by Tara Brown
He flashed a bright light from the object and then turned to face me, undoing his pants. “Let’s finish.”
I stepped back. “What was that?”
“A device I got from someone you don't know, and the technical language required to describe it to you would be wasted air on my part.”
“Wait.” I paused, translating it all. “Did you just call me stupid?” He did. I rehashed it twice before his answer came with a smile and the dropping of his pants. “No.”
He held a hand out to me.
“No,” I said again as I stepped back. “You just called me dumb, and you expect me to rush over and let you fuck me?”
He nodded, continuing to hold his hand out.
I scoffed, turning and walking into the bathroom and locking the door. “Asshole,” I muttered, leaning against the counter. I stripped down, suddenly needing to be clean from the feeling of him. I dragged the lashes off, wincing in the mirror as I tried to avoid eye contact with myself. I needed a refresher course on why my vagina wasn’t in charge of decision making, especially where Servario was concerned.
I stepped into the huge marble shower that could’ve been a sizeable walk-in closet and cranked the hot water. I sat on the bench and let the ceiling rain down on me. The water smelled like roses had been soaking in it all day long, as if the hotel had prepared the water just for my shower.
I closed my eyes, letting makeup run down my cheeks. The water felt like tears, but I didn't have any. I didn't feel guilty about Coop, which was insane. I didn't feel guilty that I was living a giant lie. Somewhere inside me I believed Servario and I were meant to be together. I loved him more than I had ever loved a person, except for my children. For me that was enough of an excuse to tolerate his bullshit.
But I had a feeling that deep within me there had been a line drawn in the sand, or rather the bathroom floor. I was no longer willing to play that we weren’t more than this—me pretending to be his whore and him taking advantage of the timing and my heart.
If he could be greedy with his heart I could be so with mine. A loud blast interrupted my pep talk. I peered up at the door he had kicked in. I sighed, hating that we were this couple, the one everyone else in the hotel suffered through the noise of.
“Not right now, Servario. I’m not in the mood.”
He didn't strip down. He stepped into the shower—pants, shirt, socks, and all. He lifted me from the seat with a rough tug, jerking me into his arms. I tried to knee him in the balls, but he blocked it, kissing me at the same time. He pinned me, holding me tightly as he tore down his pants. His tongue explored my reluctant mouth, stroking and caressing with the hot water pouring down on us, flooding our faces.
He sat down on the bench where I had been, dragging me into his lap again. I wrestled, resisting his grip but it was futile. He pulled me down on top of him, his erection resting between the swollen lips of my pussy. He didn't say much. He just kissed, not entering me.
We held each other in the rain, tempted by every movement but not daring enough to take the final plunge. I wanted him to do it, and I assumed he wanted me to be the one. Finally, he whispered, “Ask me to fuck you.”
“No.” I shook my head and slid along his rough cheek to bite his ear.
“Beg me, Evie. Beg me to fuck you.”
I shook my head again, whispering in his ear as I dragged my teeth down the lobe, “No.” I climbed off, grabbing the soap from the decorative shelf where they had folded all the shower essentials so neatly. I washed as he sat getting soaked in his expensive Italian pants and dress shirt. His hazel eyes watched me, watched every move like a tiger hunting a gazelle.
I took long, loving strokes to wash every inch of myself, putting on a show for him more than getting clean. He bit his lip, watching me torture him and letting me do it.
Finally, I finished after a second round of rubbing the soap against my nipples. “Why are you letting me do this to you?” I asked, curious as to why he hadn’t just ravaged me like the savage we both knew him to be.
“I get so few moments with you that there is actual pleasure in the intense pain of waiting and wanting you, of wanting to explode inside you and making you scream my name.”
By far his best answer ever. I nodded, not moving much. He was certainly good at playing this game of greedy hearts. He was winning. He was making me want to give him mine, no questions asked and nothing in return.
5
Virgin cocktails
I stepped out of the room in a stunning emerald-green shift dress. It covered far more of me and matched the pumps perfectly. My red lipstick was a bit intense for it, but I didn't care. I wanted him to see it and cry inside a little, like I was.
He stood in a pair of black pinstripe dress pants and a pale-blue shirt. He wore his same burgundy dress shoes. He was sex on a fucking stick, and I wanted to ride that stick more than I’d ever wanted anything.
His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Much more appropriate for Dubai.”
“You were going to let me wear the red tube dress. Don't start on me.”
“I knew you would change.” He sighed and looked over something on his iPad.
“What was that thing you used earlier?”
“It stops any sort of transmitting device or listening or video recording.”
“My phone?”
“I turned it off on the plane so when we arrived here it wouldn't be fried by the device.”
I didn't want to know how all our stuff had gotten here. I gave myself a last once-over. “Where are we meeting everyone else?”
“Belgium. We have an hour to finish this negotiation and return to the jet.”
“Belgium? I thought they were meeting us here.” I turned back, uncertain of his motives. It was the flaw in the system that was our relationship. He had double-crossed me so many times that I didn't trust him, even a little.
He saw my doubt. “Evie, we can’t talk about it right now. Read your text messages on the way to the car.” He stood, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. Handsome was such the understatement. I sighed and followed him, taking the gold clutch he had packed for me in my suitcase when he replaced all my normal clothes with his choices. It was mostly heels and lingerie. My phone was already in there so I pulled it out and read the text from the random number I didn't recognize.
Kids are fine. Don't be a pain in the ass but don't give it all away either.
xoxoxo, Mom
I scowled at his back. “What did you say to my mom?”
He chuckled. “Just that you were playing hard to get.”
“Impossible to get is actually the game of the week for me.”
He glanced back as he pressed the button on the elevator. “Don’t push me, Evie. I like this game right now. Don't make me not like it. Then I’ll be forced to change the rules.”
I reached my hand into my bag, dropped my phone in there, and pulled out my middle finger. “I brought you something special all the way from Canada.”
“You’re ridiculous.” He appeared as though he might turn me over his knee, not something I generally put up a fight over, but tonight was different.
When we stepped into the elevator he pressed himself close to me, too close. I was nearly squished into the wall. My phone buzzed in my bag. I lifted the clasp and peeked inside, surprised by a text from another random number.
We are going to the car. They’ll drive us to the location. You do talent scouting for me in America and sell in Eastern Europe. We are negotiating a deal for twenty young women. They want American girls, no older than twenty-three. You have some of the girls in Romania right now. If they resist on price, mention how many virgins you have. Make it a good number, like seven or eight. They will not bring in the boss until we have a sealed deal. When that happens the team should meet us. They’re tracking our location. They are not in Belgium, obviously. I just don't trust anyone. But you.
I didn't understand who had sent it at first, but then he sent another one from his i
Pad, cluing me in.
Clearly it’s me, Evie. Try to bring something to the mission beyond being a hooker.
I wanted to stab him in the eye with my hairpin. I texted back the one thing that would aggravate him beyond belief.
Fuck you, Servario. You told me the team was in Belgium.
The corners of his lips lifted into that punishing smirk. I held my head high, totally bravado but I didn't care. He wasn't going to rattle me and call me stupid. Texting wasn't my thing. I hated it. My fingers, wrists, and thumbs ached after a long conversation.
When we got to the car, it was a different one. This was a Mercedes, not a Rolls. The driver gave me a decent up-down before letting me in. I assumed he was checking me out, until I realized he was searching for a weapon.
I climbed in, trying not to become nervous. We were going in with no weapons. That was insanely planned.
Servario got in the car, reaching a hand down into my dress. He rolled a nipple, making it obvious I was a piece of meat for this trip. The driver climbed in, giving us a quick look, probably assuming they’d pass me around later, because that's how I liked my gang rape.
I wanted to kill him. I could smell sex slave on him as though it was cologne.
As for Servario, I wanted to poke his eyes out. He sensed the hostility in me and pulled his hand from my dress.
I sat there, scared and turned on. It was conflicting to be so aroused while being afraid. Akin to the time he chased me around in the dark and fucked me against the pool table.
He gave me an evil grin, the one he used when he was winning. I reached over, meeting his hateful look, and grabbed his dick. I stroked, perhaps a little too roughly, but I got my point across. He sat back as if this was his idea and I was his dick-stroking minion.
I stopped and stared out the window. Dubai was a stunning and welcoming distraction. The city was lighting up as the sky was starting to darken. Everything about this city made me think Vegas, including the smarmy guy driving and the pervert next to me.
The car came to a stop after a while, parking outside of what appeared to be a nightclub. I didn't want to ask, but when we got inside my view changed. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask about every aspect of the club.
It was a strip bar of sorts but the girls were wearing clothes. They moved with the energy and skills of trained dancers. The men wore suits, and I was the only woman not working there, not technically. For all I knew, this would be the place Servario would actually betray me for real. Not fake it and expect me to improvise.
No one seemed to understand I had been a mom for a decade, not an agent. They all expected me to bounce back after ten seconds and remember what it was like to be a hooker-agent-mom-wife-killer and whatever else they could add to the pile.
Servario slipped a hand into mine for a second. He gripped and let go. It was so fast I almost doubted it had occurred at all. We were escorted to a spot in the back, something akin to a VIP section perhaps.
A man resembling our driver offered me a seat at a lone table. Servario sat next to me, pretending to enjoy the show—or actually enjoying it. The girls wore bikinis and danced on poles. It was naughty for the Middle East, I supposed.
The music was loud techno with a slight Eastern flair. It was nice to listen to. Several men walked toward us and sat near Servario. One man stayed standing, waiting, as Servario stood and they embraced. They hugged and smiled like old school friends. I became a bit nauseated. I had to chant that he loved me and wouldn't do that to me again. He wouldn't leave me to be killed or worse.
The man’s eyes darted to me but Servario brushed him off in Arabic.
They talked for another second and the man embraced Servario again. I started to glance about the bar, for any sign that I wasn't alone—that Coop and Luce had come to be with me.
But there were only businessmen and dancing whores.
Finally they sat, Servario again next to me. The man motioned at me. “I understand you have twenty girls.”
I smiled wide, bringing out my best American accent from the South. It wasn't great, but there was no way they could tell. “Yes, sir. I do have twenty girls. I have more than twenty but some are spoken for.”
He gave me a weak smile. I wouldn't have called it that though. It was more of a grimace. “You are a woman who sells women, not something we see very often.”
I smiled wider, hating myself. “Well, everyone has to be good at something, and I happen to have an eye for spotting a virgin.”
His dark eyes widened. “Virgins—you have some of those for sale?”
I sucked my breath through my teeth. “Not really. I have several but they are spoken for, like I said. I have other buyers.” My heart ached in a big way.
“That is good to hear. We get a lot of demand here for virgin Americans. Very hard to find. Your country doesn't savor their virginity well.”
“Too true.” I laughed, hating myself and Servario equally for a change. “Well, you know those girls in the North, they are loose. But the girls in the South have been raised right. Real wholesome girls. You just have to convince them of the modeling contracts and jobs as nannies. It’s easy when they come from real small towns.”
“And because you are friendly and a pretty American woman, they trust your lies.”
“Yes, sir.” I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “They sure do.”
His dark eyes darted back to Servario. “She is a—how do you say?—piece of work.”
Servario snorted, coughing a little. “I think you mean ‘keeper.’” Their accents made the mistake slightly less painful.
The man shook his head. “No, I believe I know this word. Piece of work. Like rare, like art.”
Servario chuckled again. “Do we have a bargain then? You will give us the guns and money, and we will give you the girls.”
“How many virgins?” He eyeballed me again. “I will pay more for virgins.”
I wanted to kick his fucking teeth in, but I pretended to be coming up with a price. Servario leaned in, whispering something to the man. Whatever he said made the man’s eyes light up. He wrapped an arm around Servario. “Do you wish to stay for the evening?”
Servario glanced at me. “No, we have more business to attend to. I will meet you at the drop spot to get acquainted with the area.”
“How will you bring them in the country?”
Servario glanced back at me, realizing he hadn’t told me that. I answered. “Au pairs. Nannies. It works real well. We just need fake families to do the sponsoring and hiring.”
“Let me take care of that paperwork. I will have it sent to Gustavo.”
He called him by his first name. Even I rarely did that.
6
The porn basket
The driver and I sat perfectly still, waiting outside the second building where Servario would be met to exchange cash and guns with the worst people in the world. They truly were the monsters your mother warned you about when you were a child. The worst of men that laughed in the faces of victims as they took everything they wanted. The sort of men who respected no one and feared nothing.
They made my blood boil.
I sat there, tapping my sculpted nail against the rim of the window, waiting for him to reappear.
The driver didn't make a sound. He sat motionless.
I sighed, drawing his face up so he could see me in the rearview mirror. “Shouldn't be too much longer, ma’am.”
I pulled out another dose of my amazingly poor Southern accent, “Y’all are awfully polite for such bad people.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “We are bad?”
It made me smile my response. “Reminds me of home. We always like to say the nicest thing and mean the worst.”
He chuckled as if he knew what I was talking about. He leaned into the back, I assumed to tell me some funny story about how his people in the Middle East also did this. What I got was a hand up the skirt.
I tried smiling and turning him down politely. “Sir, please. Let
’s not get into any trouble, huh?” I swatted at his grabby octopus hands and arms, but his size won over.
We struggled, him grabbing and me swatting, pretending I had no skills to defend myself.
Wide-eyed, I panicked, searching for a solution.
If I were being watched, getting out of the car would draw suspicion.
Beating his ass could blow my cover.
There was only one option.
He slid into the back seat. Clearly, he didn't think Servario was coming back anytime soon.
Committing to my plan, I had only one thing on my body that could help me. I had remembered it from training; a woman’s best place to hide a weapon was her hair. I went limp, allowing his invasion of me, and lifted my hand, pulling the long, thin silver pin used to hold my half twist in place. I let him slide his hand down the top of my dress the way Servario had done and stabbed quickly into his temple, edging away from the stream of blood as he collapsed.
I contemplated leaving the thin sword-like hairpin where it was, embedded in the side of his head, but it was my only weapon. When I dragged it out, his body twitched next to mine as he died slowly and his grip lessened.
I slumped him onto the floor of the back seat with a huge amount of effort, ripping my dress a little but not caring the slightest. My hands ran over his warm body as I searched for a piece but there was nothing.
He was unarmed.
Of course . . .
Just my luck.
I jumped into the front seat, feeling around the car for a gun. Finally, I opened the trunk and discovered a cache of weapons. He had grenades, handguns, and assault rifles. My best chance was with the handguns, but I grabbed a grenade just in case and tucked it into my cleavage, which was easier with squishy mom boobs than it had been when I was younger.