Better When It Hurts (Stripped 2)

“You’ll have to talk to Ivan. Explain why.”

“I think the why is obvious,” I say drily, staring at my messed-up reflection. I look like a public service announcement.

“He’s going to want more information than that.”

I make a face, frustration and a little bit of fear. “He doesn’t want information. He wants me to beg.”

Candy smiles faintly. “I’m sure you can do it pretty for him. He’ll like that.”

Sure, she’s not afraid of him. She’s the only one in the goddamn city who isn’t. He’s always been fair enough to me, but I’m also careful not to cross him. I keep my head down, my tips high, and don’t cause trouble. At least until Blue showed up.

As if I’ve summoned him, he appears in my mirror, his expression severe. “Lola.”

“Bye,” Candy says, hopping off her stool with a little wave.

My eyes narrow. “Did you call him?”

She blows me a kiss. “Thank me later.”

I will definitely not be thanking her for this, but I can’t focus on her now. She’s flouncing out the door, and Blue is advancing on me like a shark scenting blood. His dark gaze takes me in from the failed makeup job to my bare feet. I’m still in street clothes—jeans and a tank top—but it feels like I’m wearing nothing the way he takes me in, like he can see every mark and ache underneath.

“Who did this to you?” he growls.

I don’t know what to tell him. All I know is that I can’t tell him the truth. I catch myself eyeing the gold watch on the vanity and force myself to look at the ground. “It’s none of your business.”

Wrong answer.

He backs me up until I’m flush against my vanity. Lip gloss and eyeshadow tumble to the concrete floor. The bulbs around the mirror illuminate his face with harsh light and stark shadows. He looks menacing—not a man to be crossed.

He’s rough and hard, but when he puts his hand on me, he’s gentle. His finger traces the bruise on my cheek, careful not to touch where I’m swollen and purple. He trails down my neck and runs his forefinger along my collarbone. When he gets to my shoulder, where my shirt covers my skin, I let out a small whimper.

His eyes darken, and he pushes my shirt aside to reveal a red abrasion. “Fuck.”

“It’s just a customer,” I say quickly, like fighting the tides. “It happens all the time to girls like me. You know that.”

“Not in my fucking club, it doesn’t happen. And not to you.” His voice is threatening, and it makes me feel somehow safe because I know he doesn’t mean this toward me. Even though he should.

It’s my fault men hurt me. It has to be my fault, because they always, always do. “It’s nothing.”

His nostrils flare. “I don’t like them touching you. I don’t even like them looking at you. But this? This isn’t nothing. This is way over the fucking line. Tell me exactly which bastard did that to you, because he’s a dead man.”

My breath catches in my throat. This is everything that happened before. This is history repeating itself. The way it ended last time broke me. And it sent him far, far away. I want to rail against the inevitable, to hold him close. That’s selfish, though. To want to keep him. If he goes away, he’ll hate me even more, but he will be safe.

“No,” I whisper.

His lids lower. He leans in close, his mouth touching my temple as he speaks low. “I will find out who did this, and I will crush the fucking breath from his throat.”

“Am I interrupting?”

The crisp voice of Ivan breaks through the haze, and Blue straightens. His gaze remains intent on me. He doesn’t jump back to break apart like I do. I’m shoved against my vanity, completely trapped by two men who have power over me. I’ve fought so hard against this, against weakness, against ownership, but here I am again.

Blue speaks through gritted teeth. “Someone hurt her.”

Ivan walks casually into the room and leans against the wall. He studies Blue. “Was it you?” he asks with deceptive mildness.

Surprise and anger flash across Blue’s face. “Fuck no.”

“No?” Ivan says, not seeming concerned at all. “You seem to have taken an interest in our pretty girl.”