Charming. “If you don’t know who’s messing with her, tell Ivan. He’ll get it out of her.”

“I bet he will,” he mutters in a tone that means exactly what Candy had said. He’d like it too much. “Maybe I should tell him about you.”

My heart thuds. Does he mean Kip? Ivan must have told him I’m supposed to stay away. So why hasn’t Blue told on me yet? What does he want from me—a bribe? “What do you want?”

His gaze sharpens. “I want you to do your fucking job.”

It’s hard to speak. “I’m doing it.”

“And watch your back.”

My chest feels tight. “I always do.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

He doesn’t believe me—or maybe he just knows it’s a hopeless cause. I can watch my back. I can watch as the tiger gets closer. I can watch as he leaps. And there won’t be a damn thing I can do to stop him.

“I know that guy,” he says. “When you’ve been in the game as long as I have, you get to know who the players are.”

“What game is that?”

A smile then. “The killing game.”

Chapter Eight

The club doesn’t have any windows, but I know it’s been raining. The customer’s clothes are wet—especially the tops of their shirts and the hems of their pants. They hustle inside and then linger over empty glasses, reluctant to get rained on again. That would be good for business, except that a bunch of horny guys who would’ve come in have decided to stay home. It’s dead here.

I finish my dances and make the rounds with minimal fanfare. When it’s time to go home, I’m exhausted, my mind numb. I wrap my jacket tightly around me as I step outside.

There’s only a light drizzle, though the hours of stormy weather have left their mark. All the surfaces are slick, from the brick walls to the metal lampposts. Puddles stretch over the sidewalk, almost touching. I pick my way through them. My feet are already aching. The last thing I need is a shoe full of freezing water.

I’m so focused on the ground that I almost don’t see anyone there.

A shadow det

aches from the wall.

I only have time to gasp and clutch the duffel bag to my body like a shield. Then a hand is on my arm, tugging me in, dragging me into the alley.

My shout is muffled by the hand that is over my mouth.

I’m pressed with my back to the cool brick, a hard body in front of me, unmovable—trapped. It’s pitch-black in the alley, with only our harsh breaths mingling, communicating before we’ve said a word.

His head lowers. I can’t even see the shadow, the shape of it. I can only feel him coming closer.

Warm lips press against my temple. It feels almost chaste, except that he’s holding me up against a wall, pressing his whole body into me, thick and hard against my hip.

I shiver.

“Easy,” a low voice says in the darkness.

Kip. Relief fills me even though it shouldn’t. I can’t trust him. He’s speaking to me like I’m an animal, a horse he has to gentle so I don’t rear up.