Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

I swallow. Not so different from the human world at all.

“And so the tiger left the jungle in shame. When he came back, the weeds and the marshes rose up and marked him with black stripes so that everyone would see what he’d done.”

“If only the real world had that,” I say. “Then we’d know who was bad and who wasn’t.”

“I think maybe it does. Look at me. Most people know on sight that I’m bad news.” He’s talking about the tattoos that wind their way up his forearms. And maybe also the leather jacket and the boots.

And the grim air of danger that surrounds him.

“You put those on yourself,” I say softly. “Not like the tigers.”

“To me that’s what the story is about. The things we do to ourselves. The way we hurt ourselves and mark ourselves.”

It’s a cautionary tale. He’s warning me away from him.

I don’t say anything until we reach the thin, sagging palm tree that marks the perimeter of the Tropicana motel. I feel a little sick imagining a tiny version of Kip, a little boy watching his mother mourn the life she wanted. I feel sick imagining the tattoo gun piercing an older Kip’s skin while he looked on, thinking he deserved it as some kind of penance—as some kind of warning to the world around him.

But he has no idea what I deserve. “I’m sorry for what happened to her. But I’m not her.”

“I know that.”

“And you can’t save me or whatever you’re trying to do here.”

A sad smile flickers across his face. “I know that too. That isn’t what I’m doing here.”

He hands me my bag and stands with his arms at his sides as I start to walk away. My fists tighten on the straps of my bag. I stop, staring straight ahead, away from him.

After a beat, I ask, “Why are you here then?”

It can’t just be for sex. He could get that in the Grand. Why does he want to spend time with me?

But when I look back, the sidewalk is empty. He’s already gone.

Chapter Ten

I think about the feel of his hand around mine all day—warm, dry, and protective. It’s the last feeling I need to be most worried about. Protective. Am I having some kind of breakdown? Am I losing touch with reality? Because Kip is a customer, the roughest kind. He’s not my white knight. It’s men like him I need saving from.

But not tonight, because he doesn’t show up. Not even when I’ve danced my third song, not when I’ve worked the floor. A different man takes me to the back rooms, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed. I made the money I needed to, even if my hands smell like cheap cologne and come. I’m safe another day. That’s all I can ask for. That’s all I can want.

So I head back onto the floor and find a rumpled suit to feel me up. He does it discreetly, copping a feel while only paying for a lap dance on the public floor. I let him because it’s easier than making a scene—and wince when he pinches instead of pets.

He grins, drunk and sideways. “Let me take you home, Honey.”

My eyes flutter closed briefly. I’m tired of saying no. “I can’t do that, but I can put on a show for you, right here.”

His hand closes around my wrist—hard. “I want more than a show, you little tease.”

I’m tired of saying no, but I’m even more tired of being ignored. “Let go of me,” I say evenly.

Of course that just makes him squeeze tighter, until I wince. I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. I’ll have to use my foundation around my wrist. All in a day’s work.

Then someone is standing behind me. I feel their presence and a sense of relief. But it’s a disappointment when he speaks.

“You heard the lady,” he says. Not Kip.

The man looks up at Blue, clearly unaware of the threat he’s under. He winks. “I heard, but I come here so I don’t have to listen to them talk.”

Blue does something fast and painful to the man’s wrist, and then I’m free. I stand up and back away. It’s one thing to mess with one of us, but messing with Blue is a really stupid move. Blue is a ticking time bomb. I don’t want to be near him when he goes off.