Losing Streak (The Lane) by Kristine Wyllys Read Free Book Online Page A

Mama’s sad, desperate one, his wasn’t much better. It had the air of a place that had once been nice, with its wide columns and small balconies on the upper floors. But whatever good intentions there’d once been had been abandoned and replaced with cheap, mismatched patio furniture and peeling paint.
    Masochist came around the back of his truck toward me, snagging my hand in his and pulled me toward the closest building.
    “Come on,” he said. “And if the guy from 1C comes out, don’t make eye contact.”
    “Why?”
    “By this time, he’s spent the entire night dropping acid, so there’s a chance he’ll think you’re a dragon.”
    “Wonderful.” I pulled short suddenly, causing him to come to a stop just feet from the building’s entrance. “Wait. How do I know for sure you’re not gonna kill me and sell my skin on the black market?”
    His mouth curled up in slow grin. “Having second thoughts, Sadist?”
    “Just checking.”
    “If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have wasted the money on dinner first.”
    “Perfect. Lead the way.”
    The hall was dim and depressing, and as we climbed the stairs, a baby cried out from somewhere below us. The urgency I’d felt before had been doused slightly. Maybe I was having second thoughts. I’d known, of course. Or had strongly suspected. Those from this side of the tracks usually did. We recognized ours. Because that was all that existed here. This side and that side. There were always little tells, even when the other person tried to hide it. And Masochist hadn’t. Like his beast, he’d made no attempts at disguising who he was. But still I’d hoped. I don’t even know why, but I always did. It was from the girl who had sneaked her mama’s few battered romance novels, who believed in shit like white knights and true love and princes disguised as commoners. I didn’t even want that. Not me, not this girl who’d spent her whole life in the worst parts of town. But that delusional girl still existed underneath and at times like this she made herself known.
    She wanted to be saved. I knew better. I was always going to have to save myself.
    “Last chance,” Masochist announced, coming to a stop outside a door with as many locks on it as Mama’s. “Well, that’s not true. But it’d be nice if you left now if you were going to.”
    I studied him in the dim light, noting the way he looked as if he belonged here. If I was going to back out, this would be the moment. The moment when I looked into the abyss and saw my equal looking back.
    “Open the door,” I said, reaching around him to push it open and him inside. It had barely shut behind us before I was on him, attacking his mouth with mine, nearly sighing with relief when once again the white noise in my head dimmed and disappeared completely. He made a noise in the back of his throat and with it, something broke and we were yanking at clothes, shoving and pulling and coming back together before the reality could set in that we’d ever been apart. There in the tiny foyer that wasn’t a foyer at all, he grabbed me just underneath my ass, hands burning against my skin, and heaved me up against him. I didn’t want to waste any more time, didn’t want to drag it out any longer, and I reached between us to guide him into me.
    “Wait,” he gasped out, attempting to pull his lower half back. “Condom? Or, fuck. I don’t know. I don’t care.”
    “Birth control. I’m on birth control.”
    “Good.” Then he surged forward and I was clutching at his shoulders, my head falling back as a sound between a hiss and a wail escaped my lips.
    Nothing existed beyond this, beyond slick flesh and desperate grunts and the taut muscles underneath my hands. There were no worlds beyond his teeth that nipped and mine that returned it and the occasional “shit” that he muttered under his breath like a sinner’s prayer. And when he shifted one arm up to wrap around my waist and his other came up and gripped