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I nodded and pushed myself up, breathing deeply to avoid screaming in pain and drawing the nosy ears of the other girls who would sell me out in a heartbeat to save themselves.
“Sorry, Tits. I forgot.”
She wasn’t supposed to get too close to the girls, and I didn’t want to get her in trouble for her kindness.
“So, what did I do?”
“Don’t know,” she said, appraising my wounds. “But some shit’s going to go down at the club tonight and your name was mentioned. More than once.”
Tits scanned the room and shook her head as she pulled a pair of jeans from her oversized purse. “Put these on.” She tossed a sweatshirt on the bed beside me and I slowly started to move.
“I thought that place was owned by the Ashby dude, Jasper?”
Tits nodded when she came from the bathroom with a wet towel.
“It is and there’s some bachelor party going on tonight, so the Black Jacks are outside, watching. Waiting.”
Her words barely registered, but I nodded, my focus on my struggle to lift one leg into the jeans.
“Shit. This isn’t working,” I said. But I knew it had to work; this was my chance to get away. To make a real escape from this life . I wouldn’t blow it because of uncooperative limbs. Because of pain. “Fuck!”
“I’ve got it,” she said. Tits kneeled in front of me and slid the denim up my legs like my nanny used to do when I was a little girl. “What the fuck happened to you, Blue Eyes?”
I shrugged at the concern in her eyes and let out a bitter laugh. “After Blade beat the fucking shit out of me while he fucked me, I got the privilege of having the sickest, psycho men in the world fuck me.”
I hadn’t moved from the bed in hours and as Tits motioned for me to stand; I realized why.
“Shit, honey. Can you even walk?”
No. “Are you really going to get me out of here?”
She looked at me, her expression truly worried and gravely serious as she turned her attention to fastening the jeans riding low at my hips. “Yes. Absolutely, but it has to be now, so can you walk?”
“I’ll do my best. Thank you, Tits.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she groaned, struggling to get the sweatshirt over my head. “We might both end up dead before we leave the parking lot.” She tucked the sweatshirt in the waistband to keep the pants from falling off my narrow, bony hips. “Ready?”
“Fuck yes, I’m ready,” I lied.
Tits wrapped one of my arms around her shoulder and wrapped her arms around my waist since I had about four inches on her. My legs were like overcooked noodles, too unstable to hold my weight, so Tits practically dragged me from the room.
“Get it together, Savannah.” I said the words out loud, hoping the impact would force me into action.
“Any help would be appreciated, Blue Eyes.”
“Thank you,” I whispered when she opened the door and somehow found the strength to lift me over the little hump and place me on the concrete walkway.
“You said that already. Now let’s get the fuck outta here.” She dragged me along as I barely limped my way toward the parking lot.
“I mean thanks for pretending to not know who I am.”
“No offense, Blue Eyes, but the less I know, the better my odds of survival are.” Her grip on my waist tightened as we drew closer to a gold-colored El Dorado with a crooked Cadillac badge on the front. “Lean against the car,” she instructed.
My legs wobbled, but the sturdy older car held my thin frame easily as Tits ran around to the driver’s side and opened the door. She pushed the back door open from the inside and pulled me across the back seat.
“Shit. You’re one strong woman,” I said, yielding to her arms.
A low chuckle escaped from Tits, and I looked up at her.
“Of course, I’m strong. I’m Russian.” She winked and arranged me in place, then slammed the back door before she took her seat behind the steering wheel. “Russian-American technically because Mama was an immigrant, but she raised me like they do in the old country.”
I didn’t know what that meant. Our family was Irish, which meant Catholic with a healthy appreciation for whiskey and a deep respect for the men who made the rules. Priests and criminals, which it turned out were pretty much the same fucking thing. “How’d you end up here?”
“Like I said, raised like they do in the Old Country.” Tits started the car and drove slowly out of the parking lot, slamming on the gas the minute we were on the road that would take us away from the motel.
“Also, I have bad taste in men, a trait it seems I’m doomed to carry on.” Tits kept her focus on the road ahead, occasionally glimpsing behind her to make sure we weren’t being followed.
