Better When He's Bad (Welcome to the Point 1) - Page 11/80

Each thick wrist I was holding on to had a matching black-and-gray tattoo of broken links of chain around it. Like he had broken free from some kind of restraint and was set loose to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world.

“I’m worried about my brother. He trusts you, thinks you can help him. I need to know what you know. Marco heard you say you were going to be here, so I need to be here. I love him.” My voice cracked, and even though I knew it was foolish to show the enemy weakness, I couldn’t stop tears from filling my eyes.

“You have no clue what you’re doing. All you can do is be in my way and make trouble for me. Chuck never forgets a face, so if someone comes sniffing around, he’s going to mention a redhead poking her nose where it has no place being. Go back to school. Go back to the diner. Go back to your apartment. If I can find Race, and it’s not too late, I’ll let you know.”

He let me go and I slid down the wall, my hair snagging on the rough brick. He turned his back on me and I reached out to snag his wrist. I knew desperation, knew the soul-deep burn of want and can’t have, but this was something else.

“Please, Shane. Please let me help you. He’s my brother. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything you want. Please.” I had never begged for anything in my life, and I sure as hell had always been too smart to owe a debt to a guy like this, but for Race I would do it. I tried to make him see, tried to put everything I was feeling into my gaze, but those black velvet eyes didn’t so much as flinch. He flicked the tip of his tongue out and let his gaze skate over me from the top of my head to the tips of my battered tennis shoes.

“Are you a virgin, Copper-Top?” I recoiled, because I had no clue what that had to do with anything. I felt heat flood into my face and I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why? What on earth does that have to do with anything?”

He pulled out a cigarette from the pack in the pocket of his hoodie and lifted a dark eyebrow at me.

“You’ll give me anything? I don’t think you have anything I want, but I was locked up for a very long time. A guy gets lonely.”

I couldn’t tell if he was baiting me or if he was just being mean and outrageous on purpose. I also couldn’t tell if he was serious, which was the worst case.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He gave a laugh and blew out a stream of smoke. He ran his thumb along the edge of his bottom lip and stepped around me.

“No one calls me Shane. It’s just Bax and that’s why you’ll only be in my way. When you say you’re willing to give anything, you have to mean it. These people, they will take it all, even if it’s something you don’t want to give. Go home.”

His hand was on the door and he was slipping away from me again. I don’t know what spurred me into action, still didn’t know if he was serious or not, but for Race I could do it. I would hate myself, hate this dark and dangerous boy, but I could do it.

“I’m not . . . a virgin, I mean. No one is anymore, so no one can take it, because Billy Clark already did. I gave it up willingly after drinking a stolen bottle of wine when I was sixteen and he told me I was pretty. He was the first boy who ever did that. I’m not scared of you, Bax. I am, however, scared to death for Race. I will do whatever it takes.”

He must have seen the resolve, must have known I wasn’t just going to go away, because he flicked the cigarette he was smoking into a puddle of unidentified liquid and pulled open the door.

“We are both going to regret this sooner than later, Copper-Top. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I felt his eyes burn into me as he followed me back into the strip club. I wasn’t sure what I had just agreed to, or what was waiting for me around the next bend. What I did know, could feel in every cell of my body, was that I had just made an unbreakable deal with the devil and paying up might mark my soul forever.

CHAPTER 3

Bax

SHE SURPRISED ME. THAT was hard to do anymore.

I pushed her, downright threatened her virtue, and she didn’t so much as flinch. She wasn’t my type. I liked girls who played on the same field as me, girls who knew enough not to ask if I was coming back or bothered with being on a first-name basis. Not to mention, all that pale skin and orange hair wasn’t my thing. Although she was prettier today in the neon lights of Spanky’s. Her green eyes were luminous and stubborn as hell, and with all that hair pulled away from her face, I could see high cheekbones dusted with freckles and a pink mouth with full lips that didn’t belong on a chick who looked like a Catholic schoolgirl. She was far less ordinary than I initially thought, but she had an entirely untouched vibe going on that I just didn’t have the time or the patience for. I still couldn’t tell what she was working with under all those ill-fitting clothes, but sweet and soft was not a turn-on, and neither was the obstinate way she was hounding me.

It was clear I wasn’t just going to shake her off. She was bound and determined to have her fingers in everything I was doing to scare up information on Race, and the fact of the matter was, she was safer in front of me than trying to dodge my heels in the shadows. In all honesty, I figured she would see the places I was going, the rough crowd I was dealing with, and back off. If that didn’t work, I would just dangle the threat of raging libido in front of her and hope that did the trick. She didn’t strike me as the type that liked getting down and dirty, but I was a bastard and could push any advantage I had if it got me what I wanted.

All strip clubs were the same. Desperate girls dancing for lonely and depressed men. They smelled like baby oil and cheap booze and I had yet to be inside one where either the customers or the workers seemed like they really wanted to be there. Spanky’s was a little different. The girls who worked there didn’t have to rely on turning tricks or taking the clientele home to make a buck. Ernie, the guy that ran the joint, was on Novak’s payroll and let his guys use the spot to do business and run illegal poker games on the weekends, so the girls were well compensated and often acted like pretty pieces of furniture rather than exotic dancers. Chuck kept a tight eye on the place, and I could see not much had changed since I had left as he escorted me and my tagalong to one of the red velour booths in the VIP section back by the bar.

He was giving Dovie a curious look out of the corner of his eye, and when we got to the booth, I shoved her in the shoulder, totally ignoring her sour look, and took a step to the side when he inclined his head, indicating he wanted a word.