I shake my head, disappointed. “You doubt me, Speedy? I’m a little insulted. We’ve been fucking for three weeks now, and you still haven’t figured out that I’m a machine in bed. Clearly, I’ve not been doing my job properly.”
“Oh, you’ve been doing your job just fine. It’s just impossible, Gabe. No one can get hard again that quick after just coming, let alone come again so soon. No matter how good they are in bed.”
My eyes narrow at her. Then, I pull her down to the bed and roll on top of her. “Challenge accepted,” I say.
Then, I cover her mouth with mine and get to work.
Ava
“Okay, fine. I was wrong,” I pant, breathless.
“I’m sorry, what?” He cups his ear, like he didn’t hear me, when the smug bastard heard exactly what I just said.
“I said, I was wrong. You clearly are superhuman when it comes to sex.”
“Damn right I am, baby. And, wait, I need to get my camera, so I can have it on film—you admitting that you’re wrong.”
I give him the middle finger, and he bursts out laughing. A full-on belly laugh, and it’s one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard.
And I can’t help but laugh, too.
He reaches over, cupping my face, and brings my mouth to his. He softly kisses me. “You rock in the sack, too, Speedy. I’ve never had it as good as I do with you.”
When I hear that, my stomach flips over, but I play it cool. “Well, that’s ’cause I’m the best. And, if you put the best and the best together, you’re going to get spectacular sex.”
“Mind-blowing.”
“Astro-fucking-nomical.”
“Amen to that, baby.”
He puts his fist up to me, and I bump it with my own.
I glance at the clock. “I should get up.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me again. “Not yet.”
“I really need to get showered and ready. My boss is a bit of a tyrant. I’m already on the clock, and he’ll go apeshit if he knows he’s paying me to have sex on the job.”
He freezes cold. I’ve never seen anything like it.
And I instantly know I said the wrong thing.
“Gabe?”
He pulls away, and then he’s getting out of bed. He puts on his athletic shorts and gets a T-shirt from the drawer. He drags it on over his head, his movements rough and jerky.
I say his name again, getting to my knees. I hold the sheet around me.
He doesn’t answer.
“Gabe!”
He stops and slowly turns to face me.
“What’s going on?”
“You wanted to get up. I’m getting up.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to lie around in bed with you all fucking day. I’ve got shit to do.”
“You were just asking me to stay in bed with you, so don’t give me that crap. Just tell me what’s wrong. Is it something I said? The joke I made about you paying me for sex?”
His face hardens to stone. “I’m just done, Ava.”
“What?” My heart starts to pound in my chest.
“Are you deaf? I said, I’m done.” He turns and walks to the door.
“Done with what, Gabe?”
“You,” he says without turning around.
Then, he walks out, slamming the door behind him.
Fighting tears, I scramble out of bed and throw some clothes on. Then, I’m flying out of his bedroom, straight after him.
I find him in the living room, sitting on the sofa. A lit cigarette in his hand.
I stand at the end of the sofa, staring down at him. “What the hell was that?”
“Go away, Ava.”
“No, I won’t fucking go away. I want to know what just happened back there. Because I’m confused. One minute, we were fine, and then I made a joke—which, granted, wasn’t my finest joke—but the next thing I know, everything has gone to shit. So, you’re gonna have to explain this to me because I’m in the dark here.”
His head turns, and he levels a dark look at me. “I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t! I fucking told you, I can’t do this anymore. End of.”
“No, it’s not end of just because you say so! There are two of us in this, Gabe! Not just you.”
He stubs his cigarette out and stands up. “But that’s just it. It is just me in this. Because you and I are just fucking, Ava. I might have said we’re dating, but we’re not. I fuck you because I can, and I tell you we’re dating to keep you happy. And, now, I’m done fucking you, so you can go.” He throws an arm in the direction of the door.
Pain ricochets through my chest, like he just shot me. But I hold myself together.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Gabriel! And you’re so full of shit that it’s pouring out of your ears! Say what you want, but I know you’re lying.”
“No, you’re just fucking deluded.”
“Fuck you. The only one deluded around here is you. And I know this has to do with me saying something about you paying me for sex. Because I saw your reaction the second I said it. I know you’re sensitive about it. I just don’t know why. But I know this”—I jerk a hand between us—“has something to do with you not wanting to pay me a salary while we’re sleeping together. So, you can try to tell me it’s not that and that you’re done with me, but I know it’s all bullshit. And, if you give a shit about me, you’ll tell me the truth. And if you don’t…then I guess we really are done.” I spin on my heel and walk away.
My heart is beating out of my chest, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
“Ava.”
I stop at the sound of my name, but I don’t turn around.
He sighs loudly. “Jesus. Okay! You’re fucking right! It is about that. About me being sensitive about the money-and-sex thing. I was being an asshole when I said I was done. I don’t want you to go.”
I turn around, but I fold my arms over my chest. I don’t want him to think I’ve forgiven him yet. “And?”
“And what?”
“Why are you so sensitive about the money-and-sex thing?”
He looks away.
“Gabe, you don’t have to tell me anything. I wish you would trust me enough to want to, but you don’t have to.”
His eyes snap back to mine. “It’s not about not trusting you. I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”
“Then, what is it?”
His eyes go to the floor. His hands on his hips, he heaves out another sigh. “I don’t want to change the way you look at me.”
I drop my arms and take a step toward him. “Nothing could change the way I look at you.”
He lets out a laugh, but it’s hollow and humorless. “That’s an easy statement to make when you don’t know everything.”
“So, tell me.”
He shakes his head, like he’s having an internal battle with himself.
“Gabe…”
“I used to sleep with women for money.”
“What?”
“And my parents are in prison for drug trafficking, racketeering, and murder.”
Ava
“I’m sorry, what?” Reeling from what he just said, I reach out for something to hold on to, but there’s nothing but air.
“Ava, do you need to sit down?”
“Uh, yeah. I think so.”
I walk over to the sofa on wobbly legs and sit down on the edge, fingers gripping it.
Gabe stays standing by the window. The light frames him, making him look incandescent. And beautiful. So very beautiful.
He’s not looking at me. His dark eyes are on the floor.
His words keep echoing around in my head.
“I used to sleep with women for money.”
“And my parents are in prison for drug trafficking, racketeering, and murder.”
I thought his parents were dead. Apparently not.
He’s not saying anythin
g. I think he’s waiting for me to speak.
Honestly, I don’t know what to say.
But I go with the latter, as that seems more important. “So, your parents aren’t dead. They’re in prison,” I say in a quiet voice.
“Yes.” His voice is rough.
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“How? Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
His eyes finally meet mine. Emotions are running riot in them. It makes me ache for him.
He looks away from me. “My dad is originally from Italy. He was born into the Russo crime family.”
He glances at me, a question in his eyes, and I shake my head, not familiar with their name.
“My grandfather was the head of the family, my dad his eldest son. And my grandfather built up a business relationship with a Jewish mob boss who pretty much ran Las Vegas. My grandfather sent my dad out to Vegas to secure the deal with the Jews, and he was to head up the running of it.
“My dad met my mother, who was the niece of the Jewish mob boss. She worked in one of his casinos. They got married. I was born a few years later. Tate, five years after that. Together, they ran several casinos. Or so I thought. The casinos were a front for the money laundering and drugs they were filtering through the casinos.”
He comes and sits down on the sofa chair beside me. I shift to face him.
“I knew they weren’t squeaky clean. I knew my dad’s family history. I knew they did some dodgy dealings. Kids would say stuff about them to me at school. The police came calling at home a few times. But, honestly, I didn’t know the true extent of it. I didn’t know they were mixed up in drugs or…that they’d killed people.
“I was seventeen when the house was raided, and my parents were arrested. It was the middle of the night. Tate and I were dragged from our beds, put into the back of a police car, and driven to a boys’ home ran by social services. We weren’t told anything. We only knew what we read in the newspapers in the following days. They wouldn’t let us see our parents. Tate was devastated. Then, I heard that my mom and dad were being charged with racketeering and the murder of several people. I knew that Tate and I were never going home. At seventeen, about to turn eighteen in six months’ time, I was smart enough to know that I’d stay in the boys’ home, and with Tate being twelve, they would try to rehome him.
“I’d just lost my parents. I wasn’t going to lose Tate as well. So, we left. My parents’ assets had been frozen by the government, but I had some savings in my account. So, I withdrew everything I had, and I bought two bus tickets to Los Angeles. I thought the idea of living near the beach sounded good. So, we rode the bus here, and I decided to change our surname to Evans in case anyone came looking for us.”
“So, your real name is Gabriel Russo?”
“Yes.”
“Why Evans?” I ask him.
“The bus driver had on a name badge that said Evans.”
“That simple.”
“Yeah, Speedy, that simple.” He grabs his smokes from the table and lights one up. He takes a drag and exhales the smoke.
“I managed to find us a studio to rent, using the rest of my savings. And I got a job waiting tables. I got Tate enrolled in school. But the one job wasn’t bringing in enough money, so I got another. In the end, I was working three jobs.
“There was a guy I waited tables with. The night he quit, he told me all about how he’d scored this job being an escort, and he was making a shit-ton of money doing it. So much that he didn’t need that job anymore. He said I should give it a try. He gave me a card with the number of the place he’d started working for. So, I gave them a call. What could it hurt, right? And, if taking some women out for dates or whatever would give me more money to give Tate a better life, then it was all for the better.
“So, I went in for an interview. Told the woman I was twenty-one. I looked it. But she laughed and said I had to show her ID. So, I told her I was eighteen. She said she had no problem with that. That her clients liked younger men. Said they would love me. She hired me on the spot. But said there were rules. Under no circumstances was I to have sex with a client. I told her that wasn’t something I was looking to do. So, she sent me off to HR, which was basically an overweight middle-aged woman behind a desk, smoking a cigarette. She took my photo for the database. I was given a form to fill out. Then, it was done. I was signed up with the agency and told they’d call me soon. I left, and they called three days later with a job for me.
“A woman needed a date to her friend’s wedding. It was her first time using an escort. And my first job, so it worked well, as we were both nervous. I picked her up in a cab, took her to the party. We danced and drank. Had fun. When the night was over, I dropped her back home, and she thanked me for a great evening. Easy. Then, a few more jobs started to roll in, and I was getting more and more popular.
“Then, one night, I was out with this woman. She was in her forties. But really good-looking, you know. She oozed class, and the jewelry she wore could have fed Tate and me for the rest of our lives. She started telling me how her husband didn’t pay her any attention. She was sure he was screwing his secretary. She mentioned how lonely she was. Then, she reached over and slid her hand up my leg. She stared me square in the eye and said she’d pay me a lot of money to make her feel good about herself.
“I knew it was against the agency’s rules, but I was young, and I thought, Hey, here’s a beautiful woman offering to pay me to fuck her when I would have fucked her for free.
“So, I said yes. And, the next thing I knew, we were going to a hotel. Then, we were in the room, and we were fucking. And, when it was over, she kissed me on the mouth, thanked me for a great time, and told me she’d be telling all her friends about me. Then, she left a thousand bucks on the nightstand.
“A thousand bucks.” He laughs, but it’s a sad sound. “I was eighteen years old with a thirteen-year-old brother depending on me for everything. So, I took the money with a smile on my face. The next morning, I took Tate out for a huge breakfast and took him shopping for new clothes.”
“Does Tate know—”
“No.” His eyes snap to mine. “And he never will. Understand?”
“Of course.” I swallow. “You can trust me, Gabe.”
He holds my stare. “I wouldn’t be telling you all of this if I didn’t think I could.”
Knowing that warms the ache I feel for him in my chest, but it doesn’t soothe it completely.
“Anyway, a few days later, she called me, asking to see me again. So, I said yes. Why wouldn’t I? It was easy money. After I fucked her in her hotel room, she told me she had some friends who wanted to spend time with me, too.”
It’s hard not to wince when he talks about having sex with those women. His voice sounds empty of emotion. Honestly, it makes me want to bawl my fucking eyes out.
“I kept escorting with the agency for a while,” he tells me. “But, soon enough, I was too busy to take jobs they had to offer, as my own clientele had grown fast. I quit with the agency and became a full-time hooker. Screwing rich women for money.
“And, for a long time, it was easy. Fun even. Fucking hot women for money—what’s not to like about that, right?”
He laughs, but it’s hollow, and my heart hurts at the sound.
“I moved Tate and me out of the tiny studio we had been renting and into a two-bedroom apartment. I got a car. I put money aside for Tate’s college tuition fund. Life was good. Or so I thought. After a while, it started to not feel good anymore. It just felt empty. Soulless. There was nothing fun about it anymore. I just started to feel dirty. Even spending the money felt dirty. And I guess, somewhere along the way, I’d fooled myself into thinking that these women actually cared for me.” He makes a self-deprecating noise. “That was stupid as fuck because, of course, they didn’t care about me. I was just a monetary means to a great fucking orgasm.
�
�I was ready to get out of the business. But I didn’t have any qualifications. I was good at fucking and nothing else. Then, as fate had it, I got a new client. She was a first-timer. Her husband had been having an affair with a younger woman, and he’d left her. Her friends had told her she needed to get back on the horse. One of her friends was a client of mine and had said she should get in touch.
“So, we arranged to meet in a hotel room. When I got there, I could tell off the bat that she wasn’t ready. So, we talked instead. And I found myself opening up to her. Told her I was tired of doing what I was doing. I told her about Tate. How I needed the money for him. She had a kid the same age. Then, she told me that she was a producer for a network. They had a part on a show they were auditioning for, and she said I had the exact right look for the character. Asked if I had any acting experience, which I didn’t. She gave me the name and number of an acting coach. Told me to get some lessons and that she’d set me up with an audition for the show.
“And she was good on her word. Called me up the following week with a date and time for an audition. So, I went to the audition. I’d never been so fucking nervous in my life. I threw up in the restroom beforehand. And then I went in and auditioned.
“The next day, I got a call. I’d gotten the part. I couldn’t fucking believe it. It wasn’t big money, less than I earned hooking, but it was a regular part on a fucking television show. So, I called up my clients and told them I was out of the game. The hit on the money was hard for a while, but then I auditioned for some film roles, did some small parts, and then landed a lead role in my first movie. And that was it.” He gestures his hands around his apartment.
“When I first hit the big time and my popularity was rising, I was nervous that maybe the escort agency would come out and say something to the press or one of the women I used to sleep with might, but then I figured the agency wouldn’t want the press, and those women wouldn’t want to admit to paying for sex. They definitely wouldn’t want it to be public knowledge. Some of these women were married. And the others had high-powered jobs. None of them would want it getting out. They all had as much to lose as I did. So, I knew I was safe.
Breaking Hollywood Page 17