The Space Between (The Book of Phoenix) (36 page)

Returning to the bathroom, I dampened my hair with my hands, trying to control the mane of curls as best as I could. A few strokes of eyeliner and mascara and a brush of blush accomplished what I wanted. I wasn’t going for my stage look—no patience for that. I just didn’t want to look like I’d woken up two minutes ago. I grabbed my fake I.D. and cash out of my bag, stuffed them into my back pocket and stomped for the door.

Jeric and his
thangs
were still out there, but the girl was gone. Surprise crossed his face as soon as he drank me in with his eyes, but then he crossed his arms over his chest and stepped into my path. He shook his head. I glared at him.

“Where are you going looking like that?” he asked.

I answered by shoving past him and heading on my way. He caught up with me and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I looked up at him with a raised brow.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

“To blow off some steam,” I said aloud. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Like
that
?” His gaze traveled up and down my body.

“I’m hoping to have some fun, too. You’re not the only one who gets to do that.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t do this, Leni.”

I glared at him harder. “You wanted to see the real me? You wanted her to come out? Well, here she is, Jeric. The real Leni in all her glory.”

I spun and strode off again, kicking up clouds of dust. He ran into my path once more.

“Please, Leni, don’t.” His eyes, his whole expression pleaded my mercy. “You’re killing me, babe.”

My eyes narrowed, and I spit my words at him, hoping he understood because my hands were too busy being fists at the moment. “You lost your right to call me
babe
. And if you think I care one tiny turd of shit about how you feel, you’re sadly mistaken.”

The corners of his lips jumped and his hands hung in the air with no words to say. When I stomped off this time, he didn’t follow.

Horns blared at me and some guy yelled a catcall out his window as he passed by while I waited for the traffic to clear so I could cross the road. Finally, I jogged across, through the parking lot and to the bar. Several heads turned my way when I came through the door, letting the early evening sun into the lounge.

Inside wasn’t nearly as dark as it had been earlier, with all of the neon signs lit on the wood-paneled walls, advertising beer and liquor. Being Happy Hour, the place wasn’t nearly as empty either. Both truckers and locals crowded around the large, rectangular bar with two bartenders in the middle pouring drinks and chatting with their patrons. More people sat in booths and at four-tops scattered throughout the lounge, some with food on their tables, others with only drinks. An old-fashioned jukebox played country music, blasting over the conversation and laughter. The cacophony was shocking at first after nearly a week of living in near silence with Jeric, but then I relished it. Let the vibes fill me. I glanced at the mechanical bull, still lifeless in its corner, waiting for an operator.
Later
, I promised myself.

First, I needed a drink. Or three.

The bartender eyed my I.D. and my face for a moment, but then shrugged and made my drink. Jaeger and Red Bull. First the pungently sweet smell and then the taste took me back to my nights at the club. Where I’d dared to let the real Leni out. Three drinks had always been my limit—a good buzz, but not falling-down, blacking-out drunk. Just enough to loosen myself up and slip away from Mama’s relentless hold. Enough to not care about the eyes all over me filled with either judgment or lust.

By the time I finished my first drink, I became chatty with the bartenders and anyone else around who joined in our conversation. I asked about the bull and they said the operator would be in shortly. After my second drink, I was feeling especially good. Too good. Probably because I hadn’t eaten all day. The female bartender placed a plate of fries in front of me.

“On the house,” she said, then she leaned forward over the bar and lowered her voice. “You need to be careful, hon. Some of these truckers—and even a coupla the locals—are sick fucks slobberin’ for a girl like you, if ya know what I mean.”

I nodded and ate the fries, then ordered another drink. By the time I finished that one, a few people had made it to the dance floor, and I joined them, loosening up and preparing to enter the zone. The bull operator had arrived and the first guy had already been dumped. The bar was growing crowded and I’d lost my seat. I ordered a beer, then sauntered over to the bull pit, where a small group gathered. Tough guy after tough guy gave their five dollars for a short ride and a throw to the mats. Only one lasted more than eight seconds. A nice-looking guy, if you like cocky cowboys. He kept harassing the others gathering around, daring them to beat his time. A larger crowd began to form.

I stepped over to the jukebox and was glad to find a few dance songs among all the country tunes. A little outdated and none my favorites, but these would work. I selected several to give myself enough time, then sauntered over to the operator. He started to argue with me when I told him what I wanted.

“Trust me,” I said, “when I’m done, everyone will be wanting to ride. That’s a lot of five-dollar bills.”

He finally gave in with a shrug as my first song ended.

“Try to stay to the music, but not too fast, okay?”

He nodded as he dumped the cowboy. I drew in a deep breath and shook out my shoulders, then headed for the bull and waited for my next song to start. The guys gathered around started whistling and heckling.

“Whatcha doin’ up there, pretty momma? Think you’re gonna ride that thang?”

“You wanna ride something big, I got it right here.”

“Bet she won’t last two seconds.” Cocky cowboy, of course.

My song started and the guys balked at it, but quieted when I mounted the mechanical bull with flair, then grasped it with my thighs and held on. It’d been a few months since I’d ridden and I wasn’t used to this operator, so it took a couple of rounds to ground myself, and the heckles returned, growing louder. But riding the bull was like riding a bike. The operator did as I’d instructed, lifting and turning it slowly to 50 Cents’ Candy Shop. And I danced.

Some girls did the pole. I did the bull.

I rode it like no one here had ever ridden it before, losing myself to the music and the moves. The bull rocked and turned, and I moved with it, falling into my zone. Into the freedom of being me, of doing something for no other reason than because I enjoyed it. Because it felt good.

I sprawled out on the top of the bull, lifted to my knees and then to my feet, came down again and straddled it like I would a man, arching my back until my head nearly touched the end behind me. Then I eased up again, all the way to my feet, hands down, butt in the air. When the bull slowly turned so both my eyes and my ass faced the crowd, several women had joined the guys, who all stared with mouths hanging open.

Including Jeric.

He stood back, closer to the bar, arms crossed over his chest and eyes smoldering. I came upright and down to straddle the machine over the bull’s “shoulders,” facing its rear, and the song ended. But I didn’t dismount, and my next song began. Nobody argued about it being their turn. I tore my eyes from Jeric’s, scanned the female faces and found the most likely one. I wiggled my fingers at her, then patted the bull where you normally sit. She came over and climbed on facing me. We’d dance the bull together.

She tightened her short-clad thighs against the bull and our bodies rocked and writhed back and forth to the rhythm. We were fully clothed and more than a foot apart, but I knew the effect we had when the guys went crazy, whooping and whistling and overall growing rowdy. Jeric had moved closer by now, almost to the front of the crowd. He’d cleaned up, at least, wearing a tight Affliction t-shirt and jeans. I winked at him when the song ended, then motioned for the cowboy next to him. Jeric became a statue. Obviously happy to be picked, the cowboy sauntered over the way cowboys do, hitched his belt, then climbed on across from me. The music and the bull started up once again.

But we didn’t last eight seconds.

Chapter 30

  Leni had me in her trance like she did every other guy and half the women in the bar, working the mechanical bull like a professionally trained dancer works a pole. I’d never seen anything so fucking sexy. She rode the thing like she was making love to it, and I became suddenly jealous of a machine, wanting it to be me under her, bucking her around like that. And when the other girl joined her . . . Shit. Every guy in the house, and probably the women, too, had to have grown wood.

So this was what she meant when she said she wasn’t so pure. You didn’t learn to dance on a mechanical bull in a ballet studio. Especially not those kinds of moves. She had to have learned it in a strip club. And the thought of Leni—
my
Leni—stripping for other men made me see red with anger.

Then she had to go and pull the stunt with the cowboy.

She did it to rub my face into the shit I’d taken at her feet. I couldn’t blame her. I deserved it and honest to God, I tried to let it go. Tried to let her have her fun, since apparently I’d had mine, although I still couldn’t remember it. I didn’t
feel
like I’d had sex, my balls still blue from wanting Leni and Leni only.

But when the little douchebag reached over and put his hands on her thighs and leaned closer until only inches separated their faces, it was all over.

I barely noticed the flicker of fear that crossed Leni’s face, not needing to. I was already moving. One punch to the cheek sent the asshole off the bull. The machine stopped moving, and Leni stared at me with disbelief. I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder and strode for the door before the cowboy or his friends retaliated. At least she didn’t start kicking my thighs and punching me until we were out the door, so no one tried to stop me. Not that I couldn’t handle them; I didn’t want Leni to get hurt.

Once we were outside, her fists beat against my lower back and her feet kicked wildly as I made our way through the packed parking lot. I shifted her over and grasped her tighter before her boot nailed me in the balls, but I wasn’t about to let go. Her yells vibrated through my shoulder and back, and I could only imagine what names she called me.

We’d almost cleared the parking lot without any problems, but someone must have heard Leni screaming because something big and hard crashed into my side. We slammed into the sidewall of a pick-up, and Leni’s body immediately fell limp. I set her down, and she slid to her butt and slumped over. Shit. She might have hit her head. I didn’t have time to check on her, though, because someone came out of the shadows again. Two forms, dressed in black pants and hoodies, their faces barely visible. Not cowboys or truckers. Shadowmen.

One lunged for me and the other for Leni. She still didn’t move, didn’t defend herself, so I had to take them both. I clocked one in the temple with my fist and threw another punch into his gut. He hunched over, and my knee connected with his nose, sending him sprawling. With two hands, I grabbed the other guy’s black hoodie and yanked him off of Leni. His elbow jabbed out and slammed into my cheek. Stars shot across my vision with the impact, and I stumbled backwards.

I dragged him with me, and we went tumbling to the pavement. He lay on top of me, so I wrapped my legs around his in a tight hold while crossing my arm over his throat. I squeezed against his Adam’s apple while punching him in the head at the same time. His hands clawed at my arm, and he thrashed and twisted, but I wasn’t letting loose. I hadn’t planned on his legs and the rest of his body disintegrating into smoke. Normal opponents didn’t do that.

My mind had barely accepted the freaky escape maneuver when a shadow flew down at me and slammed my head into the pavement. If I’d seen shooting stars before, now I saw a whole galaxy exploding. A fist landed on my lip and the salty iron taste of blood filled my mouth. Shit. I hated it when the other guy drew blood.

I jumped to my feet to find both assholes standing, one again headed for Leni. A roundhouse kick knocked him off his feet. I pounced on him, tackled him to the ground and delivered blow after blow to his face without stopping, his head my own personal punching bag. With one final punch to his throat, his whole body broke apart and the pieces flew into the air. Shit. These Shadowmen were weird.