Blame It on the Pain Page 4

  Chapter 3 (Alyssa)

  Most women go to bars when they're looking to pick up men for a quick hookup...not me.

  I prefer to pick up my men at libraries, bookstores, and the nearest Starbucks.

  I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It's just after 11 pm. Luckily, since I'm still in the city, everything is open late, especially on the weekends.

  I parallel park into the nearest spot outside the coffee shop and turn my engine off.

  The nerve of that bastard. Long Island is in New York.

  But, it's not that statement of his causing me to be in need of seeking out a distraction. It's his other statement from earlier still running through my head. “Don't you value yourself at all?”

  I almost wanted to laugh when he said that the club was no place for a girl like me.

  He obviously has no idea who I am. Either that, or he's putting on a really good show.

  I walk into the almost empty Starbucks and look around before I spot my target.

  Glasses-check. Button-up shirt paired with khakis-check. Not overly attractive by conventional standards, but relatively pleasing to the eye- check. Fingers working furiously on a laptop- check.

  I order my favorite- a vanilla chai latte with whipped cream and pull up a seat next to him. “Hey there, handsome. Come here often?” I ask as I lean across the table, giving him a nice view of my cleavage.

  He gives me a shy smile and takes a sip of his drink. “Lately, yes. I have a thesis I'm working on.”

  “Sounds exciting,” I say.

  He then goes on and on for the next fifteen minutes about his thesis which has something to do with acid rain, before I decide I've had enough and interrupt him. I reach across the table for his hand. “It sounds like you're under a lot of stress,” I say sympathetically.

  He nods his head. “Yes, It's tremendous. I feel like I'm going out of my mind.”

  I swipe the whipped cream from my drink with my finger and lick.”You know what helps with that?”

  He blushes. “Just so you know, I've never, ever, done this before...but I live 15 minutes away from here.”

  Oh, he's a virgin...that's even better. Perfect, even.

  “I have a car. We'll be there in five,” I say before I stand up and head for the door.

  I park in the lot across from his apartment building. I don't usually go to guy's houses, and I'm feeling apprehensive about it.

  I take a look around the parking lot. It's empty and pretty dark. “You know, I have to be up early. Maybe we can just do it right here?” I offer.

  He looks surprised but doesn't protest as we climb in the backseat.

  I begin straddling him and grinding against him until I feel his entire body tense. Poor guys nervous. First-time jitters.

  I cup his face in my hands. “Relax. You don't have to be nervous with me. I'm gonna make this good for you.”

  I tilt my head to the side and begin kissing him. At first, the kiss is tender...until he bites my lower lip...enough to draw blood.

  I pull back. “Whoa, not so hard, sweetie.”

  In the blink of an eye, he grabs both my wrists in one hand, before he pulls them around my back and secures them with something metal.

  My first thought—is that I'm being arrested for prostitution. But the thing is. I'm not a prostitute. This is all just some horrible misunderstanding.

  Way to go, Alyssa.

  “Look, I know what you think. But I assure you, I'm not a prostitute,” I begin yelling.

  He flips me over so that I'm lying on my stomach. Then he slams a piece of duct tape across my mouth.

  This isn't typical police procedure. Oh, fuck.

  “You may not be charging me for sex, sweetie. But we both know what a slut you really are. I knew you looked real familiar. Let's just say that I've seen you before,” he sneers against my ear before he begins unbuttoning my pants.

  Oh, God.

  It's obvious that he's not some safe, nerdy virgin after all. Nor is he an undercover cop trying to arrest me.

  It's so much worse than that.

  And the worst part is...this is all my fault.

  I struggle against him, but it's no use.

  I bash my head against my window in hopes that someone will hear my muffled screams. Or that I'll pass out before the unthinkable happens.

  I close my eyes and whimper against the window before the door is ripped open and I feel myself begin to move forward.

  I open my eyes and can tell I'm about to hit the concrete, but I'm hauled up just in the nick of time. I'm then shoved out of the way as some massive creature reaches inside the car and yanks my attacker out.

  Wait a minute...I recognize that broad back.

  I open my mouth to scream, but can't due to the tape.

  For the next few minutes, Jackson unleashes a plethora of punches and kicks. Blood is dripping from the guy's face, lip, and nose down onto the concrete.

  I begin jumping up and down in hopes to get him to stop.

  I don't want to be the cause of him murdering some guy...even if a part of me thinks he deserves it.

  Finally, he stops punching the guy and looks at me. His features change from concern to disbelief. “Alyssa?”

  He quickly rips the tape off my mouth. “He handcuffed me, Jackson.”

  He looks at my bound hands behind my back. “Yeah, I can see that,” he says before he picks the guy up by his collar and searches his pockets. “I can't find the key.”

  The guy lifts his head and spits blood at him. “That's because there isn't one. Whore's like her don't deserve to be free,” he says, before Jackson delivers one final punch and the guy passes out cold.

  “Um, is he?' I ask.

  “No. Should be, though.”

  With a grunt, he lifts the guy's body over his head and throws him in the nearest dumpster. “I think it's safe to say that he won't be bothering you anymore.”

  “Thanks, but it was my fault.”

  He shakes his head. “Why do most victims feel the need to blame themselves?”

  “You don't understand. I was the one who propositioned him for sex. I mean, I thought he was a nice, normal guy. Then things got out of hand, but before that, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

  He gives me an odd look, almost as if he's seeing who I am for the first time. “Still wasn't your fault, though,” he mumbles. “I saw you fighting against him, you clearly didn't want it anymore.”

  That's when it dawns on me. “What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?”

  He points to the apartment building across the street. “I live there.”

  I blow out a puff of air. “So does he.”

  “Then you really don't have to worry about him anymore.” He looks down appearing uncomfortable. “Alyssa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your pants. I don't know the proper way to say this, but they're way past where they should be.”

  I look down and curse when I notice my jeans around my knees and I realize that I'm standing there wearing nothing but a bright pink thong. “Well, seeing as I'm a little tied up, you think you can help me out with that, chief?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  He bends down and his hands softly brush against my thighs, his touch lighting every nerve ending along the way. He looks up at me from underneath his impossibly long and dark lashes while he gently slides my jeans up past my hips. I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding when his fingers graze my lower abdomen before he fastens the button. He swallows hard and my temperature skyrockets when his fingers dip lower and he ever-so-slowly drags my zipper up.

  So not the time to be turned on, Alyssa, I remind myself.

  He quickly backs away, putting a few feet of distance between us. “I think I have something in my apartment, like a saw or something that should be able to get those off.”

  I bite my lip. I really do have a thing about going back to guy's places. But Jackson's two for two now. In a single night, no less. And
call me crazy, but there's just something about him that makes me feel like I'd be safe with him.

  We begin walking across the street to the apartment complex. “I have a roommate. But he shouldn't be home now.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you expecting something for your services?”

  He looks insulted, which of course, makes me feel like shit. “No. God no. Of course, not. I was just saying that in case you were embarrassed. You know, due to your current situation and all.”

  No, not embarrassed, but, definitely feeling like shit, now.

  Chapter 4 (Jackson)

  “If you want to go to the police after this, I'll go with you,” I say when I open the door to my apartment building.

  Hesitation, discomfort, and finally what looks like resolve flash in her eyes all in the five seconds it takes her to answer. “No.”

  I say a silent prayer that Tyrone's not home as we ascend the stairs to my apartment. Lord knows, he'll have a lot of questions about this.

  Especially since for the last 3 years he's known me, I've never brought a girl back to our apartment before.

  Let alone, one who's already in handcuffs. I'd be lying if I said the vision of her bound and standing there in her hot pink thong didn't make my cock twitch.

  Until I reminded myself how she ended up that way.

  With a sigh I continue leading her to my front door ...then I hear it.

  Fuck me...this is not good.

  “Look, I'm sorry. It turns out my roommates home after all,” I say while trying not to stare into those piercing hazel eyes of hers.

  “How do you know? I mean, we’re not even inside yet.”

  “I'm surprised you can't hear it,” I mutter as I pull out my key and open the door.

  When we walk in, it's even worse than I imagined it would be. He's parading around the living room, Risky Business style...in nothing but a pair of green Hulk boxers, while Nelly's- Country Grammar blasts from the stereo.

  Alyssa's mouth drops open and I can't tell if it's because she's impressed by his dance moves, or him in general.

  Truth be told, most women are impressed with him.

  It's probably the combination of his southern accent and the fact that he's built like a brick shit house. That, and Tyrone himself has been known to turn on the charm and be a bit of a player when the time calls for it.

  And since I've had the liberty, of not only being his roommate, but sharing a locker room with the guy for 3 years...I can, unfortunately, attest to the fact—that yes, it is true what they say about black guys and their equipment.

  “From Texas back up to Indiana, Chi-Town, K.C., Motown to Alabamaaaa!” he screams before he spins around and faces us.

  Beside me, Alyssa lets out a little giggle.

  “Shit, Jackson. I'm sorry. I thought you were still at the club,” he says. He flashes Alyssa a coy smile. “And who is this lovely lady?” Before Alyssa can answer, confusion sweeps across his features. “Wait, you're the ring girl. Aren't you?”

  Alyssa nods her head while Tyrone holds out his hand to her. “I'm sorry ma'am, where are my manners? We didn't really have a chance to exchange pleasantries at the club, I'm Tyrone.”

  She clearly can't shake his hand, though, seeing as she's still handcuffed and all. She looks down and backs away while uttering a curse. Tyrone immediately and understandably, looks offended, which just makes this whole situation that much worse.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. I know what he's implying and since I'm almost positive that it's not true, I really need to run interference. “She can't shake your hand because she's handcuffed, Tyrone,” I offer.

  Alyssa begrudgingly turns around to show him.

  “Shiiiit, girl. You on the lamb?” he asks.

  “No. There was a misunderstanding and I somehow ended up getting handcuffed while in the backseat of my car. But we can't find the key.” she says.

  She shoots me a glance that I can only interpret as 'please, don't say any more about what happened.'

  I nod my head, while Tyrone looks at me, grins, and shakes his head while muttering, “Crazy ass, white boy,” under his breath. I take a step behind Alyssa and give him the finger before asking, “Do we have a saw or something around here?”

  He rubs his chin and grins. “No Jackson, we're not all freaks like you. But you know who might have one?”

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  “What? What's the matter?” Alyssa asks.

  Tyrone rubs his hands together. “This is gonna be awesome,” he says before he opens the front door.

  Alyssa quickly follows him, even though I try stopping her.

  I follow them both out into the hallway. Tyrone pounds on his front door. “Yoo-hoo. Ricky Ricardooooo, I know you're in there. Open up,” he says in his mock Spanish accent.

  Alyssa nudges me with her elbow. “Ricardo? You mean—”

  “My coach,” I finish for her.

  The door swiftly opens and out comes a shirtless Ricardo...along with a barely dressed Lou-Lou close behind him. Lou-Lou props a hand on her hip “Peppa? I thought you got canned?” she sneers.

  Tyrone and I exchange a glance, but it's quickly interrupted when Alyssa lunges toward Lou-Lou. “Number one, I have blonde hair, you idiot. Number two- you're a bitch. Thanks a lot for lying to me about our 'job description'. I can't believe I almost slept with him!” she screams.

  I don't have time to be offended by her statement because Lou-Lou cackles, which only infuriates Alyssa that much more. “I didn't tell you to do anything you didn't want to do in the first place. I know a slut when I see one. Not my fault you fell for the trap and showed your true colors.” She motions to the handcuffs and her lips turn up in a snarl.“Puttana.”

  I instinctively stand in front of Alyssa while Ricardo reaches for his shirt. “Whoa, ladies. That's enough,” he snaps.

  Alyssa proceeds to ignore him, and instead, steps to the side and headbutts Lou-Lou.

  Lou-Lou lets out a yelp while I pull Alyssa back to me. “Go home, Lou-Lou,” I bark.

  Ricardo whispers something in her ear, and with a sniffle, she finally, walks down the hallway and into her own apartment.

  “You all live in the same apartment building?” Alyssa asks when we walk back inside my apartment.

  “Yeah,” is my only reply because I'm more worried about the red spot forming on her forehead at the moment.

  I usher her into the kitchen, pull out an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to her head. She winces, but mumbles a quick “Thanks.”

  “So, why exactly, do you have the same girl from earlier tonight standing in your apartment, Jackson?” Ricardo asks. His gaze shifts behind her back. “Handcuffed, no less.”

  He takes a step closer to Alyssa and something flashes across his face.

  Alyssa's expression changes from one of annoyance to what I can only interpret as shame...which I'm guessing is due to the handcuffs.

  “I've seen you before,” Ricardo whispers.

  That's odd.

  “Yeah,” Alyssa says softly while looking down at her feet.

  I don't know what the hell's going on, but they exchange another glance and Ricardo clears his throat. “I have a blow torch, I'll be right back.”

  Alyssa sprouts up from her chair. “A blow torch. No. Fuck, no!” she screams.

  I run my hand along her cheek in an attempt to calm her down. She shivers at first before she leans into my touch. “Look, I promise, I won't let him hurt you. It's the only way to get those off, though.”

  “It's gonna hurt, Jackson. What if he ends up burning me?”

  I trace my finger down her jaw and she closes her eyes. “He won't. I won't let that happen,” I whisper while she nods her head.

  Tyrone clears his throat, shakes his head, and pulls a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the cabinet.

  He pours a glass and walks over to Alyssa. “This should help calm your nerves.”

  She gives him a smile as he lifts the glass to her
lips and she takes a sip.

  A moment later Ricardo walks back into the apartment wearing a welder's helmet and a pair of gloves. He's also holding what looks to be a miniature sized blow torch in his hand.

  Tyrone tilts the glass to her lips again, but Alyssa declines. “No thank you. I really don't like to drink,” she says sharply.

  She's trying not to show it, but I can see her begin to tremble.

  Ricardo pulls out another pair of gloves. “Jackson, see if you can put these on her hands so I don't end up burning her.”

  I take the gloves from him and make quick work of slipping them on underneath the cuffs.

  Alyssa's eyes connect with mine and she swallows hard. “There's going to be sparks,” she whispers.

  “I'll protect you,” I assure her.

  Ricardo walks behind her. “Hold still,” he says before he pulls the face part to his mask down.

  Alyssa glances over her shoulder. “Um, do you have any experience with this?”

  “With a blow torch or getting people out of handcuffs?”

  “Both.”

  He jerks a shoulder up. “I'm a Puerto Rican from the Bronx,” he says, as if that answers her question.

  Her entire body tenses, until I move closer. “Keep your head against my chest,” I whisper. “The sparks will hit me, not you.”

  She shakes her head, her expression turning solemn. “No, I don't want you to get hurt either.”

  “It's fine,” I say as she tucks her head against my chest and I fold my arms around her.

  I try not to breathe in the hint of coconut in her silky hair as I continue to hold her.

  Tyrone looks at me and makes a “tsk, tsk” sound under his breath. Ricardo starts the blow torch and less than a minute later, Alyssa's hands are free.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs to both me and Ricardo.

  Ricardo nods and heads for the front door. “Training is at 3pm tomorrow, guys,” he reminds us before he leaves.

  Alyssa stands up and brushes her hands over her pants. “Where's the bathroom?”

  I point over my shoulder. “Second door on the right. If you need anything, let me know.”

  She gives me a smile before she begins walking.