She shrugged out of his hold, but Arnie grabbed her wrist, squeezed it real tight. Tight enough for the skin to burn as she tried to pull free. But he did it all with a smile. “Really, you thought it was going to be that easy?”
Pixie shook, her breathing spiralled out of control. She needed to get into the condo. Fast. Men like him thrived on making women feel small. With a sharp tug, she attempted to yank her wrist free, but his hold was too tight. Arnie leaned in to her neck, the hiss of his inhale as he sniffed her skin sent a chill down her spine.
He slid a hand into her purse, and withdrew her wallet before she could stop him. Her life was in there. All of her details, her cards.
“What do you think you are doing?” she whispered, watching as he took the fifty dollars she’d withdrawn that afternoon. Slowly he fastened it, and dropped it back into her bag.
“Proving the point.” He folded the bank note into a small rectangle, held it between two fingers, and saluted her with it, a sickening grin on his face. “We’re square when I say so, S-J,” he said. “And right now, when I see how you’ve grown, I am most definitely not done.”
*
Razzmatazz in Barcelona had no idea what was coming if the sound check they’d wrapped up earlier was anything to go by. They hadn’t made it big in Spain, so the opportunity to play alongside one of Spain’s biggest metal acts was too good to turn down, even if the long-haul flight and time away from recording were a pain in the ass.
They pulled up outside the Mercer Hotel in the Gothic Quarter. It was his favorite hotel to stay at in the city. All exposed stone walls combined with glass and chrome. It was inviting yet sparse, so suited Jordan perfectly.
Their bags had been taken straight to the hotel when they’d landed so it was a simple matter to collect their keys.
Once in his room, Dred headed straight for the shower. Rehearsal had gotten him all sweaty and tense. Things ran smoother when they had their own crew, but drop-in gigs like this rarely called for that kind of support. The hot water pounded down on him, releasing the tension he was carrying in his neck as he scrubbed himself clean.
Petal, Pixie, the gig, the album. Giving Amanda the ten thousand dollars may not have been the smartest move, but he wanted her out of that shit-hole of an apartment. No. He wanted Petal out of that shit-hole of an apartment. Before he’d left his daughter that day, he’d laid Petal back into her bassinet and then turned on Amanda. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to not tear the place apart, but one whimper from his daughter had him reining it in tight. What burned more than anything was that she’d deliberately messed with the condom to get a better life for herself, without a single thought about the child they’d create.
He’d spent Thursday talking to Petal’s social worker and, with Sam’s help, a lawyer who specialized in custody cases. Up until she’d spilled her secret to him, he’d assumed they’d been unlucky. That the baby was as much of a shock to her as it was to him. He was willing to man up, do the right thing, and buy them a fucking house on the Bridal Path, the multimillion-dollar community in the north end of the city, if that’s what she’d wanted. Now, he was convinced Amanda didn’t deserve a dime.
Everything he gave them was going to go in Petal’s name. If he bought them a house, it was going to be in his and Petal’s name. He’d pay for all her needs directly. Amanda would get a minimal allowance for herself. His daughter would want for nothing, but the conniving bitch who’d set them both up wouldn’t get anything of her own.
Then there was the photograph from the airport of him kissing Pixie like their lives depended on it. Some cheap-shot blogger had bought it from a fan. Pixie had taken it like a trooper, but they’d not had a chance to discuss it properly. Building a long-distance relationship was proving harder than he imagined. Nothing ever seemed to align for them. Between her shifts and his crazy schedule, they were limited to snatched conversations and text messages. It had crossed his mind that his pursuit of her was selfish, but the idea of stopping sucked.
At some point, he was going to have to tell her about Petal, but it was still too raw and new. And Pixie deserved the courtesy of having that conversation face-to-face, where he could hold her hand, pull her close, and reassure her that it didn’t change the way he was beginning to feel about her.