Prologue
Jack snaps his fingers and the giant bouncers lift me to my feet and toss me on Bane’s bed. I land with a whimper and instinctively curl up into a ball, trembling violently. The sheets still smell of sex and booze—and man.
“Jesus Christ,” Bane explodes, his voice dripping with venom. “What, you want me to rape her in front of you? Is that your new definition of brotherhood?”
I feel a dip on the mattress and hands on my hair as my head is jerked up. Both my hands clutch at the arm that’s lifting me, scratching with my nails. I throw my weight in every direction I can think of.
“No!” I cry, sobbing. “Please!”
“Knock it off.” Bane hisses. He gives me a harsh shake, jarring my aching head. “Fuck, now I’m bleeding. Great.”
Bane is kneeling beside me, displaying my face to the room. His hands are rough in my hair and the sinews of his forearms are achingly close. My body goes cold, then hot, as I realize that I am inches away from probably two hundred pounds of naked, powerful, seething testosterone.
And there’s no possible escape.
As he looks at me, his mouth flattens into a thin line. He doesn’t look at all pleased.
“She’s just a kid,” Bane grunts. “Terrified. This make you hard, Jack, you sick son of a bitch? Huh?”
Inevitably, my eyes flit back to his naked groin and I swallow, reddening. Taking a deep breath, I look up and meet his eyes. There’s a flash of something that passes between us, though I can’t say what. But neither of us looks away and he cocks his head to the side, studying me.
Something lights in his eyes, a question? His mouth opens. He pulls me imperceptibly closer and frowns down at me, as if reconsidering, and I shudder to my very core.
My body responds to his proximity in spite of my terror and fear, an explosion of heat radiating between my legs against my will. I can’t understand it—I am so turned on. More frightened than I have ever been, yes, but somehow aroused. I can feel his breath on the side of my face. He’s all muscle, cut and wiry. Instinct tells me he knows how to use every inch of that body of his. My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it in my ears.
Bane must be able to hear it too.
Chapter One
“The store is closed,” bellows a gruff-voiced woman. She sounds like she’s speaking through a megaphone or something, but its probably just years of cigarettes and exhaustion.
An older Spanish lady I don't know is standing really too close to me. We’ve been taking turns reaching for slightly wilted pairs of shoes on the same clearance rack. She pulls out a pair, raising her eyebrows at me conspiratorially.
“These?” She says, turning her feet to show off the white espadrilles.
I step back into the pair of lop-sided flip-flops that I wore into the store and nod at her. “Yeah, they’re cute,” I say.
“Si?” She shuffles over to a mirror to inspect for herself.
As I stare after her, my conscience berates me. “You’re wasting time,” it chides. “You can’t afford new shoes, Ava. You got fired today for crying out loud. You can’t even afford TJ Maxx clearance shoes. It’s Thursday night and you’re alone, trying on shoes you can’t buy. You’re a mess. Go home.”
I don't know how long I've been standing here. They must do this on purpose in these stores, lure you in to the black hole and make you forget the world outside. Eventually you might forget you’re poor and convince yourself to toss $25 at a shoes or something.
Only, I can’t forget because I literally don’t have $25.
I watch as the Spanish lady wanders off toward the cash registers with a final wave. I smile back and feel a hot prickle of water in my eyes. With an angry hand, I dash away a self-pitying tear.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. “Get a grip.”
I march myself through the dress aisle, my fingers running idly along the racks of fabric the way I used to run them along fences in my hometown as a kid. I've got to do something constructive. I could call Blake and invite myself along to whatever he’s doing, or just follow my pathetic mood to it’s logical conclusion and go get drunk somewhere by myself.
I’m trying to think of any dive-bars in the area, but the loudspeaker lady is back and drowns out my thoughts.
“Ladies and gentlemen if you’re making a purchase please proceed to the checkout area. If you are not making a purchase, please use the escalator to the exit. The store is closed.”
I join the rest of the lemmings as we are all ushered out by smiling security guards and squeezed out onto 125th street. It’s dark now, and I glance behind me to squint at the sign of store hours. It says they close at 9.
That’s the only way to guess the time, because my phone is dead. Of course.
Tuning out the smell of humanity and the food truck on the street corner, I jostle through people as they race in and out of the subway entrance. When the light changes I trip off of the curb and am almost run over by some asshole on a Harley.
“Watch it!” he yells over the roar of his engine.
“Fuck,” I squeal, dodging, my hand reflexively clutching my chest.
He flips me off and disappears up 5th Avenue.
It’s been one of those days.
It’s only a five-minute walk to my apartment, if I can survive it, and now that it’s dark it feels pleasanter than the harsh summer afternoon. People pass me or wave to each other from stoops, shouting greetings and carrying out loud conversations in the friendly Harlem fashion.
Thank god, I'm finally at my stoop. I muster a smile and nod at Mrs. Johnson, our landlady, who is sitting on the steps talking to a neighbor in deep, loud tones.
“Hello Miss Ava,” she says.
“Good evening, Mrs. Johnson.”
The front door clicks closed behind me. I open our mailbox and pull out a stack of bills with my name on them: rent, electricity, student loans. Shit. Trying not to think about how I'm going to pay them, I stomp up our five flights of stairs and put on my poker face.
I turn the key in my apartment door and push it open quietly, breathing a sigh of relief when I see that it's dark and no one's home.
“Surprise!”
There’s a burst of light and a shot of confetti and people pop up from behind our tiny couch and out from under our dining table.
"Oh my god!" Shocked, I jump about nine feet in the air and out of my skin before landing with a self-conscious, nervous laugh. My cheeks are a blaze of flushed, hot sweaty embarrassment. I vainly look for a hole to crawl into and hide, but our apartment is too small for holes.