Love the Way You Lie(30)

But not tonight, because he doesn’t show up. Not even when I’ve danced my third song, not when I’ve worked the floor. A different man takes me to the back rooms, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed. I made the money I needed to, even if my hands smell like cheap cologne and come. I’m safe another day. That’s all I can ask for. That’s all I can want.

So I head back onto the floor and find a rumpled suit to feel me up. He does it discreetly, copping a feel while only paying for a lap dance on the public floor. I let him because it’s easier than making a scene—and wince when he pinches instead of pets.

He grins, drunk and sideways. “Let me take you home, Honey.”

My eyes flutter closed briefly. I’m tired of saying no. “I can’t do that, but I can put on a show for you, right here.”

His hand closes around my wrist—hard. “I want more than a show, you little tease.”

I’m tired of saying no, but I’m even more tired of being ignored. “Let go of me,” I say evenly.

Of course that just makes him squeeze tighter, until I wince. I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. I’ll have to use my foundation around my wrist. All in a day’s work.

Then someone is standing behind me. I feel their presence and a sense of relief. But it’s a disappointment when he speaks.

“You heard the lady,” he says. Not Kip.

The man looks up at Blue, clearly unaware of the threat he’s under. He winks. “I heard, but I come here so I don’t have to listen to them talk.”

Blue does something fast and painful to the man’s wrist, and then I’m free. I stand up and back away. It’s one thing to mess with one of us, but messing with Blue is a really stupid move. Blue is a ticking time bomb. I don’t want to be near him when he goes off.

“You’re done,” he tells the man. His voice is low, but everyone is watching now. They know what’s happening—and they came here for a show, after all.

The man doesn’t leave. “What the hell? I didn’t touch her. She was just a whiny bitch.”

“Then you won’t mind not seeing her. I don’t want to see your ugly face in the club again.”

For a second it looks like the man will fight Blue, which would be insane because Blue is twice as big and three times as tough. The guy is a used-up frat boy, trying to find his kicks after a long day at the office. Whereas Blue is two hundred and fifty pounds of tatted muscle. But a few drinks and a bruised ego can make a person dumb.

The guy stands up, hands curled into fists. “Who the fuck do you—”

And maybe I am having a mental breakdown, because I reach for him then. I place a hand on the arm of this stranger. “Just go,” I say softly. “It’ll only be worse if you stay.”

I’m nobody. Hasn’t he just said as much? Not big and strong and intimidating like Blue. But the man seems to hear me. His eyes focus on mine for a second, and he takes a small step back. He mutters and curses under his breath as he grabs his jacket and walks away, but at least he doesn’t start a fight.

When he is gone, Blue stares at me. He still looks pissed. If anything, he looks more pissed. “What the fuck?” he says.

My eyes widen. He’s pissed at me? “I didn’t start anything with him. I didn’t complain.”

He shakes his head. “That’s the fucking point, Honey. You never complain. But you let him touch you. I saw it.”

I didn’t let him do anything. As if it’s up to me. “If you want me to complain every time someone cops a feel, that’s going to be all night long.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Anger? Regret? Then he snorts and looks away. “You’re done too.”

What? My heart skips a beat. I need this job. Travel is the most dangerous thing we can do. Two girls on the bus would mean attention. Someone to remember us when my father sent people asking. And I knew he would. He’d never give up. “I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

I didn’t complain. That should have been enough. It was what I’d been trained to do.

“For tonight,” Blue said gruffly. “You’re done for tonight. Can’t dance like that anyway.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about until I feel a drop trail down my cheek. Only then do I realize I’ve started crying. Which means my mascara is surely running. I must look awful. My throat tightens. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Blue just grunts.

I almost run off the floor, all too conscious of the eyes on me. There are always eyes on me. Everything is a performance. I don’t even bother changing out of my sheer bra and panties. I just tug sweatpants and a tank top on and push out the door, my eyes hot with tears. But I can’t go home like this. Not yet.