Stripped (15 page)

I stand there and gape. I know I only have seconds to talk before that thug comes barreling through the door, but it's all I can do. She found him—Cassie found Mr. Wonderful—and gave away her first kiss and everything else, but somehow she's working at a club, stripping for money. The guy must be a total asshole.

I want to scream. This can't be happening. My heart twists inside my chest, but that's impossible because she already ripped it out. But I feel it. I still react to her, to those deliciously dark eyes, and that hypnotic voice. I want to wrap my arms around her and start over, but we can't. We aren't the same people anymore. Besides, Mr. Assface is probably sitting at home waiting for her. Cassie has a life and I'm not part of it. The whole thing pisses me off. This is a million miles from where she wanted to be¸ and I know it.

Barely keeping my temper in check, I ask, "So you found him? And he lets you do this? Work parties? Strip? Maybe even take a guy on the side?" Her shoulders tense as I verbally bitchslap her. Cassie's red lips part and I see the hurt in her eyes, that is, before it's replaced by anger and her hand flying toward my face. It connects with my cheek, stinging the flesh, but I don't move. I stare at her, wondering how she fell so far, so fast.

Cassie breathes hard, her body shaking as her temper flares back to life. "You don't know a damn thing about me, so don't pretend to even give a shit, Ferro." She's in my face, hissing at me in that lethal tone I remember so well. Last time she scolded me like this it was because I provoked her. Maybe I did the same thing this time, maybe I'm not ready to let her rip my heart out twice. It's funny how I thought I was dead inside until I heard her voice again. Cassie Hale is the defibrillator for my fucked up heart. Seeing her again shocked the hell out of me and I'm suddenly so much more than a walking corpse.

Bruce's crazed screams get closer. Doors slam up and down the hall. There are seconds left, and that's it. There isn't another minute with her, and the funny part is that this is nothing like I imagined. I always thought that if I saw Cassie Hale on the street again that I'd verbally rip her to shreds because of what she did to me. So it's strange standing here, watching her tremble, and wanting to pull her into my arms and save her from this shit.

No. She's not my problem, not anymore. But the way she looks at me from under those dark lashes, the way the lights cast a dim glow on her perfect face, and the way she clutches the blanket to her throat like it's a goddamn lifejacket and she's drowning—it's too much. I can't step away. I can't leave her alone to endure whatever fate she's been handed, even if she deserves it.

Pressing my lips together, I step toward her, taking her shoulders in my hands. She stiffens in my arms and it's nothing like before. She doesn't trust me, not anymore. Too many things happened between us. It doesn't matter that I saved her life once. That was a lifetime ago, and that version of Cassie Hale is long gone. But she's not completely lost, is she?

As our eyes drift and our gazes lock, I see her still in there, hidden beneath the fray. I lift a hand and touch the ends of her glitter-caked hair. "I wanted you to find him. Even after everything—I hoped you'd get the life you wanted, the man that was right for you. You meant something to me once. I won't pretend you didn't, which is why I can't fathom you being here, now. You said you found him? Then where is he, Cass?"

Fuck, she looks like she's going to cry. The bottoms of her eyelids flutter and her gaze darts away from mine, but I take her chin in my hand and draw it back. Come on, Cass, tell me what happened to you.

Her lips part, but she can't speak. An awful look floods her eyes as her brows wrinkle together. My hand slips away and Cassie tightens her hold on the blanket. I see her fingers clenching it so tightly that her bright pink nails bite through the weave. She wasn't the kind of girl to wear pink or do her nails with those fake plastic things. Cassie was real, every last part of her.

"It's not what you think. He—" before she can finish her sentence, the door flies open.

Bruce has a terrifying look on his face—he's pissed. The insane rhino of a man rushes at me. His shoulder hits my side at the same time that his fist finds my face. Shit. I'm done talking. All the anger that's been coursing through me comes out in a fury. My fists connect with his freakishly large body over and over again. Something cracks and I hear Cassie screaming in the background, but we don't stop.

Bruce would have snapped me in half by now if I didn't know how to fight, but anger is clouding my judgment. Bruce spits at me as I launch myself at him, grabbing his neck and locking him in place. "You stupid little shit," he huffs, and rank air fills my face. The guy has alcohol on his breath.

I squeeze harder as Bruce slams me into a wall. The force of the impact nearly knocks me loose, but I hold on. Suddenly I notice that there are people there, besides the thug, Cassie, and me, but we don't stop. Using my weight, I manage to throw him off balance and slam his head into a bookcase. The shelf cracks and the contents fall to the floor along with him. When he pushes himself up, a bead of blood trickles into his eye. He leaves it there and gives me a look that says he's going to kill me.

Suddenly, I see who else is in the room. Trystan and Bryan flank one side of me, and Peter and Sean flank the other. Sean is the one who speaks. "Come and get him." Then, I feel Sean's foot in my back, shoving me forward.

I thought they had my back, but when I look at my brothers they both seem pissed. "This is your mess, Jonny."

Trystan steps forward and shoots Sean a disgusted look. "Some brother."

"Fuck you, Scott, you goddamn parasite," Sean bites back.

Trystan flips Sean off and remains at my side. Bryan is a messed up motherfucker because he's laughing like this is funny. He steps next to me and smirks at Bruce after folding his arms over his chest like he thinks this will be fun. Sometimes I wonder about Bryan. The man doesn't seem to value his life, like at all, but all the same, I'm glad he's standing next to me right now.

Then everything changes because the manager of this beautiful building storms into the room, screaming at the top of his lungs about damages and cops. His face is bright red and the little veins on his temples are throbbing like they're going to blow. Shit.

Bryan lets out a huff of air and turns toward the guy, annoyed. "You called the cops? What the fuck is wrong with you, man? You have the richest men in New York standing in your building, along with the rock star over there," he jabs his thumb at Trystan, "and you decide to call the cops? You're going about it wrong, man. You need to call the press." Bryan looks over at Bruce. It's clear he plans to patch things up with the manager if Bruce is ready to let it drop. "Are we done here? Or do I need to stick around, because no one fucks with Jonny Ferro."

Bruce looks like a beast, his massive body straining, muscles tense to the point they're going to snap. He points at me and snarls, "You're not welcome at my club. If you ever show your face there again, I'll rip it off."

CHAPTER 24

CASSIE

Bryan Ferro wasn't kidding. The press showed up in a blaze of flashing lights and endless questions. The entire thing gave everyone what they wanted. Well, almost everyone. Jon is going to be the one to take all the blame. He accepted it graciously. While I ducked out the back door, Jon walked out the front, right into the eye of the storm.

The headlines this morning are not kind. The press took every slant you could possibly imagine, and each one made the Ferro's look worse than the last. Beth tosses me another paper. "That one is going to be trouble."

I glance up at her. Beth is wearing a cute little sweat suit with a white tee shirt and running shoes. It's her day off garb. There isn't a stitch of make-up on her face and her hair is swept up into a ponytail. She looks pretty this way. Sometimes it feels like we're leading double lives, but that would be a lot more exciting. Beth is just working her way through school, and me, well, I'm hiding.

I take the paper and flip it open to the page that's dog-eared. There's a small picture of Jon carrying me. It must have been taken before things went to hell last night, before Bruce found us. I stare at it. My face is perfectly clear. A chill works its way up my spine as I stare, unblinking, with my mind racing.

"Someone must have snuck in a camera," I say. Beth sits down next to me on the old couch. This little basement apartment suddenly feels too small. The lack of windows never bothered me, but now I can't breathe. I rush across the room, throw open the door, and take the short flight of stairs two at a time, running outside. Cold air hits my face and I stop, doubling over and holding my knees, while I breathe.

Beth is there a second later. Her hand is on my back. "He might not even see it."

Bruce was my safety net, my reason for taking the stripper job in the first place. The night they hired me, I accepted the job with one condition—they can't let my husband inside. I handed Bruce his picture and, so far, it's been quiet. I've kept my head down and Bruce makes sure I can work in peace. The other jobs didn't last long. I'd get fired when my husband would show up. Mark would scream at me like a deranged customer. When I explained who he was and what he was doing, it didn't matter—the end result was the same every time. Gather your things and go. No one wants family drama in their business. No one wants to think about what a guy like that does to a girl like me when we get home. It's not a nice thought, even though it's glaringly obvious. I've been fired too many times, and not having a source of income is an issue since I need a place to live and food to eat. I'm on my own and have been for a while.

Then I met Beth. She needed a roommate and had this little apartment in Bay Shore, not far from Sunrise Highway. Drug dealers live in the house across the street, but our landlord is nice. She's a little old lady that can't pay her taxes unless she rents out the basement, and she likes us. Mrs. McKinzey doesn't comment on our clothes when we leave for work. She probably thinks we're lesbians since we never have any men over. She bought this house new and lived here while the neighborhood went to hell around her. Beth treats her like the mother she never had.

The guys across the street are sitting in their shiny new Caddy with the bass blasting. I shouldn't look at them. I should go back inside, but I can't. It feels like my lungs are being crushed. Mark. If he finds me again, oh God, I don't even want to think about it. One of the guys across the street shoots me a nasty look. His skin is bronzed and there's a goatee cut into sharp lines around his mouth. Loose pants hang off his hips, but it's that tank top that lets me see all his tats and ripped muscles. He's younger than I am. We stare at each other. I know I should look away, but I can't.

"Oh shit." Beth glances across the street in time to see the guy walking straight at us. He doesn't have a leisurely pace, and everything about him makes me want to duck back inside, but I can't move. Some part of my brain—the crazy part—is tired of being pushed around. I don't want to hide from anyone anymore.

The man crosses the street and is in our yard. He walks straight up to us, and I don't move. I'm still gasping for air like a beached whale. "Is she okay?"

Beth blinks. That was the last thing I expected him to say, and apparently Beth thinks so too. "Uh, yeah. She's got asthma and lost her inhaler. I told her to come out here and get some air. It'll pass."

Her lie fits with my ragged breaths. The man reaches into his pocket and Beth tenses. If he stabs me, I hope he goes for my throat. He can connect the dots on my scar. The shrapnel almost cut deep enough to kill me. Almost. Sometimes I wish it did.

When he steps closer, my heart races harder. Beth starts to say something, but the guy shoves his fist in front of my face and opens his palm. There's an inhaler in his hand. "Here, take it. I've got another one." When I don't move, he makes an annoyed sound, shakes it, and takes the cover off. "I didn't even use it, yet. Take it. The ER visit for this kinda shit is nearly five grand. Believe me, I know."

I take the thing and use it. Straightening, I look at the guy. His dark skin is perfectly smooth. He smiles at me, revealing a gold cap with a diamond set on his front tooth. "Feel better?"

I nod. "Yeah, thank you."

"I'm Kam. I own the house across the street. If you ever need anything, an egg, cup of sugar, an inhaler—whatever—come over. I try to stay off Ms. McKinzey's lawn. The crazy old bat has a gun in there." Kam says it like he doesn't have one shoved down his pants, but I can see the hilt under his shirt.

I nod. "This is Beth and I'm Cassie. Thanks for this." I hold up the inhaler, meaning to give it back, but Kam steps away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Nah, you keep that. You might need it again." He turns on his heel and returns to the guys in the Caddy parked on his driveway.

Beth flicks her gaze my way. "That was weird."

"Yeah, it was." We're both staring at the house that no one looks at. "He's afraid of Ms. McKinzey."

"Yeah, I caught that. As if life wasn't strange enough, right?"

I nod slowly. Kam glances at us and smirks. I wave at him, bending the tips of my fingers once, before turning to go back inside. "I think we just made friends with an asthmatic drug lord."

Beth squeals and claps her hands together. "Ooh! I'll have to write about it in my diary."

"Crazy white girl."

"Right back at you, pasty."

CHAPTER 25

JONATHAN

Lying in bed isn't going to delay the inevitable. First, Pete's fiancé, Sidney, is going to kill me, and then when she's done Mom will take care of the body. Awesome. I dress, pulling on my favorite pair of jeans and then a blue shirt that I swore I'd never wear again. Cassie gave it to me that summer we were in Mississippi. I'm a pussy for still having it, but I was never able to throw the damn thing out. I slip it over my head and layer it with a button down. After running some gel through my hair, I head to the dining room. When I get there, it's empty. There's no trace of anyone, which is strange. This can't be good.