by Skye Warren
Take the Heat
Skye Warren
Pam Godwin
Sheri Savill
Cynthia Rayne
Shoshanna Evers
Candy Quinn
Tamsin Flowers
Elizabeth Coldwell
Audrey Lusk
Trent Evans
Giselle Renarde
Warning
This book contains explicit language, sex and violence. There are no rules here. Just dark and twisted characters coming out to play. Not intended for those under eighteen or those uncomfortable with the subject matter.
The Magnolia Hotel
Skye Warren
I could have loved the Magnolia Hotel.
With its vertical marquee sign and tarnished brass fixtures, the old building stood testament to a different time. I’d played in the chipped courtyard as a child, imagining swanky parties in the salon and glamorous couples in the rooms above.
But I had never imagined that my playmate would later buy the hotel. I never imagined my playmate would turn into a monster, either. That was the boon of childhood—its sweet, myopic vision.
I wasn’t a child anymore, and I could see the building clearly for what it was: a crumbling facade for a criminal enterprise. Two beefy men stood like sentinels at the double doors with their stained-glass-window inlays. One gave me a quick nod, allowing entrance.
A swirl of dust motes met me in the dim hallway. I paused, taking a deep breath of stale air. I thought I even smelled the soft perfume of magnolias, as if it had seeped into the wood paneling and patterned carpet. As if the goodness of the past could overcome the violence of the present.
But I knew better.
I found them in the salon. No swanky parties greeted me. Just my brother, sitting at one of the tables, flanked by two more sentinels.
His right eye looked puffy already, and I had no doubt it would ring with brown. His lip had a red slit down the side. A bruise was forming on his jaw. A sound escaped me, one of sympathy and horror and frustration.
Benny looked up, a hopeful expression twisting his swollen face. “Grace! I thought you weren’t coming.”
I went to him, ignoring the two men surrounding him. At least they didn’t try to stop me when I ran my hands over my older brother’s shoulders—lightly, checking him, assuring myself that he was alive.
“Of course I came,” I whispered urgently. “But you know I don’t have that much money.”
I had been working a twelve-hour shift, so I’d found the note when I got home. I’m in trouble, sis. Big trouble. I need to borrow $5K. Bring it to the magnolia. Five thousand dollars? He had gotten in deeper than I suspected. Five thousand dollars, thrown away on slot machines and ceramic chips.
Five thousand dollars that I definitely didn’t have. I had about half that saved up, which had all come from my art sales. Since I’d only made sales thanks to Benny—and since he was my brother—I had brought that money with me.
“Well, well. The cavalry has arrived.”
God, that voice. That low, teasing voice used to turn my insides to liquid. Honestly it still did, but I knew better than to believe in it.
The sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled up. His slacks alternately draped and hugged his long legs in all the right places. He was a handsome picture, purely male and tailored power.
And I hated him.
I tried to channel all that hate into a single word. His name. So familiar and yet completely foreign to me now. “Liam.”
Whatever effect I’d been going for, it wasn’t that half smile. A quirk of his lips. A sparkle in his eye. I hated how happy he could be in this moment, when he’d just assaulted my brother. Or ordered someone to do it, more likely.
In that moment I wanted to hit back. “I despise you. You are a horrible human being, and the Liam I knew, my friend, would have hated who you are now.”
For a second, his expression flickered. Was that remorse? But then a cool mask slid into place. “Aren’t you glad I turned you down, then, all those years ago.”
He didn’t say it like a question. Which was a good thing, because I hadn’t been glad. The fourteen-year-old version of me had been devastated when I’d asked him to be my boyfriend. He’d been too old for me, eighteen by then, but I hadn’t understood that. He’d let me down gently, so gently, saying he had to focus on his work now, focus on making something of himself—but he’d wait for me. That’s what he said. He’d wait for me to grow up.
And I had believed him, but I hadn’t known that his work was loan sharking and whatever other illegal enterprises he had. I hadn’t known that making something of himself meant turning into a criminal. It had been five years since that day, and though I mostly pretended it had never happened, sometimes a deep feeling of humiliation would heat me from the inside out.
Like it did now, raising the temperature of my whole body and making my cheeks burn. I fumbled through my purse. “Here. I don’t have the whole amount. I have two thousand.”
He stared at the slim wad of bills in my outstretched hand with an expression of distaste.
I pushed it toward him. “Just take it. I’ll get the rest to you, somehow. I swear. Just let my brother go.”
“You only have two thousand dollars,” he repeated slowly.
Did he not believe me? “It’s everything I have. I cleaned out my account. I didn’t even keep any back for rent, but my paycheck comes in a week and…I’ll figure something out.”
He looked at me oddly. “Where’s the rest of your money?”
Was he trying to humiliate me? “I don’t have any other money. Just what I make at the nursing home. It barely covers my bills. The only reason I have this much is from the paintings my brother sold.”
At that Liam looked at my brother, and I felt Benny stiffen in his seat. Some silent conversation was taking place that I couldn’t understand.
“What is it?” I asked, afraid to know the truth. This whole business was dirty—and terrifying.
“Your precious brother, the one you rushed here to save, has been stealing from you.”
“What? No.”
“Go ahead. Ask him.”
The thing that convinced me was Liam’s almost sympathetic expression. I turned to Benny with a sick feeling in my stomach. “Benny?” When he didn’t answer—didn’t even look at me—I asked again, with a faint note of hysteria this time. “Bennett?”
“I sold them for more than I told you,” he mumbled.
I stared at him, uncomprehending. I didn’t want to comprehend that my own brother had lied to me. Stolen from me.
My paintings had been a hobby. A passion, but something I did on the side, in private. My brother had convinced me to start selling them—I’d thought he was being supportive! But I hadn’t known where to sell them. Working extra shifts at the nursing home, I hadn’t had time to figure it out, either. But Benny had known. He’d sold five of my paintings in the last two months, for four hundred dollars apiece.
It was only fair that he’d taken a percentage as commission. I’d insisted on that.
“How much did you sell them for?” I asked in a small voice.
“A thousand each,” he mumbled through puffy, split lips. “Then two thousand on the last one, ’cause it was bigger.”
Jesus. He’d kept so much money from me. My own brother had done that.
“He stole from me too, in a way.” Liam’s words were seductive, promising me absolution for
my anger at my brother. “He borrowed money and promised to give it back. Except he didn’t. That’s why he’s here. You know that. Because he’s a liar and a thief.”
My throat felt thick. “You tricked him. He has a problem. An addiction. The gambling—”
“Excuses. Didn’t you check him into that clinic six months ago? That cost you a pretty penny. And what did he do?”
He’d checked himself right back out, wasting the three-thousand-dollar enrollment fee. It had been money painstakingly saved up from the whole time I’d worked as a custodian at the nursing home. Then when I’d graduated high school, I’d been promoted to an orderly. I had thought maybe one day I could save enough for nursing school…but God, that would never happen. I had been crazy to think it would. There was barely anything left over in my paycheck after bills and food. And anytime I did save money, Benny’s addiction ate it up.
Benny hung his head, unable or unwilling to defend himself.
I was suddenly feeling far less sympathetic about his injuries. In truth, I had shown up expecting it to be worse. I’d had terrible visions of broken bones and severed fingers. But maybe I’d been overreacting. Maybe Liam still had that spark of humanity, of compassion, I’d once loved as a child. And even if I knew Benny was partly to blame for his situation, I couldn’t leave him to the wolves. Namely, one wolf. Liam.
I turned to my childhood friend who looked so different now with the glint of scruff on his face, with a bend in his nose where it had been broken. He looked so much more distinguished. He looked intimidating.
“Please let him go. Even if he… I know what he did. But he’s my brother. I can’t leave here without him. Take the two thousand. I’ll get you more, soon. I promise you. Just don’t hurt him.”
“Do you know how much he owes me, Grace?”
I swallowed. “Five thousand dollars?”
His face pulled into a slight grimace. He sighed. “Fifteen.”
I stood there, stunned. Unable to gasp or even breathe. Fifteen thousand dollars. I would never have that much money, not ever. But he was my brother.
“Please,” I whispered, reduced to begging.
Liam looked away, and for a horrible second I thought it was a refusal. My stomach pitched wildly, in fear and doubt and desperation. How could I fix this? I couldn’t, I couldn’t. My brother was going to be beaten or killed.
Then he turned back to me, a hard glint in his gunmetal eyes. “There is a way you can help. You can be mine, Grace. Mine to do whatever I want with.”
Seconds passed with excruciating slowness as my mind protected me. Then reality slammed into me—all at once. He meant sex. I was almost sure he meant sex. Then I laughed at myself, hollow and jaded. What else would it mean?
I hadn’t thought it possible to hate Liam more, but I did, because he’d set up an impossible choice. For fifteen thousand dollars—and for my brother’s safety—I had to agree.
What did that make me? A prostitute? A sex slave?
An expensive one, at least.
I looked at my brother as the offer stood in the air. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Couldn’t he at least put up a token protest? At least try to protect my honor? But I was getting a clearer picture of Benny than I had our whole lives. Letting himself fall to this level was one thing, but dragging me into it was the last straw. I would do this for him—and that was it.
“Never again,” I whispered.
I would never drain my bank account and come running to help ever again. Never sell my body for him. Never trust my brother again. It was like losing a family member. The only one I had.
Benny nodded, or maybe he was just drifting out of consciousness, his head bobbing slightly. Who knew? I was done. I would do what Liam required of me, and then I would be finished. Finished with family. Finished with criminals.
I’d be alone then.
I nodded grimly. “I’ll do it.”
Liam gestured to his goons. “Show him out.” Then he turned back to me with a guarded look. What was he protecting himself against? “This way.”
I stared after him for a second. What had I gotten myself into? But it was too late to back out. Benny was already being strong-armed out the door. Well, if I was honest, he wasn’t being forced at all. He was practically running out the door, and he didn’t look back. He wasn’t a fool.
I was the fool.
My heart beat an erratic pattern. If I tried to bolt, would his men stop me? Would Liam himself restrain me if I fought him? He’d purchased the right to use me, in a way. That didn’t mean I’d make it easy.
He led me down the hallway I’d come from, and into a more expansive lobby. A massive chandelier filled the domed ceiling. Some long-gone centerpiece had left a patch of vibrant-colored carpet in the middle of the room. Why had he picked this place for his headquarters? Even in its decay, it was too beautiful for cruelty.
A mechanical groan sounded from behind the elevator doors, then a crash as the steel box settled on its ancient cables. Liam opened the gold crisscross gate and gestured me inside. When I stayed rooted to the spot, he said impatiently, “I’ve had the building inspected. It’s perfectly safe.”
As if that was why I’d hesitate to step inside.
But I had no other options. Even if he let me leave now, there was no way to get fifteen thousand dollars. And deep down, I didn’t want to leave the Magnolia Hotel, the place I’d made elaborate fantasies about all my life, and go back to my one-room apartment with the bass pounding through the walls. The hotel had seemed like a castle, a place both pretty and safe. And now inhabited by a dragon.
“Coming?” the dragon asked.
I stepped inside.
* * *
The elevators had never been working when I played here as a kid. And the stairwells chained shut. But now the rattling motor took us up. And up and up. To the penthouse, the very top. A mishmashed version of me looked back at me through the milky-white reflective mirrors. Then the elevator doors opened, and I was looking at a Magnolia Hotel room. An actual room, and it was so much better than I could have imagined.
The sofas had elaborate silhouettes carved into dark wood. The fabric upholstery was floral and damask and a strange satiny substance that reflected light from crystal-dripped lamps. Like the carpet downstairs, there were bright rectangles left in the wallpaper from where pictures would have hung.
Ruthlessly, I tamped down my pleasure. This wasn’t about sightseeing, even if I was finally seeing the sight of my dreams. This was about obligation and pain. It was about the man who stood watching me a few feet away with hooded eyes and a slightly resentful turn of his lips. For someone about to get his way, he didn’t seem very happy. Maybe he didn’t really want me. Maybe he was reconsidering.
“Will you change your mind?” I asked.
A flicker of surprise. “Never.”
That couldn’t be relief I felt.
“Would you like a drink?” A brass cart held an array of amber liquids and cut-glass decanters.
“Please. Yes.”
He poured me something that went down smooth as silk. I drank the whole glass and then felt slightly dizzy.
“Slow down,” he said.
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to look forward to a whole night of…what, exactly? I didn’t know what would happen next, or how it would happen, or how many times it would happen. My nerves were jittery, nonstop and overbright, like a neon sign flickering in an old pawn shop. He was so solicitous now, so patient all of a sudden. Everything felt too slow, as if time itself had slammed on the breaks. I wanted this over and done with. I wanted to never do it at all.
“Are you going to be rough?” I whispered.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” I said, because then I could really hate him. And I’d know for sure, for absolute sure, that we had never been meant to be. That wasn’t how I liked sex. This wasn’t how I liked sex, forced and dispassionate. I would never like sex with Liam.
Oh God, I
couldn’t do this. I imagined him twisting my arm and pushing me into the ground. I imagined his face contorting in anger and disgust. I had buried the feelings for him long ago, but every unkind word or cold touch would dig them up. And then where would I be? Devastated, like I was when I heard what he’d become. He’d be using not only my body but my childish love for him, my lingering hope. He’d use all of me for his own pleasure and then send me home, disheveled and hollow.
The empty glass rolled from my nerveless fingers, soundless on the carpet pile. I bolted for the door, also soundless. Also empty. It was a frantic flight, like a bird bursting from a bush, except I couldn’t actually fly. And I had already been locked inside a cage. I reached the elevator doors at the same second as he caught me from behind. He spun me around, and there was the anger I had dreaded to see. Anger and disgust.
“You’d break your promise? That’s not the Grace I knew.”
I laughed. “I guess people change when they get older.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “They do.”
As if to prove his point, he turned me with my wrist, twisting my arm until I faced the wall. Faded wallpaper against my cheek. A hard body pinning me from behind. Trapped. Trapped in the prettiest cage. A tear slipped down my cheek.
He made a sound of annoyance. “Am I as horrible as that? To let me touch you? Are my hands that dirty?”
“You hit my brother!”
“You’re right, I did. He stole from me. And unlike you, I’m not going to be a martyr. I take what’s mine.”
He reached around my body. His hands were rough on my breasts, mauling me, hurting me—on purpose. Spoken insults would not be enough for him. He had to show me, with a hard grip on soft flesh and a cruel pinch of my nipple. I cried out, and he grew slightly more gentle, but his hands still roamed me with utter possession. They roamed over my hips and low over my belly to the space between my legs.
“How do you like it?” His breath was hot against my temple. “Not rough, I know that. Do you like it soft and slow, with music playing in the background? Should I have hired a violinist to seduce you first?”
He was mocking me. I jerked in his arms, but he subdued me quickly—with just a single finger. He reached under my skirt, and when his forefinger slipped beneath the hem of my panties, I froze. He moved lower until he brushed the private hair there.