Me.
So, yeah. My own father “sold” me to a rival drug dealer to save his own hide. Someday a therapist is going to have a freaking field day with me.
“What’s up, sexy?”
I roll my eyes and turn to glare at Barnes. It’s a weird, weird situation we have. Like I said, we both clearly hate each other—I hate him for keeping me like a sort of prisoner, and he hates me for… well, who knows which one to pick. I live with him in this crumbling old Victorian house in a dirty neighborhood near the river in Dark Water Falls, but we have separate rooms. In public, Barnes will call me “sexy” and “his,” and put his arm around me like I’m his possession.
But he does not own me or possess me.
In fact, he doesn’t even touch me, which is the one blessing in this entire fucked up situation. I can’t leave, and he’s made it very clear that if he were to catch me with another man, there’d be two murders happening pretty quick. But he won’t lay hands on me—at least, not that way. He tried, twice, when I first came to him, but believe me, nothing happened. Because apparently, big tough macho Bryce Barnes has tiny problem with, well…
Being tiny—tiny and not exactly capable of getting it up.
The first two attempts when he couldn’t get hard before he could even take his clothes off got me smacked around, like it was my fault. But hell, it’s better than having to actually fuck a guy like that asshole. And after that, I guess he decided to cut his losses and save face. To everyone else, he brags about how he “fucks me like a champ” or whatever. But the truth is, Barnes has never even gotten a kiss from me. Instead, he spends his time screwing around with any girl dumb enough to let him into her bed. And I honestly feel sorry for them.
The downside is, he blames me for this. He says it’s my fault, just like any problem of his is “my fault” or “my curse.” So, Barnes does touch me, but it’s in the form of smacks and hits, not trying to get into my pants.
All-in-all, I’ll still take the hits over the alternative.
“What do you want, Bryce?”
A flash of anger flickers over his face. After all, we’re in public, and he’s with his “boys,” which means I’m supposed to play the part of being his trophy girl.
Whatever.
“I came to see you, baby!” he grins even though there’s fury in his eyes. He moves into me and hugs me tight, but I shiver when I feel his breath against my ear.
“Watch your fucking mouth, bitch,” he growls so that just I can hear it. “Don’t forget who keeps a roof over your head.”
He pulls back and smiles at me. “You excited about tonight?”
No.
“Yep!” I smile thinly, barely playing the part for him.
Tonight is a race night. Bryce runs a few of them a month down at the old abandoned racetrack, but for bikers, not car racers. It’s mostly local guys and a few of his own crew, but the real purpose of it is that Bryce controls all the betting around it. And in a shit town like Dark Water Falls, believe me, betting some hard earned cash on a shitty bike race at a shitty abandoned racetrack run by shitty wannabe gangsters is pretty much the most fun you can have on a Friday night.
“I’m working late, though.”
He shrugs. “Race isn’t until late. So I’ll see you after.”
The unspoken “or else” threat I hear loud and clear.
“Isn’t it about to pour outside?”
He shrugs again. “It’ll clear up. We’ll race after.”
“Won’t the track be wet and dangerous?”
His crew snickers, and Jay, his “second in command” and a real dipshit, grins.
“Hey, not our problem. They want a piece of that prize money; they’ll race on a wet track.”
“Order up!”
I realize it’s the fourth time Jerry has barked it from back in the kitchen, and I wince. I glance around and catch Scarlett’s eye, but she’s in the middle of taking another order and looks completely swamped anyways.
“Shit, I need to go.”
Bryce rolls his eyes. “Don’t know why the fuck you’re working here anyways,” he chuckles. He turns to elbow his buddies in the ribs. “Not like she needs for anything, am I right?”
They all snicker and clap him on the shoulder, but I just smile thinly and do everything in my power not to roll my eyes. Or, you know, spit on him. Bryce does not “take care of me” in that sense. I’m his trophy—a status symbol, like we’re in medieval times and he’s got the ousted king’s princess daughter locked up in a tower for everyone to see. I have a room to sleep in, but that’s about it. I work because I would straight up go hungry if I didn’t.
Not to mention, one of these days, I’m getting the fuck out of here, and it’s going to take all the pancake and burger tips in the world to pull that off.
“See you tonight,” I mutter. I turn and duck into the kitchen, and I stay there and peep out to make sure I see Bryce and his dipshit friends leave.
“Fucker,” I mutter.
“Fuckin’ order!” Jerry bellows from behind me through the food window.
“Okay! Okay! Just fucking quit already, asshole!” I bark back.
Jerry actually grins.
Hours and hours later, I can actually breathe. Scarlett’s gone home, Jerry’s cleaned the kitchen and headed out, and the place is finally empty of guests. I blow air out through my lips and lean against the food window back in the dark kitchen. What a fucking day. And if being on my feet all day serving greasy food for a peanut salary and crappy tips, getting verbally abused and getting ketchup dumped on me wasn’t enough, now I have to go clean up, “look pretty” for Barnes, and stand there next to him pretending to be “his girl” so that his scene thinks he’s this bad ass gangster instead of the pathetic little punk he really is.
God, I wish this place sold alcohol.
I rub my temples, feeling fried and ready to just go the hell to bed, when suddenly, I hear the jingle of the diner’s front door.
Motherfucker.
The door I definitely forgot to lock.
With a groan, I stop leaning and trudge for the double doors into the dining area, my arms full of menus.
“Hello?”
I push the saloon doors open, and step out, and instantly, my world just sort of freezes.
He’s gorgeous. I mean, he’s a little terrifying, and dripping wet, and dressed in all black. But even with the wet clothes and the darkness of the place, I can’t help but stare at him.
He’s huge, for one. Also, that beard is freaking hot, just like the tattoo ink I can see on his hands and peeking out from his hoodie around his neck. The man looks up, and these absolutely stunning blue eyes pierce right into me, setting a fire going inside of me and taking my breath away. Like, literally taking the breath from my lungs, because I’ve never once seen eyes like those.
He pulls his beanie off, and I swallow as I take in the long dark brown hair pulled up into a knot on his head. Good lord, the man is beautiful, in this dark, sort of rough and scary biker kind of way.
“Um, hi,” I whisper.
The man unzips his leather jacket, and I swallow again.
“You closed?”