I force myself to chill the fuck out. No matter where Blue lives, whether it’s on the streets or a goddamn skyscraper, Blue is just another horny guy. I’ve known so many of them. Too many of them.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Blue is expecting you.” The man nodded toward the elevators. “You can go on up. Twelfth floor.”
I don’t meet his eyes as I murmur my thanks. I can’t imagine what this man thinks of me, showing up here at night when I’ve never visited before.
Actually, I can imagine. I’ve heard the words flung at me a million times since I was a teenager. Slut. Whore. At least those times I did what I needed to survive. In a way that’s still what I’m doing now.
My red heels click on the smooth tile surface. Gleaming elevator doors reflect a woman in a pretty dress and a cheap jacket. All flash and no substance. It’s a relief when the doors close behind me, locking me in, leaving me alone as the elevator whooshes up. I shut my eyes against the mirrors around me and focus on my breathing.
There’s still time to back out.
I could go downstairs, hide my face and my shame from the kind-eyed doorman, and walk back onto the street where I belong. Blue wouldn’t follow me. He wouldn’t force me.
At least, I think he wouldn’t.
He’d been pretty forceful in that damn locker room.
The truth is that I owe him. He knows it. I know it. The only question is whether I’m going to pay up. Five years ago I was the kind of girl who’d shove him out the door without even a goodbye. Now I’m the girl who returns his wallet when it would be easy to shove it in the garbage and pretend I never saw it. I’m the girl who pays what I owe—I need to know I’m not the girl I was before. I need to know I’m worth anything at all.
The elevator doors slide open with a hushed sound. The quiet of the hallway rings in my ears. Everything is grayscale—the muted walls and the plush carpet. The silver knockers on every door. This place is a kind of bachelor pad, one made for wealthy men.
The kind that don’t need to be working security at a strip club, no matter how much Ivan is paying.
I’m standing there, confused? paralyzed, when a door opens.
“Hannah?”
My heart bangs against my chest. His voice sounds so sweet, so familiar. God.
I can’t take it. I can take his hands on me or his dick inside me, but I can’t take his voice saying my name. I can’t stand him thinking I’m that girl, the one too innocent and too broken, the one who loved him and the one who sent him away.
I turn and run for the elevator, which slides closed, just out of reach. My heel snags on the carpet, and I stumble. I’m falling, flying, the world a blur of gray and silver and tears in my eyes.
Strong hands catch me.
“Watch it,” he says in that same voice he uses to threaten me, to compliment me. They’re the same thing when they come from him. Everything about him warns me away and draws me close. I’m tearing apart just to be near him, breaking under the weight of my fear and desire.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. His hands tighten on my arms. “Where are you going?”
“Away from here.” Away from you. “This was a mistake.”
“Ah,” he says. Just that, and then he tugs me gently toward him. The heat of his chest is solid against my back, supporting me and holding me in place. “Are you afraid of me, Hannah?”
My teeth clench. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
He pauses as if I’ve surprised him. “Why does it matter, with just you and me here?”
I force myself to take a deep breath. Straightening, I turn to face him. His eyes are curious, his stance wary. And he isn’t wearing any shoes. That’s what strikes me about him. The gray T-shirt snug around his arms, the worn jeans. They’re more casual versions of what he wears at the club every night. But he always has on thick shoes, almost like boots, when he works. Even at the fight, with no shirt on, he had slipped into big, unlaced sneakers before coming into the locker room.
Only now, standing in the hallway of his apartment building, is he standing without shoes. It makes him seem somehow more real—a real man, with real hopes and dreams that I can never be a part of. The future is for some other girl. I’m just the tease he needs to fuck to forget, the bitch he needs to punish. I’m the sentence, and this night, this is a period.
My feet carry me backward. Somehow I manage not to trip. My hands grope the smooth wall and find the button—and press.
His eyes narrow. “Lola?”
I hate that he gets it right this time. That he respects me enough to call me what I want.
But not enough to let me leave.
He steps forward. “You’ve come this far, gorgeous. You’re going to finish this.”
I raise my head. Never mind if my whole body is trembling—I will meet his eyes, those dark pools of lust and resentment, like windows to the past. “And if I say no?”
The windows frost over. “That’s not an option.”
Elevator doors slide open behind me. I glance at the empty mirrored box.
“Don’t,” he says.
I close my eyes. I’m not sure how I found the strength to come here.