by Marni Mann
Seven
Tyler
Five Years and Ten Months Ago
I was now an employee of The Achurdy. At eighteen, a freshman in college, a small-town girl in a big-time city, I didn’t know the gravity of that statement. I didn’t know what I was actually signing up for or the rules I would soon learn I had to follow. But I liked the promises Mina had made to me, and I trusted Wynter.
Since giving Mina my verbal agreement, my life had already changed. I no longer worked at the campus coffee shop. I had clothes now—a full closet’s worth and ones that fit the way they were supposed to. Wynter had acted as my stylist and had taken me shopping. There was no spending limit. She never said no when I eyed something I liked. There was only yes and more when we had been in those stores. I’d never owned a dress before, and now, I had over ten. I had flats and heels and boots. I had cute accessories to wear in my hair. I had panties with lace on them and bras to match, ones that even made my boobs look bigger. I had clutches that would go with all my dresses. I had a lightweight jacket and a heavy one. And, now, I had more perfumes and body products and face lotions and makeup than I knew what to do with.
Our dorm room was filled. Not just her side, but now, mine, too.
It all made me smile.
But the materialistic things weren’t the only cause for my smile. It was also from the love of my new family. There were twenty of us who worked for The Achurdy. Then, there was Mina, who was part mom, part sister, part best friend. For me, she was comfort and guidance. She was honesty when I needed it. We’d gotten so close in such a short time.
Being a newbie, I got most of Mina’s attention. There wasn’t any jealousy from the other girls or any fighting because of it. Everyone understood that I required direction and training. Every day, there seemed to be more of it. Wynter assured me that every girl went through the same thing, and it had taken her over a month before she was given her first mark. Mina had made Wynter shadow one of the other girls until she was ready to go out on her own.
That wasn’t the plan for me.
Tonight, I was all on my own. At least for the start of it anyway. Once I got the mark out of the club and into The Achurdy’s car, Mina would be meeting me. I didn’t know where she would be showing up or when exactly. I just knew she’d be there…and she’d be watching me.
I was nervous as all hell.
Because, even though most of the process had been described to me, there were still so many things that I didn’t know. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint Mina or have her regret her decision in having me join her company.
I wanted to impress her.
And I would.
So, to make sure I looked all right, I had Wynter help me get ready. She picked out the dress she thought I should wear and the style of my hair, even the color of the shadow on my lids.
Once I was set to leave our dorm room, she offered to drive me to the club and coached me the whole way. She reminded me of all the pointers she had recently taught me—things she had learned over the course of her employment that made the job easier. I rehearsed them over and over in my head, trying to remember them all.
When Wynter pulled up to the club, parking by the side door, I recalled the last thing Mina had said to me when I spoke to her this afternoon.
“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, yerekha. Tonight is only going to make me prouder.”
She called all the girls yerekha.
The more Mina spoke, the more random Armenian words she’d throw in, and I’d have to decipher what she was saying. I didn’t mind. I actually enjoyed looking up the translations and saying them back to her when I could.
“Don’t worry, lady; you’ve got this.” Wynter turned toward me while I clung to my clutch.
I wished this were the club she had taken me to last time, the one where I had met Mina. At least I would have known the layout and the location of the back door. But this was a different one.
The Achurdy had several clubs they used around town, and they were all owned by the same man. It was a deal Mina had negotiated quite a few years ago when she needed a place where all her girls could work, especially the ones who were underage. When she’d found out that this owner had more than one club, it was the perfect setup. All of his bars had back exits and secluded VIP areas, and he would allow her girls in without a hassle or an ID. In return, I was sure he got a cut of something, but that part of the deal was never explained to me.
“Are you sure?” I asked her, moving one of my hands to the door’s safety bar and holding on to it for dear life. “I’m really worried I won’t get it all right.”
“You did so awesome during your role-play. So, yes, I’m sure, you’re going to be amazing. Just remember, it takes about fifteen minutes for the powder to kick in, so plan around that.”
I nodded, adding that point to the others that were swirling around in my head.
“I’ll see you when you get home,” she said.
“You’re off tonight?”
“It’s about time, right? Eight nights in a row to cover the girls who’ve been sick. Wake me if I’m sleeping. I want to hear all about it.”
“Okay.” I opened the door, not moving from the seat. “I know I’ve told you this a million times already, but thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet because, if you break my record tonight, I’ll kill ya.”
We both laughed, and I got out of the car, walking toward the side entrance.
“Name?” the bouncer said after I knocked on the door.
“Tyler.”
He checked his tablet and allowed me in. Then, he pointed to the right of where he was standing. “Elevator’s down there. Hit the top button. Have a good night.”
Following his instructions, I found the elevator at the end of the hallway and pressed the button he had told me to. As it rose, I checked myself out in one of the mirrored walls. I was wearing so much more makeup than usual, the shadow giving my eyes a smoky look and the contouring making my cheekbones really stand out. Wynter had styled my hair straight, teasing it just slightly so that it framed my face with volume, and she’d put on an extra coat of gloss so that my lips really shone under the light.
I barely recognized myself.
That made me happy.
Tonight, I didn’t want to be the Tyler who was easily forgotten. I didn’t want to worry about everything I needed to accomplish so that I wouldn’t have to return to the town I hated. I especially didn’t want to be ignored.
And I wasn’t.
From the moment I stepped off the elevator, all eyes were on me—my dress, my legs, my boobs. Where they stayed the longest was on my face.
I can do this.
Now that I was in the VIP area, I held my clutch against my side and moved through the room until I found my mark. I easily spotted him. He was at the corner of the bar, and it appeared as though he was waiting to order a drink.
I rushed over to the same corner and leaned my body into the small space next to him, making sure my arm brushed against his.
“Hey—ugh,” I huffed as the bartender turned his back to me. I hadn’t spoken loud enough to get the bartender’s attention. Just loud enough that my mark, Dean, would know what I wanted.
When I felt Dean’s eyes on me, I turned to my left. He was a little more handsome in person. Still not nearly enough to be described as hot. Especially not in a club where beautiful people were everywhere. His file had said he was thirty-eight, and because the photo was so recent, I’d already known he had curly dark hair. Tonight, he wore a button-down and jeans with shiny black shoes. Nothing he had on screamed money. Maybe his watch did, but I didn’t know much about jewelry brands.
“They need a few more bartenders,” he said. “This line is inexcusable.”
I softened my voice. “Have you been waiting long?”
I remembered something Wynter had told me when she was putting on my gloss, so I took her advice and chewed the corner of my lip. It made them p
uffier, and it caused Dean’s attention to turn there. I wanted him to picture what my mouth was capable of. Then, I flashed him a bit of my tongue, so he could take the thought even further.
“Long enough,” he finally said.
“I hope it moves fast. I’m so thirsty.”
“Well then, let’s make sure we get you a drink quickly. I don’t want those pretty lips to be parched.” His gaze shifted to the bar, and he yelled, “Bartender!”
I’d have to give Wynter an extra thanks when I got home. Her lip trick had clearly worked.
The bartender closest to us walked over. “What can I get you?” he asked.
I looked at Dean, giving him a chance to order first.
“Tell him what you’d like,” Dean said to me.
“Pinot grigio. A reserve if you have one,” I said.
That was something I had learned from Mina. During the role-play we had done, I had pretended to order a white wine. That wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted me to specify the grape and always ask for a reserve. For our kind of marks, she’d said that was important.
“I’ll take an old-fashioned,” Dean said.
While we waited for the bartender to make our drinks, I made sure at least half of my body was pointed toward Dean. The dress hugged my breasts, and his height gave him the perfect view of my cleavage. I tucked my clutch under my arm and played with a cocktail napkin, twisting it and running my fingers over the tight roll. That was another one of Wynter’s pointers. From the way he watched my hands, I could tell it was doing what I needed it to.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tye.”
He held out his hand, and I dropped the napkin to shake it.
“Dean.”
I gave him the smile I’d been working on. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean.” I pulled back my hand from his gentle grip and continued holding his stare.
“Are you here alone, Tye?”
“Twenty-five even,” the bartender said before I could answer Dean’s question. He set both drinks in front of us.
Dean reached for his wallet and handed him a fifty. “Keep it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, lifting the clutch from underneath my arm.
Dean’s hand touched my bare shoulder to stop me. “I’m happy to.”
“Then, you must let me buy the next round.”
“If that means I get to sit with you while you drink it, then you can buy me as many rounds as you’d like.”
That hadn’t even taken a few more bites of my lip. Either this was simpler than I had thought or Dean was just an easy mark.
“How about we go somewhere a little quieter?” I asked.
“I’ll follow you.”
I walked us toward one of the back booths that I had passed during my hunt for Dean. There were several to choose from. I took the one in the furthest corner, which also happened to be the roomiest. He sat next to me and allowed a little space between us. I appreciated that.
“Tell me what you do for a living, Dean.”
“You won’t find it interesting.”
There was a list of questions I had memorized that would keep the conversation going. They were all basic, nothing too personal. And, in case he wanted to know my answers, I had rehearsed several lies. I’d never had a job where I could be anything I wanted. That was just another thing I liked about this one.
“Then, make it sound fun,” I said.
“I own a logistics company that focuses on trucking. We do it all—air, train, sea—but my passion lies in eighteen-wheelers.”
“So, you like big rigs?”
I couldn’t help myself. It was almost too easy at this point.
“I like”—he looked down at my boobs—“big everything.”
My breasts could be described as average but definitely not big. Maybe he was referring to the ones he would buy me if I stuck around after breakfast.
“How about you, Tye?”
“Part-time student, full-time massage therapist.”
His eyes dropped to my fingers. “A young one who knows exactly where to rub. You don’t find that too often.”
“But I’m old enough to know what I like.”
He stopped at my mouth before he made it up to my eyes again. “And outspoken enough to ask for it.”
Not at all. This was an act. I wasn’t experienced enough to know what I really liked. There had been boys in the past, but none who had really given a shit about what I needed.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about Dean, and I knew he loved all this flirting.
“Shouldn’t that be the way it always works?” I reached for his hand, turning it over to rub the middle of his palm. He needed a tiny tease even though he wouldn’t ever get more from me. “Why touch a spot when you know another one feels so much better?”
“A girl after my own heart.”
I shrugged, finally pulling my hand away. “I just call it the way I see it.”
“And feel it.”
I swallowed a small bit of wine after swishing it around in my mouth. Dean’s glass was half-gone. I knew, when he came here, he never had more than three drinks, usually leaving with a woman before he even finished the second one. All of that had been in his file.
I gave him another smile. This time, I tilted my face down and looked at him with hooded eyes. “Drink up. I’m ready for round two.”
While he had been staring at my breasts, I had moved my glass to the other side of the booth and poured most of it on the floor. The carpet was dark, the lighting dim. Dean was too focused to even notice.
I held the drink up to my lips and swallowed the final sip of wine. “Same thing?” I asked. “Or do you want something different?” I stood in front of him as I waited for his answer.
“Don’t change a thing.”
I grinned at his response. Even though he was complimenting my body, I took it as a sign of how well I was doing.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
As I walked to the bar, I reached into my clutch to the inside pocket where I had placed the vial. While I waited for the bartender, I discreetly screwed off the top and tucked it under the back of my fingers. With my other hand, I pulled out two twenty-dollar bills.
“An old-fashioned and a white wine,” I said when it was my turn.
“What kind of white?”
“Always order the same drink,” Mina had said. “When you’re working, you need to remember your answers, yerekha. Keep them consistent. We want to slip through, not raise any attention.”
“Pinot grigio. A reserve if you have one.”
When he delivered the glasses, I placed my hands over the rims, so I could release my bent finger and drop the contents of the vial into Dean’s drink. Within a second, the tasteless mixture would be dissolved, and he would never know it was in there.
Once I gave Dean the cocktail, I slipped the vial back into my purse in exchange for a tube of gloss. I’d practiced the move in my dorm room all morning.
“What are we toasting to?” he asked, holding the glass up to me.
I pretended to think about it, smiling in the most seductive way. “To whatever happens next.”
I already knew what would happen next.
Now, I just had to wait for him to drink up.
Eight
Beard
“Why did you do it?” I snarled into Inmate #1497’s ear.
I’d taken the prisoner out of his cell and brought him into the Operating Room. That was what we called the chambers where we did all the torturing. There were three ORs inside the prison. Each guard had their own, and all of them were set up differently to house our favorite punishing devices.
Up in this motherfucker, the three of us were like doctors. We needed space to operate, and the cells weren’t big enough for that. The ORs gave us room to spread out our tools and access electricity and water. And each OR had a doggy door. Those were for the babies. Those little bastards weren’t a
llowed in the cells; it wasn’t safe for them in there. If an inmate hurt one, Shank would lose his mind.
That said a lot, considering his mind was more fucked up than mine.
The prisoner tilted his head to the side and coughed out a mouthful of blood. Most of it landed on his shoulder, the rest on his arm. “Fuck you.”
Defiance.
That was what everyone spewed when they first came in here. Innocence would be next. They’d promise it with everything they had—the lives of their children, their businesses, their homes. Once we broke them physically, they would finally tell the truth.
This piece of shit hadn’t cracked yet.
His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles shackled to the legs of the chair. Instead of the gyno or dentist chair, I’d used just a plain old wooden one for today’s operation.
I must have been feeling softer than usual.
Layla’s cunt had something to do with that.
“Why did you do it?” I repeated.
Every time he moved his neck, the rope wrapped around it would dig in a little deeper. It wasn’t there to strangle him, just to make breathing a bit more difficult.
Strangling was too easy.
He needed to experience more pain first.
“Answer me,” I demanded, using the back of my fist to whip him across the face.
Blood dribbled down his chin, and more ran from his nose. When it touched his lips, he spit. “Fuck you.”
Fuck me?
I laughed.
He’d done enough fucking. That was why he was in here.
We normally didn’t give a shit about the crimes our inmates committed. We were hired to torture and kill, and that was what we did.
But we cared about this one.
Because this asshole was a bad fucking dude.
He had been an inmate for over a month. We never kept them in here that long. They didn’t usually survive more than a week. But seven days wasn’t enough for him. He needed to really suffer. He needed to feel levels of pain that he hadn’t reached yet.