I wince, picking at my cuticles until they bleed. Why is it so hard to admit to money struggles? This is why I shouldn’t be here in his car. We’re too different.
“That’s why I was there that night. In your father’s office.”
He falls silent for a moment, and I fight the urge to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. Nothing I say will change the truth.
His eyes burn into the side of my face and my fidgeting hands, but I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
“And my brother,” I continue, clearing my throat. “He’s involved in things he shouldn’t be.”
“Like what things?”
My brows knit together, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t ask questions.” A tear slips out, and I wipe my eyes. “The truth is, I’ve thought about taking a job at Velvet Trap.”
The local strip club.
God, I feel uneasy admitting that to him. There’s nothing wrong with sex work. It’s just not for me.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Kane snaps, cutting off my dark train of thought, and I look up to see his jaw ticking angrily. For a second, I worry he might punch something.
“You’re going nowhere near that place. I’ll lose my shit.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I say. “You’ve never struggled with money. It’s not like I want to do it. Trust me, I don’t. But I have to protect my family somehow, and that place pays good money?—”
“Because those preppy Heights men want to fuck pretty women like you, and they have cash to burn, that’s why.”
I glare at him. “Without money, we can’t afford Mom’s care. Chris could end up in jail. Summer would have to quit college. I don’t care about my education, but Summer is smart. She’ll get out of Bleakmoor one day and make something of herself. And if I have to dance for rich men to make sure that happens, I will.”
“And suck their dicks,” he mutters under his breath.
I smack his arm. “Don’t judge. What’s the alternative? Watching my mom die a painful death because we can’t afford her care? Visiting my brother in prison? And what about my sister? Should I let her throw away her only chance at a better future? No, Kane. I can’t be that selfish.”
“Is that what she’d want?” he asks. “Men who only see tits and ass using you for money so she can afford her degree? Have you asked her what she wants?”
His blunt words hit me like a slap. I cross my arms and stare out of the window.
“Look,” he says after a while, his voice noticeably softer. “Having someone touch you when you don’t want them to can really scar your soul.”
Something in his tone, something vulnerable, makes me stiffen slightly as my eyes lock onto his.
He continues. “You don’t just walk away from something like that. Besides, your sister loves you and would never forgive herself if you paid such a high price.”
I hate that he’s right. Sometimes common sense can screw itself in the ass.
When I swallow the thick lump in my throat, he rubs his neck, voice raspy. “And what about you, Jessica Holt? Who’s looking after you?”
Mom did.
Tears fill my eyes as I look out the passenger window so he won’t see the pain behind my mask.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a second or two, or maybe it’s been minutes. I don’t even know anymore. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, you’re right,” I reply with a brittle smile, digging my nail into my bleeding cuticle.
Pain is good.
“No one is looking out for me. Not now that Mom’s not around anymore.”
