Better When It Hurts (Stripped 2)

I shudder at the stabbing pain, holding myself still and closed. I only have to get through this. I only have to survive.

“Hannah?” The voice comes from outside the room—familiar and beloved. No.

He can’t come in here. He can’t see my like this. I try to call out, to tell him not to come inside, but only a croak comes out. I’m too broken to even speak, too lost.

The door opens, and I only have seconds to glimpse the surprise in his eyes. And the rage.

Then he’s flying across the room. There’s no more invasion in my body, no more hands holding me down. Only the smack of flesh on flesh, the grunt of animals locked in battle.

I know this is a fight to the death.

Chapter Nine

I stare at the glass doors that open and close. Of all the places I could imagine Blue living, it’s not here.

I would have thought a run-down apartment building with rent by the week. I would have imagined sour milk and a stack of empty pizza boxes for a coffee table. Not that I think he’s broke. Ivan takes good care of the bouncers, just like he does for the girls. If my money wasn’t getting sucked into dialysis and a gas bill for a forty-year-old house with no insulation, I’d be rolling in the dough too. As it is, there’s a twenty in my pocket that’s going to be cab fare home.

It’s just that Blue seems like the quintessential bachelor—down to work and to fuck.

Not the kind of man who has a doorman who nods to me as I step up to the desk. “Ms. Bowman?”

My heart jumps in my throat, and it doesn’t go back down even when the kind-eyed old man smiles.

I force myself to chill the fuck out. No matter where Blue lives, whether it’s on the streets or a goddamn skyscraper, Blue is just another horny guy. I’ve known so many of them. Too many of them.

“That’s me.”

“Mr. Blue is expecting you.” The man nodded toward the elevators. “You can go on up. Twelfth floor.”

I don’t meet his eyes as I murmur my thanks. I can’t imagine what this man thinks of me, showing up here at night when I’ve never visited before.

Actually, I can imagine. I’ve heard the words flung at me a million times since I was a teenager. Slut. Whore. At least those times I did what I needed to survive. In a way that’s still what I’m doing now.

My red heels click on the smooth tile surface. Gleaming elevator doors reflect a woman in a pretty dress and a cheap jacket. All flash and no substance. It’s a relief when the doors close behind me, locking me in, leaving me alone as the elevator whooshes up. I shut my eyes against the mirrors around me and focus on my breathing.

There’s still time to back out.

I could go downstairs, hide my face and my shame from the kind-eyed doorman, and walk back onto the street where I belong. Blue wouldn’t follow me. He wouldn’t force me.

At least, I think he wouldn’t.

He’d been pretty forceful in that damn locker room.

The truth is that I owe him. He knows it. I know it. The only question is whether I’m going to pay up. Five years ago I was the kind of girl who’d shove him out the door without even a goodbye. Now I’m the girl who returns his wallet when it would be easy to shove it in the garbage and pretend I never saw it. I’m the girl who pays what I owe—I need to know I’m not the girl I was before. I need to know I’m worth anything at all.

The elevator doors slide open with a hushed sound. The quiet of the hallway rings in my ears. Everything is grayscale—the muted walls and the plush carpet. The silver knockers on every door. This place is a kind of bachelor pad, one made for wealthy men.

The kind that don’t need to be working security at a strip club, no matter how much Ivan is paying.

I’m standing there, confused¸ paralyzed, when a door opens.

“Hannah?”

My heart bangs against my chest. His voice sounds so sweet, so familiar. God.

I can’t take it. I can take his hands on me or his dick inside me, but I can’t take his voice saying my name. I can’t stand him thinking I’m that girl, the one too innocent and too broken, the one who loved him and the one who sent him away.

I turn and run for the elevator, which slides closed, just out of reach. My heel snags on the carpet, and I stumble. I’m falling, flying, the world a blur of gray and silver and tears in my eyes.