Dodging Trains (34 page)

ARRIANE

The man I’ve loved for years is going ballistic. Books, glasses, and candles ricochet off the walls and crash to the floor. The low growl contained in his throat unleashes as he hurls his stereo at the window, making the glass panes shatter on impact.

“She fucking
left
me for him!”

He spins and locks on me. When Leon stares at you, he consumes you. He traps you in a small, flustered vacuum where he’s all that matters. “Leon… you’ll be okay,” I begin, but my voice trembles.

I can’t wrap my mind around this meltdown. Nothing ruffles him, nothing surprises him; in all my years at the club, I’ve never seen fissures in the marble of my boss’ beautiful façade.

Chaos is the antithesis of his life—of his apartment, his staff, his job—heck, of him! With the exception of his girlfriends, everything he touches remains orderly, and yet he’s losing it so completely right now.

This state he’s in… It doesn’t rock my need to be there for him. I—

Am always close.

He’s my love. My unreciprocated love, because I am just Arriane, his left hand, the favorite bartender. Not one of the dolls he breaks.

“Arriane, she never stopped dragging him into our thing, insisting that she loved him.” Leon’s chest lifts and sinks with his turmoil. “I never work to keep someone, and yet I did with her. Fuck, I did everything I could, while all
he
needed to do was barge into Smother. He fucking stole her from under my nose!” Angry tears glitter, drifting over his surreally blue irises.

Does he not hear himself?

Every day I was here to witness their “relationship.” Since Pandora couldn’t escape Leon’s territory—the club and his upstairs apartment—she disappeared inside herself. He tried to coax her out, but he never fully succeeded.

“Why…?” I hesitate, unsure of how he’ll react if I ask. Still, I need to vocalize my thoughts. His gaze snaps to my mouth, watching me continue.

“Why did you insist when she always talked about Dominic?”

“Arriane! Didn’t you catch how perfect she is for me? Hell—
I’m
perfect for
her
.”

Leon’s parade of girlfriends is long. One after the other, they arrive and get booted. Like crack, he gets women addicted to him before he breaks their hearts with his rapidly cooling interest. The last one, though? Pandora?

She turned the tables on him.

Leon is not boyfriend material. Leon is heartbreak ready to detonate in one stunning package. And yet I can’t stand that he’s hurting. I wish he handled this better.

I—

Long to erase his pain.

“How long did she live with you, Leon? A week? She wasn’t perfect for you if she’s in love with someone else.” I keep talking. Knowing I should stop. “Don’t worry. The right girl will come around.”

Anger flashes over those flawless features I’ve memorized. “What do
you
know? Do you even date?” he spits out.

This outburst is not him. “Yeah, just… not lately,” I mumble, stunned.

“As in since you started working for me three years ago?” he prods.

With no deliberation, I nod. Because when I fall, I fall hard. I don’t recover my heart easily. A few months into my job at Smother, I already knew. Sure, I’ve had a date or two. Occasionally been sucked into an advanced make-out session, but—

“Ooh, that makes you quite the relationship expert,” he mocks in a tone he never uses, especially not with his employees. Eyes darkening, he stalks toward me on my post in front of the exit. I’m not sure of his intentions. To be on the safe side, I push at the door, double-checking.

Thank God. Still barricaded.

“What are you doing, Arriane?” His tone lowers into a silky drawl, promising a danger I haven’t been on the receiving end of before. His words sound intimate, the way he speaks to his girlfriends at times, and I swallow, wanting to control the fear and the heat rising in me.

I press my back against the front door, fanning my palms protectively over the wood at my sides. He could be strong enough to barge through for all I know, and I can’t—can’t let that happen.

I’m no match for him. My tiny body is all that keeps him from trying.

“Move,” he clips, but I shake my head, trying not to meet his glare—the beautiful glare that’s crystalline compared to the pale tan of his skin.

I shiver.

“Arriane,” Christian calls from outside. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah, keep it blocked. I can do this,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound right, though. It quivers with uncertainty, and I wrap my arms around myself for comfort.

“Open the damn door!” Leon roars.

“Leon, man—sorry,” Christian replies from outside. “Arriane, this is bad. I don’t think you can talk him down. We’re coming in.”

No. What good would come of opening right now? If he makes it past them, he’ll take off on his motorcycle, and who knows where he’d end up—at Pandora’s door and getting himself arrested?

I pull air into my lungs, inflating them. “Don’t do it, Christian!” I shout as loud as I can. The palms of Leon’s hands slam into the door by my temples, and a shocked yelp slips from me. He leans in, closer to my face than he has ever been, his nose almost touching mine.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, changing his tone so swiftly I freeze with uncertainty. “You were going to talk me down? From what, a ledge?” He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, and the ice in his shifts. “From a noose, perhaps?” He chuckles darkly. “No, Arriane, don’t you worry. No chick can make me jump.”

I don’t answer. My breathing speeds up in response to the way my heart pumps adrenaline through my veins. Leon is standing so close that his hips brush against my stomach, and he is…

No way. With the mood he’s in, how can he be?

But then, it’s true: he
is
hard. I’m certain now, because he aligns his body with mine and presses into me. The sensation of him rock-solid against my frame for the very first time is a
rush
!

In my sensory overload, my irrational mind hitches on how fit he is. Slender and made of granite, he exhales, a puff of air meeting my skin.
Of course, it’s his martial arts
, my brain analyzes unnecessarily.

He waits. Waits for me to reply.

“I didn’t mean—No, never…” I begin, trying to focus on his question about me talking him down from jumping. Only I’m out of breath, and the rest of the words don’t come. A mild waft of cologne pulses from his neck, drawing my attention down from his face.

“No?” he prompts. “So what’s your plan?” Sapphire-bright, his eyes narrow as he dissects me. I squirm under his scrutiny. He’s holding me, though, so I unintentionally apply friction between us. Leon sucks air through his teeth in a hiss that shoots fire to my stomach.

At work, he moves among us like some pagan god; always present and with an all-knowing, cool air of mastery. Taking charge, responsibility. Reducing the stress of frantic work nights with short, precise orders. Now, he’s regaining his control, only of a more intimate type. He exudes a seductive sort of power I’ve so often watched him wield over his girls.

“I turn you on, don’t I?” Mild surprise tinges his voice, like he wasn’t expecting this. There’s no point in enunciating the tale my brain concocts, because my body won’t lie.

“Are you okay, Arriane?” Christian interrupts from outside. “Shit, whose idea was this anyway?” he says to Jason. “Sure, it’s Arriane, but still—we locked him away with another
girl
.”

“She’s fine, Christian,” Leon answers for me. “We both are. I won’t hurt her.”

A short silence follows. “Arriane?”

“Um, yes. No worries,” I manage. Aware that Christian’s respect for our boss equals mine, I add, “Leon’s back. He’s himself again.”

Leon’s hand reaches out. Locks the door from the inside and slinks up to my neck. Gently, he guides me into his apartment with a palm curving at my nape, right below the ponytail.

Neither of us reacts when Christian’s concerned voice repeats my name from the hallway. When they remove the barricade in loud shuffles against the floor.

“You want to stay?” Leon whispers. “Keep me company?”

He stares at me in that special way. His look is not one of love or adoration.

I know better than to accept his offer.

It would be madness.

And yet—

I nod.

To read more, click here.

First of all,
I want to thank Kolleen Hinds for lending her insight as an experienced UFC wife. Without her valuable input from an early stage and throughout the late phases of this book, I wouldn’t have been able to write it as true to MMA-fighter life as it is.

Kolleen also introduced me to her husband, pioneer professional MMA fighter turned UFC and Bellator referee. Rob Hinds, he loves his wife so much that he suffered through dozens of e-mails with everything from the most banal questions to the most intricate from this author right here. Rob, your patient explanations have opened my eyes to so much within the art form of mixed martial arts, and I am so thankful. Unfortunately, I have more fighter books pushing to see the light of day. Which means you’ll hear from me again! (Insert evil laughter here.)

Next up, a huge kiss to my husband, Michael—another very patient man. Because he deals with artists for a living, handling another (sometimes moody one) at home isn’t something he frets over.

I’m also grateful for my daughter, Alexandra, who reads and loves all of my books, and I’m still excited that my son, Nicolas, doesn’t read them; I just looked, and he’s still scrubbing his eyes after accidentally opening Stargazer on the wrong page.

I can never thank my author besties enough. We’re in this together, loving, struggling, and loving this journey some more. Dead honest feedback is how we roll, because how else can we keep getting better?

Lynn Vroman, again you cracked your whip of awesome at a manuscript of mine. Your input, your enthusiasm, your steady expertise makes me trust that I can polish my books into the novels they’re supposed to become.

D Nichole King, you always locate my typical issues, inconsistencies, and raise questions whenever you have them. You’re my honest, honest girl, and I wasn’t mentally prepared for the praise you gave me for this book baby. Thank you.

Cheryl McIntyre: your feedback, your love for my stories, the way you see things in sentences no one else sees. How you read depth of characters and extract symbolism I can play with. Your emails make me smile and tear up, and your tiniest corrections shoot me off to tweak my draft. Dodging Trains was no different. You loved this pretty too, and you gave me so much homework to make it even better. Have I ever mentioned that I love
you
???

Laura Thalassa, again you’ve done it, helped me polish and find those last details, the ones that I’d hate to find later on published paper. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Every book, lady. Every. One.

Dawn McIntyre, I’m so grateful that you enjoy my novels enough that you’ve helped me through each one of them. Your response means so much to me. Your genuine, clear input, telling me what you want, what you love and don’t, is exactly what I need to nudge my stories up a last step before release.

My beta readers, Renee McMillan, Rachel Spurlock, and April Martin—there is nothing like you reading my baby and affording me your impulsive responses as you read. I’m humbled that you drop your current reads to squeeze in my books in between. Thank you for being there for me.

Dear loyal bloggers. You’re essential when it comes to spreading the word about my cover reveals, releases, and sales. You know whom you are, you beautiful, beautiful girls and boys who make my books visible in the overgrown jungle of the indie market. Just, I cannot thank you enough, and I want to remind you of that list of mine you’re on. It’s not the black list or the white list. No, because you’re on my golden list.

Finally, there’s you
,
sweet reader. Writing is my breathing, but breathing is a dance with you as my inhalator.

You
. Are my air.

Thank you for reading.