Ruined

Chapter Eight

Sam

Not bad. I smoothed the skirt and examined my reflection in the mirror. A black lace mini paired with a deep-burgundy bustier. I’d never worn anything like it, but tonight’s festivities called for something a little more dangerous than the usual jeans and Viking logo black tank. A little self-conscious and a lot exposed, when this was all over, Martin better be giving me a damn raise. To combat the drop-off in business due to the Gentleman Stalker, he’d decided to make Fridays theme night. The theme? Gothic hotties.

I fluffed my hair and slipped into the pair of boots I’d worn on Halloween two years ago. The skirt was a little short for my taste and my makeup was heavier than normal. Awesome. I looked like a Gothic hooker. If I managed to get through the shift without breaking an ankle, the night would be a raging success.

Calling in sick had crossed my mind, but other than the fact that I had less than twelve dollars in my bank account and rent was due in two weeks, it was actually good I was working tonight. The busier I stayed, the less chance that my mind would wander. Denial was my best friend. Always had been.

I’d been fine before getting the call from the car place. Cut brakes were not an accident, and that shot my theory to shit, bringing up a ton of other, scarier, possibilities. Last week I’d nearly been run down crossing the street on the way to the library. A few nights ago, there was an attempted mugging on the way out to the car after work. Bad driver. A shitty part of town. An old clunker…

But it wasn’t about an old clunker anymore. It was about brakes.

That had been cut.

My accident hadn’t been an accident.

I pulled the rental car into the lot behind the Viking. The club, housed in the old Kmart warehouse, was wild on its quiet nights. I could only imagine what kind of a crowd Martin’s theme night would bring. Resigned, I slipped in through the back door.

A slender black woman with a thick Southern accent and warm smile slapped the bar and let out a hoot the moment I walked through the door. Virginia Pells—Gin to most people—was a thirty-year-old who looked like she was twenty, acted like she was sixteen, and dated men in their fifties. She was a kind soul who, unlike most of the people working for the Viking, had gone out of her way to befriend me. “Hell musta froze over because look who just walked in five minutes early.” She let out a whistle. “And damn girl, you look hot.”

“I feel ridiculous,” I responded, peeling off my coat. Tossing it on a hook behind the bar, I immediately tugged at the skirt. The damn thing was so short that one wrong move and the entire club would be seeing London and France. “Thought you were off tonight?”

Gin gave an enthusiastic shake of her head. Long bleached-blond dreadlocks whipped back and forth. “And miss this mess? Not a chance, baby. Not a chance.” She backed away from the bar and I got a good look at her. Gin normally went heavy on the eye makeup, but tonight she was rocking a look straight from the movie The Crow. Skintight leather pants and bloodred thigh-high boots paired with a bright-red bra that she’d covered with a black mesh shirt. “So spill. I heard the evil Flynn boy was back in town. Say it ain’t so.”

I rolled my eyes. Christ. Had Aunt Kelly started a phone chain or something? It wasn’t fair that everyone labeled Jax the bad one. Half the things he’d been blamed for when we were younger were Chase’s doing. “He’s not evil. He just has issues with authority.”

Gin winked. “The way I heard it, you both do.”

She had a point. Jax and I had gotten into a lot of hot water when we were younger. Everything from breaking into the high school for a midnight swim, to stealing the Harlow PD sign. I wasn’t as wild as I used to be, but I had my moments.

The buzzer rang to signal that the doors were about to open, thankfully sparing me from further talk about Jax. All he’d done by blowing in and out of town was stir up the muck that lived inside my head and my heart, and the sooner I could put it all behind me, the better.

As the doors opened and the people began filing in, grinding to the already-pumping music and laughing like they hadn’t a care in the world, I decided to let it go. What was done was done and he wasn’t coming back.

There was nothing here worth staying for.

Those were his exact words.

I glanced down at the small digital clock resting on the shelf just beneath the bar. One a.m. and I’d been hit on, spit on, and grabbed, and narrowly avoided being puked on. All in all, it had been an uneventful night as far as shifts at the Viking went. Still though, it’d been a long day and I was ready to crash.

College hadn’t been the right place for me, and I was no closer to figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life than I had been the day I graduated from high school. Now here I was, dressed like an emo version of a sorority girl, slinging brew instead of drinking it. Not exactly how I’d envisioned my first steps into adulthood. On top of all that, I was the target of a brake-cutting, shadow-jumping lunatic who apparently had a hard-on for me. Yeah. So far being a grown-up was awesome.

A glance in both directions told me no one was looking, so I poured myself a shot and downed it fast. At nineteen, I was allowed to work at the bar, but had been warned that if one sip passed my underage lips, my ass was fired.

It was like Gin said. I had an issue with authority. Besides, my nerves were fried.

By one thirty, the club started winding down. Theme night had been a huge success—which sucked. That meant Martin would do it again. Hell, he’d probably try to do it every night. Apparently an excuse to leave the house in a costume trumped a serial killer on the loose.

“I gotta say, Sammy… That is definitely a good look for you.”

I froze and begged myself not to turn. Once I looked into those eyes it would all be over. He’d have me eating out of his hand. Barking like a dog. Purring like a fucking kitten. Dignity would be a thing of the past. Shit… Drink.

I needed another drink.

Back to the bar, shot glass poised at my bottom lip, an inexplicable nervous twitch ran through my body. I tilted the cup back and swallowed, cringing as the liquid burned my throat, then poured another and did the same. With a deep breath, I faced him. “See now, I’d love to say this is a good surprise, but, ya know… You’re kinda like herpes. Totally unwanted.”

“You’re comparing me to an STD?”

I put my elbows on the bar, leaning forward just a bit, then realized what I was doing. OhMyGod, I’d just unintentionally flashed him. Stupid low-cut top. I straightened and pulled the soft material higher. “Yeah. I think so.”

He straightened as well, meeting me a little more than halfway. His gaze traveled over my body, grin appreciative. “I think you have the wrong Flynn. Besides, we both know you’re excited to see me, Samantha.”

Tingles. I got tingles every time he spoke my full name. He always managed to make it sound so sultry. That single word uttered from those perfect lips had the ability to turn me into a pile of goo. He knew it, too. Made sure to drop his voice an octave or two whenever he said it.

He shifted to the right, revealing part of what looked like a black tribal tattoo. The itch to see the rest of it, to know where it ended, was driving me nuts. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t drag my gaze from his arms. His strong, toned arms… “Back for another bucket of puke?”

“I owe you for that.”

“I know.” I pushed off the bar and started wiping down the counters. “How about you run away again. That’ll teach me.”

“Sam,” Martin slammed a hand down against the bar to get my attention. “Start restocking. Gillian can watch things here.”

Yeah. And Gillian could use her padded personality to steal my tips, too.

Grumbling, I turned away from Jax and headed for the corner of the room. The only storage was in the basement and I hated going down there. Normally, I would have argued to have someone else do it, but with Jax standing there, I wanted to stand around and talk to him—which made me itch to get away.

I was almost to the door when I realized I had company. Seriously. This day couldn’t get any worse. “Stalking me? Really?” As if I didn’t have enough of that crap going on already?

He shrugged and held the door open wide. “We were talking. I figured we could walk and talk.”

“We weren’t talking, Jax. You were talking—I’m convinced it’s because you love the sound of your own voice. I was trying to walk away.” I gestured to the steps, then started down them, holding tight to the railing so I didn’t end up in a heap at the bottom. “Exhibit A.”

He wasn’t deterred. “I wanted to give you a chance to apologize.”

Apologize? Was he kidding? I opened my mouth, and then closed it. No. This is what he wanted. To get me going. Instead of answering, I went down to the bottom and made my way through the narrow aisles toward the liquor storage as though he wasn’t there.

“Nothing fancy,” he continued. “A simple ‘I’m sorry and want to make it up to you’ works for me.”

I couldn’t keep my mouth closed any longer. Reaching the end of the row, I turned on my heel and pinned him with my most intimidating glare. “What the hell are you doing, Jax?”

He stopped a few feet away. “Waiting for my apology?”

“Try waiting for rabid monkeys to fly sideways out of my ass,” I snapped. “I mean, here. What are you doing here? You skipped town with no notice three years ago, then you pop back for no reason. You say you’re leaving, yet here you are.”

He stepped closer. “In a rush to get rid of me?”

I wasn’t. But I was. And then I wasn’t. There it was again. That damn indecision. “Matter of fact, I am.” I backed up until I hit the shelf where the club stored its extra vodka. A loud rattle and several clinking bottles, and one zoomed from the top, past my right side. It happened so fast. One second Jax was in front of me, the next he was on my right side, a bottle of vodka clutched in his hand inches from the ground.

He straightened and handed over the bottle. “There. I saved you from having to explain why you broke a bottle. I think I deserve a thank-you.”

The air caught in my throat. There was a mischievous tilt to his lips, but also a stark seriousness in his eyes. I hated how it made me feel. Comforted by the familiarity of it, while at the same time, betrayed because he’d left me behind.

Jax was the one who, up until the night he disappeared, had always been there for me. He brought me back to life after my parents died, the only person who’d been able to reach into the darkness and yank me out.

Our relationship had been the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing or the rotation of the planet. We were made for each other, two halves of the same whole. It’d never occurred to me that we wouldn’t end up together. Then he found the courage to tell me he felt the same way, and was gone the next day.

I needed to say something witty to break the tension. “If you’re going to try negotiating another kiss you’re out of luck.”

A wicked smile crept across his face and suddenly it was impossible to concentrate. The basement, normally so much colder than the main floor of the club, felt like Texas in July. My clothes, the ones that only a moment ago felt too revealing, were constricting and in the way. He leaned across and took the bottle, making a move to put it back on the shelf. On the way up, his arm grazed my cheek, the sleeve riding up so that it was skin on skin, and a tiny gasp slipped from my lips. He stretched farther, like he was trying to reach the next shelf, letting his free hand skim up my bare arm and past my shoulder. The touch was so light, barely there, yet the most incredibly electric thing I’d ever experienced. It left me burning and desperate, on the verge of dragging him close and begging him to put his hands all over my body.

When he was done, he paused by my ear, warm breath caressing my cheek, and whispered, “If I want a kiss, trust me, I’ll get one.”

If the reaction from his body pressed close against me was any indication, then he did want that kiss. And more.

When he finally pulled away, the expression on his face had morphed from jovial to serious. “What I want is for you to tell me the truth. What happened at Huntington?”

An icy wave of panic rolled over me. Admitting it happened, out loud, scared me nearly as much as the actual attack had. If I didn’t speak about it, then I could pretend it wasn’t real. Even though a masochistic part of me wanted him to keep going, to push past and claim my personal space as his own, my breath faltered and the walls sprang up.

A million retorts bubbled to the surface and I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret. We stood there, eye to eye, neither of us willing to budge. The air cooled and fire between us fizzled, and all the rejection I felt when he turned his back and left came rushing to the surface again. “This should really go without saying, but why the hell do you care?”

“Because I know there’s something going on and I’m worried.”

“If you were so concerned about me then you should have stuck around.” The bitterness in my voice grated. “Can’t just walk back into my life and plant yourself in the center again.”

I pushed him, but he wouldn’t budge. It only made me angrier. More helpless. There was too much of that in my life right now. The shitty job. The lack of direction. The overdue bills piling up. I was giving inches and life was taking miles. I’d reached the breaking point. An explosion had been building for some time now, and how poetic was it that Jax was conveniently standing right here?

“What you did was selfish. Whatever your issues were, it was easier to run away than stay here and face them. A coward,” I breathed. “You’re a damn coward.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he snapped, then softened just a bit.”I didn’t just decide to leave on a whim. I had a damn good reason. And it really pisses me off that you could even think it was a careless, spur-of-the-moment choice and that it didn’t rip me the fuck apart.” He grabbed the shelf on either side of my head and leaned close again. “Just tell me what the hell happened at Huntington.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he growled, then took a deep breath. “You need to tell someone, Sammy. For your own sanity.”

“I was attacked.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. It was him. The cosmic pull he had on every part of me. Mind, body, and soul.

My heart pounded, a thundering echo inside my chest, and a rush of anger crashed over me. It chased away the hurt and replaced it with pure rage. That he’d gotten what he wanted. That I’d had to say it out loud. That I, in some small way, blamed him for the whole thing. It was completely irrational, but I couldn’t push the feelings aside.

I braced my hands against his chest and gave a good shove, this time putting some solid distance between us. Do. Not. Cry. “Someone attacked me on my way home from a party one night and I couldn’t take it. I ran away. Are you happy now? You know the truth. Do you feel better?”

For the longest moment he said nothing. He was staring at me with the strangest expression. Not anger or confusion. Not pain or regret. It was like he was concentrating. I could see him breathing. The steady, slightly quickened rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, and then, the flexing of his right hand. I was just about to scream at him again when he finally spoke.

“No,” he said, almost too low for me to hear. “I don’t feel better.”

A tickle in my belly. That sinking feeling that comes when you say or do something that can’t be taken back. More than embarrassment. Mortification. Heat flamed to life in my cheeks, and I knotted both fists tight, determined not to lose it in front of him again. While saying it out loud lifted the two-ton weight that had been crushing me, it also let that raw, wounded part of my soul spill out.

I wanted to stop at that, but the words just kept coming. “I left a party. Halfway home, someone came up behind me… He tried to wrestle me into the shadows and everything got dark really fast. I don’t remember much. Whoever it was covered my mouth with a rag…I dunno…” I’d gone to the police. They’d taken a statement and made a promise to look into it. Miraculously, I hadn’t been badly hurt so it wasn’t a priority.

The whole situation was eerily familiar. A fuzzy memory, one from the night my parents were killed, lurked just beneath the surface, but I couldn’t grab it. Being attacked must have stirred things up. “I think—I think someone scared the guy off.”

Jax nodded. He was too quiet and it was making me nervous. When he spoke again, there was a feral intensity to his voice that scared me. “You remember anything else? Weight, height, hair color? Any defining characteristics?”

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not with him. Not with anyone. But there was no way he’d let it go.

“His voice was muffled and gravelly. I remember thinking it sounded wrong somehow. Fake, almost. Like one of those prank voice boxes, ya know?” That voice was the star of my recent nightmares, telling me to stop struggling. To give in. It was the sound that woke me in a cold sweat, sometimes screaming until my throat was raw. “I’d been drinking at the party and I’d had a huge fight with Aaron, this guy I went out with once. He got grabby and I decked him. Everyone at the party saw it go down. That’s a big part of why the cops dismissed the whole thing. A domestic dispute, they called it—but that’s crap. Aaron had been drinking, same as me. The guy who jumped me didn’t smell like alcohol.”

He didn’t respond, so I continued, too afraid of letting the silence float between us.

“I left school a few days later. I couldn’t concentrate. I kept looking over my shoulder. Waiting for someone to break down my door in the middle of the night. I kept thinking…” That history was repeating itself. And it was, right? The attack, the accidents, the car… Those were connected in some way. I wanted to tell him. To throw myself into his arms and let him help me carry the weight like he used to. But that time had passed. “I kept thinking I was insane. I just couldn’t handle it.”

“Sammy, this is nothing—”

“Martin is probably ready to shit rocks,” I said, gathering several bottles from the shelf before I lost my nerve and spilled it all. There was no way I’d let him finish that sentence. Already, a familiar stinging sensation in the corners of my eyes told me enough was enough. He made a move to take some of the bottles from me, but I jerked away, refusing his help. When I looked at him again, I had my game face on. This Sam could take on the world all by herself. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t need Jax.

“Let me help you. Please.”

I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the armful of bottles. “It’s all good. I’m good. I make really great money here and I was going to have issues paying next semester’s tuition anyway. I would have had to drop out. Whoever this wacko was, he did me a favor.”

With that, I made my way back out to the floor, hoping to God he’d finally take the hint and just move on with his life.

Because that’s what I needed to do.