Fever (Breathless #2)(3)

Rich people always did things in excess. There was no way the number of people invited to this party justified the amount of food and booze being fronted. She mentally shrugged. At least she’d get a decent meal, even if the stuff was too fancy for her palate.

There’d be enough for Jack too.

A wave of sadness engulfed her and just as quickly, guilt. She had no business feeling this way because Jack had come back around. He did that. Disappeared for days and then reappeared, usually when he needed a place to crash, a friendly face. Food. Money . . . Especially money.

Her chest squeezed because she knew what he did with the money he asked for even as he hated to do so. He never looked her in the eye. Instead he dropped his gaze and he’d say, “Bethy . . . there’s this thing. I need . . .” And it was all he’d say. She gave him money because she couldn’t do anything else. But she hated the way he said “Bethy.” Hated that nickname when it had once been one she adored because it had been given to her by someone who cared for her.

Jack. The only person in the world who’d ever tried to shield her from anything. The only person who’d ever given a damn about her.

Her brother. Not by blood but in every way else it counted. He was hers just like she was his. How was she supposed to ever turn her back on him?

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

There was a sound at the side door, the one that opened to the alley where the trash was taken out. She glanced up to see Jack leaning against the frame, his head tilted back so he could glance down the alleyway. That was Jack. Always one eye on escape. He never went into any situation unwary and without his escape route planned.

“Bethy,” he said in a quiet voice.

She flinched, knowing why he’d come. She didn’t say anything and instead reached into her pants pocket for the wadded-up bills she’d stuffed there. Half up front. Half when she went off duty for the night. Jack would get this half. The other half would have to feed her until she found another gig, and she didn’t know when that would be.

Hurrying to where he stood, she pressed the bills into his hand and watched uncomfortably as his gaze skated sideways, not making eye contact with her as he shoved the money into the ripped, torn jeans. His stance was uncomfortable. She knew he hated this. She hated it too.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You okay? You got somewhere to sleep tonight?”

She didn’t, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. So she lied instead. “Yeah.”

Some of his tension eased and he nodded. “Good. I’m working on it, Bethy. I’ll have a place for both of us soon.”

She shook her head in denial, knowing it was what he always said, and also knowing it wasn’t going to happen.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. For a long moment, she closed her eyes and imagined different circumstances. But that was pointless. It was what it was and wishing for it to be different was like pissing in the wind.

“I’ll be checking on you,” he said.

She nodded. And then, as he started to melt back into the shadows of the alley, she looked up and said, “Be careful, Jack. Please?”

His smile was just as shadowy as the night. “Always, babe.”

She watched him go as the knot in her throat grew bigger. Damn it. Rage built but she knew it was also a useless emotion. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides and the itch invaded. The need, the craving. She fought it, but it was a hard battle. A victory that wasn’t completely solidified. She hadn’t thought about the pills in a long while, but tonight the need was there, ensconced in hunger and emotional pain.

The need for oblivion. Just that short window of time when everything felt better and more manageable. When things looked up, even if for a few short hours.

She couldn’t go back to that. She’d fought too hard to make it out and she’d lost everything in the process. Some might say that would be even more reason to allow herself that slow slide back into the inky past. But she had to be strong. She wasn’t that person any longer.

“Your boyfriend?”

The dry question startled her and she whirled around, her heart racing as she took in the man standing across the kitchen staring at her.

He was one of the richies. A guest at the party. More than just a guest, as Bethany had seen him close to the couple celebrating their engagement. And God, but the man was gorgeous. Smooth. Polished. Like he’d stepped right out of a magazine solely devoted to everything beautiful and wealthy. A world she damn well didn’t belong in.

He shoved his hands into those expensive slacks and continued to stare at her, his pose indolent and arrogant. His green eyes flicked over her as if judging her, almost as if he were considering whether to deem her worthy. Of what? His notice? It was a ridiculous thought.

He had blond hair. And she’d never really been attracted to blond men, but his hair wasn’t simply blond. It had at least four different shades, ranging from muddy to wheat and all shades in between. He was so gorgeous that it hurt to look at him.

“You going to answer me?” he asked mildly.

Mutely, she shook her head and, to her surprise, he laughed.

“Is that no you’re not going to answer me, or no he’s not your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she whispered.

“Thank f**k for that,” he muttered.

She blinked in complete surprise and then her eyes narrowed as he advanced toward her. Quickly she moved to the side so she wouldn’t be pinned against the door. She couldn’t leave, so running wasn’t an option. She needed the other half of her pay too badly and she wanted that food.