Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) Page 9

  That didn’t mean she was willing to give up, to resign herself to the same life her mother had accepted. And maybe Nicole hated her job, hated working at the club and fending off unwanted advances and knowing that the men who came in thought she could be bought. But the money was decent, cash tips at the end of each night, some nights better than others.

  Nicole propped her elbow on the plywood then rested her head in the palm of her hand. Yeah, some nights were definitely better than others—when she didn’t overreact and throw money back in someone’s face. But how could she have known Mat’s intentions had been innocent? Not just innocent, but actually honorable. At least, she’d thought they could be called that. He was so different from other men in her experience. Real, genuine. And he’d been so shocked, appalled even, at her accusation, at learning what she’d first thought when she’d seen the large tip.

  So what did she do? Throw it at him and accuse him of thinking she was a whore, someone who could be bought. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she turned around and acted the part later that night when he’d done nothing more than offer her a ride home.

  Heat spread throughout her at the memory, tingling along her nerves and settling into a damp pool between her legs. What was wrong with her? She’d never acted that way before, never done even half of what she’d done the other night. Never even thought about doing things like that before. Sex had never been about her pleasure; it had been about being controlled.

  She wasn’t sure what surprised her the most: the fact that she’d done the things she’d done, or the fact that she wanted to do them—and so much more—again. With Mat. But why? What was it about him that brought out this side of her, a side she’d never even expected she had?

  Maybe because he seemed as genuinely surprised as she had been. And maybe he was lying to her, trying to make her feel better or something, but she actually believed him when he told her the things they’d done had been new to him as well. Not that what they’d done had been all that extreme, not really, not compared to some of the other things she heard the girls talk about at work. So yeah, maybe he was just trying to make her feel better.

  Or maybe she was just trying to prove to herself that she could enjoy sex. That it was something pleasurable for both parties. Not something to be demanded. Not an act where she was at another person’s mercy, forced to relinquish control, forced to endure or suffer even worse. Was that what she was doing? Taking control, choosing her own experiences? Or was she just fooling herself into thinking that? She thought it was the former—hoped that was the case.

  Or maybe she was still that gullible naïve girl she’d been all those years ago, willing to fall for any line that made her feel better.

  Her hand closed around the crystal hanging at her throat, the familiar warmth of the stone and coolness of the metal soothing against her palm. Calming, reassuring. No, that girl was gone, any remnants long since washed away by the cold pummeling of reality. So maybe that meant she was nothing more than a fool for believing him, for convincing herself she was finally in control.

  For some reason, she couldn’t find it in her to be get upset about that. Not after New Orleans. Not after the other night.

  “Nikki! Is that all you can do now, sit in front of that silly computer?”

  Her mother’s harsh voice startled her. She jumped back, her hand dislodging from the pendant as she tried to keep her balance. How had she not heard her mom coming up the stairs? Had she been that lost in her thoughts and memories?

  She swallowed back the words that wanted to tumble from her mouth. It didn’t matter how many times she tried explaining, her mother would never understand. To her, Nicole’s photography was a nuisance. A worthless hobby that cost precious money and meant nothing. She didn’t understand Nicole’s hopes and dreams, her desire to one-day start making money with it. Not much, just a little. Just enough so she could prove to herself that she could do it. To prove that hopes and dreams really mattered.

  No, her mother would never understand, no matter how many times Nicole tried to explain. So she said nothing, just reached out and powered the laptop down.

  Footsteps shuffled behind her, the scrape of worn slippers scratching against the cracked linoleum floor. A sigh, long and heavy, followed by the sagging creak of aging bedsprings. Nicole closed her eyes, fingering her pendant once more as she searched for patience. Her mom never came into her room, never sat down on her bed—which meant something must be on her mind, that she wanted to talk about something. Whatever it was, Nicole didn’t think she wanted to hear it.

  “You came home late the other night.”

  “Uh, yeah. I saw you had company, didn’t want to intrude.” That was putting it mildly. Nicole had noticed right away when Mat pulled in front of the house. It was hard to miss the two shadows so clearly outlined in the living room window. That was why she’d asked Mat to keep driving. And she wasn’t going to complain, not after what that drive had led to.

  “Oh.” A shaky sigh, ending in a cough. She heard her mom rustle in the pockets of her frayed robe, heard the click and spark of a lighter. Nicole turned in the chair, frowning.

  “Mom, can you not smoke in here please?”

  Her mother took a long drag from the cigarette, watching her with impatience as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “It is my house.” But she looked around, her eyes settling on the glass of water Nicole always kept next to her bed. She reached over and tossed the cigarette in it with a small hiss.

  Nicole closed her eyes, her hand tightening around the pendant again as she made a mental note to throw the glass out. Completely out. If she didn’t, her mother would just leave it sitting there.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Always grab that necklace like you do. You’d think you were a Catholic with a string of rosary beads or something the way you’re always playing with it.”

  Nicole took a deep breath, trying not choke on the lingering smoke that hung in the still air. There was no way she could explain to her mother the sense of calm she got from fingering the crystal. How just looking at the small dragon filled her with an odd peace. It was a whimsical design, the dragon carved from pewter or silver or some other metal, his majestic head held high, his wings folded around his body and his intricate tail wrapped around the oddly shaped milky crystal. She bought it when she was still in a high school at a mall kiosk that sold cheap jewelry and dragon sculptures and an assortment of other trinkets. It had been pure impulse that she still, to this day, didn’t understand. And if she didn’t understand, how could she possibly even try to explain to her mother?

  She couldn’t, so she just shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a habit, I guess.”

  “Well I don’t understand it.”

  “Mom—” Nicole stopped herself, knowing it would just lead to an argument. She took another deep breath and forced a smile. “Did you need something?”

  “No. I was just worried about you. Where did you go?”

  Nicole hoped her shock didn’t show on her face. Her mother, worried? “Out with some friends.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” She ran a hand through her hair, nodding. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah. Mom, I need to get going—”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Nicole’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Yeah, there was no way she could keep the shock from showing on her face. Since when did her mom ask personal questions? Since when did she care?

  And she wasn’t sure how to answer. Maybe, technically, she was seeing Mat. Maybe, if you stretched it. They’d seen each other a grand total of three times and two of those times had turned into a sex marathon. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but Nicole didn’t know what else to call it. Did that mean they were seeing each other? The sex aside, she had enjoyed spending time with him. He was different, so different, from any other man she’d ever met. There was something about him, something besides his rugged good looks, something that pulled
her. Yes, she could definitely see herself falling for him. But was that something she wanted to do? Or something that would just lead to more trouble down the road? And what if her instincts about him were wrong?

  Nicole reached for her backpack, digging through it so she wouldn’t have to look at her mom. “Uh, maybe. I’ve gone out with him a few times.” And she was going out with him again this weekend.

  “Is it anything serious?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.” Nicole put the pack aside and turned to face her mom, wondering at the sudden questions, wondering why her mom was suddenly so curious. “What’s up with all the questions, Mom? You never worried before.”

  Her mom wouldn’t look at her, her attention focused on the ragged cuticle of her thumb. She picked at it, a frown deepening the lines on her face. Long minutes went by before she shrugged and glanced at Nicole from the side. “I just think you need a man in your life. Someone to take care of you.”

  Not again. Please, not again. How many times had they had this conversation? Too many. Nicole shook her head and grabbed the backpack again. “No, I don’t, Mom. I don’t need anyone to take care of me, not when I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Nicole Lynn Taylor, every woman needs a man.”

  God, she couldn’t do this again. If she had to sit here and listen to this, she’d end up saying something she’d regret. She shook her head and stood up. “Mom—”

  “What about Donnie? Have you thought of getting back with him?”

  “What?” Her brain was going to explode. That had to be the only explanation for the sudden terrible pounding in her head. How could her mom even say such a thing? “No! No, Mom. Never. I should have never gotten with him in the first place.”

  “But he’s a nice man—”

  “Nice? Nice?” The words were barely audible, lost in the shriek of her voice. “No, Mom, he’s not nice. He was never nice. Or don’t you remember all the times he smacked me around? All the bruises and marks he left?”

  “Not all the time. Only when you—”

  “No!” Nicole screamed the word, anger spilling through her, causing her hands to shake, her whole body to shake. How many times had she said the same thing? Tried to convince herself that things would get better if she did this or if she did that? Too many. She’d fought, long and hard, to escape the relationship. Fought long and hard to believe in herself, to understand that none of it was her fault, had never been her fault.

  “No,” she repeated, as much for her mother as a reminder to herself. “I’m not discussing this again, Mom. Okay? So just drop it.”

  “He’s changed, Nikki. And I know he still cares about you, wants to see you again.”

  The words froze Nicole mid-step. Ice filled her, the dread and fear weighing her down until she thought she’d collapse. She couldn’t have heard right, must have misunderstood. She closed her eyes, her hand wrapping around the pendant once more, and took deep breaths. Long, deep, cleansing breaths.

  Please, let her have heard wrong.

  “Mom, why do you think that?”

  “He told me. He stopped by the other day—”

  “No. No, no, no. Mom, why did you talk to him? Please, Mom, don’t ever talk to him again. Don’t even open the door. Please. If you love me at all, please—”

  “You’re overreacting, Nikki. As usual. Donnie just wanted to see you. He misses you.”

  Nicole faced her mother, not even bothering to hide the sheen of tears she couldn’t blink away. How could her mother do that? How, when she knew what Donnie had done to her? When she had seen the marks and heard the screams? How?

  Betrayal slice through her, as acidic and sour as the bile building in her stomach. Nicole shook her head. In denial or disbelief, she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except that she needed to leave, needed to get out of the house. Now. Before she went crazy, before the pieces of her that she had struggled for so long to put back together shattered because of her mother’s interference. Because of her mother’s betrayal.

  She shook her head again and brushed at her eyes, not understanding why her mother would do that, would say that. Not understanding the look of confusion on her mother’s tired and worn face, like Nicole was the one to blame.

  She didn’t understand any of it.

  Nicole tossed the backpack over her shoulder and fled from the room, her hand barely skimming the railing as she took the steps two at a time. She needed to get out of here, needed to escape.

  Needed to settle the disjointed thoughts tearing through her mind long enough to figure out what she should do now.

  She threw open the door, barely hearing the creak of wood as she slammed it behind her. Bright sun greeted her, bouncing off the cracked concrete to blind her. She reached for her sunglasses then realized they were still upstairs, in her dim lifeless room.

  They could stay there. She couldn’t go back inside, not now. She turned left and headed to the next block, squinting against the bright light. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. She just needed to go, to get away, to escape.

  Needed to figure out what to do next.

  Chapter Nine

  If Mat could breathe, he’d kill Derek. That wasn’t an option right now, not with his muscles stretching, not with his lungs burning. He tightened his jaw, his breath hissing between clenched teeth as he raised the bar, groaning as he lifted the weight from his chest. Derek stood above him, a scowl on his face as he spotted Mat.

  “I just don’t understand what you see in her. She’s not your type.”

  Mat grunted and lowered the bar, raised it once more and blinked against the sweat dripping into his eyes and down the sides of his face. His arms shook, burning even more as he pushed himself. Two more reps. Down, up. Slow, deliberate.

  “And why are you even asking her out? I mean, you already slept with her—”

  The noise that came from Mat was louder than a grunt, ferocious and impatient, startling them both. He dropped the weights into the rack with a slam then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bench. Derek jumped back, his hands held up in either surrender—or protection.

  “You’re really going to say shit like that? After what happened with you and Bridget?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Derek glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the growing crowd coming in for their lunch time workout. Or maybe was checking to see where Kenny and Harland were, making sure they weren’t within earshot. It wouldn’t matter even if they were, not with the classic rock music that constantly blared from the speakers, not with the noise of clattering weights and loud conversation that surrounded them.

  Derek shook his head and turned back to Mat. “That’s not the same—”

  “Bullshit.” Mat grabbed the towel and swiped it across his face then fisted it in his hands. He kept his gaze on Derek, frowning. Maybe a little too hard, a little too dangerous, because Derek actually took another step back. “It’s exactly the same and you know it.”

  “No, Mat, it’s not. Bridget isn’t a damn stripper!”

  “Neither is Nicole. She works the bar.”

  Derek laughed, the sound short and sarcastic. “Yeah, okay. She works in a fucking strip joint. Are you really so naïve that you don’t think she’s dancing?”

  Mat tightened his fist around the towel and shook his head. He’d thought the same thing at first, had been completely surprised when he realized where she worked. But the guy who paid her at the end of the night, her boss, had made the comment that Nicole could make so much more money if she decided to dance, but she wouldn’t do it. Mat still didn’t know why the guy told him that. Making conversation? Or for some other unknown reason? He had no idea. Mat hadn’t said anything but he got the impression—just from the guy’s one-sided conversation—that Nicole needed the money.

  He moved from the weight bench, turning his back to Derek. “She’s not a dancer. She serves drinks.”

  “Yeah, you keep on bel
ieving that.” Derek moved closer, stepping around Mat until they were facing each other. “I don’t get it, Mat. Why are you so hung up on this girl? You’ve been obsessing about her for more than a month. You already slept with her. And from what I understand, she left without saying goodbye. That doesn’t sound like she’s interested if you ask me. So why are you wasting your time?”

  Mat stared at Derek for a long minute, his jaw clenched against the words that wanted to rush from him, words he knew better than to say. Because he’d had the same exact thoughts Derek was voicing, at least at first. If Nicole had been interested, at all, wouldn’t she have at least left a note the morning she left in New Orleans? Her number? Something? It had been nothing more than sheer chance that he found her last week, and even he had to admit that she’d seemed surprised—hesitant and uncertain—the entire time he’d been with her. But she’d said yes when he asked her out. She wouldn’t have said yes if she wasn’t interested, right?

  And then the other night happened. Holy fuck, had it ever happened.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting at first. Maybe just a chance to talk, to get her number, just like he’d told her. And then she blew up at him, throwing the money back in his face—along with accusations that still made him feel sick to his stomach. But then he explained, in a bumbling and embarrassing way, and she seemed happy with that. Well, maybe not happy, but she seemed to accept it. But she still wouldn’t take the money he’d left the other night, giving it instead to one of the dancers when he refused to take it back.

  He offered to take her home, not really expecting her to accept. Except when he pulled up in front of her place, she’d gotten this odd look on her face. Part horror, part resignation, part defeat. And when she asked him to keep driving, he had.

  And then she’d blown his mind. Completely and utterly. He hadn’t expected things to go that far. Would have never dreamed, not in his wildest fantasies, of things going that far. Okay, maybe in a few of his fantasies, but that was it. Seeing her touch herself, watching her lick his fingers, tasting herself…watching her go down on him while he fisted his hand in her hair, pumping his hips until his cock brushed against the back of her throat. Hearing her little moans as she sucked and swallowed while he came—