Skin of a Sinner: A Dark Childhood Best Friends Romance(82)

The tension in his muscles relaxes ever so slightly. He licks his bottom lip, then grits his teeth.

“We’re about to go somewhere dangerous. You are not to leave Damien’s side. Do you hear me? Not even if you need to go to the bathroom.”

“You’re leaving me with him?”

Molten silver eyes bore into mine as he squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right there, baby. I just won’t be able to look out for you as much as I need to. Nothing will happen, I promise.”

The lethal edge to his voice slices through me, and the lump in my throat doubles in size. I guess staying in the car isn’t an option. Staying at the motel wasn’t an option either, apparently, in case some guys manage to track us down. But I don’t know if this is much better.

I’m pretty sure anything would be safer than whatever we’re heading into.

I saw the stack of cash he pulled out of his pocket earlier today. There’s no number of commissions I could do that would make up that amount of money, so following Mickey into Hell is my financial contribution to our relationship.

“Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look at anyone. If you see anything happen to me, don’t scream. I mean it, Bella, don’t you dare leave Damien’s side if I’m not there. Promise me.”

My breath catches. “What’s going to happen, Mickey?”

“Promise me, Isabella.”

“I promise,” I whisper. “Why do we have to go?”

“It’s the fastest way to make money.”

For some reason, his answer reminds me of the men from yesterday. “Do you owe someone money?”

He shakes his head. “The money is for us, baby.”

Part of me believes him. The other part reminds me of what a fool I was for believing everything he says.

Roman lived a double life I had no idea about. It explains why he was so unphased about all the deaths he’s caused and how lighting bodies on fire wasn’t a big deal to him. What else is he hiding from me?

I’ve seen the movies. Guys always have ladies crawling all over them, and the men in those movies never hesitated about finding a dark corner to have their way with them. Mickey might have said I was his first, but I don’t believe him. Not when he’s older than me, had this other life, and then went to prison, of all places. And especially not when he pounded into me the way he did.

He didn’t move like a virgin.

I mean, it’s not like I’d actually know, but I’m fairly certain no virgin could move like that, have magic fingers like he did, or last that long.

Either way, I don’t believe him.

He’s hidden so much from me. Now that I know his other side, all those missing nights make sense.

I should be angrier about it, not just upset, but the more I think about it, the more I realize he never really lied to me about it. He simply kept it a secret. Which might be better, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting any less.

My selfish side is glad he never told me what he was doing all those nights, because I wouldn’t have slept, too busy worrying myself sick about him. But the tired part of me is too exhausted to give a shit about anything that happened over three years ago. The broken part of my heart doesn’t seem to feel much anymore, so used to having shattered bits break more each day.

Mickey parallel parks on the street of an industrial area. There are a few cars around, but apart from it being ten o’clock at night, nothing is setting off my alarm bells. Or maybe my fight-or-flight senses are fried because sleeping inside a car is incredibly unpleasant, and I’m very much ready for bed.

Mickey kills the engine, then turns to cup my face. “Remember your promise, okay?”

All I can do is nod.

Don’t talk. Don’t look. Don’t scream. Stay by Damien, even though he looks like he could kill me with his bare hands. A man who looks like he carries a gun.

Click.

I can still hear the sound of the safety turning off as if it were happening again.

I’m not ready to die.

Mickey kisses my forehead before grabbing the bag from the back seat. He flicks off a text to God knows who and tugs me beneath his arm as we walk down the poorly lit street. He’s rigid, but there’s almost a bounce in his step and a slight smirk on his lips, like he’s excited.

What the hell is going to happen, and where on earth are we going? What if we’re going to a strip club or something? Or like an underground lair with a bunch of naked ladies? I don’t think I’d survive. Not because I’d stick out, or because I’ve grown up feeling men’s leering gazes, but I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m a damn jealous person.

I’m heating up enough at the thought of half-naked women looking at Mickey, or worse, of Roman looking at half-naked women… it wouldn’t be envy or jealousy I’d be feeling, it would be unbridled fury.

My heart works double time when we get to what looks like an abandoned warehouse, not exactly screaming strip club. But there was a brothel on the same street as Greg and Millie’s house, so who knows.

The streets in the vicinity are deserted except for the singular burly man standing next to an entrance off to the side of the warehouse. The place where he’s standing is illuminated by a single droplight. Shouting and music spill through the gaps in the door, growing louder the closer we get. Is it a club?