The Hunted (9 page)

W
ork sucks ass
when compared to memories of Gannon pleasuring me in bed. The job has become routine and something I actually enjoy. It’s mindless work and with a little smile or a giggle large tips await to get into my treasure box.

“One more week, kid, and you can take the stage.”

I look over to Stew and roll my eyes. “I think I like this best.”

He smiles at me while sliding the tray in my direction. “How bad do you want money? Some of the return customers are starting to ask about you.”

“Well, they can keep asking.”

I spin around and set off to deliver drinks when I crash into a hard chest.

“Fuck, Bay, you’ve got to be one of the clumsiest fucking people I’ve ever met.”

Van plucks two shot glasses from the tray and downs them.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios, asshole?”

I look up at his face and see that one of his eyes is nearly swollen shut and scratches cover the other side of his face. His white t-shirt is ripped down the middle, exposing a tattoo that lines his lower abdomen right above the seam of his pants.

“Jesus.” Stew bellows from behind the bar. “You finally found trouble again didn’t you?”

“He found me.” Van settles down onto his favorite barstool. I hand Stew the tray, and he replaces the empty shot glasses. I can’t help but stare at Van. My heart breaks at the crusted blood on his face. I dampen a napkin and begin cleaning his face. I’m shocked when he doesn’t swat me away, but instead leans into my touch.

“Where have you been?” I question him.

He doesn’t answer as he melts under my touch allowing me to clean every part of his face. I tear his shirt the rest of the way and let my fingers outline the fancy lines of his tattoo. Hair peppers his lower abdomen. I let my fingers linger underneath the top of his pants, dipping down to elastic of his boxers.

Van slumps over onto the bar resting his elbow on it but doesn’t push me away. I pull his ripped shirt the rest of the way from him. The club is hopping and not one person stops to watch us. Stew tosses me a new shirt from behind the bar. It’s a club shirt.

“Are you okay, Van? At least tell me that.”

“I’m fine,” he grits out.

“I want to take care of you.”

I’ve never spoken truer words.

He finally talks and it’s not the words I want to hear. “I’m no good for you.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” I press a soft kiss to his temple and freeze a moment too long, soaking and drinking up his scent.

Stew scurries in asking all kinds of questions about who did this and if they’re back gunning for him. It’s all too much to take in. I don’t miss a table of customers fucking scowling in my direction. It’s their drinks on my tray. I move quickly to pass out their drinks so I can return back to Van. No smiles and no flirting.

Stew slides a first aid kit across the bar and gives me a nod. Hell, I didn’t even need a nod before my hands dig into the kit. Everything inside of me hurts for Van. Not only is he physically messed up, but emotional pain also flows from him.

What in the fuck is this man involved in?

“I told you to stay away from that asshole.” Stew’s veins in his forehead pop.

The pad of my finger brushes over the cut by his swollen eye. I missed this one at first glance, but now looking at it, it’s deep.

“You might need stitches, Van.”

I feel his hand rest on the small of my back and him drag me into him.

“Just clean me up, baby.”

I fucking go weak when he calls me baby. He destroys every single ounce of me with just the deep tone in his voice. I’ve never been a hopeless romantic type or love at first sight, but it seems Van Hollis is proving me wrong.

I clench my eyes shut, relishing the feel of him and soaking up his scent. When I open my eyes, Van’s staring straight at me, and it’s like he’s just begging me to inch in closer and kiss him. Stew unknowingly interrupts our moment and instead of my lips grazing Van’s, I run the pad of my finger over his cracked lip. He darts his tongue out, catching the corner of my finger. It’s our own little private moment.

“What did he say?”

“Told me he was itching to throw my ass back in the pen.”

“You never fucking belonged there. Everyone on this side of town knows that.”

“Yeah, but I have a feeling he’s not going to stop until he does.”

“Everyone knows Argo is a fucking dirty cop. I know for a fact he’s still running drugs and even dips into the nose candy himself and who knows what else.” Stew slams both of his fists down onto the top of the bar. “I know he’s your identical twin, but he’s a dick.”

I butterfly bandage the cut on the side of his eye and then clean up the scratches on the other side of his face. The closer I examine it looks like someone clawed the shit out of him.

“Who is Argo?” My question comes out before I know it.

“My twin brother.”

“That cop?” The puzzle pieces flow together when the question leaves my lips.

“And if you ever see him again stay the fuck away, Bay.” Stew slings down a damp rag on the top of the bar. “He’s a cop but a fucking rat.”

A customer calls him away and I’m left standing between Van’s legs with his hand wrapped around my back. He snakes his hand under the back of my shirt clinging to my flesh. I try to focus on the wounds on his face and not the feel of him touching me.

“I’m an ex-con.” His words come out sad. “I served years for killing someone.”

I freeze staring into his cold blue eyes that have darkened a few shades to a navy blue. My palm is plastered to the side of his face, and I find my fingertips are digging into his skin.

“I didn’t do it, Bay. I was locked away for something I didn’t do. I’m no fucking angel and full of enough sin for the both of us, but I didn’t kill that man.”

“Okay.” I nod.

“I’ve sold drugs, stole, and fucking broke every single other law, but I didn’t kill that man. I was framed. My brother set me up.”

“The cop?”

He nods. “My identical twin.”

“I know you say you’re a bad guy, but you’ve only been my hero and well…” I pause blushing from the roots of my hair down to the tips of my toes. “My fantasy and dream.”

“I’ve killed before out of survival. I didn’t kill that guy.”

His lips crash down onto mine and I feel him leave behind a bite on my lower lip that pierces every single emotion within me. I’m up in the air before I have any clue what’s going on, and then I feel my back being pushed up against a wall.

When I look up, I see the lights have faded and he’s slipped both of us back into a dark hallway near the bar. It’s opposite of the stage and the dressing room for the girls, and most of the patrons.

The sound of his zipper going down and then him pulling and tugging on my little shorts all happen so fast, and I do nothing to stop him. I’m hungry to feel more of his skin on me. His lips move from my lips and go to sucking the skin on my neck.

“Let me take care of you, Van.” I push back on his broad shoulders. “Someone hurt you tonight. Let me help you. You’ve protected me for months now.”

I slide down slowly to my knees while continuing to talk.

“You’ve walked me home, helped me lock my door and been nothing but a fucking gentleman to me. It’s my turn to help out.”

His boxers come down easily with a simple tug. It only takes seconds before my lips wrap around his hardened shaft. A song by Nicki Minaj blares across the speakers out in the club. I know a stripper is out there giving the show of her life as I’m doing the same.

The song’s sexy beat only urges me forward sucking harder, cupping his balls, and letting the tip of his cock gag me. Van keeps up the rhythm with his hands clenched in my hair and pounds himself into my mouth. He’s not a gentleman. He takes what is offered before him and lets go in my mouth. His warm spray coats the back of my throat and I taste all of it, not letting an ounce of it go to waste.

When I stand to my feet and straighten out my top, I whisper in his ear but make sure it’s loud enough for him to hear me, “That’s the sweetest fucking taste I’ve ever tasted, and it’s all mine.”

His fingers dig into my ass as he hoists me up and whirls me around until my back is pressed up against the wall. He’s hard and ready again bobbing up against my center.

“How many men have you been with, Bay?”

I’d never lie to him.

“You and Gannon.”

“I’ve been with hundreds. Haven’t been with anyone since I tasted you in the other hallway.” He pauses, not wanting to finish his thought, but he does. “You’ve ruined me.”

I’m stunned and there’s no word I can reply with.

“You’ve been fucking that blond all American kid,” he adds.

“I haven’t fucked him.”

“Has he tasted you?”

I slowly nod, feeling ashamed.

“Like I said, you’ve been fucking around with him.”

I scramble to tell him everything and how he’s held this power over me. “It’s your face I see when I’m with him. It’s your face I see when I go to bed. It’s you who I want.” I clutch the sides of his face. “But you won’t give me all of you.”

“Van!” Stew yells, followed by a shit ton of ruckus out in the club.

He sets me down and is gone within seconds. My hands cover my thumping chest as I realize what just happened. My tongue darts out, licking up the little bit of his taste that he left behind on my swollen lips.

Glass crashes in the far off distance as I hear bones breaking and screams soon fill the air over the commotion. I remain frozen to the wall, paralyzed by what just happened. The violence outside doesn’t even rattle me because there’s nothing left to stir up. He’s taken all of me.

Shaking the nonsense from my head, I peek out the end of the hallway and see utter destruction and chaos filling the club and Van is right in the middle of it.

His shirt is ripped once again and this time all the way off as he tries to take down two large men who clearly pissed him off. He gains the upper hand as Stew joins him and helps usher the men to the door.

A few dancers huddled together join me in the dark hall.

“What happened?” I inquire.

“I don’t know. The men just started beating the shit out of each other.”

A petite blonde who is newer and I only know by her stage name Sweet Cheeks speaks up, “I think they may have been exchanging drugs…”

Honey interrupts her, “You saw nothing and will repeat nothing. It’s the only way to stay safe around here.”

Honey stares me down with disgust. “And this bitch deserves no fucking answers.”

I feel the need to defend myself but the venom streaming from her warns me it’s not worth the fucking fight. Pushing out my chest, I ignore her ass. I guarantee she knows exactly what just went down between Van and me. He doesn’t want a stripper whore, he wants me. That’s prize enough.

The front doors to the club slam shut, shattering some glass. When we peek around the corner, Stew and Van make their way back into the club and Van roars, “Closed for the night! Get the fuck out!”

Bodies scatter in every direction. The dancers ditch me to go get dressed–I guess you don’t have to tell them twice about going home early. The large digital clock on the wall reads ten thirty.

Holy shit, Stew is closing down four hours early. Something must be seriously wrong. My legs quake underneath me from the shit storm that just attacked my world. Once they steady up a bit, I walk out into the bar and spot Van down on his knees, examining a little baggy of white powder.

“Bay, head home. The lunch crew can clean up.” Stew’s slumped over on a stool with a whiskey in his hand.

“I can stay and help out.” My voice is feeble as my legs tremble.

“Get your ass home,” Stew grits out.

It’s with dread that I go for my purse and hoodie. Van doesn’t look up as he’s intent on whatever he’s studying. It’s a white powdery substance sprinkled across the floor. My body hungers to go to him, but I know whatever we just shared has been bottled back and locked tightly within him.

“I’ll be back.” I turn to see Van following me out of the club.

Focusing forward, my feet pound the pavement and I hear Van meeting me step for step. My hands fumble with the keys and finally unlock the door, flipping on the porch light quickly. I look back to see Van standing on the sidewalk and then he fades away into the darkness of the night going the opposite way to his place.

Slut. Whore. Despair. Disgust.

The words are on repeat blaring in my head. Go from being with no men to two different men enjoying different parts of each of them. My eyes dart to the two canvases on my wall. The only ones I’ve ever hung up. The dark and the light. Van and Gannon.

I dial my mom’s number without thinking.

“Mom.”

“Basil, my love, are you okay?”

“I need you, Mom. I’m so lost.”

“Talk to me, honey.” The background noise on her end disappears.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“It can wait, dear. What’s going on?”

“Mom.” My single word comes out as a sob.

She immediately starts singing a song she’d sing to me as a child when I’d get so wound up and calming down wasn’t in sight.

“I’m lost, Mom,” I repeat.

She stops singing. “Tell me more.”

I explain everything in detail from my nights with Gannon to tonight with Van and then break down once again at the end and feel the dirtiness ease and seep right back into my bloodstream.

“I’m a whore, Mom.”

She lightly laughs into the phone. “Sweetie, you’re young and living out your college years, by far you’re not a whore. You just have to be careful of not getting your heart broken or breaking someone else’s.”

“What do I do?”

“Basil, I’ve told you this many different times … you just need to listen to your heart and follow your path in life. There may be some small stones in your way along the journey while other times there’ll be boulders. But stay true to yourself.”

Anger builds up in me as I’ve heard her tell me this several other times.

“I have no fucking idea who I am!” I scream into the phone.

“Basil, stop. You need to go lay down and think hard and long about your life. Focus on your goals and then you’ll see the clear picture.”