Tough Love by Skye Warren
I’m out of breath when we stumble inside. Adrenaline is like lava in my veins, making it too hot to stand still. Too hot to sit down. I can only pace in the small space, running my hair through my hands. “What are we going to do? Oh my God. What are we going to do?”
Gio takes my hands in his, and I finally stand still. I’m breathing hard, trembling.
“You have to go,” he says. “It’s not safe for you here anymore.”
I know it’s true. I knew it from the moment he first punched Javier, from the moment when Javier attacked me. I knew it even before then, when it was only Honor being hurt. But it’s still hard to hear the words. This is my home, the only place I know. And for all that my father has been distant—and maybe not even truly related—he’s the only parent I know.
“You’re the one who told me my father was right to keep me here.”
Gio swears in Italian. “He isn’t fucking in charge anymore. You aren’t safe here. You won’t ever be safe here again.”
I swallow hard. “Honor?”
“She’ll go too. She won’t fight it once she knows about Javier.”
“And you, you’ll come with us, right?”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Clara.”
Panic rises in my chest. “Gio, you have to. He’ll wake up. He’ll tell them it was you.”
Chapter Five
The door bursts open. I jump back from Giovanni, guilty and afraid of being caught touching—even though we have worse problems than that. It’s not my father. Not even Byron. It’s Honor.
Her gaze snaps to Giovanni, but she speaks to me. “Clara, I need a word with you. Now.”
She must have heard about Javier. I can tell by the strength of her voice—and the tremor hiding underneath. “You can say it in front of Gio,” I tell her. “He already knows.”
Honor’s eyes narrow. She’s wondering if we can trust him. She doesn’t know him like I do.
“You have to get her out of here,” Giovanni says. “There’s not much time.”
Slowly she shuts the door behind her and leans back against it. “I know.”
“Take my car,” he says. “It’s gassed up. It should get you a few hundred miles. Then you’d better switch vehicles.”
Honor nods. “That’s better than the bus. I know they’ll be checking.”
Giovanni crosses the room and stands on the back of the sofa. I can only stare as he reaches up to the vent that had been above us all those nights. He unhooks the grate and pulls out a black bag. “This has money,” he says. “It’s all I’ve got.”
My sister takes it without question. “Thank you.”
“Don’t tell me where you’re going,” he says.
I can only stare at him. Don’t tell me where you’re going. As if he’s not coming with us. As if he might get tortured for information. I grab Gio’s arm. “What are you talking about? You need to come with us.”
“Security,” he says. “They’re staying farther back from the house, but there’s even more than usual around the gate.”
“That means none of us can get out.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll cause a diversion. Distract them long enough so you can get out.”
What? “No way.”
“It’s the only way.”
I look at Honor. “This is crazy. Tell him he needs to come with us.”
Her eyes are sad. Sadder than I’ve ever seen them. But also accepting. Of all people, she understands about sacrifice. “We don’t have much time. The party is the best time to run, when they’re distracted, when it will be hard for them to search the house. Especially if he can pull the guards away from the gate. We need to go now.”
“No.” I take a step back. “This can’t be happening.”
Gio looks at my sister. “Can you give us a minute?”
Her dark eyes study me. After a beat, she nods. “I’ll go scout the best path out of here.”
“But the guards?” I tell her.
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “I still have some friends here.”
Then she’s gone, leaving only Gio and me. Alone together. Just like we have been every night. Except totally different. Because this time tomorrow I’ll be gone. And Gio will be…where? Here. Except if they find out he helped us, they’ll hurt him.
And once Javier wakes up, they’ll kill him.
“Gio, no.”
He runs a hand down my arm—so lightly. His fingertips barely brush my skin. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m serious. We aren’t doing this. I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not joking.” He sighs. “You don’t know they’ll take me. I’m not going to go easy.”
“Yeah, but up against Byron? Against all of them?”
His gaze dips to my chest. “This dress, Clara.”
The scarf is long gone, and all the running and freaking out have left my breasts almost popping out. I look like some kind of bombshell. I don’t feel like a bombshell, though. I feel like a bomb that’s about to go off if someone doesn’t listen to me. The two people I love most are making plans about my life without me. Very serious plans that involve Gio getting hurt.
And I’m afraid nothing I say can stop them.
“You can’t,” I say, my voice soft and desperate.
“I just need a minute,” he says, still staring at me in this dress.
“To what?”
“To remember this.”
Fear grips my heart tighter than anything before. This can’t be happening. I’d have let Javier touch me if I knew it would lead to this. I would let Javier do anything if it meant keeping Gio safe.
I can’t stand him looking at me. Not because I don’t want him to see. Because he’s looking at me like a dying man would—as if he knows it’s his last sight. As if drinking his fill.
My breath stutters. I need to be closer than this. This place we’re in—this is water. And he is air. I push up to him, pull him down to me. I meet his lips in a gasp.
Then he’s kissing me back, his lips demanding, tongue fierce. And his hands. Those large, beautiful hands that have done violence tonight—for me. They cradle my head so sweetly. How can something so good feel like pain? How can this be the end?
I shove him back. “We’ll find another way. Something. Anything.”
“There is no other way. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of how to get you out of here. And if you stayed here, you’d condemn your sister too. Byron would make everyone suffer.”
And now it will only be Gio suffering. The canapés from the party turn in my stomach. My hands curl into fists, useless. “You wouldn’t let me do this. You wouldn’t let me sacrifice myself for you. So how can I let you?”
“You’re not letting me do anything, Clara. You don’t have a choice.”
Angrily I shove the tears aside. This isn’t a time to be sad, because this is not happening. We’re not leaving him behind. So why can’t I stop crying?
Why does it feel like I’ve already lost?
“Gio,” I say, my voice breaking.
His forehead touches mine again, his hands cradling my face. I feel so delicate when he holds me like this. I feel loved. “Let me do this for you,” he says roughly. “I couldn’t protect you before. I don’t have anything to offer. I never did. But this?”
“No, no,” I sob.
He pushes me tighter against him, cheek to cheek, and I swear these tears aren’t only mine. “You care too much, Clara.”
“How is that too much? It’s the right amount. I care too much to leave you here. How is that wrong?”
He is silent a moment. “It’s not wrong. But I care too much to let you stay.”
His arms come around me, holding me in. They feel unbreakable. They are castle walls, his arms. They are a drawbridge rolled up and a moat. They keep everyone out. Only with him do I feel completely safe. Maybe I’d always known how much he’d do for me. He’d fight for me. He’d die for me.
And that’s what he’s
“I’ll be fine,” he says, but we both know it’s a lie.
My hands clench in his shirt. “How can you be?”
“Just go,” he whispers fiercely. “You think this is about me sacrificing for you? No. I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.”
I cry until his shirt is dark and wet. These are silent tears. They fall without my consent, while my face is solemn. I can be stoic for him. I won’t beg now. I won’t plead.
Not even when Honor comes in and tells me it’s time to go.
It feels like dying to walk away. Feels like dying to look back and see him watching me go. Feels like dying as I cross the dark lawn.
Honor holds my hand, but doesn’t say anything.
I think she knows. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt, to leave him behind. And it’s nothing compared to what he’ll go through.
We’re near the gate when we hear the explosion behind us. Fireworks.
Those are the fireworks that would have celebrated her engagement.
Only fitting that they’ll end it.
It’s not hard to find Gio’s beat-up Pontiac Grand Am parked down the side lane. The radio is broken. The gas tank is full. We drive in silence until the blasts fade to nothing.
There is only empty road in front of us and empty road behind.
I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.
And so I do.
* * *
Thank you for reading Tough Love, the prequel novella to the Stripped series!
I hope you loved meeting Giovanni and Clara…
Find out what happens to sisters Honor and Clara when they go on the run! For a limited time I’m giving away the first full-length novel in the USA Today bestselling Stripped series, Love the Way You Lie, for FREE when you sign up for my VIP reader list! FOLLOW this link to get your FREE book >
Or if you prefer you can one-click LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE on your favorite book retailer!
The sexy + dark Stripped series is best read in order, but most of the books also standalone. So if you really don’t want to wait, you can also skip ahead to the conclusion of Giovanni and Clara’s story in HOLD YOU AGAINST ME.
If you loved Tough Love, you’ll love the rough + sexy bestselling Chicago Underground series, starting with ROUGH, available for free! I never thought a man that rough could be my prince…
And if you’re looking for something sexy and sweet and romantic, you can fall in love with this modern fairy tale retelling! The first part Beauty Touched the Beast is FREE now!
The price of survival… Don’t miss my brand new Endgame series, starting with the critically acclaimed THE PAWN! Gabriel Miller swept into my life like a storm.
“Edgy, provocative and deeply erotic, The Pawn is one of my top reads of the year! Skye Warren brings you a sensual battle of wills guaranteed to leave you gasping by the end.”
– New York Times bestselling author Elle Kennedy
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Turn the page for a short excerpt from Love the Way You Lie…
Excerpt from Love The Way You Lie
In the first moments onstage, I’m always blinded.
The bright lights, the smoke. The wall of sound that feels almost tangible, as if it’s trying to keep me out, push me back, protect me from what’s going to happen next. I’m used to the dancing and the catcalls and the reaching, grabbing hands—as much as I can be. But I’m never quite used to this moment, being blinded, feeling small.
I reach for the pole and find it, swinging my body around so the gauzy scrap of fabric flies up, giving the men near the stage a view of my ass. I still can’t quite make anything out. There are dark spots in my vision.
The smile’s not even a lie, not really. It’s a prop, like the four-inch heels and the wings that snap as I drop them to the stage.
Broken.
A few people clap from the back.
Now all that’s left is the thin satin fabric. I grip the pole and head into my routine, wrapping around, sliding off, and starting all over again. I lose myself in the physicality of it, going into the zone as if I were running a marathon. This is the best part, reveling in the burn of my muscles, the slide of the metal pole against my skin and the cold, angry rhythm of the song. It’s not like ballet, but it’s still a routine. Something solid, when very few things in my life are solid.
I finish on the pole and begin to work the stage, moving around so I can collect tips. I can see again, just barely, making out shadowy silhouettes in the chairs.
Not many.
There’s a regular on one side. I recognize him. Charlie. He tosses a five-dollar bill on the stage, and I bend down long and slow to pick it up. He gets a wink and a shimmy for his donation. As I’m straightening, I spot another man on the other side of the stage.
His posture is slouched, one leg kicked out, the other under his chair, but somehow I can tell he isn’t really relaxed. There’s tension in the long lines of his body. There’s power.
And that makes me nervous.
I spin away and shake my shit for the opposite side of the room, even though there’s barely anyone there. It’s only a matter of time before I need to face him again. But I don’t need to look at him. They don’t pay me to look them in the eye.
Still I can’t help but notice his leather boots and padded jacket. Did he ride a motorcycle? It seems like that kind of leather, the tough kind. Meant to withstand weather. Meant to protect the body from impact.
The song’s coming to a close, my routine is coming to an end and I’m glad about that. Something about this guy is throwing me off. Nothing noticeable. My feet and hands and knowing smile still land everywhere they need to. Muscle memory and all that. But I don’t like the way he watches me.
There’s patience in the way he watches me. And patience implies waiting.
It implies planning.
I reach back and unclasp my bra. I use one hand to cover my breasts while I toss the bra to the back of the stage. I pretend to be shy for a few seconds, and suddenly I feel shy too. Like I’m doing more than showing my breasts to strangers. I’m showing him. And as I stand there, hand cupping my breasts, breath coming fast, I feel his patience like a hot flame.
This time I do miss the beat. I let go on the next one, though, and my breasts are free, bared to the smoky air and the hungry eyes. There are a few whistles from around the room. Charlie holds up another five-dollar bill. I sway over to him and cock my hip, letting him shove the bill into my thong, feeling his hot, damp breath against my breast. He gets close but doesn’t touch. That’s Charlie. He tips and follows the rules, the best kind of customer.
I don’t even glance at the other side of the room. If the new guy is holding up a tip, I don’t even care. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who follows rules. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about him or letting him affect me. Maybe my run-in with Blue made me more skittish than I’d realized.
All I have left is my finale on the pole. I can get through this.
This part isn’t as physically strenuous as before. Or as long. All I really need to do is grind up against the pole, front and back, emphasizing my newly naked breasts, pretending to fuck.
That’s what I’m doing when I feel it. Feel him.
I’m a practical girl. I have to be. But there’s a feeling I get, a prickle on the back of my neck, a churning in my gut, a warning bell in my head when I’m near one of them. Near a cop. My eyes scan the back of the room, but all I can see are shadows. Is there a cop waiting to bust someone? A raid about to go down?
My
I can barely suck in enough air. There’s only smoke and rising panic. Blood races through me, speeding up my movements. A cop. I feel it like some kind of sixth sense.
Maybe he feels my intuition about him, because he leans forward in his seat.
In one heart-stopping moment, my eyes meet his. I can see his face then, drawn from charcoal shadows.
Beautiful, his lips say. All I can hear is the song.
I’m not even on beat anymore, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because there’s a cop here and I have to get out. Even if my intuition is wrong, it’s better to get out. Safer.
I’ll never be safe.
The last note calls for a curtsy—a sexy, mocking movement I choreographed into my routine. Like the one I’d do at the end of a ballet recital but made vulgar. I barely manage it this time, a rough jerk of my head and shoulders. Then I’m gone, off the stage, running down the hallway. I’m supposed to work the floor next, see who wants a lap dance or another drink, but I can’t do that. I head for the dressing room and throw on a T-shirt and sweatpants. I’ll tell them I feel sick and have to leave early. They won’t be happy and I’ll probably have to pay for it with my tips, but they won’t want me throwing up on the customers either.
I run for the door and almost slam into Blue.
He’s standing in the hallway again. Not slouching this time. There’s a new alertness to his stare. And something else—amusement.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“I have to… My stomach hurts. I feel sick.” I step close, praying he’ll move aside.
He reaches up to trace my cheek. “Aww, should I call the doctor?” His hand clamps down on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
I grip my bag tight to my chest, trying to ignore the threat in his words. And the threat in his grip. I really do feel sick now, but throwing up on him is definitely not going to help the situation. “Please, I need to leave. It’s serious. I’ll make it up later.”