Hmm.
Perhaps 'gentlemen's club' wasn't the right term for this shit hole.
“Hey baby.” I ignore the puckered lips of an old stripper, doing my best to keep the distaste from flickering across my face. Based on the woman's tired eyes and the deep frown lines framing her mouth, that's certainly the last thing she needs. Life has not thrown Miz-E many bones. I stare at the hideous butchery of the English language flashing at me from her glittering necklace and attempt a smile.
She comes undone completely.
“You know, I don't normally do private dances, but for you, I'd make an exception.” When she reaches down and cups my junk, my hand wraps her wrist reflexively and squeezes tight. Miz-E's fingers open up as I pinch her tendons between my nails.
“I'm certain you're used to being touched without your permission and for that, I'm sorry.” I release the stripper's long fingers, cringing at the broken pink paint on her faux nails. My green eyes find her blue ones and hold tight. I watch her unravel beneath my gaze. “But I don't like to be fondled like a toy.” I step away from the longing look and the desperate parting of lips. There's no true darkness in Miz-E. Sadness, melancholy, pain, but no darkness. It takes a special type of person to nurse my kind of hurt.
I wade into the sea of round tables and stained velvet settees, taking great care not to touch anything. My lip twitches. All around me, men sit slumped at tables. Hardly any of them are even interested in the girls. This breeding ground of filth attracts a different sort of folk at this early hour of the day. The college kids and the businessmen don't show up until it gets dark outside.
Mark sits near the stage, leaning back against a torn cushion and nursing a beer. His weak eyes waver with unbridled lust as he sizes up the dancer swinging her hair in a lazy circle. She's not even smiling, but Mark doesn't seem to care. He lifts up his hand and offers a wad of bills – most likely in ridiculously small denominations – and waits for the girl to move towards him, shaking her tits and snatching the money without even a flicker of joy, real or otherwise, in her tainted expression.
I stalk across the room and slide into the seat next to Mark, feeling his eyes flicker over to me in an instant. He doesn't recognize me which I find amusing. I threatened his life yesterday evening, and he doesn't have a fucking clue. I grit my teeth tight and feel a muscle in my jaw twitch.
“Trying to scam on my tips?” he asks, looking down his nose at me like I'm the scum of the earth. “That's pretty low, man. Even for this crappy joint.” Mark scoffs and reaches into his pocket again, re-emerging with more bills.
I consider starting up a conversation, working my way into Mark's good graces, but then, what fun is that? I simply want to become a fixture in his life today, a shadow that's omnipresent, nonthreatening, unimposing. Silent. I smile.
Mark doesn't notice; he's too busy ogling the stripper's breasts. As infuriating as that is, I force myself to lean back and accept it. That's okay. I'm like a lion, stalking its prey through the grasses of Africa. I sit and wait, fielding texts from my clients as I spend a lazy day fighting off strippers with well-placed smiles and carefully bare rejections.
A few hours in, Mark gets up and follows Miz-E into a back room. I wait until they retreat inside one of the velvet covered doors and lean against it, listening to the sounds of a not-so-exclusive performance. Oh, Miz-E, you lied through your crooked, yellow teeth. She'd make an exception for me? I'd have been a treat, a soothing balm on that woman's soul. But I'm not in the business of providing charity.
A sparse few minutes after they've begun, Mark is done with Miz-E, strutting from the room with the same false swagger I threw on to walk in here. Amusing. I stand in the corner near the bathrooms and manage to trail Mark out of the strip club and down the street before he realizes he's being followed.
A quick glance over the shoulder proves to me that Mark is aware of my presence, acknowledging me with a scowl and the brush of his fingers down his scraggly facial hair. I don't yet have a plan to deal with Mark when I finally do decide to pounce, but my inner darkness can be quite beautiful when given artistic license. I respond to Mark's glare with a nod of my chin and pull out my cell, letting him know that yes, I see that he sees me, but that I don't particularly give a shit.
I need you to fuck me with your dick, Carter. Give me a call.
A text from Mrs. Braxton. My mouth twitches, but despite her dirty language, I'm not yet ready to forgive her. I ignore it and glance back up at Mark. He's stopped to smoke a cigarette, leaning against a crumbling brick wall on the corner. Dark green ivy drips like rain around his face, mixing with his curly hair. Sweat beads on his forehead.
Oh. Dear. Mark, am I making you nervous?
I run my tongue over my lips and pause, mimicking his pose twenty feet down the block. Unfortunately, I don't smoke, so I can't copy Mark exactly, but I try. I tuck my right hand into the pocket on my pants and lift my chin up towards the gray sky. A slight drizzle drifts across my face like cobwebs.
“Hey nut job, you fucking crazy or something? What's your Goddamn problem?” I ignore Mark, as any proper shadow would. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I decide to pull it out. Just to piss Mark off a little more.
Unknown number.
My spine curls as I open up the text message and stare at the words, so simple but yet dripping with malicious undertones, meanings hanging off the letters like rotten fruit.
Leave me alone.
My cock swells in my pants and my thumb brushes against the side of the phone in unfettered ecstasy. I glance up again and the ivy curls in my vision, shifts into hair as red as rubies, twists around my face and threatens to strangle me.
Audra Holiday.
She even signed her name on the text. How delightful.
“Fucking psycho,” Mark dribbles, tossing his cigarette to the sidewalk and leaving the cherry burning bright against the cracked cement. He starts to walk away, and I follow after, tucking my phone back into my pocket. My erection grinds against my slacks, throbbing with the need for a release. I'm sure the round bulge in my pants is frightening Mark. Good. I want him to get a taste of the fear he's inflicted upon the world simply by existing.
I pick up my speed, my loafers pounding a staccato rhythm against the damp concrete. When Mark hops a fence, his baggy sweatshirt snagging on the ragged top of the chain link fence, I smile, reaching down to run my fingers over my erection. My mind is not on Mark, though it should be. For whatever reason, I keep allowing myself to think of that girl, Audra. My mind is fixated on her perfect toes and the fabulously trashy black dress sliding up her creamy thighs.
My whole body shudders with need, and a growl escapes my throat. The sound surprises me, forcing me to clamp down on my emotions, reign myself in with ironclad control and blink heavily against the soft blush of rain against my face.
I wait a moment longer to make sure Mark believes he's outrun me and then cut through the alley on the far end of the fence. When I reach the other side, there's no sign of my target, but I know exactly where we're at, so it doesn't take me long to put a story together. Across the street, there are fresh footprints pressed into the muddy ground of the pathway. This particular path curls through a massive swath of park, winding around a small pittance of protected forest and ending up at my favorite bus stop. Not that I ever ride the bus, but were I so inclined, this is exactly the one I would take if I were heading to my neighborhood. Or Audra's.
Interesting.
I cross the street at a jog and continue at a light run until I spot Mark's curls bobbing down the path ahead of me. I don't get close enough for him to notice me though. Instead, I hang back and pull my cell back out, staring at Audra's message for a long while, trying to determine how she knew it was me last night.
A call to Pamela is in order, unfortunately. Considering my current mood, it's probably smarter to wait until I've calmed down a little, but my curiosity is ridiculously piqued. It's been a long, long while since any of my clients have sp
urred this much excitement in me. I pause by a copse of trees, noticing that Mark has slowed down for another cigarette.
I open up Audra's text message with one hand and use the other to unzip my pants. My fingers slide into the opening and find my cock, swollen and stiff, aching painfully. Leave me alone. The words are simple yet so meaningful. There are a hundred secrets etched into these letters. I slide my thumb over the screen, hissing with pleasure as I wrap my fingers around my dick. Leave her alone? Oh, hardly. If Audra Holiday wanted me to leave her alone, she never would've sent me that text message. I'm intrigued. Fascinated. Turned on.
I pump my cock quickly, gliding my fingers along the underside of my shaft, tickling cum from the head with an expert touch. I don't linger, don't taste the ashy pleasure resting on the back of my tongue. I get the job done, clean my fingers off with a wet wipe from my pocket and move on.
By the time I get to the bus stop, Mark is already climbing on, glancing over his shoulder. Presumably he's looking for me. This makes me smile. I wait until he's seated and the doors of the bus are closing before I move forward and catch them at the last second, sliding my way on at the last possible moment. I sit right in the front, folding my suit jacket in my lap to hide my erection. Yes, I've got another one. I won't be satisfied until my darkness is sated. I close my eyes and imagine hot blood running down my fingers and pooling on the floor in sticky globs. I don't exactly have a plan for Mark yet, but I'll come up with one. I'm being spontaneous today. How exciting.
Five stops later and Mark is tromping down the aisle, sliding past me with wide eyes and a wary look. When I don't make any move to follow after him, he relaxes, walking down the street at a rapid trot. I wait just long enough that I get a dirty look from the driver when I stand up, taking off after Mark, not surprised to catch him standing in front of Audra's house, smoking yet another cigarette.
A scowl ripples across my lips as I shake out my hands. What a dirty habit. I absolutely despise cigarettes. The smell, the wrinkles around the mouth, the yellow teeth. It all just makes me think of my father. A pathetic, miserable man if the world had ever seen one. Much like Mark, each breath of air that man took was wasted on walking, talking human garbage. If I were a better man, I'd dedicate my life to weeding the scum from the garden of the world. Instead, I indulge only myself. Perhaps I am doing a bit of good, but I assure you it's all circumstantial. My motives are purely selfish.
Mark knocks at the door with a hard fist, adjusting his dirty white sweatshirt and swiping his arm across his face. The fact that he's standing here today only further confirms what an excellent target he's going to make. After all, I warned him yesterday and he chose not to listen. Doing so has sealed his fate. Mark and I are going to go all the way – and I don't mean romantically. By the time the sun sets this evening, he'll no longer be wasting the earth's limited resources.
I'm not surprised when Audra answers the door, her red hair hanging around her face in crimson slashes. Her full mouth is slathered with a brown lipstick and her eyes are drenched in too much shadow. But she's still beautiful, one of the most aesthetically pleasing women I've ever had the pleasure to gaze upon. I toss my suit jacket into the bushes, removing my wallet and cuff links from my pocket and tucking them inside. If they're still here when I get back, fantastic. If not, they can be replaced. I have more important things to worry about.
I can't hear what Audra says from down here, but I see that she willingly invites Mark in, her kelp green eyes pausing on the street with a longing cast, like she's throwing fishing line out into the world and hoping for a bite. Lucky for her, she's got one. And free of charge, too.
As soon as the white front door closes behind Audra, I move to the opposite side of the front yard, taking a quick look over my shoulder for nosey neighbors. At this moment, in this neighborhood, most everyone is at work. My lip twitches. I doubt their work involves whips, spankings, or sex swings like mine does. Without bothering to conceal myself, I move down the sidewalk and up the grass on the far end of Audra's yard. At this point, it would be far, far easier to call one of my clients and give them what they're so desperately begging for, but even the thought riles my psyche up into a frenzy. It might also end as badly for them as it's going to for Mark. No need to risk it, especially not when my prey is in sight.
I climb up the grassy hill towards Audra's house, crouching low under the windows, until I get to the backyard. There's a white picket fence with an unlocked gate that I let myself into. No sooner do I round the corner of the house when I come face to face with Audra Holiday herself.
“I'm not often caught,” I tell her with a slight twitch of my lips. I tilt my head to the side and examine the unkempt red of her hair, the overdone makeup, the skintight dress. The words are truth, but my smile is not. I feel infuriated. Irate. I want to smash my fist into the yellow wood siding of Audra's house. But I don't. That just wouldn't be me. Lucas Carter doesn't have fits of rages. He controls his anger, channels it into the sheets, thrusts it away with each perfectly coordinated movement of his hips. Occasionally, he takes it out on human garbage, like 'Mark'.
But I also hate being interrupted. My fingers curl tightly at my sides.
“Caught doing what?” she asks, seemingly oblivious in her apathy. I see right through it, deep down to the places where sun never shines, where her heart weeps with each breath she takes. I see it. “Aren't you a prostitute or something?” Audra glances over her shoulder and then turns back to me. I imagine she's eager to keep Mark from finding us out here. Why, I don't know. Maybe he's more to her than I previously thought? Not just a date or a random fuck. A boyfriend perhaps? The thought amalgamates my insides until the only organ present is the pulsing beat of my disgust. A massive lump of irritation and anger taking over my innards.
“Prostitute?” I cock my head to the side and keep smiling. There's a lovely garden back here, cedar boxes lined with perfect rows of green, mulched beds of flowers, cheery and in full bloom. It's almost as carefully planned a front as my yard. Or Pamela's four children. Or Mrs. Braxton's happy marriage. Falsities groomed for the sole purpose of hiding all of that pain, that darkness, that ridiculously tumultuous bit of self that the world simply refuses to see. “I believe you've been misinformed.”
Audra sighs gruffly and streaks her fingers through her red hair. The scrunched, nude fabric of her dress climbs up her thighs. I scan my gaze down her body and find out that she's barefoot. My breath hisses through my teeth and my pants feel suddenly tight.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone. Pam gave me your number and – ”
“How do you know Pamela Tribbard?” I interrupt. My faux smile never falters, but the way Audra's eyes drill into me, I can guess she sees right through it. Most of my clients can; it's one of the ways I pick them.
“How is that any of your business?” A stray stripe of sunlight cuts Audra's face in half, drawing emphasis to her pert little nose and her pale skin. I don't take the break in the clouds as any sort of sign, just random happenstance. In my world, there is no such thing as fate. I tuck my tight fingers into my pocket and lean back, watching Audra's eyes trail over my body. I take great care to keep it in shape. I doubt many would be willing to pay to assuage their darkness with some balding, middle-aged prat with a dandruff problem.
“Because you have my number. Not many people do. Now, before I decide to change it and cut Pamela off entirely, I want to know how you know her. Why she even thought to recommend me to you.” A flash of anger stabs through Audra's face, turning her white skin pink. She turns away, pauses, spins back to face me again with a slightly different expression.
“You can't cut Pam off. She talks about you like she's in love.” My lip curls. I don't mean it to, and I reign it in almost immediately, but Audra sees and she doesn't like it. She glances over her shoulder again, and I growl. “Besides,” she whispers, putting her hand on the railing and coming down the three stairs of the back porch to stand even with me, “you're in my ya
rd, sneaking around like a common criminal. Tell me why I shouldn't have you arrested? Why I'm the one that has to answer your questions? What are you even doing here?”
“Is Mark your boyfriend?” I ask casually. I don't mean for that to happen either. The question just slips out of my mouth, further infuriating me. Get yourself together, Carter. I don't know what's happening, and I don't like it. I always know what's happening. Iron-clad restraint is my specialty. Perhaps this girl isn't as ideal a client as I thought?
“Wouldn't you like to know?” she replies, voice childish and underwhelming. My previous interest in this redheaded girl begins to fade. I stare into her eyes, upswept at the corners, wide, green, feathered with thick clumps of eyelash slathered with too much mascara. Hmm. My cock begs to differ with my lackluster opinion. He's still very interested in Audra. I reach a hand down and draw Ms. Holiday's attention to my thickened cock.
No reaction on her face, plenty from her nipples. They harden into points, puckering the fabric at her breasts and further confirming my earlier suspicion that there's no bra underneath this dress. My smile picks up a notch, slightly more real this time, wholly more dangerous. I pray Audra Holiday retreats inside before my agenda changes. As of right now, I haven't forgotten about Mark.
“Hey, Aubrey, where the hell you at, baby?” Both Audra and I have a physical reaction to Mark's needling voice, so high pitched I actually foster the idea that he never made it past puberty. Perhaps his sluggish disinterest and messy curls, unkempt facial hair and baggy clothes, were charming in the days of his youth. Not so anymore. I enjoy the look of panic and frustration on Audra's pale, pixie face. Her crimson brows arch gracefully, two well-groomed 'V's above her rich green eyes.
“I don't need a prostitute. If I want to get laid, I can find it for free.”
Taboo Unchained Page 3