I don’t find any of my clothes or my stuff there, so I head for the living room. I find my leggings in a pile where I vaguely remember stripping them off, along with my ruined shirt on the kitchen floor.
The memory of letting it fall from my shoulders in front of him hits me, and I can’t help but laugh to myself. No wonder he’s feeling a little worked up this morning. I offered myself to him on a platter last night, and he turned me down. I probably should feel a little hurt about that, but it’s like water off a duck’s back. It only fires me up to keep pushing him. I need some entertainment in my life; fuck knows everything else I’ve got to deal with is too depressing for words.
Pulling on my leggings, I leave my ripped top on the counter and pull my bag over my shoulder.
“Thanks for last night,” I call out before pulling the front door open and marching through it.
It slams behind me, leaving no question about the fact I just walked out. My head pounds as I begin to jog my way down the stairs and away from Spike and his morning attitude.
I need to go home, have a shower, and get ready for work again. I’ve got a debt to pay, and from the looks of last night, Jet isn’t willing to wait any longer for what he thinks I owe him.
I can’t afford it, but as I move, I pull up the Uber app on my phone and order myself a car. I just need to get out of here.
It seems that some luck must be on my side, because there’s a car right around the corner and it’s pulling up in front of me in less than thirty seconds.
I’ve got the door open and I’m about to climb inside when a voice behind stops me.
“Wait.”
“What now?” I ask, my voice flat and unamused by the fact that he’s just followed me.
“Let me take you.”
“Why? So you feel better about yourself? So you can tell Zach that you looked after me? Fuck off, Spike.” I flip him off and climb into the car, slamming the door behind me. “Go, please,” I instruct the driver, and he pulls away from the curb.
I breathe out a sigh of relief and rest back, but it doesn’t last all that long.
“Are you in trouble, miss?”
I open my mouth to respond with something along the lines of, ‘I’m always in trouble’, but I refrain from making this situation look worse than it already is.
“No, I’m good thanks. Just the morning after the night before, you know how it is.” He glances at me in the mirror and I realise that I’ve not even looked at myself this morning. I probably look like a bus has run over me.
“Okay, well… you should probably know that he’s following us.”
“What?” I bark, twisting in the seat to look out of the back window. Sure as shit, there’s a black bike right behind us. I narrow my eyes on his right arm and immediately recognise his tattoos.
“Motherfucker.”
“I don’t get paid enough to embark on a car chase,” the driver mutters.
“He’s not a threat to me,” I say with a sigh. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Resting back, I close my eyes for a beat and think back to last night and the way he tried to rescue me from myself. Twice.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t want to be working as a stripper, but aside from properly selling my body or becoming a drug lord, I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to raise the money I need. And fast.
The threat of what will happen if I don’t pay Jet is the only reason I stay up on that stage and allow the sleazy men to drool over me. Deep down, I was more than happy to be dragged away from it.
Equally, I can’t deny that being in his arms after the incident with Jet didn’t feel pretty damn good. I’m not sure I’ve ever been held quite like that in my life before.
For just those few moments, I felt safe, protected. Two feelings I really don’t need to get used to, because where I come from, the only way to survive is to look after yourself.
“So, you still want to go to the same address?”
I consider my options. Wherever I go, I have a feeling that he’s going to follow. And really, by not going home, I’m only putting off the inevitable.
“Yeah,” I say sadly, once again resting my head back and closing my eyes. I need more fucking sleep.
I think back to what I remember from last night. I recall him turning me down, but how did he end up in my bed when he quite adamantly didn’t want me?
The movement of the car eventually sends me to sleep, and it’s not until the driver speaks that I wake up. My head is groggy from my impromptu nap and the lingering vodka in my system, but the second I look up at the dark and dingy building I live in, everything hits me once again.
“Thank you,” I say, pushing the door open right as a rumbling engine pulls up alongside us.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself.
“What the hell is this place?” he asks the second he pulls his helmet off.
We’re in one of the shittiest areas of London, one that I’d likely say he’s not visited before, if the look on his face right now is anything to go by.
“This is my house.” I refrain from calling it my home, because it’s the biggest shithole ever and doesn’t deserve that label.
“Here? You live here?” We both turn when the door slams and we watch some junkie stumble down the steps and sway his way down the street.
Concern laces through Spike’s eyes when he turns back to me. I fucking hate it.
Pushing past him, I head for the front door to let myself in—and hopefully shut him out.
“This isn’t a house, Kas. It’s a fucking crack den.”
“It’s not, actually,” I bark over my shoulder. “It’s a house share. Now, have you finished stalking me?”
“I’m not fucking leaving you here,” he says, following me. His face is hard and the muscles in his shoulders are pulled tight as he takes in the rubbish, bottles, and other questionable paraphernalia littering the steps I’m standing on.
“You fucking well are.” I spin at him and place my hands on my hips.
“Does Zach know?”
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. There’s no point lying—he’ll only go to my brother and ask.
“We haven’t spent all that much time together yet,” I mutter. It’s the truth. Since I discovered he was my brother and plucked up the courage to speak to him, we’ve both been pretty busy. Plus, I’ll do anything I can to keep him away from this place. I’d have happily kept Spike away from it too, if he hadn’t insisted on following me.
“He won’t allow you to live here.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m an adult who has my own mind, isn’t it?” I taunt.
“Tiny,” he warns.
“Stop fucking calling me that. And leave me the hell alone.”
Spinning on my heel, I rush into the house and go straight for the stairs.
The place stinks, and having spent the night in Spike’s clean flat makes that fact only more obvious.
As always, there are people everywhere. It’s meant to be a house share for a maximum of eight people, but most nights it feels like eighty instead.
I race up the stairs and toward the room I call mine, although in reality, it’s not just mine.