His brow quirked. “Babe, I’ve seen you naked. I think it’s more than an appropriate way to talk.”
I pursed my lips at the stark reminder of reality. Reality was sorely needed in this little conversation. “Everyone’s seen me naked. Everyone who pays the cover and frequents nasty strip clubs. They got deep pockets they can see me real close,” I said, my voice a taunt. I was doing it to remind him of what I was, to make him realize that I wasn’t whatever warped image of me he had in his mind.
The teasing glint left Lucky’s eyes. His emotional transitions were giving me whiplash. “That shit’s stopping.”
I folded my arms and restrained the wince that came with this movement. “What are you talking about?”
“You takin’ your clothes off for lowlifes in this fuckin’ dive. The place owned by a bad motherfucker who tried to pimp you out. You’re quittin’.”
A red film covered my eyes and I went deathly calm. “I thought we’d already ridden this merry-go-round. If I remember correctly, I pushed you the fuck off, considering you have no power over me,” I hissed. “So at what point in this conversation did you descend into your little fantasy world? Or did you always reside somewhere that isn’t the here and now?” I paused. “That makes a lot of sense.”
Lucky’s eyes darkened. “Jesus, Becky, you can hardly fuckin’ move. That hot little body is covered in evidence of just how bad that shit is for you. At how far away it is from where you should be. What you deserve. You ain’t goin’ back there.”
I found my feet and stormed past him, taking a wide berth so he didn’t get any ideas. I opened the door and leaned against it while staring back at him. “You’re wrong. This”—I gestured to my face—“is exactly what I deserve.” I ignored the way he visibly flinched at my tone. “Now this is the part of the conversation when you run along back to your biker buddies. Find a whore to boss around, rebuild your Harley, write the next great American novel. I don’t give a shit. The main part is you getting the fuck out of my apartment and forgetting whatever has you thinking I’m some possession you can do with as you like and order around. That is not me. I’m never going to be that girl.” My voice was ice.
Lucky stood in the center of my room, digesting my words. As he did so, I took a mental snapshot of him standing there, in the middle of my chaotic, messy life. The beautiful tattooed biker who was a contradiction. Funny as hell, carefree and kind, but ruthless and violent at the drop of a hat. And tender. And irritating as shit. Someone I’d never have.
Maybe I’d use it as motivation to get off the shit and finally get my life together. Something had to. Today my life hadn’t exactly flashed before my eyes, but death had come knocking and I realized what a fucking sad story I’d have to tell the reaper if I’d answered. I didn’t want sad. I didn’t want some tragic end, to become another damaged junkie who’d lost their battle with their demons.
No.
I wanted to fight.
And I wanted to win.
I just had no idea how I was going to do that. A start would be to forget the biker who made me want to fight and surrender all at the same time.
He moved, not taking his eyes off me. My perusal of him, or maybe my distraction at the demons clawing at my back, had me unable to react as he stalked across the room and clasped the back of my neck. His eyes glittered with hunger that I only got a glimpse of before he pulled me in to press his lips to mine. I probably should have struggled, pursed my lips and turned to stone. I sure as shit shouldn’t have opened to him the moment his lips crashed down on mine. But I was never one for doing things I should, and I definitely indulged in everything that was bad for me.
And that kiss, the way it set my body alight, the way he tasted as his tongue plundered my mouth, it was bad for me. The worst. Because it was good. Too fucking good.
In the blink of an eye—or maybe an hour later, who knew—he yanked back, resting his forehead on mine for a split second. Our gazes locked and I scrambled to shutter my eyes, to regain my mental shield. But it was too late; his hazel eyes saw to the core of me.
Not a good thing.
Because my core was not soft and beautiful. It was shriveled and rotten.
His jaw hardened and he stepped away from me. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If he actually got a glimpse at the wasteland behind my eyes, I’d never see him again. I hated how much the thought of that hurt. I was momentarily pissed at myself for creating such a connection to someone I barely knew.