Deviant

by Callie Hart

  Contents

  title page

  Copyright

  dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Tell Me Your Favorite Bits!

  Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at callie.law.author@gmail.com

  90907

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  All rights reserved

  ISBN:978-1495927851

  Formatted by Frankie Rose

  frankierose101@gmail.com

  Once there was a boy who lived in the dark…

  And he liked it there just fine.

  When I say I’m a ghost, I’m not being literal.

  I’m very much alive. Or at least some days I hurt just enough to know I’m still clinging onto a heartbeat. No, when I say I’m a ghost, I’m referring to the fact that people rarely see me. I’m the girl in the background. The average height, average weight, average hair color, non-event that eyes skip over instead of lingering on. I slip silently through this yawning city I live in without smiling. Without having to greet anyone for days at a time. It’s been that way for the last six months. It’s rare that I have to speak to strangers, and when I do it’s perfunctory; people know instinctively that I’m not primed for small talk. Today is no exception.

  “Here’s your room key, Ms Fredrich.” The receptionist in downtown Seattle’s Marriot hotel slides the plastic key card across the marble countertop. Once she’s withdrawn her hand a safe distance, I reach out and palm it.

  “Thank you.”

  Eyes down, she’s stapling the paperwork created by my payment. “So…business or pleasure?” The warmth in her eyes dies when she finally looks up at me and registers the blank look I’m wearing. The smile slides from her face like butter from a hot knife.

  “Business,” I tell her, because nothing has ever been truer.

  “Okay, well…I hope you enjoy your stay.” She looks away as soon as she’s done with the appropriate front desk script. She doesn’t ask why I’ve turned up at her hotel with no bags, or why I’m only booking in for one night. Or why I’ve left a spare key card at the front desk for a Mr Hanson. She doesn’t ask any of that; she’s not supposed to. Eli’s given me a rundown of how this thing will play out, and so far it’s almost to the letter. I lift my purse from the desk and head to the elevator, straightening my coat.

  Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen….

  I watch the numbers light up one by one. Each disc, the size of a dollar coin, lights up and darkens in turn, and the elevator descends while I wait, patient and unblinking. There are other people waiting for the car to arrive. If this were an office building or a shopping centre, I’d take the stairs; closed spaces and I aren’t exactly the best of friends, but since this hotel is forty-seven-floors high and I’ve booked a room on the forty-second floor, I’ll just have to tolerate the inconvenience of their presence.

  The doors slide back and I walk in first. The other hotel residents—four businessmen—are staying somewhere mid-level, and I don’t want them brushing past me as they exit. It’s easy to label them as mid-level guys. They’re wearing mid-level guy suits, and all four of them have mid-level guy haircuts. Their accommodation is being paid for by a cost centre funded by an accounting department, and accounting departments don’t spring for penthouses. They spring for double rooms with en-suites that have access to the gym and not much else. No mini bar for you, Mr Corporate.

  The lift doors roll close and I retreat within myself, pressing my back against the rear wall of the elevator car. I close my eyes, exhale down my nose. This will all be over soon, but my heart still dances in my chest all the same. The fear of being trapped, of what I am about to do, is like a coiled snake, ready and waiting to wreak havoc on my insides.

  “Hey. Hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little freaked out.”

  One of them talks to me. He thinks my panic is tied to the elevator ride, which it is, but only partially. He has brown eyes, a soft, warm color that reminds me of melted chocolate. He has dimples, too, probably twenty-three or so, around my age. He looks nice. The kind of nice I might have dated once upon a time, before…before any of that became impossible.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I tell him.

  “Good.” The guy with chocolate eyes smiles at me. “Deep breathing sometimes helps my sister. She’s not fond of elevators either.”

  He’s so sweet. Way sweeter than I deserve, considering my purpose here today. I reward him with a watery smile—he grins back—and then the doors open, and the four of them leave. I jam my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking. I’m alone for eighteen floors, which is better than being trapped with four strangers but still not great, and then, finally, it’s my turn to alight. This hotel is much like any other I’ve stayed in. The only difference about it, the thing that will define it from all others in my memory for as long as I live, is that I’m here for a very specific reason: to have sex with a total stranger. And I’m doing it to find my baby sister.

  ******

  By the time I’m inside and my coat is hung neatly on the hook behind the door, I’m pretty much ready. I’m wearing what I’ve been told to wear—black lace. Eli, the private investigator I hired to help me find my sister, wasn’t any more specific than that. He’s the one who set this whole thing up.

  “Sometimes money just isn’t enough to buy what you’re looking for, sweetheart. Sometimes it takes a little more…persuasion to buy information like this. I tell you what…I’ll share what I know in return for a little favour.”

  “What kind of favour?”

  “You spread your legs for a paying customer and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” The disgusting pig has the audacity to smile. “Oh come now, Ms Romera. Don’t look at me like that. You want to find your sister, don’t you?”

  And in the end, I’d agreed. He was right; I do want to find Lex, and I’ll clearly do anything to make that happen. Even if I’ll never be able to live with myself afterward.

  Aside from the lingerie, Eli told me to bring something else with me today, something hidden in the pocket of my jacket. I take it out and put it on. The mask is a black lace number with blood-red lace edging and makes me a feel a little more disguised at least. I hit the light switch in the bathroom and rummage in my purse for the only thing that’s going to keep me sane during this experience: a box of Valium. One of the perks of being a fifth year resident is that there’s always someone available to prescribe medication when you need it, no questions asked. The sedative’s not even in my name, will never appear on my medical record. I pop one, just enough to keep me calm but not enough to make me drowsy, and then I peer into the mirror, fixing the band of my mask underneath my hair.

  You look like shit, S
loane.

  I tell myself this every time I look into a mirror these days. It may be the truth, but then again it may not. I’ve been staring at myself in mirrors for so long now that the reflection just doesn’t make any sense anymore. Lex was always the beautiful one. I know I have a nice body. Eli said that was the only reason he was willing to do business with me, because my tits were real and I had a nice ass. Your height might make some guys uncomfortable, but hey…not a lot you can do about that. I focus on the dark rings under my eyes, trying to remember that this is all temporary. It’s not forever. I’m a medical student after all. The body is just a machine, full of cogs and intricate parts all ticking away, working in harmony to keep you moving. Having sex is just making use of that machine, nothing more.

  You can do this, Sloane. You can do this.

  And then, not even two seconds later…

  Lex wouldn’t want this for you. She wouldn’t want you used and abused, selling yourself for so little. I hate that voice inside my head. It makes it so hard to justify going through with this, but it’s not as though I’m auctioning off my most valuable possession for drugs or money, or even fame and fortune like some girls do. No, I am doing it out of love. Love for Lex. Any sister would do the same.

  It’s been six months and I’m still no closer to finding Alexis, and this really does feel like my last resort. Eli’s smart—he’s given me just enough information to keep my hope alive but nowhere near enough to risk me backing out of our little arrangement.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  “Holy shhhh—” The door. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, trapping the curse word behind my teeth. It’s go time.

  Mr Hanson will have collected his key from the chirpy concierge downstairs, but I was told to expect the knock. Let’s me know the guy I’m going to be sleeping with is here and I have to wait in the bathroom until he comes to get me. I pull the door closed and for a brief second a rush of fear grapples hold of me. If I lock myself in here and refuse to come out, how long would he wait until he gets pissed off and leaves? I can’t do that, though. Eli would never hold up his end of the bargain, and besides…none of this matters anymore. None of it. It’s just something I have to get through.

  I hear the electronic beep of the key card being accepted into the door, and the rough catch of the lock sliding back. Silence follows after that. The edge of the sink digs into the back of my legs, as I remain frozen, leaning heavily against it, before I remember I shouldn’t do that. It’ll mark my body, and that’s against the rules, even temporary marks like that.

  Thankfully the drugs begin to kick in, washing over me with a muted sense of peace. A good thing, too, because whoever is out there takes their sweet time in making themselves at home. Without it, I’d have been on the verge of on making a run for it by the time a knuckle raps against the door. “Come on out. Turn the light off first,” a voice commands. It’s gruff and full of gravel, maybe the voice of a smoker? Fucking great. I’m going to have to spend the next two hours with my tongue down a smoker’s throat, and then I’m gonna have to bleach my mouth out. I turn the light off and open the door, and I’m perplexed by what I see beyond.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing. The room is pitch black.

  “Couldn’t find the light switch?”

  “Don’t touch it. Just come here,” the voice tells me. He sounds young enough, and he’s alone. Not that I was expecting more than one guy, of course. Eli swore it would only be the one guy. And only this one time. I step gingerly into the room, wishing I’d paid more attention to where the furniture was positioned before I’d locked myself away. I immediately stub my toe on god only knows what and hiss with pain.

  “You okay?” There’s an amused lilt to his voice, which is kind of irritating. What kind of a guy gets off on a girl breaking her toes?

  “Well…I can’t see a thing,” I mutter.

  “That’s the point, I’m afraid. Come here.”

  If I knew where here was, I’d probably be a little less turned around. I try again, and this time I manage to stumble to the bed without colliding with anything else. The mattress dips as I climb onto it, wondering where the hell he is. I’m not half as scared as I should be. In fact, I feel almost a little giddy.

  “Sit in the middle of the bed with your hands behind your back,” he whispers. I wonder if he’s going to tie me up. That should bother me. Would bother me any other time. “Do you need a name?” I ask him; Eli said I should ask.

  A low rumble, deep and throaty, breaks the silence of the room and I realize he’s laughing. “Are you offering to tell me your real name?”

  “Eli said that’s against the rules.”

  “Then no.” The mattress dips again. He’s moving, coming closer. His hot breath grazes across the skin of my neck when he speaks. “I don’t need to call you Melody or Candy or some other fake-ass name. We’ll just be strangers for a while. That square with you?”

  “Yeah, I—I guess.”

  In the darkness my skin is alive. So are my other senses. My nose keeps on whispering to me, hints of mint and the ocean. Whoever he is, this guy smells incredible. Not a whiff of cigarettes on him at all, which means that voice…that voice is one hundred percent natural. I’m curious about him in the most detached way.

  “You done this before? Like this?” he asks me.

  “Never.” My breath actually catches in my throat. I’m so spaced out that I can barely think straight, but the lack of lighting in the room is making my heart race. Maybe it’s because this guy could be a serial killer. He could still be a serial killer with the lights on, but at least I’d have the chance to see it in his eyes and run for my life.

  Mystery Guy exhales, sending another warm breath across my chest. My nipples harden even though I’m not cold. I’ve never experienced that before. Never. Probably because I’ve never been this close to a guy before. “Place your hands in your lap,” he tells me.

  I do it. I jump a little when I feel his hand reach out and touch my leg. “Scared?”

  “No.”

  He laughs, and it’s a cruel and wicked thing. His hands gently trail up my leg until he finds my hand, where he fingers curl around my wrist. “You’re braver than most girls.”

  “You do this with a lot of girls?”

  “Yes.”

  Well at least he’s honest. He lifts up my hand and brings it toward himself, and stubble prickles against the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

  “You smell like flowers. What perfume do you wear?”

  “Afresia,” I tell him.

  “It’s clean. Not too heavy. I like it.”

  So glad you approve. I feel like giggling. His nose brushes against my wrist and then the soft touch of his lips follows soon after. The kiss is barely even there, soft and gentle, but I can read a lot from it. His lips are full and he’s gentle with his mouth. That’s unexpected. I fidget on the bed, wondering where this is going. Where his mouth will be going next.

  “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be blind?” he rumbles.

  “Why? Are you blind?”

  “No. Answer the question.”

  “I suppose so. Sometimes.”

  He guides my hand upwards and takes it in both of his, uncurling my fingers so that my palm is open. He does it slowly, running calloused fingers down the length of my own, and I can’t help but shiver. It’s a fairly simple thing, but the way he does it feels intimate and considered, not just grabbing and touching for the hell of it. I hold my breath as he guides my hand again, until my fingertips meet his hair, and then down to his face.

  “Tell me what you think I look like,” he says, his voice a resonating growl. He lets go of my hand, and I have to lean forward to reach him properly. I shimmy closer, tucking my legs under my butt so I can balance properly, and then I raise my other hand to his face, too.

  His hair is short, a little stiff from the styling product he’s got in there; his facial features are strong, pronoun
ced. Jaw’s a little square, nose mostly straight apart from a slightly flattened part near the ridge of his brow. His eyelashes are surprisingly long, and his lips…I was right. His lips are full and way softer than any guy’s lips have a right to be. Especially a guy with a voice like his. From the tingling pads of my fingers, I can sense this guy has the face of an angel. A barbaric one—maybe like one of those guys who did a lot of smiting back in Babylon.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “I think you’re probably very attractive,” I admit.

  He grunts. “And what about the rest of me?”

  He applies a little pressure to my forearms so that they travel down to his chest, where my fingers meet with smooth skin and hard-packed, rippling muscle. His pecs twitch as my hands brush lightly over them, and then downward. I come across three horizontal ridges in his skin that shouldn’t be there, to the right of his abs spaced a couple of inches apart, and my fingers draw circles over them, trying to tease their story from them, trying to figure out where they came from. There’s an untold history of violence here, written in the planes of his formidable body. He shakes a little as I explore him, probing with a feather-light touch until I’ve traced my way across his washboard stomach and up over his obliques. He sucks in a sharp breath and tenses when I do that, and I smile a little. I actually smile. This guy’s ticklish. He doesn’t laugh or tell me not to touch him there, but his body tightens further still when I go over the area one more time to test the theory.

  I move up to his shoulders, which are powerful and strong, and I lace my arms around the back of his neck, feeling over his shoulder blades. He’s huge, but I’m not really afraid of him. Of course I should be, yes, but I’m not. The valium has flattened out my fear, and besides, the way I’d imagined this, the guy was going to come in here and want to lay his hands on me; he’d poke and prod and examine every inch of me, and he’d most definitely want to see what he was paying for. So far, this guy has touched me sparingly and that was on the hand.