Convict (Sin City Salvation 2)

“You want a smoke?” He stood in the doorway of my room, his eyes moving over my still unpacked suitcases. As his self-imposed bedtime approached, my anxiety crept over me, squeezing the life out of rational thought.

When I didn’t answer, he nodded to a plastic bag on the bed. “I got you something today. Why don’t you have a look?”

He disappeared down the hall while I opened it up and inspected it. I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that he’d read me so well or figured out my issue. But when I picked up the nightlight, relief filled my lungs. It was a fear I’d never been able to shake, and I hated that I couldn’t. It was a weakness. A constant reminder that even though I was all grown up, my past would always cling to me.

The memories of Ricky locking me in dark closets for days on end while he went on his benders weren’t so distant as soon as the sun went down every day. Sitting in my own urine as I listened to him terrorize other girls was about as horrific as it got. Or at least I thought it was. Until Gypsy did a stint in juvie, and he came for me instead.

I installed the nightlight and sat on the bed before Ace reappeared with two joints in his hand. He offered me one and then lit it, and I tried not to let onto the disappointment I felt. I liked the ritual of passing it from his lips to mine as I soaked in the salt of his skin and the earthiness of the herb. I’d never done something so intimate with anyone, but it felt unimaginable not to now that we had.

“I’ll give you ten minutes.” His eyes moved over my face. “And I’ll leave the door open tonight, but don’t fuck that up by pulling any more shit. Got it?”

I was too proud to admit his offer made me feel better, so I just nodded. But when he headed for the door, I wasn’t ready to let him go. I wanted him to feel as defenseless as I currently was. I wanted to level the playing field.

“Huck?” I called out.

He turned, a red flush creeping up his neck. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was embarrassed. “Everyone calls me Ace.”

“I’m not everyone.” I couldn’t hide the annoyance in my tone. “And I want to call you Huck.”

His eyes flashed with heat, and I felt it deep between my thighs. I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop myself from fucking it up.

“When can I try Mary-Kate’s Last Dance?”

In the span of a second, his nostrils flared, and his eyes pooled with a darkness I didn’t even know he possessed.

“Don’t ever ask me that,” he growled as he reached for the knob. “Don’t ever say that name again.”

The wood reverberated off the frame as he slammed it, and I flinched inwardly, wondering what I’d triggered. It wasn’t an accident. I’d done it intentionally, always poking at someone else’s wounds so I could pretend mine didn’t exist.

But this time… this time, I wished I hadn’t.

Huck was quiet throughout breakfast, and so far, he’d managed to avoid all eye contact. That didn’t stop him from grunting orders all morning, though. Get up, Birdie. Take a shower, Birdie. Eat your breakfast, Birdie. When I finished my yogurt and granola, he had another one.

“Go get dressed, Birdie.”

I peered at him over the rim of my coffee mug. “I am dressed.”

Finally, his eyes moved over me. Slow and calculating, he couldn’t hide the irritation brewing there. “I meant jeans and a T-shirt. That shit you’re wearing now isn’t going to fly.”

I glanced down at the white summer dress I’d pulled out of my suitcase this morning. It was one of my favorites, but clearly, the art of appreciation was lost on him. Most normal red-blooded men seemed to like the way it fit my body. But Huck wasn’t a typical man, and now it seemed like a sloppily executed move on my part.

“I like this dress.” I clipped out through gritted teeth, prepared to defend my choice.

“You can like it all you want, but you’re not wearing that to work.”

“Work?” I blinked at him, certain I’d misheard him.

“Yeah, work. What normal folk do to earn a living. I have a business to run, and you’re coming with me until I can figure out something else to occupy your time.”

My lips parted, a protest loaded and ready to fire from my tongue, but then something occurred to me. His shop was in Las Vegas. This was the opportunity I’d been looking for. I could escape. Go somewhere. Do something.

I didn’t know what those things were. In a matter of days, I’d been cut off from my entire world. No phone. No Gypsy. No Trouble. I was an island now. But there was still the matter of Joe to deal with. I had to get my hands on that video. It was the only way I could ever truly be free, and I couldn’t do that if I was sitting here, allowing myself to get wrapped up in Huck.