All That Matters (Red Light Ladies #1)

by Yolanda Olson

  All That Matters

  Red Light Ladies

  Yolanda Olson

  Published by Yolanda Olson, 2014.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ALL THAT MATTERS

  First edition. November 28, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Yolanda Olson.

  Written by Yolanda Olson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  With Many Thanks!

  All That Matters | Red Light Ladies

  In the Beginning...

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  With Many Thanks!

  This book is dedicated to to the amazing book blogs that have let me take over and have endured my many requests; I know it’s hard to do what you do but please know that it is not going unnoticed or unappreciated!

  A special thank you to Alisha Cole for being the face of Amity/Lieve. You made the cover picture everything I hoped it could be and beyond!

  And of course to my readers. For those that have been there since the beginning to the new ones that have just come to join the party. I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope you enjoy the ride.

  All That Matters

  Red Light Ladies

  In the Beginning...

  I used to be Amity Crane.

  I used to be successful, strong, beautiful, loved. I used to be the girl who would make guys pant when I walked by them, the girl that took the world by storm, and the girl that loved a good adventure more than anything else. I was the girl obsessed with superhero movies and devoured all the books I could get my hands on.

  I used to be a lot of things until three years ago when I got hooked on drugs and became a nympho. I don’t really know why I did it. I think boredom played a huge factor in my downfall. I was home alone a lot since my boyfriend started traveling a lot for business.

  My beauty went away, my success took a shit overnight, and the man that loved me more than he loved himself left me because of my infidelities.

  Distraught at what I had become, I turned into a pimp-less whore. I saved enough money to get a small apartment and I got myself clean. I slowly started to rebuild myself and I almost had everything I lost with the exception of Theo. He never did forgive me, but it made me stronger than ever and I would like to think that’s the reason I’ve survived as long as I have now.

  See, I had decided that since Theo couldn’t love me anymore and I knew I’d never be able to forgive myself for what I did to him, I left. A year after I got back on my feet, I had saved enough money to do a little globe hopping. Not too many places, but I figured the ones that were closest in proximity would be the places I would go to. Then, I told myself, when I got back from my international adventure I would find a job and keep attending my voluntary rehab sessions. Maybe I could find someone that was just like me and help them. Maybe that would get my mind off of losing the greatest love I knew I would ever have.

  It was when touring The Palace of the Grand Masters in Malta that I decided would go home after I visited Camogli and find Theo. I’d tell him everything that I hated about myself for doing what I did to him. I would tell him that he deserved better, he deserved someone who would love him and never stray, and he deserved to be happy. I’d confess that I knew I would never be worth what I was when I was with him. Money, even though I had a lot of it before my mental breakdown, was of no consequence to me anymore. Cars, property, houses; none of it would matter to me anymore because I couldn’t share it with him. My final confession would be that I would never feel happiness or worth again. Theo Lennox would always hold a place in my heart and I knew I would always hold a place in his. I could only hope that he would believe me.

  When I left The Palace, I went to the last place on my stop. Camogli had been on the top of my list since I left America because I wanted see the beautiful and colorful homes on the hills and possibly see the Christ of the Abyss statue in the harbor of San Fruttuoso.

  But I never made it home.

  After I had surfaced from my dive the world turned against me. At least that’s how it seemed. The family, who had been gracious enough to allow me to rent a room in their home, had my belongings tossed out into the street. No amount of knocking could get them to answer the door and so I grabbed my bags and left.

  I remembered being confused, wondering what I had done to be tossed out onto the street, as I made my way through the colorful fishing town trying to find a hostel to stay in.

  I remember laying my head down on the limp pillow in the dark little room on the uncomfortable and stiff bed. I remember falling asleep to the sound of whispered voices and I remember holding onto my bag as tightly as I could.

  I remembered being afraid, but nothing could prepare me for what true fear was. Nothing could prepare me for waking up in an unfamiliar place and being told by someone I didn’t know that he had purchased me and that I was now his property.

  I didn’t recognize his accent so I knew I was no longer in Italy. I didn’t recognize the city outside the barred windows so I didn’t know how I was going to get home if I couldn’t figure out where I was starting from.

  I remembered the headache pounding inside my skull, small bursts of bright white light, attacking me every hour, wondering what the hell had been done to me already.

  He led me blindfolded to a long wooden table, an iron collar around my neck, and clasped the long chain that had been attached to it to the wall behind me. I was only wearing panties, unsure of what happened to the rest of my clothing. He told me his name was Kerstan and that I would work off the family’s debt; the family that let me stay with them in Camogli.

  He told me that my name was Lieve and instructed me to forget any past I had, because my future was uncertain. He said that once I paid off the family’s debt, he would decide what to do with me.

  Like I said; I used to be Amity Crane. Now I’m Lieve, red light district whore extraordinaire, to be used at any male or females discretion until I can pay back a debt that was never mine to begin with. A debt that I know nothing about for a family that tricked me into thinking I had found a safe place to live.

  As I followed the old, bulgingly, disgusting man into the back room of the whorehouse, I wondered if this would be my last trick before freedom.

  I was wrong.

  Freedom was never meant to be mine.

  One

  “Goedemorgen dames,” Kerstan said to us as he entered the room. Everyone promptly mumbled their good mornings except for me.

  Kerstan Janssen was an absolute sight to look at. Brown straight hair that fell behind his ears, sun-kissed flawless skin, almond shaped light green eyes, a very strong jaw, and a cleft in his chin. True to his heritage he was a tall man and true to his looks, he kept his body well-conditioned and toned.

  If this were another time and another place, I would definitely have make a go at Kerstan.

  I was sitting on an old spring mattress held up by springs and a bent metal bed frame, in panties only, chained to the wall behind me. That’s how we all were when we were in this room. I assumed he had some kind of dominance issues and that’s why we were held like this, but I never vocalized it to any of the others.

  As I looked around the room at the girls in the room with me who had also been sold to him to settle debt, I wondered how long they had been here. Kerstan had a magnificent collection of beautiful women from all over the world. Some were from S
weden, others from Germany, France, Nepal, Indonesia and I just so happened to be the stereotypical, token American girl. Almost traditiontially “American looking” I had light, long blonde hair, hazel blue eyes, a slender body with a little extra in all the right places, and a million dollar smile. That was me and I was his “best seller”.

  I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I never minded being almost naked in front of the other girls, but Kerstan wasn’t allowed that privilege from me. The only time he had seen me completely naked was when he “assessed” me after bring me back to Amsterdam.

  “Why if so many men see you naked and use you at their discretion, am I not allowed to see your breasts?” he once asked me.

  “Because you didn’t pay for the pleasure of my company,” I remember snapping back.

  Kerstan chuckled and shook his head, a grin on his face. It was an amusement to him that one of his “girls” was still as headstrong as I was. That was one of the few civilized conversations we ever had. Usually it was him telling me to get ready for my next “date.”

  But today, right now, he was looking at each of us harshly in turn and when his eyes landed on me, he shook his head slightly and sighed heavily.

  “I have to say that I am disappointed in you, dames. I want you all to see this. Then I will punish the one that cannot follow my simple rules,” he said pulling something out of his back pocket. I craned my neck to see; my eyebrows furrowed curiously, as he gave the photo to Margit (formerly Bridget, the leggy, blonde Swedish bombshell) and instructed her to pass it around the room.

  The girls’ eyes would widen or close when they would look at what I had figured to be a picture before handing it to the next. Since there were only fifteen of us in the group, it didn’t take long for me to receive the picture. I was always last in getting anything because I preferred the room closest to the wall away from the door.

  Betje (formerly Wendeline, the brown haired braided, freckle faced beauty of Germany) handed me the picture without looking at me. Not that this was the place to make or want friends, but she and I were very close. And because I could see a tear roll down her cheek as she avoided my eyes carefully, I deduced one of two things. Either she was fucked and I was going to take the punishment for her, or I was fucked and she would cry through the whole thing.

  Survey says... I thought to myself flipping the picture over.

  I felt the blood drain from my face as I looked at the photograph, but I kept a steel look on my face. It was a picture of me laughing happily as I tried to get a shot of me and Theo together. All you could see from him was his grin and an arm around my shoulders and it was my favorite picture of us in the entire world.

  I glanced up at Kerstan and shrugged. Showing fear was something that he quite enjoyed and I wouldn’t give it to him. He came to stand at the end of my bed and drummed his fingers along the worn metal frame.

  “You know this is not permitted, Lieve,” he said softly.

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t make it so easy,” I quipped, tossing the photo back at him.

  He chuckled and pulled his hands away from the end of the bed. I watched his eyes grow cold as a sinister smile began to spread across his handsome face.

  “How does one punish a girl that just doesn’t care?” he mused more to himself than the rest of us.

  “Short of setting me on fire, there’s nothing you can do,” I muttered.

  “That’s not a bad idea actually,” he said beginning to pace slowly in front of my bed. Stalk is more likely the correct term for what he was doing honestly. “The two of you are close, correct?” he asked Betje stopping in front of her bed.

  She looked up at him nervously. In the middle of her confessing that we were indeed friends, I got to my feet and threw my pillow at her.

  “No. We’re not. I can’t stand the bitch honestly. She’s so insipid. I only speak to her to pass the time, but of course even her conversations are fucking boring,” I interceded quickly. Kerstan crossed his arms over his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. I quickly hopped onto the mattress and spoke again. “As a matter of fact, I can’t stand any of you bitches. I hate being in this godforsaken room with you all. I hate that I have to see your miserable faces every fucking day because you’re not good enough to fuck your way out of this shit hole. Maybe you should follow me on one of my dates and learn a thing or two.”

  It was going to be so very difficult to get them to understand that I was doing this to save them. I demeaned each and every one of them as a whole to keep Kerstan from hurting one of them, because he had correctly identified that I didn’t give a shit if he did anything to me.

  “YOU’RE ALL A BUNCH OF CUNTS!” I yelled throwing both middle fingers into the air.

  The girls in the room gasped and looked at me with evil eyes. Apparently I had fooled them into thinking that I was now the biggest bitch they’d ever know; which was the point. Kerstan however was completely unamused.

  “Stop embarrassing yourself, Lieve. Off of the bed. Now,” he said in a stern voice.

  I put my hands on my hips and stared at him defiantly. I was going to pay the price for all of this later but for right now I had to show that I “meant” what I was saying.

  “I won’t ask you again,” he said leaning forward and gripping the edge of the bed frame tightly. Behind him I could see Betje wringing her hands. She was scared for me right now, more than I was scared for myself. I was more concerned for her.

  “Yes, your majesty,” I muttered as I dropped onto the mattress and pulled my knees back up to my chest. He eyed me dangerously for what felt like a lifetime. It was obvious that Kerstan was trying to decide if he was going to punish me just a little or severely. Defiance was not something he tolerated in his home for red light hookers.

  I waited nervously now as he began to drum his fingers along the frame. He hadn’t taken his stare off of me yet and I was beginning to feel intimidated. I cleared my throat and broke our locked on gazes, conceding this disagreement. The next one is mine, I swore to myself.

  “Betje, I’d like you to come with me please,” he said turning his attention back to her.

  “Why?” I blurted out.

  Kerstan glanced at me over his shoulder, his green eyes turning cold. But he didn’t answer me, then or when he came back with two new girls and no Betje in sight. Not when I broke one of the biggest rules in his little whore camp and pounded on his bedroom door.

  Not even when I started banging my fists furiously against his chest. Not even when I started to scream in his face that I wanted to know where Betje was. Not even when he pulled his arm back and punched me as hard as he could in my face, knocking me out cold.

  No. Not even then.

  I can’t say it wasn’t unwarranted, but I can say that it was a cowardice act. I can also say that because Betje was gone, I was sick of being here, and he had laid his hands on me, that I had set forward an act of retaliation in motion that would echo throughout this house for years to come.

  Two

  “That looks a lot better today,” Margit said softly, sitting next to me on the bed.

  It had been three days since I had taken the sucker punch heard round the world, and the only thing that was wounded was my pride. The swelling had almost gone completely down and my eye was starting to turn that weird sickly purple and green color. Since I didn’t look the part, I couldn’t “work” so he let Margit stay with me.

  I knew better than to be fooled though. He didn’t leave her here with me out of a random act of kindness. He left her here because she was on her period which meant she couldn’t work either.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked quietly.

  I shook my head, “Not anymore.”

  Margit nodded pushed my hair back so she could get a better look at my eye. “Does not look like he damaged anything,” she said peering closely.

  “Optometrist, are you?” I asked with a grin.

  She laughed and stood up. Moving next to me, sh
e scooted me forward onto the bed so she would have space to sit behind me. A few seconds later, she grabbed two handfuls of hair and began to weave it into a loose braid. I smiled sadly and sighed. There was no such thing as kindness in this place, but Margit knew Betje was my best friend and I could only assume that she didn’t want me to feel alone.

  “Don’t let him catch you being nice to me,” I said quietly.

  “What is the worst he can do to me? You and I are his most prized girls. To get rid of either of us would mean that he loses a lot of money. Besides, I’m not afraid of Kerstan,” she replied as her fingers continued to weave my hair together.

  “Margit? What, um... what’s your story?” I asked nervously. We weren’t allowed to talk about our pasts, and even though she was being kind to me at the moment, I didn’t trust her still. If she went off and told Kerstan that I had asked her such a forbidden thing, chances were I’d wind up wherever the hell it was that he took Betje.

  “My story?” she asked curiously.

  “You know, about how you wound up here,” I said.

  Margit’s hands hesitated. I could feel her sudden apprehension. I understood though. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me (at least I don’t think) it was that she didn’t trust this entire situation.

  I reached my hands back and undid the braid. I got off of the bed and dropped to my knees, feeling underneath the box spring. When my hand closed around the small rectangular box, I grinned and pulled it out from underneath. I opened the box of cigarettes and pulled one out. I offered one to Margit, but she shook her head. With a shrug, I lit the cigarette and sat on Betje’s old bed, one leg up, eyeing Margit.

  “Listen, if you’re going to tell Kerstan that I asked you that, you might as well tell him about the cigarettes too. Hell, you should probably go tell him now so he can catch me in the act,” I said with a smirk.