Love in the Dark

by 12 Book Boxed Set (epub)

  “We’re always a little short. We don’t have that kind of money to loan out.” I can’t even wrap my head around what he’s saying. He’ll support his friend, but not support us? Me? I don’t understand. Since when did I become such a low priority in his life? “You need to tell her she has to pay us back ASAP.”

  “Just go find another job. We’ll be fine.” He waves his hand, dismissing me, my words, my concern. I hate it when he does that.

  Hate. It.

  “I don’t want to find another job. And no, we won’t be fine. You’ve become the Bank of fucking America, lending out our money to neighbors we don’t even know. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He slaps my face so hard, I swear my head snaps back. A gasp escapes me as I rest my hand on my cheek, staring at him. It stings where he hit me. Tears immediately spring to my eyes, and I realize I’m shaking.

  “Don’t you ever speak like that to me again.” He points his index finger in my face, his bloodshot eyes wide, his slender body vibrating with anger. “As long as you live under my roof, I’m the one in charge here, not you. If I want to loan out our money, then that’s my right. And if I want you to go out and find another job, then you better damn well do it before I kick your skinny little ass out in the street.”

  I’m full-blown crying now. His words hurt, hit me in my most painful spots. I’m terrified of being on my own, yet life with my father isn’t that great either. As he gets older and more depressed, he becomes meaner. Nothing I do or say makes him happy. I love him, but his constant anger confuses me.

  Maybe life would be better out in the street. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with my father all the time.

  “You’re just like her, you know.”

  Oh, here it comes. The words are familiar. He starts the comparisons whenever he gets mad at me, which lately is constantly. His nagging disappointment hurt at first. His cruel words made me cry.

  Now I’ve become numb to it. I blame her. She broke him. She made him this way.

  “Lazy. Always said men wanted her, how they would touch her and say suggestive things. You know what I realized?” He sends me a questioning look.

  Yes, dear old Dad, please tell me what you realized.

  “That your mother was nothing but a worthless whore. And if you don’t watch out, you’re going to turn out the same exact way,” he announces. He wants me to hear what he’s saying.

  And I do. Loud and clear.

  “Thanks for your faith in me, Dad,” I mutter as I push past him. I escape out of the trailer, never once looking back, even though he’s calling my name. I hop into the shitty old car we share and start it up, pulling out of our space just as Dad exits the trailer. He waves a fist at me, but I ignore him. Instead, I hit the gas, the tires spinning in the dirt until they catch traction and the car lurches forward.

  I drive aimlessly with the windows rolled down, the wind in my hair, my tears dried on my cheeks. It still hurts where he slapped me, and the anger fills me.

  Fuels me.

  16

  After I freshen up a little in the bathroom—take a pee, brush my hair, clean up the mascara smudges from beneath my eyes so I don’t look like a raccoon, and slick on a new coat of shiny pink lip-gloss—I decide I look pretty good. There’s a sparkle in my eyes that wasn’t there before, which I blame on last night with Rhett.

  There’s also a glow in my cheeks that I attribute to my night with Rhett too. It’s so weird, how he did this to me. How much my evening with Rhett affected me. I didn’t know sex could be like this.

  And now here I go, cheapening everything I did with Rhett by letting some perv customer from City Lights feel me up for seven thousand dollars. I’m prostituting myself. There’s nothing else to call it, right? I made Don promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about this deal, not even Savannah or Chuck. I feel bad enough for my choices—I don’t need their judgement too.

  What else am I supposed to do? I’m broke, I need money, and this is the easiest way for me to make it. I’ve said countless times that I don’t want to become a stripper, and what I’m about to do tonight is even worse, but I know for a fact that Savannah has done this sort of thing before. She’s confessed as much to me, though she doesn’t like to talk about it. But when a girl is in a predicament and needs cash fast, you have to take your opportunities where you can.

  I can’t let my choices make me feel bad. Sometimes we have to do things we’re not proud of. It doesn’t mean that we’re bad people.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  After exiting the bathroom, I sneak into the private room Don instructed me to wait in and glance around, wrinkling my nose. It’s a little musty in here, meaning that the room isn’t used much, and I’m glad to see Don lit a candle before he left. I clean the room up even further, fluffing the cushions on the sleek black couch and turning on a few more lamps so it’s a little brighter, though the light bulbs are faded and dim at best. But if it’s too dark, the guy might try and do something extra sketchy. Better to be bright and put this asshole on display as much as possible.

  Once I’m finished, I examine the room one more time, unable to fight the frown that takes over. This room is dingy, reminding me of a crappy motel room, but I only have so much to work with. I’m thankful I brought a bottle of water with me just in case I get thirsty. I would’ve brought my phone too, but I have nowhere to stash it and I didn’t want to leave it out in the open so the guy can see it. Besides, not like anyone’s texting me right now. Not even Rhett.

  Asshole.

  There’s a knock on the door and before I can do anything, it swings open, and in walks one of the guys from the corner table I was working earlier, the one with the best view in the house. It’s the most attractive guy from the table, if I’m being honest. He’s probably hovering around fifty, with attractive smile wrinkles fanning from the corners of his hazel eyes and a thick head of hair sprinkled with salt and pepper. He’s clutching a full glass of amber-colored liquor, and I can tell he’s fit, his black button-down shirt and expensive-looking jeans showcasing a body that he takes care of.

  Not necessarily my first choice, but at least he’s not some creepy, gross guy with bad breath and a pot belly.

  “Hello.” He smiles as he approaches me and I smile back, mentally batting away the nerves that threaten to take over.

  “Hi.” I discreetly check his left hand. Ring finger is empty and there’s no telltale white tan line there either, so hopefully that means he’s not married. I mean, there’s no guarantee, but I’m going to pretend he’s single.

  Just like me.

  “I’m Greg.” He holds out his hand and I take it, surprised by his firm shake. My fingers actually ache when he lets them go, and I’m tempted to shake them out.

  “I’m Jen.”

  He raises a brow. “Just Jen?”

  “Just Jen,” I say with a nod. He doesn’t need to know any more about me than that. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to share my life story, because this is about as much information he’s going to get out of me.

  “I appreciated your excellent service tonight at our table, Jen.” He steps closer, so he’s standing directly in front of me. I can smell him. His cologne is expensive—no cheap Axe on this guy. And can you actually smell money on a person? Because this man reeks of it, even more than Rhett. “I couldn’t help but think what a pretty girl you are.”

  I refuse to let his words bother me, but…he’s sort of creeping me out. This man could be my father. He’s definitely old enough. “Thank you,” I manage to say, stepping away from him and pointing toward the couch. “Would you like to have a seat? Get more comfortable?”

  Greg takes a sip of his drink, contemplating me over the rim of the glass. “Did your boss tell you what I want from you?”

  Guess he’s getting right down to business. Taking a deep breath, I say, “He mentioned you wanted to spend time with me this evening.”

  “That’s true.” He contemplates me, his g
aze roving over my body, lingering on my chest. Of course. Everyone stares at my tits—it’s part of the job. “But I asked for something very specific.”

  A tremble moves through me at the tone of his voice. Damn Don for not telling me what’s really going on. “I’m sure I can accommodate your request.”

  “I’m sure you can.” He’s standing in front of me again, reaching out and trailing his fingers down my upper arm. “I definitely want to see you naked.”

  I swallow hard. Yes, I knew this was coming. Who’s going to pay ten grand and not get some pussy action? “Okay.” I reach for the waistband of my skirt, ready to shed it, but he places his hand over mine, stopping me.

  “Not yet.” He smiles, a flash of blinding white in the dull yellow light of the room. “I want you to dance for me first.”

  I slowly back away from him, my nervous laughter ringing in the tiny room. “Um, I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, I definitely think so,” he says softly. “I’m sure you know how to move.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? “True confession, I’m a terrible dancer.”

  “You don’t strip?” He appears surprised.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t have any rhythm.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m sure you can dance just fine. Plus, with breasts like these…” He reaches out and actually cups them, as if he’s weighing them in the palms of his hands. He doesn’t even look me in the eyes. He’s too entranced with the rest of my body, and I find that insulting. “…and that fucking spectacular body of yours, I’m surprised.”

  I’m frozen, trying to calm my shaky breaths while his hands are still wrapped around my breasts. It’s weird, having a stranger touch me like this. An older man who’s actually paid a lot of money to touch me. It’s one thing to let a teenager paw at me, or to let Rhett have me last night. That I was willing to do.

  But this moment…is strange.

  “You have perfect nipples,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over them. They harden from his touch and I want to close my eyes in mortification, but I don’t. I just stand there and take it. “Such a pretty pink.”

  “T-thank you?” I don’t know how to respond. This is incredibly awkward.

  He leans in close, his mouth near my ear as he murmurs, “I bet that pretty little pussy of yours is just as pink. Am I right?”

  Greg steps away before I can say anything, setting his drink on the end table next to the couch and pulling his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. “I have a song I want you to dance to. Let me find it.”

  I’m still shell-shocked by what he said to me. I can run right now if I wanted to. Just—throw open that door and bolt out of here. Fuck the ten grand. I know Don would want to murder me and I’d probably lose my job, but do I really want to go through with this?

  “Take off the skirt,” Greg commands, his soft voice holding the slightest edge. His gaze is still locked on the phone as he speaks. “I want to see you dance in your panties and shoes and nothing else.”

  I stand completely still, my mind racing. Should I stay? Or should I run? I think of Rhett and how we fucked last night. I think of my dwindling bank account, and that giant tuition bill looming in the distance.

  Looks like I’m going through with it.

  I take off my skirt and fold it with shaky hands, setting it on the counter just behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Greg scrolling through his phone and making his song selection. He turns up the volume as the music starts, some kind of jazz instrumental tune that’s heavy on the piano and saxophone. I swear my knees are knocking together and I grab the water bottle that sits nearby, taking a giant swig from it. Really, I thought the water would help calm my buzzing nerves, but now I feel like my stomach is sloshing around.

  “You ready?” Greg asks.

  I turn to face him, watching quietly as he sits on the couch, the phone still in his hand, his finger pressing against the side so that the volume turns up. I swallow hard, crossing one foot over the other to stabilize myself. The expectant expression on his face tells me I need to get to it. I need to start dancing.

  After all, seven thousand dollars is on the line.

  Clearing my throat, I rest my hands on my hips and then slowly start to move. I run my hands over my body and twirl around on my heels, surprised I don’t go tottering over. The music kind of sucks, but I’m trying to get into it. I keep my gaze just above Greg’s head as I continue to move, concentrating on the music. The rhythm. I’ve never been exposed to much jazz, but I can tell I don’t like it.

  But I can’t worry about that right now. I need that money.

  The more I dance, the more my muscles loosen. Slowly but surely, I’m shedding my inhibitions and I tell myself I might actually be enjoying this.

  Then again, maybe I’m not.

  I finally look at Greg, surprised to see him sitting there so impassively, the phone still in his hand, and I wonder if he’s recording me. He’s observing me with complete disinterest, like he might watch a janitor mop the floor. One arm is stretched out across the back of the couch, the other one clutching the phone, his expression impossible to read. He’s sprawled out on the couch like he’s never seen anything so boring in all his life.

  The music is still going but I stop dancing, my arms hanging at my sides as I glare at him. He sits up straighter, his shrewd gaze meeting mine. “Why’d you stop?”

  “Why aren’t you enjoying it?”

  Those brows lift again. For some odd reason, the gesture reminds me of Rhett—the very last person I should be thinking of. “Who says I’m not enjoying it?”

  “I can tell.” I wave a hand at him. “You look bored.”

  “Well, I’m not.” He sets the phone on the couch beside him and leans back, crossing his arms in front of his massive chest. For an older guy, he’s actually very big. Muscular.

  Intimidating.

  “Okay.” I drawl the word out, like I’m full of doubt, which I so am.

  “And who said you could stop?” He’s still glaring at me. “Keep dancing.”

  I’m annoyed. Not embarrassed or nervous, but full-blown, I-see-red annoyed. It was the way he said that, like he’s in total command of me. “You’re not my boss,” I mutter as I try to reestablish my rhythm.

  Greg hears me. He’s up and in my personal space within seconds, his fingers going underneath my chin so he can tip my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “What did you just say?”

  Anger blazes in his eyes, but I don’t care. I’m angry too. My voice is clear and firm when I say, “I said, you’re not my boss.”

  His fingers tighten on my chin almost painfully. “I just paid a hell of a lot of money to have you for the night.” The smile he gives me isn’t friendly. No, more like menacing. “That means I can do pretty much whatever I want to you.”

  We stare at each other for a tension-filled moment, and he squeezes my chin again, pinching my skin before he releases me. He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand palming my butt before giving it a slap, and I jolt away from him, startled.

  My anger dissipates, replaced by a heavy dose of fear. I don’t like how Greg is talking to me. Or looking at me. I should’ve never agreed to this.

  It’s now or never.

  Slowly, I turn and make my way toward the door. The music immediately shuts off and then Greg is chasing after me. I can hear his hurried footsteps drawing closer. I’m at the door, my fingers curling around the handle, but he stops it from opening with a firm hand pressed against the wood.

  “What do you think you’re doing, bitch?” he whispers by my ear, his face so close to mine I can feel his lips move against my skin.

  The disgusted shiver that runs through me can’t be disguised. “I’m leaving.”

  When I try to turn the handle again, he just presses his hand against the door harder. Trapping me. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead. I don’t want to look at him. I’m too scared at what I might see.
“I don’t want to do this.”

  “I don’t really give a shit.” His free arm circles around my waist and he spreads his hand across my bare stomach, fingers reaching, just brushing the underside of my breasts. “I already paid for you, remember. You’re mine. Whether you like it or not. In fact…” His voice drifts and he chuckles, though it’s not a pleasant sound. “I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t like it. I love it when a bitch puts up a fight.”

  A whimper threatens to escape me at his ominous words, and I press my lips together, shaking my head. “You’ll get your money back, I promise.”

  Air is shuddering in and out of my lungs and my head is spinning. I swear if he doesn’t let go of me soon, I’m going to black out.

  “I don’t want my money back, you fucking whore. I want you.” He squeezes his arm around my middle and then picks me up, hauling me away from the door. I kick my legs out and back, trying to somehow nail him in the knees, but I miscalculate my aim.

  I nail him with the pointy heel of my shoe right in the balls instead.

  “Fuck!” Greg’s arms fall away from me, and I drop to the ground, my knees hitting the floor with jarring force, making them throb. Scrambling to my feet, I glance over my shoulder to see Greg hunched over on his knees, his hands covering his crotch. He lifts his head, his murderous gaze meeting mine. “You fucking bitch!”

  I grasp for the door handle and turn it, crying out in relief when the door swings open so easily. Without looking back, I run out of the room, and make my way toward Don’s office.

  17

  “He attacked me.” Those are the first words out of my mouth when I enter Don’s office, still clad in just my panties and my heels. I slam the door shut and turn the lock, then lean against the door, my chest heaving, my knees still throbbing. “That fucker was going to rape me.”

  The annoyed look on Don’s face makes me want to punch him. “Give me a break, doll. He paid ten grand for you. He can do whatever the fuck he wants to you.”