by Myra Scott
“The session is-—” he started to say before realizing it was me, and his eyes widened as the light of the candles fell on him.
My jaw dropped.
Even with just a glance at him, I saw that he was covered in cuts and bruises on his face.
“Oh my god, Eric,” I breathed, my brow furrowing and my heart picking up. “What—”
“Mick, I—I wasn’t expecting you so early,” he stammered. “Give me a few minutes to get ready for our session, I need to clean up.”
“Eric, you’re bleeding,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “What happened?”
“It—it’s nothing,” he insisted, also glancing down the hallway and wincing. “We can’t be seen out here, come in.”
He pulled me inside and shut the door behind us, and the whole room smelled… wrong. It was like I could smell the fear in the air around us with an undertone of blood, but I guessed that was just from Eric.
He walked over to the table, where he had opened a cabinet that was made to be discreet—it contained some bandages and gauze that he had been using to dab at his wounds. I rushed over to the cabinet and took out some alcohol and cotton balls without even thinking about it.
“What are you doing?” Eric asked, and I could hear the shakiness in his voice.
“Taking care of you,” I said. “Eric, what in god’s name happened to you?”
“Mick, it’s…” he said, hesitating, and I could see in his eyes he wanted to say more, but he was faltering between trying to stick to his character and admitting that something was wrong. “Just give me some time to get ready, I can be with you in just a few minutes. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Forget our session,” I breathed, almost laughing at the idea. “Eric, I know damn well there are no special contracts you offer that let someone give you bruises like that, much less break the skin.”
“Shit, is it that bad?” Eric suddenly said, going to the cabinet’s mirror and looking at his features. His face fell immediately, and I saw tears welling up in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but I silenced him by gently pushing his shoulder and making him face me.
“I’m so sorry,” he gushed as I brought the cotton ball to a cut over his eyebrow, gently cleaning the blood off the cut. It wasn’t serious, but it was definitely going to sting for a while. “You’re never supposed to see me like this, this is completely unprofessional.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, my voice firm yet gentle. “Eric, you’re a human being first and a sex worker second. You can’t put your work before your health and you can’t tell me this was part of an agreement.”
“You know I can’t discuss my work with other clients with you,” he said.
“I’m not asking you to,” I said, “I’m asking you to discuss real, bodily harm that’s been done to you.”
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t push away from me, either, so I started cleaning his wounds one by one. He winced as the alcohol touched his open wounds and stung him, but he let me do the same on his arms, and when I got to his collarbone, he let me unzip his top to get to some of the injuries underneath it.
“How did this happen, Eric?” I asked softly, and he turned his head away from me. His face was sad, but he was resolute. But the more injuries I took care of, the angrier I was getting. I kept a calm face, but I knew Eric could sense it. “Who did this to you?”
“You know I can’t talk about that,” he repeated softly.
“It was the guy I saw in the hallway, wasn’t it?” I asked, and Eric’s twinge told me I was right. “Older guy, eerie eyes?”
“It’s… it’s just Phillip, he has some… special tastes,” Eric said, holding so much back. That did it. Something in me snapped.
“Special tastes?” I said, not holding back the anger in my voice. Eric winced, but I put my hands on his shoulders reassuringly. Fury was raging in my heart, but I wasn’t angry at Eric. “Is that what he calls this insane bullshit? Special tastes? Eric, he beat you!”
“Mick—”
“No,” I said, “full stop, that isn’t okay, Eric!”
Eric stepped forward, putting his hands on me. “Mick, I’m not worth it.”
I kissed Eric on the lips, a hot, fierce kiss before I looked him dead in the eye.
“Yes, you are, Eric, and I’m going to make sure that bastard knows it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - ERIC
“Mick, calm down. It’s not that bad, I swear,” I insisted, shaking my head. I had my hands pressed against his chest, my eyes wide and pleading. “Don’t mess with it. Just let me handle this issue on my own, okay?”
He stared at me, those warm brown eyes filled with passion and pain. “Eric, he hurt you. Look at your arms. You have bruises. You’re bleeding. That is not fucking okay,” he growled.
“I know, I know. Look, it’s no big deal. My session with Phillip just got out of hand. I was playing the part of the submissive, and he pushed me a little too far. It happens sometimes,” I told him, shrugging. I tried to force myself to smile reassuringly, but I just couldn’t. It was killing me trying to lie to him. He could see right through me. He knew the truth. My injuries were more than enough to make that clear.
“Eric, I can’t let him go. Not after what he’s done to you. Step aside and let me take care of you—this,” he said, sighing. “Let me defend you.”
“He’s my client. I—I can’t let you go after him,” I said unconvincingly. “Listen, I hate the guy. He’s a scumbag and a sadist. He’s dangerous. He’s disrespectful. He took advantage of me. I know all of that, but it doesn’t matter. This is my job, and I have to accept whatever he dishes out. My boss made that pretty clear.”
“Your boss?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Madame Myrina.”
He glared daggers over his shoulder at her office. “She’s the one who put you up to this? She made you go through with this session? Does she know how dangerous that guy is?”
I bit my lip, afraid to be totally honest with him.
“Yes,” I relented finally. “I told her. But this client… he has connections. Money. He’s not the kind of guy we can just turn down. He’s in control here.”
“Not anymore. Not after what he’s done to you,” Mick said gruffly. “Where the hell is he? Where is that asshole hiding?”
“Mick, don’t,” I murmured softly, my eyes darting around to check and see if anyone was watching the drama unfold. The last thing I needed was for one of my colleagues to catch on and tell Myrina there was trouble brewing. “I’m already on thin ice here. I can’t cause trouble.”
“You’re not causing anything,” he replied simply. “You’re not the problem. He is. And I’m the one with the problem. You can step aside, keep your hands clean. You don’t have to endure this fight alone, Eric. Not anymore. I’m here for you, and I am going to make that fucker pay for what he’s done.”
I gazed at him, feeling my eyes burning. I clenched my fists, not wanting to let myself show weakness. I couldn’t break down right now. I needed to stay in control.
Mick seemed to notice my distress and he softened slightly, laying a gentle hand on my uninjured shoulder. “Look, all I want is to have a civil but firm conversation with the guy. I need to tell him what he can and cannot do with you. Just a casual conversation between two gentlemen. No need for drama,” he said, shrugging. But he was not particularly persuasive on that front. I could feel the anger radiating off of his body.
“Mick…” I said softly.
“Tell me where he is, Eric,” he commanded firmly.
I sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to stop him now. This kettle had long since boiled over, and the mess was inevitable. I hung my head and replied softly, “He’s in the client locker room, getting cleaned up.”
That was all he nee
ded to hear. Mick stormed away from me in the direction of the locker room, his hands already balled into fists. My heart skipped a beat and I rushed to follow him. “Mick! Mick! Don’t do anything rash!” I called out nervously.
He pushed through the door and slammed it shut as I hurried through. He looked around, glaring, and then noticed the steam emanating from the showers. He went barreling down through the row of metal lockers toward the mist. There was a faint upbeat humming which I immediately recognized as Phillip’s voice. It disgusted me how cheerful and happy he seemed to be after our painful, sadistic session. Like he was happier than he’d ever been before.
“Phillip?” Mick bellowed. “Come out, you little fucker.”
The humming stopped. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
From the steam, Phillip emerged, wearing a robe. He looked confused. “What? What’s going on?” he asked, shrugging. Mick was breathing heavily, staring at him with pure loathing. Phillip looked him up and down and scoffed.
“What’s your problem, buddy?” he asked, gesturing toward Mick. “I’m a client here. You can’t talk to me that way. Do you know who the hell I am?”
“No. And I could not possibly give less of a damn about who you are,” Mick snarled. “As far as I’m concerned, I know everything I need to know about you already. You’re a scumbag. You’re a sadistic little prick. And you need to learn your place.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you lost? This is the locker room, pal. You’re not my Dom, and I’m not your submissive. You can’t boss me around and punish me,” he scoffed. “Get out of here before you embarrass yourself any further.”
“Mick, let it go,” I hissed. For the first time, Phillip seemed to notice that I was there. His eyebrows shot up, and he smirked. He pointed at me and chuckled derisively.
“And why are you in here, Eric? Can’t get enough? Don’t worry, I’ll be back here next week to punish you some more,” he sneered.
“Don’t you dare speak to him that way,” Mick warned, gritting his teeth. Phillip laughed.
“What way? I can talk to my whore whichever way I choose,” he replied. “And I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but my arrangement with him is none of your business.”
Mick took an aggressive step forward. “Oh, you made it my business the second you laid a hand on him,” he shot back.
“What?” Phillip said, giving him a dubious look. “Is that what this is about? You’re a client of Eric’s and you have some misguided crush on him or something? Listen, pal, he’s not your boyfriend. He’s not anybody’s boyfriend. He’s just a hot little fuck toy for paying customers like you and me. You’re supposed to use him, not fall in love with him. Get a grip.”
“So, you admit it; you’re the one who gave him all those cuts and bruises?” Mick bellowed.
Phillip rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest haughtily. There was a hefty note of pride in his voice when he answered, “Hell yeah, I did. Why? You admiring my handiwork? I bet our little whore will be feeling that for weeks. I like to leave my mark, you know. Just remind my victims who they belong to.”
“He does not belong to you,” Mick retorted, taking another step forward. Phillip was starting to look a little alarmed now.
“Call off your admirer, Eric,” the older man barked. “Get him out of here.”
“Mick, come on. He’s not worth it,” I insisted.
“No. He hurt you, and he needs to pay for it,” Mick refused.
“If you don’t stop threatening me, I will make sure my lawyers sue you for every last cent you’ve ever earned, you worthless prick,” hissed Phillip, narrowing his eyes.
“Is that how worms like you settle your problems? With a lawsuit?” Mick scoffed. “Well, let me tell you, I’m not afraid to take care of things the old-fashioned way.”
He began rolling up his sleeves, and my stomach churned. Oh, no.
Phillip’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. “Wait. No. This is ridiculous. Why are we fighting over something so insignificant? Calm down, buddy.”
“I’m not your friend,” Mick growled.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What’s your problem?” he replied, sounding nervous now.
“You. You’re my problem. Those bruises and cuts on Eric—those are my problems,” Mick explained sharply. “The way you disrespected him. Abused him. That’s a damn problem, you spineless little snake. You like to hurt people? Huh? Is that how you take out your frustrations?”
“Why the hell are any of us here?” Phillip yelled. “We’re all here to inflict pain! It’s a BDSM dungeon, you idiot!”
“That,” Mick enunciated coldly, “is not how it works.”
“Yeah! I like to cause pain. It turns me on. And you know what? I bet Eric loves it, too. Tell him, Eric. Tell this moron how much you like getting slapped around. That’s why you work here, right? Because you like it,” he said, grasping at straws.
“No,” I said. “You’re wrong.”
“I bet when you go home at night, you fantasize about guys like me. You touch yourself and think about how good it feels when I hurt you, huh?” he sneered lewdly.
“Stop talking. If you say another fucking word to him…” Mick trailed off.
But Phillip was on a roll. “That’s all you’re good for, a punching bag for superior men like me,” he accused, grinning. “Just a whore.”
Mick shoved him hard, sending Phillip clattering into the metal lockers. He looked stunned. I gasped and stepped back. “How dare you?” the older man mumbled. He yelled in rage and went running at Mick, rearing back to clock him in the face. But Mick dodged his attack smoothly, and countered it with a swift, startlingly accurate punch to Phillip’s jaw. There was a sickening crunch, and Phillip dropped to the tile floor, out cold.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” I muttered breathlessly. “Mick, what did you do? Oh, god. What have I done? Shit. Shit.”
“Come on!” Mick shouted, running over and grabbing my arm. He led me out of the locker room, the two of us bolting out of the dungeon, fleeing the scene of the crime.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - MICK
“Come with me!” I hissed over my shoulder, looking back at Eric. His gorgeous green eyes were wide and round with shock, his usual smooth, tanned face going ashen. He looked like he had just witnessed a ghost. Or a crime. Which, depending on whether or not Phillip decided to press charges against me for punching him in the face, could be accurate.
“Where are we going?” Eric whispered nervously. We ran up the steep, narrow staircase to the entrance and I nearly broke down the door shoving through it to get out. “Mick, I can’t just abandon my shift!” he added. “I—I have a job to do.”
“Your job isn’t a safe environment right now, Eric. I have to get you out of here,” I replied, tugging him along behind me as we ran down the hallway. I blinked in the sickly, fluorescent light, my eyes adjusting to no longer being in the dimly-lit, moody dungeon. I wondered vaguely if this was how cave spelunkers felt after reemerging from under the earth. Exposed, anxious, and relieved all at once. Madame Myrina’s was just like a cave, with unpleasant predators lurking in the shadows.
I had to get Eric free. I had to bring him back into the light.
“What if Phillip comes after us?” he was asking. I could tell he was trying his hardest to keep his tone even and cool, but he was freaking out on the inside. I couldn’t really blame him. Despite the fact that he was a Dom who dealt carefully-measured pain to his clients, he was obviously not accustomed to seeing violence outside of a session. For all his ability to be domineering and seemingly ruthless, he was really just a tender, gentle man. It was probably hard for him to watch me knock the lights out of some asshole right in front of him.
“I don’t think Phillip will be going anywhere for a while. Unless it’s a hospital,” I answered, fighting back a smug
smile. As much as it might have upset Eric, I couldn’t deny that it felt really fucking good to wipe that smarmy look off of Phillip’s face.
“Mick, don’t say that,” Eric gasped. “What if he sues you? What if he sues me? Or worse, he sues Madame Myrina.”
I stopped for a second and turned to give him a dubious look. “Why would that be the worst-case scenario?” I asked, cocking my head to one side.
He shrugged. “Because she’s terrifying. That woman is the most intimidating person I have ever known. I would rather Phillip sue me than go through her again.”
I chuckled and put an arm around him, guiding him out of the building and into the rosy, golden sunlight of late afternoon. It was the time of day when Las Vegas was at its most beautiful. I took a deep, calming breath, reveling in the sensation of the bright desert sun on my face. Eric seemed much less composed than I was. He was looking around frantically, as though frightened that someone might see us together. That might have hurt my heart if I didn’t understand the impulse to hide his feelings, his relationships, his truth.
“Don’t worry. I parked close by. We’ll be safe soon,” I assured him. He gave me a fleeting, appreciative smile, and I led him across the parking lot behind the building and around the corner to the parking lot behind a closed-down old restaurant.
Eric gave me an inquisitive look and I explained, “Well, it’s not that I’m ashamed to be seeing you, specifically, but I still was not interested in having everyone in my life know I have been visiting a sex dungeon. My colleagues all know what kind of car I drive. Hell, those nosy bastards probably know my license plate number. It’s just easier to park a little farther away and throw them off the scent. I may be just a little bit paranoid,” I added.
Eric appraised my car with his eyes and then said, “It’s a cherry-red sports car with a sun roof. Maybe in some other neck of the woods, it would stand out, but here? In Vegas? You might as well be driving a black sedan.” He smiled at me, which made my heart leap for joy.
“Alright, enough teasing me about my crappy taste in cars and just get in before I toss you in,” I told him gruffly. As though he had just remembered the circumstances that led us to my getaway vehicle, he hastily slid into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt. I calmly got behind the wheel and started up the engine with a roar. We peeled out of the parking lot as I pulled the car onto the strip. In the fading sunlight, the neon signs and flashing billboards had a strangely pinkish hue over them. It looked as if the world around us had been dipped into some vintage-worn sepia tint, like we were driving through the scene of an antique postcard. I loved this time of day. It felt like anything was possible.