The Escape

by Alice Ward

  “What is it?” I was annoyed that I needed to be on guard with the only friend I had left. All I wanted to do was go back to my apartment, have a glass of chardonnay and watch mindless television.

  Brandy’s eyes lit, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You’re seriously the best thing that’s happened to Jewel in a long time.”

  “Ha ha. We’ve already been over this, I’m no match for Gina’s golden vagina, remember?” I resumed walking, but I couldn’t walk faster than Brandy. The crippled leg and damn cane kept me moving at a lumbering pace. I pushed my body against the door as I opened it, desperate to be away from all the fakeness surrounding me. It was only drizzling, the storm having moved on, and I breathed deep, taking in the cold mountain air.

  “Well, apparently you are.” Brandy beamed as I stepped out, holding on to the door for her. “A match, I mean.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

  “We have an offer I don’t think you’ll want to refuse.” She laid a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  It took every ounce of restraint in my body not to yank away from her hand and let the door slap her in the face. “Whoever it is can go fuck himself with his offer. I’m not a wh—” I caught the word in my throat. I wasn’t a whore, but these other women were, and I had no right to insult them. God knew, I’d behaved whorishly in my glory days.

  “Before you whip out your nunchucks, hear me out.” Her hand on my shoulder now gave a gentle squeeze, as if to hold me in place.

  “You have one minute. I’m off the clock.” I gritted my teeth and didn’t dare look her in the eye.

  “Why don’t we discuss this in your dressing room?” she suggested as she ushered me the short distance to the dressing house.

  I could barely breathe by the time we reached my dressing room. I began stripping off the gauzy outfit as soon as we got inside. Brandy, however, had been moving slow and methodically. She wasn’t in a hurry. My internal alarms were blaring.

  “These are all so showy.” As she spoke, she rifled through my costumes, her voice deliberately lofty. She looked at each piece hanging on the dressing rack with a discerning scrutiny.

  “They’re designed for me. I fly around the room with massive wings in gold lamé, so showy works. What’s going on?”

  She slowly faced me, and my stomach twisted with nausea. “What would you say if we got an offer for a clothed conversation, nothing more.” Her eyes met mine with an expression of confidence and satisfaction. “Do you think you can do that for me? You probably wouldn’t have been able to hold off offers forever, and this way, you’ll be making management happy.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You know I have a contract, Brandy. I don’t have to accept offers.”

  She was right though. I probably couldn’t wiggle my way out of an offer that didn’t include any sex or nudity at all. And if I did, everyone would probably hate me.

  When Brandy offered me the job at Jewel, I was down to my last few bucks and had no idea what to do. After spending nearly two years in a dark and debilitating depression, I needed to crawl my way out of the hole any way I could. I needed this gig. The pay was decent, and it came with a place to live as well as a contract that stated sex, sexual play, nudity, and anything at all outside of six rehearsed and scheduled performances a week would be at my discretion.

  I just stared at Brandy, not wanting to commit to something that might lead where I didn’t want to go. If I accepted this offer, from whatever lonely bastard wanted to sit for an hour and talk to me, what kind of slippery slope would I be careening down?

  “He’s offered fifty thousand dollars for an innocent conversation, Adara. That’s unheard of. Your take would be seventy-five hundred, paid out tonight. That’s a lot better than pay for a week’s worth of performances. I mean, this is a no brainer.” Brandy plopped herself down on the small velvet chair angled in the corner of the tiny room. “Only problem I see is getting you something decent to wear. It’s got to be up to Jewel’s standards.”

  My eyes fell to her cleavage. “You mean it’s gotta show my tits.” Jewels never wore much, even if their clothes were classy.

  Brandy looked at me with an expression that conveyed both hurt and annoyance. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you something. All you have to do is say yes.”

  Her head bobbed as she looked me up and down appraisingly, like she was a diva checking out another. This was a strange sisterhood, where we weighed the value of our bodies against the needs of our survival.

  I looked at the woman I’d spent most of my childhood with and realized what a snake she’d become. She was a great businesswoman, no doubt, but she was an even greater pimp.

  “I live by my own rules, Brandy. I won’t be coerced.” I bit my lip so I wouldn’t say more.

  When I was on the road, selling out stadiums, hitting the charts with number one singles and living the life of an overnight pop sensation, I was known to have an attitude. I could afford one. I was always loyal to my friends. Never threw them under the bus. Including Brandy. I hooked the girl up with whatever she wanted. Sadly, she was always too in the moment to care about the future. Now, the future was staring us in the face, looking ugly and scary.

  She lifted a brow. “So, what would it take?”

  “Just talk, no touching. I’ll only allow ten questions, five of mine and five of his.” I sat and peeled the body suit down my torso. “And I wear my own clothes. I’m not a whore, and I won’t dress like one.”

  Tension spiked in her as her back flattened and her eyes narrowed. “We don’t call our sisters whores, Adara. You know that.”

  “Mona,” I snapped.

  “Yes, ma’am, Ms. Mona Arc.” Her voice was as hard as the line of her lips pressed together as she struggled to keep her composure. “And your offer is ridiculous. Why not let the poor man talk to you and see your fucking tits, instead of playing Twenty Questions cut in half? Would that be so hard?”

  I growled under my breath. “I’m not showing anyone my tits. And I damn well don’t have to take any offer if I don’t want to. So, I’ll allow ten questions and nothing more. A Jewel would give him a better ending, but I won’t be a Jewel. Final offer.”

  “Fine,” she conceded on an exhale, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “I just have one more thing.”

  I sighed. Good, she was nervous. Now we were having fun. “I love you more than anyone in the world, but like any sister, you get on my nerves more than you don’t. What is it?”

  “I’ve one last proposal to share with you, and before you jump down my throat or threaten my life, I want you to hear me out.” Her head lilted forward, and she held up her hand. I immediately knew she’d drawn a truce.

  Whatever was coming next wasn’t her doing, maybe none of it was. She didn’t have any more choices than I did. I always forgot that.

  “I’m listening.” I rolled my head on my shoulders, stretching out the tight muscles.

  “Jack Marshall has made another offer for you tonight.” She paused, and since I didn’t raise an objection right away, continued, talking faster the more she got out. “I know what your answer is going to be and how you feel about his offer.”

  “I—”

  She held up a hand. “Before you refuse again, I want you to listen. When Harmon and I started dating, he wanted to… I don’t know, see if I could survive in this environment, test me out. Since Jack is part owner of the club, and he and Harmon are good friends, they thought, you know, it’d be a good next step in our relationship.”

  “Bran—”

  She kept going. “Jack met me with a bottle of Cristal, wearing a bathrobe in one of our pleasure rooms. That was the first time. I’ve had sex with him on several occasions. He’s not into crazy kinky stuff, no ass play, no toes, just kiss a little, get him going, and let him do his thing.”

  “I’m—”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “He gets off in about nine minutes. His dick’s so small you w
on’t even know it’s there. Do you know how much he paid for me?”

  Brandy never cried. Ever. And although they hadn’t fallen yet, the gleam of them softened me. “Brandy, I’m really sorry Harmon did that to you, but you know I’ve never liked him.”

  Maybe this was her cry for help. Maybe that’s what this was about.

  The tears in her reddening eyes threatened to spill over, but she held them back. “I didn’t ask if you liked Harmon, I want you to know how much Jack Marshall paid for me to have sex with him.”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “He gave me a pair of red Jimmy Choos his wife couldn’t wear because she was pregnant, and her feet were too swollen. Do you know how much he’s offered for you this time?” She sniffed hard and made her face carefully blank again, but I knew she was hanging on a thin wire of shame, disappointment, and regret.

  “I don’t care. I—”

  “One million dollars, and Harmon wants to sweeten the deal with an increase in the fifteen percent payout to thirty if delivered tonight. That’s three hundred thousand tax-free dollars you can put in your bank account tonight after fucking a man for twenty minutes. Even Gina’s pussy has never come close to this. Million-dollar girls don’t come around that often, Adara. This is like the Grammy Awards—”

  I lifted a finger. “It’s Mona. And don’t go there. Don’t you dare.” I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to relax. “Listen, Brandy, I’m sorry the man you love pimped you out for a fucking bottle of champagne and a pair of shoes. That tells you something.” I was keeping my tone measured and precise, my eyes never leaving hers. “Here’s my answer to your offers. You can tell Mr. Marshall that he can take his tiny dick and shove it into his wife, where it belongs. As far as the other gentleman goes, I will meet with him, but this is a one-time thing.”

  I was done with the conversation, and Brandy knew it.

  Brandy stared at me. Was it jealousy I saw hiding behind her world-weary eyes? “You won’t be young and talented forever. Think about the future.”

  I wasn’t sure what she had to be jealous of. I stood, my shock probably evident on my face. “I think about my future every day.”

  The muscle popped her jaw. “Oh, come on, Mona. If I don’t slap you back to reality, who will?”

  Reality. Like I needed a reminder.

  I pulled on a pair of black wool pants to hide my brace and a silk blouse that nicely accented my curves but didn’t give away the farm — mostly so I wouldn’t resemble any of the Jewels. So I’d look different. “I’m ready.”

  “Don’t be mad,” Brandy said softly, her hand moving to my shoulder. “You have to forget about your past, not just run away from it. You got lucky. The poor foster kid who became a famous rock star. It all died with Nate, sweetie, and now the world’s moved on.”

  “Bran—”

  Her hand began to stroke my upper arm, a comforting gesture to soften the words. “One fuck for a mil won’t change anything, but it sure will give you some financial freedom. You don’t want to be chained to Jewel until you’re so old you have to sell yourself to the fetish crowd, do you? It’s only one night.”

  Even though she spoke with care and concern shining in her eyes, Brandy’s diatribe had my spine stiffening, turning me as cold as an icicle. Who was this blonde bombshell standing in front of me? I must have been wrong. We weren’t friends, didn’t share a bond like sisters.

  I willed the cold to creep in deeper… deeper… until I couldn’t feel the stab of pain in my heart. Raising my chin, I said in my haughty I’m-a-star-you’re-a-peon voice, “Please let the communication-only client know I’ve accepted, on the condition there will be no touching. And, Brandy, don’t ever ask me to sell myself again.”

  Never one to be embarrassed, Brandy’s face flushed as she turned to leave the room. “I’ll let the house know.”

  I shivered as the door closed behind her. Jack owned part of this club. If the owners of Jewel decided my safety was no longer a priority, there would be nothing I could do to stop them.

  Had Brandy pulled me out of my personal hell, only to deliver me to another one?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Roman

  The hostess escorted me to the pleasure rooms with a few of the other men, each following their own elegantly dressed guide. Duk had already left for the rooms to be with his choice for the evening.

  I hated that nerves made me clench my hands and created uneasy feelings in my stomach. I’d closed billion-dollar business deals with some of the world’s most successful businessmen, and yet my palms were slick with sweat and my heart raced as I tried to think of five appropriate questions to ask a muse.

  As I entered the pleasure room that was to be mine and the Butterfly’s, the hostess offered me another scented towel, this time smelling of black licorice with a hint of lavender.

  I patted the warm scent over my face, not realizing until now that I’d begun to perspire from nearly every pore. The soft, wet cloth soothed my skin and immediately put me at ease. Again, Jewel’s fine machinery at work. Most men must’ve felt like I did entering the room, either so hyper-charged with arousal they were a possible liability to the woman, or so inordinately stressed they were in need of relaxation. The aphrodisiac-scented cloth kept a man both sexually alert and calm.

  The room had to have been prepared especially for us because it was set with two chairs at a conversational distance from one another. Each had a side table with a slate coaster and a vase of night-blooming jasmine. In the corner of the room sat a tray of caviar, fruits, and cheeses.

  The hostess prepared me a chilled glass of water spiked with cucumber and another containing Grey Goose on the rocks, my usual drink. I turned to study a hand-painted Japanese partition that separated a bedroom area with a king-sized bed from the sitting area. Even from a distance, I knew the Egyptian cotton coverlet was of the highest thread count. The Jewel was ready for anything.

  I tried my best to train my thoughts away from the intoxications provided and focus on getting to know their elusive headliner.

  “Is there anything else I can get you before your appointment arrives?” the hostess asked, still wearing a facade of perfect servitude.

  “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.” I watched her face relax into a soft smile.

  She reached into her pocket and produced the latest model iPhone, its slim black case shimmering in the low lighting.

  “Should you need anything else, Mr. Wellington,” she placed the phone on the side table, “just tap ‘call’ on this phone and I will be here to provide you with whatever you might require. Any and all transactions can be made through me or the Jewel app on this phone, as long as both parties are in agreement. No transaction will be final without both parties signing. However, anything can and will be arranged as requested.”

  I nodded, and she bowed before leaving the room.

  So, I could fuck the ethereal diva if she signed her consent. When my mind leapt on the idea, I turned it by focusing on the business part of it. Interesting bit of information the hostess had tossed out. Not that I planned on making use of it, but the level of discretion a private phone in a private room offered had to be inviting to patrons.

  I stayed standing and took a sip of cold water to stabilize my raging nerves and dilute the bourbon of earlier. I couldn’t remember being so intensely affected by anyone in my life.

  The door opened again, and the room emptied of air as she entered, still wearing a dark mask that spread across the planes of her face like butterfly wings. I’d expected to see her face in this room. Curiosity created a tension in my chest, making me want to act totally out of character, urging me to stride to her and rip it from her head.

  But she seemed so fragile. Her long, dark hair danced about her face, and she wore a shear black blouse with a camisole underneath. In the dim candlelight-like light, with strands of red shimmering, she was more beautiful than I remembered.

  As she breezed into the room, I noticed she still had
a slight limp, but her leg was effectively concealed by a pair of wide, wool pants. She was dressed surprisingly modest for Jewel, which intrigued me more.

  Unable to trust my voice, I motioned for her to take a seat. She drew a quick breath in as if expelling nerves and took the seat across from mine.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wellington.” Her voice slid over the words like silk, practically buckling my knees.

  Her presence was magnetic, and my pants tightened as my cock swelled, my brain suddenly focused on only two things: her and the bed just a few feet from us.

  I inhaled. Exhaled. Wondered why I felt like I’d been hypnotized by her.

  All she’d done was enter the room and say my name, and all the oxygen was sputtering out of my lungs, my dick taking over. I was one of the most successful men in the world and was letting a performer at a brothel unravel me. I had to get command of my senses.

  But she had an unmistakable air about her. She electrified the space with her incredible presence.

  And she was waiting for me to speak.

  “Good evening, Miss…” I paused, unsure of what name to use. Butterfly seemed too contrived. I wasn’t a sex-starved businessman looking for a fling. I didn’t need a “butterfly” to make me hot, and I wasn’t looking for a gimmick. I could have women lined up if I wanted, and all I’d have to buy was a drink. I cleared my throat as I sat straighter in the chair. “How should I address you?” I intentionally set my focus on her eyes, hoping to bore out the truth with the intensity of my gaze.

  “Please call me Mona. Mona Arc.” Her dark blue-green eyes met mine, blinking twice, then lowered to the floor.

  So, not her real name. Mona Arc. Monarch. Butterfly. Of course. The businessman in me wanted to be insulted by the obvious play on words, which was so unsubtle as if to suggest stupidity.

  Play the game, Roman.

  “I’ve never done this before. I’m not the kind of man who needs to purchase a woman.” I didn’t know why exactly, but I needed to put that out there. “No insult intended.”