Page 45 of Death Match

There were two other men with him. Not dressed as nice as their comrade in the middle but looking equally as dangerous with their muscles on full display through their tight black tees.

Worry wormed up my spine at the sight of them.

Mr. White nodded living-Jade’s way and whispered something to his friend on his right and then repeated it for the one on his left. At the same time, the two moved out of the booth. Left took the girl by the arm rather roughly and pulled her off the table before leading her away. Right walked to a nearby door, where he knocked once and the bald head of another man popped out. Words were exchanged, gazes flicked Jade’s way again, and then the bald-headed man stepped out and strode toward the stage.

When he reached her, she stopped swinging her hips and jumped off the stage. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing heels like the rest of the girls. She was barefoot.

I glanced down at my boots. I fucking hated heels. Couldn’t walk a step without destroying my ankles, so I guess that little tidbit had carried over to my death, too. The corners of my mouth twitched with an incoming smile. It was nice to recognize myself in a stranger—even if, technically, that stranger was me.

Baldy said something to living-Jade, and she shook her head frantically, not liking what he was saying. His meaty hand clamped around her upper arm, and she recoiled.

Was that how she—I—had gotten those marks and bruises? From this asshat?

My fingers curled into fists at my sides and I stepped towards him. Power thrummed inside me as my anger climbed. The problem was, letting it out here wouldn’t make a difference. I had no effect in this place because none of it was actually happening. It was in the past, and I was reliving the memory as an outsider, a ghost from the future.

Living-Jade must have done quite a job with the makeup and glitter because even in such a revealing outfit, I couldn’t see the black and blues on her arms and shoulders anymore. The hazy darkness to the room probably helped, too, but the subtle grimaces on her face with any sudden movement betrayed her secret. Especially when the bald jerk half-dragged her toward the table with Mr. White and his two goons.

I crept closer to get a better look. Mr. White’s two henchmen offered to help Jade step onto the table, but she glanced over her shoulder at Baldy one last time for reassurance. He must have been her manager or something, I assumed. Despite the silent plea in her eyes, he waved her on before returning back to whatever he was doing behind that door.

Begrudgingly, she began to swing her hips to the music again, continuing her routine on the table in front of her new, more private audience. Her cheeks flared red. No one but me seemed to notice, not with the dim lighting. Or if they did, they didn’t care. She did everything she could not to look at the men as she danced, and when her gaze flickered my way, I could see how glassy her eyes were with pending tears.

She really didn’t want to be here. Doing this.

Then why was she?

I remembered the conversation she and Ricky had shared about saving money to get out of the part of the city they lived in. Living-Jade had said she would do anything to get her and Tina out—anything except gangbang with the Scarlet Knights, like Ricky had chosen to. I guessed dancing at a club had been the alternative she’d chosen to make extra dough.

That was my assumption, anyway. But if what I gathered from my first look into this memory had been right and this version of me was stillme, then that’s what I would do in this situation. It made sense.

On stage, another girl took living-Jade’s place, this one sporting a sequence bralette and matching undies. Despite the howls from the other men in the club, Mr. White’s eyes were trained on Jade. He looked her up and down with severe interest and a predatory closed lipped smile. Leaning back in the booth, he puffed on his cigarette and mumbled hushed words to each of the men beside him.

I hated the way he was looking at her. At me. Like whatever was going on in his thoughts as he watched her was far worse than anything you could find on late night pay-per-view. It made my skin crawl in disgust.

Even though living-Jade refused to look at him, focusing on the ceiling or the faraway wall, she still managed to stay on beat with the music. She was doing all she could to block out what was happening and focus on getting through it. So much so that I could almost hear her thoughts in my own head.

Just get through it, Jade. Only a few more nights of this, and you can pick up your paycheck and never look back. Fuck it all.

Yeah. That was definitely something I’d say to myself.

After a few tense moments, the song changed and living-Jade stopped dancing. She hopped off the table and was about to walk away, but one of Mr. White’s friends was quick to stand and step in front of her. He held out an arm and gestured for her to scoot into the booth in his seat.

Her gaze shifted around the room nervously, but no one else even looked their way.

Mr. White took one last pull of his cigarette before snuffing it in the ashtray. Then, his movements all slow and calculated, he clasped both hands together and placed them on the table between them.

Man, this guy was intimidating as fuck. And really, he hadn’t done much of anything.Yet.But something told me that Mr. White was used to getting anything he wanted, and he had his sights set on living-me.

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” he asked. The deepness to his voice surprised me. Somehow, his unusually low baritone made his fairly innocent words sound threatening.

My gaze flicked her way, trying to read her impression of him. Stiff, unsure, a bit scared, but definitely on the defensive. She was readying for a fight if it came down to that.

“Started a couple of weeks ago,” living-Jade muttered, glancing at the guy who’d offered his seat as he moved to sit on the opposite side, near his friend. Her gaze swung across the room, as though she were casing the club for possible escape routes, if needed. Or maybe even a nearby weapon. Glasses of liquor and a full ashtray were the only things I could spot on the table and in arm’s reach, and either of those could be used to make a quick getaway.

When her gaze landed on the objects, too, the same knowing thoughts flashed across her expression.

Now, what did this Mr. White want with her and me? What was this all about?

She had to be wondering it as well. But something told me that whatever the answer, I wasn’t going to like it. Not one bit.

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