Married to the Bad Boy(32)
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The best—the only—defense I can come up with is to pretend that everything’s normal. That my ex-boyfriend didn’t just track me down to my apartment to kill me, and I only just got away. If I accepted the seriousness of it, I would panic.
Panicking doesn’t help.
They’ll probably keep him in lockup for a day or two for resisting arrest, so that’s a small comfort.
The door swings open for me as a man steps out. The din in the bar swallows me like a shroud, and I feel safe surrounded by so many people. I scan the mass, my eyes cutting through the crowd of testosterone to find the man I found last night. It’s too much to hope that Tony will be here tonight, but even if he was here, what could he do for me?
My gaze passes over Tommy, whose penetrating stare eats right through me.
What the hell does he want?
He jerks his head toward the back of the bar. Swallowing down my heart, I brush past him and squeeze my eyes shut when I hear him follow. I bend down, changing my shoes in the back as I imagine him standing over me, his arms folded.
“What is it?” I finally snap.
“Your boyfriend came in here last night, not long after you left with Tony.”
I didn’t want to hear that. He knows where I work and he knows where I live.
I’m fucked.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
His hazel eyes narrow at me. “Are you sure you told him that, because I don’t think he got the memo.”
The blood pounding in my head is painful. It’s as though there’s a sledgehammer smashing my skull. BAM. BAM. BAM.
I swallow hard as I raise a shaking hand to my temple. “I was pretty fucking clear. He’s just crazy.”
Tommy rolls up his white sleeves and bends down to my level, a tinge of emotion shining in his eyes.
“If he finds out you went home with Tony, he’ll fucking kill you.”
“W-well, he tried and I’m still here.”
For some reason, his concern brings me another thrill of fear. My eyes search his desperately, but I know he won’t stick out a limb for me. Yeah, he helped put a Band-Aid over the situation, and Rafael ripped it right off.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“He came to my house. I called the cops on him—”
Tommy rakes a hand through his hair and lets out a groan. “Jesus.”
“I’m not pressing charges.”
“Why the fuck not?”
I stare at him. “There are people in New York who would love an excuse to see me dead.”
“Well, honey, you’ve got to do something. He’s going to come after you.”
Tears well in my eyes as I shrug at him and stand up. “Do what? I don’t know what else there is to do. I thought that if I—if I left New York, maybe he’d leave me alone. Maybe if I was with someone else, I don’t know.”
“He’s going to find you, and when he does, New York will be the least of your problems. He’s going to kill you, Elena—”
“I know! You don’t think I fucking know that?”
My head pounds with what will surely become another bruise. The air feels strangely thin, and I stagger toward the wall. Colors bleed together, and the room swims. It feels as though I’m drunk, but it’s hard to breathe. Tommy grips my arm and squeezes hard, and the pressure from his fingers makes me feel my pulse pounding against his skin.
It’s happening.
I’m panicking.
“You don’t look good, hon. Maybe you should take the night off.”
“Hell, no! I’m not—I’m not leaving here. This is the only place I feel safe.”
Tommy’s concerned face swims in front of me. “Safe? He’s not going to leave you alone, Elena. Not unless you’re fucking married—”
I don’t hear the rest of Tommy’s sentence.
Not unless you’re married.
So I just have to marry someone. Simple. No, that’s fucking crazy.
You have a ton of cash. It’s possible.
Yes. Someone out there is willing to marry me for cash. I’m certain of it.
“That’s it!”
I’m still shaking, but my vision clears and I grip Tommy’s arms, almost sobbing in relief.
Tommy smiles back weakly, uncomprehending. “What is it?”
“That’s—a really good idea.”
“What did I say?”
“What if I gave you a ton of cash to marry me?”
He tries to swallow his laughter, and it cuts right into me like a sharp knife. “Sweetie, I’ve a girlfriend. I don’t think she’d like that very much.”
Fuck.
I turn my back to him and enter the bar, looking for the guy I was with last night. He’s fucking perfect. He’s a member, isn’t he? He was kind of an asshole, but it’ll just be for a little while. Long enough to get Rafael off my back.