Uncomplicated: A Vegas Girl's Tale (28 page)

Mathis joined me in laugher. “That better be a fuckin’ girl.”

BY
D
AWN
R
OBERTSON

C
HAPTER 1

I'm not in Kansas anymore...

A fist crashes into my face, my body is flung like a rag doll across the shitty motel room I have called home for the past month. My back slams against the wall and I gasp for air. The wind is knocked out of me and I panic as I struggle to fill my lungs with my next breath, but it's not coming. The smell of vodka burns my nostrils, and when I open my mouth struggling to scream for help, not a sound comes out.

A rough hand wraps around my throat and squeezes. His mouth presses to mine, but I am paralyzed. I can't push him away, my arms simply won't fucking move. My brain screams at my body to react. Save myself from the assault that is immanent. I should have known better than to accept a ride home from him tonight. Everything in me screamed to call the bouncers and run as far away as I could get. The other part of me let me think there are actually good people left in the world.

“You deserve this, you disgusting little bitch.”

His words hurt. I feel tears pooling at the corner of my eyes, but as many times as I blink they just don't fall. The fight slips out of my body, and I am lifeless in his rough hands.

The short plaid skirt wrapped tightly around my waist is ripped from my body just before the room goes black. I can't see or feel anything. I can't hear his words. I am blissfully ignorant to the disgusting assault. He takes something from me I can never get back. Something I have held onto with my life, as I watched my sisters dish out their cunts to any man who showed a vague interest. Not me.

I don't know how long I am unconscious; but when I finally wake from the coma-like rest, he is gone. My room is eerily silent and dark, just the way I left it before I left for the strip club. My bag is packed on the dresser, and surprisingly my purse is still full of the cash I made during my shift. All four hundred and eight dollars, every cent I have to my name. I roll over onto my side, and a surge of pain shoots through my entire body. My hands fly to my ribcage and I hold on to my side as if it will help the pain subside.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “Something is fuckin' broken.” I talk like there is someone else in the room to hear my complaints. Stupid, I was so fucking stupid. I swing my legs off the side of the bed and try to blink my eyes. I can see, it is blurry, but I can see. My left eye is swollen shut. I try to force it open with no avail. My face feels like it came in contact with a fucking brick wall.

I limp my body into the bathroom and flip on the light switch. My face looks just as bad as it feels. My cheeks are covered in black and blue bruises, there is dried blood caked to my skin with strands of my fiery red hair stuck in it. I look like holy fucking hell.

I hobble to the shower, pull the curtain back and turn the water on as hot as it can go. I shouldn't wash the evidence away, but I want the filth of his touch off of me. I want to wash him away. I want to wash the memory away, even though I doubt that will ever happen.

I pull my ripped white, blood stained t-shirt off, and let it fall to the floor. I kick off the white cotton panties that were placed on my body after he had his way with me. I can feel the tenderness of my pussy. He was rough.

Dried blood sticks to my thighs and pussy. The remnants of the one virtue I held onto into adulthood. He took it like a fucking savage animal. I am sure it really got his fucking rocks off knowing what he took.

I step into the shower and quickly wash him away. The tears flood out of the one eye I can open while I lather layer upon layer of soap. Nothing can get rid of him. The bruises leave behind the memory of what he did, even if I can't remember it.

I wrap the shitty white motel towel around my body and slowly dry off every tender part of my aching, broken body; all while I wish I could wash off the damage to my soul. I can't kick myself over this for long because I am worried he is going to come back for me.

I've always lived as an honest person. I've paid my bills, and given what I want to get back from others. Karma ya know? But today, I am going to run for the first time in my life. I am going to bail on my bill and pray I have enough money to get to safety.

***

“Seven?” I whisper into my cell phone, as if someone is listening in to my call.

She is loud and commanding on the other end, brazen and bold like always. “Paisley, kiddo! I've missed you. To what do I owe this call?”

I can't tell her, so I sit in silence on the other end of the line. I feel fucking foolish. Why did I even bother to call her? Because I need a fucking place to live until I can get my pathetic excuse of a life together.

Just as I am about to end the call, she yells through the line. “What happened, Paisley? You fuckin' tell me now!”

The tears begin again. Just when I thought I was all cried out, somehow my body finds a tiny bit of hydration to squeeze out again.

“I need someplace to stay for a couple weeks.” I guess this is better than calling my sister. I don't know what Star would do, but she can hardly take care of herself, let alone her fucked up little sister. Jesus, when did I let my life become so fucking tragic? Paisley, it always has been.

“Where are you? I am coming to get you.” Yup, Seven is as bossy as I can remember. I am almost thankful for her commanding nature, because it is what I need. I need someone to take control of my life. I always have. Looking back I thought Star would always be there to help me, guide me, but she can't even do that for herself.

“Seven, I'm in Daytona Beach. I am going to get a flight today. I will call you when I land.” And like that I finally get the balls to hang the call up, and make a break for it. I grab the small bag I've been traveling with for the past year, and call a cab to meet me at the seven-eleven on the corner. Each step hurts. I press the small bag to my chest, while my other hand holds my gaudy black sunglasses in place praying no one can see the damage he has done to my pale skin. As if.

Fuck Florida. Fuck Daytona Beach. Fuck that hole in the wall strip club, and most of all, fuck bikers. I hope they all rot in the fucking depths of hell for eternity.

***

Twelve hours later I am tucked in under the plush down comforter in Seven's spacious spare bedroom. The red silk sheets caress my body with the gentlest touch I have felt. It soothes away the pain of the brutal assault only hours earlier.

Until I am left alone with my thoughts. The thoughts of him. The laid back, fun, and flirty evening we shared full of a lap dance and a hand full of drinks. All in good fun, I told myself repeatedly. I should have known that men like him don't do good fun. Men in general don't do good fun.

Seven did her best to drag the details of my injuries out of me, but I knew the second I told her anything that happened she would be on the phone to Star. The same sister who desperately needed to get her own shit together. I was barely a teen when Star got knocked up, she gave the baby away to another family our shit-tastic parents knew; that was about the same time she spiraled out of control. Either way, she has her own problems to wade through, and I won't be bothering her with my own. Call me the protective one in the family.

Yeah, Star... by the way I got raped by some biker after shaking my naked ass on stage. I deserved it, right? Not so much.

His name was Zane, or at least that is what he told me in between shots of vodka as he chain smoked a pack of cigarettes. His long dark hair was sexy, and I couldn't stop thinking about running my fingers through it. He was tempting, extremely tempting. But when you make it to twenty-three years old without fucking, you aren't about to let the first scarred biker you run into pound into you.

A chill runs through my body, and I shake it off. I'm not exactly sure how I am going to get through this, but I can tell you after my childhood, this isn't going to break me. Not by a fucking long shot.

BY
J
O-
A
NNA
W
ALKER

Coming February 21st, 2014

C
HAPTER 1

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Evvie?”

My back stiffened as I turned to the familiar but harsh deep voice of my best friend and roommate. Kane Stohl glared at me, his pale eyes hardening as they lowered to the bottles in my arms before meeting my gaze.

I shook my head. “What?”

“Why are you here?” He took the crate from my grasp.

I sighed. “I told you I was looking for a job and this place needed a bar tender so here I am.”

Kane narrowed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “What the hell do you know about bartending?”

A giggle escaped my lips. He didn’t look so big and tough when he stood in that prissy stance.

He glared.

I bit back a smile and calmed myself before I burst. “I used to make drinks at the parties in college, remember? It’s not that hard.”

His blue eyes softened, his broad shoulders relaxing. “Does your father know that you’re working here?”

My gaze snapped to his and I swallowed hard. “No and he’s not going to find out now is he?”

Kane rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Who hired you?”

I moved to the counter and continued putting bottles away and shrugged. He was not ruining this for me. “What does it matter?”

“Evvie, who hired you?” he pressed.

I sighed and rose to my full height. “Jake. He was very nice. Said the owner needed some extra help around here now that business has picked up.”

Kane raised an eyebrow. “Did you actually meet the owner?”

I frowned. “No. He’s on vacation or something.”

“Brett doesn’t take vacations,” Kane laughed.

“I dunno. I haven’t met him yet though,” I huffed.

“I’m going to have to talk to Jake,” he mumbled.

I turned to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Kane, don’t you dare mess this up for me. I need this job.”

“Darlin’, there are a million other jobs—”

“What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. “My father won’t know I work here.”

“What about your brothers?”

My stomach churned. The overprotective men in my life didn’t need to know my every waking move.

“You don’t know the kind of douches that come in here...”

My heart swelled and I wrapped my arms around his middle. “Kane, you’re my best friend and I love you like a brother but sometimes you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Who the hell are you?”

We jumped apart at the hard voice as I saw a tall man approaching us with ease. The air around us became thick as confidence bled from the guy’s pores.

His light brown hair was cut short. My fingers twitched, wanting to run them through the no doubt soft strands.

Our gazes locked and he smirked, making my stomach flip. Oh this guy was dangerous and I had no idea who the hell he was.

He crossed his arms under his chest and glared at me with deep blue eyes. God, he was gorgeous.

“I asked you a question.”

My heart stuttered and I frowned. “I…I’m...”

Kane cleared his throat but the guy ignored him and took a step closer to us.

“Speak up,” he snapped.

Wow...okay... I lifted my chin and took a deep breath. “I’m Evvie Neal. The new bartender.”

The guy’s gaze flicked to Kane’s and he shrugged. Thanks a lot bestie.

“Who the fuck hired you?” the man asked.

My blood boiled at the tone this guy was taking with me. Who the hell did he think he was? “I don’t know what your problem is asshole but—”

“Welcome to The Red Love, baby.” The guy smirked and with that he walked away.

I gaped. “Who—” My mouth opened and closed and I couldn’t form the words on my tongue.

Kane clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Ignore him.”

“Who the hell was that?”

Kane looked away. “That, darlin’, was Brett MacLean.”