Billionaire's Playmate

by Chance Carter

  “Your last surprise was a phone call saying you’d been chased across the country by a small town psychopath,” she commented. “Not sure I’m ready for the follow up to that.”

  I smiled and shook my head, pulling out my phone from my pocket. A couple of swipes and taps on the screen later, I slid it across to her. Mom frowned at me, pulled out her glasses from her front pocket, and peered down at the image on the screen.

  “What am I looking at?”

  I started tapping through the photos for her. Her eyes widened.

  “Your new home,” I said. Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out the keys, and slid them toward her.

  Mom looked at me, then snatched up the phone and started scrolling through the photos of the modest but attractive rancher I’d found only a few hours away in Oregon.

  “I already spoke to the hospital, and they’d be sad to see you go, but there’s a hospital near this place that’s part of the same group so they said you could transfer. If you don’t want to go that far, we can find you somewhere else but please just go there for at least a couple of months while I figure things out here.”

  She let her hands fall, mouth wide open. “You bought me a house?” She shoved the phone back at me like it was the house on screen she was refusing instead. “I couldn’t possibly, Shane. That’s too much. Way too much!”

  “Mom, no.” I held her face in my hands and met her eyes. I needed her to know how much I meant this. “Nothing could be too much. You’ve slaved away your whole life for me; this is the least I could do to pay you back. Especially when I’ve put you in so much danger.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. She flung her arms around me and then, like a dam had burst, my mother began to sob. I held her tight and smiled. I was never going to be away from her for that long again.

  It wasn’t just my mom’s trailer park that hadn’t changed over the past three years—nothing had. Riding into Sitka Valley felt like I’d gone back in time. If I didn’t have the scars to prove it, I might’ve thought I was still in high school.

  I parked outside Rowland’s Hardware and looked inside. Would Jake be here? I liked to think that he was at some tech school a thousand miles away, but somehow I doubted that would be the case. We hadn’t talked since I left. I didn’t even know if he knew what happened that night, or if he thought I’d just cut and run after getting my ass kicked. The truth was I was too ashamed for a long time to talk to my best friend, especially since he’d warned me not to go over there in the first place. If I’d listened to him, I might’ve been able to do something for Dallas sooner. Or maybe I wouldn’t have. That’s the funny thing about what if’s.

  Either way, by the time I was ready to talk, too much time had passed. I went through a lot of shit in the army that I never thought I would, got broken down a million different ways and stacked back together again a million different times. Now I felt ready to face everything from my past, and I wanted my best friend on my side.

  The shop was quiet when I stepped inside. A couple of customers were browsing the aisles, but the till was empty save for one very bored looking cashier. I would’ve recognized Jake even if he’d gotten his entire body tattooed and had sprouted a third arm, but he’d barely changed at all. His lanky six-foot frame had filled out a bit, but otherwise he was the same messy looking ginger with a mouth too big for his own good.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, sauntering up to him. “Do you know where I could get a good screw around here?”

  Jake’s face screwed up in confusion, and he looked like he was about to snap something back, but then his gaze met mine and recognition settled on his features.

  “You son of a bitch,” he gasped.

  “Is that any way to greet a potential customer?”

  Jake hopped over the front of the till and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me. It was much more unexpected when he tackled me in a flying hug. I staggered back, laughing.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jake dropped his feet back to the ground and pulled back to inspect me. “And when the fuck did you get so buff? Look at you! You look like an action figure of yourself.” He walked around me, inspecting me with a sour look on his face. “Fucking unfair.”

  “I joined up.”

  Jake stopped to face me again and crossed his arms. “To the Avengers?”

  “Alright, big guy. Now you’re just making me blush.”

  “You need to get out of here,” he chastised. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re obviously getting along a lot better than anyone here. Why the fuck would you come back? Gromley’s still got a price on your head, and there is literally nothing here for you.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  Jake held my gaze for a second and then sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get you up to my office before somebody sees you.”

  “Your office?”

  Jake clapped my back and led me to the back stairs, even though I could’ve found my way blindfolded.

  “Oh yeah, I’m the manager now.” He flicked his name tag. “The big cheese.”

  “And you’re still working the till?”

  Jake frowned. “Fuck off.”

  We stepped into Jakes office and I grinned when I saw the TV set and Nintendo suite in the corner. “You’ve still got all that shit?”

  “Of course I do. It’s only been three years and the 64 is a classic.” He sagged down into his chair and gestured for me to take a seat opposite. “Please, sit. Tell me which brain-eating bacteria you picked up abroad has compelled you to come back here.”

  “Only if you tell me which one has compelled you to stay.”

  “Rude.” He crossed his arms. “You know it would break my dad’s heart if I left.”

  “And it would break my heart if I didn’t come back.”

  “Always such a romantic.”

  “Always such a cynic.”

  He grinned. “I guess nothing has changed.”

  A long moment passed between us. I fiddled with the worn edge of the desk.

  “How is she, anyway?”

  Jake whistled through his teeth. “I spoke too soon. That is one thing that has changed, quite dramatically. I doubt you’re even going to recognize her, man.”

  “But is she okay?”

  All humor left Jake’s face. “I think she’s trying to be.”

  Chapter 18

  Dallas

  The vibrations from the stage snaked up my stilettos, coupling with the delicious burn in my legs to set me on fire. My set was nearly over, but the guys in the audience would be thinking about me long after I was gone. I was a hard girl to forget.

  I danced with wild abandon, all hips and ass. There wasn’t a man in the club whose eyes weren’t on me, whose mouth wasn’t begging for a taste of my decadence. Unfortunately, not all sets of eyes were as welcome.

  I could feel Preston and Wes watching me. Even when I couldn’t see it, I could always feel their lust spearing through the crowd to stab me right where it hurt most. I couldn’t even lose myself in these moments enough to forget the debt I owed them. I’d tried. They never missed one of my shows, and I couldn’t tell whether it was because they reveled in my discomfort or just because they liked to watch their favored prize. Probably a bit of both. Fucking masochists.

  I loved performing. This was never the kind of show I wanted to put on, but it was show enough to stoke the fire in me that demanded adoration. I couldn’t help but feel dirty when they watched me, though. Sometimes I could almost ignore it, but other times I felt their smug hunger so deeply that I would stumble onstage. Those were the worst times because I was sure they knew why.

  Chapter 19

  Dallas

  I didn’t stumble tonight, and even though I enjoyed the applause that followed my set, that enjoyment felt cheap. I was nothing more than another pretty ornament in Preston Gromley’s menagerie of iniquity. Worse, I was his caged bird. They all flocked to see me perform, to see the beauty that had
entranced both father and son for the last three years. Nobody cared about who I was, what my dreams were. Truth be told, I didn’t either. Not anymore.

  I slipped off stage and headed to my dressing room, a five by five box painted blood-red at my own request. Some nights it was my refuge, and other nights it was a painful reminder of my bleak future.

  Satan’s Perch didn’t have a dressing room before I started performing there, just a grimy area backstage where the bands who occasionally played there got wasted before their sets. As soon as I agreed to Preston’s offer of my own show at his club, he carved that space up and built a new room specially for me. My custom cage.

  My dressing room was no refuge tonight. I’d barely begun removing my makeup when Wes barged in. He never knocked, and I never locked the door since all that did was piss him off.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, coming to stand behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders and grinned at me in the mirror. “Every guy out there wants to lick the ground you walk on.”

  “What a charming compliment.” I peeled off one of my fake eyelashes and set it down on the table.

  Wes’s mouth flattened, and the grip on my shoulders became a little too tight for comfort. I pretended not to notice, de-lashing my other eye and reaching for a makeup wipe to start tackling my eyeliner.

  “We’re going out for dinner,” he said finally. “My dad has some business associates he’d like you to meet. They saw you tonight, and they’re big fans.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Wes’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry. In fact, I don’t remember asking a single goddamn thing.”

  I think you’ll find your family isn’t in any position to refuse a request from someone of my family.

  Those words still haunted me every day. Each time I gave in to him, each time I had to bite my tongue or put aside my desires to make room for Wes’s, I remembered the first time he said those words and that same shiver of disgust and fear coursed through my bones. There was only one thing I hadn’t given him, and it was something I never would. Wes seemed to think otherwise, but after three years he was no closer to getting his way.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to dinner. I don’t understand why you insist on parading me around like some goddamn prize pony though. Your dad could hire any girl with two feet and a big ass to do burlesque, and they’d never know the difference.”

  Wes glowered down at me then bent until his chin was just above my shoulder. His breath blew hot against my ear, and the acrid stench of stale beer and cigarettes filled my nose.

  “But you’re not any girl, are you? You’re our girl. We own you,” he sneered. “Who wants some cheap blow-whore when you could have a pretty princess like you?”

  “I’m surprised you’re not up on the stage then,” I said, meeting him square in the eye. “You’re the prettiest princess of them all.”

  Wes yanked me to my feet and slammed me hard against the cement wall, squeezing his fingers around my throat. I let out a cry of pain as my skull ricocheted against the cement.

  I probably shouldn’t have said it. No, I definitely shouldn’t have said it. Wes had taken to manscaping like cat hair on black pants over the past year or so, and he was perfectly groomed from head to toe. Long gone was the beef head in plaid shirts and hoodies. Wes was all designer now, suited up to the nines with enough hair gel that his do could probably survive a nuclear holocaust. His friends made fun of him for being so pretty, and those same friends speculated about his sexuality behind his back since he still hadn’t gotten in my pants. It was a sore spot, to say the least.

  “You better watch that pretty mouth of yours,” Wes said through gritted teeth. He glared daggers down at me. I’d hit quite the nerve. “Everyone else thinks your backtalk is cute, but I’m getting pretty fucking tired of it. Every time you sass me all I can think about is how good it’s going to feel when I finally get to put that fresh mouth to good use one day.”

  As these kinds of threats always did, this one shut me up. I kept an iron front and tried to avoid all traces of weakness, but I still knew I would lose in the end. One day I would take it too far, or maybe Wes would snap out of the blue, and he’d forget all about this stupid little tango he thought we were dancing and just take what he wanted from me. His father had encouraged it, and I got the impression that if it weren’t for Wes’s territorialism, Preston would have had me on that first night in his office.

  The one complimentary thing I could say about Wes was he didn’t seem to have it in him to force me into bed. He could talk about it, and he had no qualms with stealing a kiss from me or groping “his property” here and there, but something about actually ripping my clothes off and getting on with it crossed a line for him. I think he was relying on a Stockholm Syndrome type situation to evolve, but the longer I went without falling madly in love with him, the less that line seemed to matter. Sometimes I wondered if it would be easier just to pretend.

  Wes’s eyes, dark as coffee, glittered maliciously as he held me against the cold stone. He was waiting for me to accede to his demands, and the anticipation turned his mouth from a sneer to a smirk. The moment I gave in was always his favorite.

  And I did give in. I would always give in.

  The alternative was a lot bloodier, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to my dad just because I didn’t want to go to another one of the Gromley’s stupid dinners.

  “I could eat,” I said, voice sounding much too small for my liking.

  Wes relaxed his grip on my throat, and something akin to tenderness took the place of malice in his eyes.

  “You shouldn’t rile me up like that,” he said. “We both know you have to do whatever I say. Why do you have to make it so hard for yourself?”

  He didn’t step back, didn’t give me the space I so desperately needed in that moment. Without my heels, Wes was at least six inches taller than me, and he used every single one in intimidation like a pro. When he was like this, though, he slumped over as if being cruel to me took a physical toll on him. His face was right in front of mine, eye to eye. His were bloodshot. Mine were blurring with tears. I blinked them away as he waited for my answer. I hadn’t cried in a long time, but something about tonight was getting to me. Maybe I was just breaking after all.

  “You know why,” I replied.

  Wes’s thin lips curved bitterly. “Because you think you’re too good for me.”

  “Because a man who demands affection doesn’t deserve it.”

  He backed away, and I felt like I could breathe again. Shaking his head, Wes walked to the door and stood with his hand on the handle.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. A man who takes what he wants in life is the one who deserves it most.” He looked back at me. “You’ll see that someday. Someday very soon.”

  “I won’t, Wes. As soon as my father’s debt is paid, I’m out of here.”

  It was the frankest discussion we’d had regarding our “arrangement” in a long time. I blamed it on my sudden and unwelcome spike in emotions. A stupid part of me hoped that if I could make him understand, if I could make him believe that I would never love him, he’d realize it was pointless and let me go. He wanted my whole submission—not just my body, but my heart and soul as well. The twisted fucker wanted me to love him. Surely if he saw that wasn’t possible, he’d give up.

  His eyes turned hard, and I thought he might come back to throttle me again, but he opened the door.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” he said. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

  Wes slammed the door behind him so hard it rattled the glass bottles strewn about my vanity. I didn’t waste any more time standing by the wall and bustled back over to the mirror to finish the job of removing my stage makeup as quickly as possible. Afterward, I put on some mascara and a little lipstick, knowing that Preston would only get pissed if I showed up completely natural, and changed into a form-flattering dress and a pair of modest heel
s for dinner.

  I made it up to Preston’s office with a minute to spare. He was a stickler for punctuality, and I’d already poked enough bears tonight. I just wanted to get this dinner over with and go home to check on my dad. He probably hadn’t eaten since this afternoon and would be up late working. These days that was practically all he did.

  Preston smiled approvingly as I walked into the room. Two men in suits occupied the leather armchairs across from him at his desk. This office was similar to the one at his house, just smaller. Even though the club itself was a complete dive, Preston made most of his money managing loans and other shady shit, and he liked to look the part.

  “Excellent show tonight, dearest,” drawled Preston. “You’ve earned yourself two new admirers.”

  He made it sound like a coveted prize. Preston loved to taunt.

  The men in the chairs craned their necks to look at me, both showing off crooked sets of teeth in matching licentious grins.

  Wes crossed the room and threaded his arm through mine. “Anybody who sees her can’t help but admire her.”

  “That’s true.” Preston rose languidly from his chair. “I could never have dreamed that a burlesque show would bring in so much business, but Dallas knows how to draw a crowd.”

  One of the men laughed. “Well, with a body like that...”

  I was used to being talked about like I wasn’t in the room, but it still annoyed the hell out of me. I glared at the two men, and the one who’d spoken about my body wisely didn’t say anything else.

  “Let’s go,” said Wes. “I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, let’s.” Preston ushered us all out, and we passed through the club on our way outside. The girls always danced a little sexier when they saw the Gromleys passing by, and the guys always stared in awe. Everyone wanted a piece of the Gromleys. Everyone except me, ironically.

  We stepped outside, and a couple of smokers across the street cheered when they saw us. I usually tried to keep my head high and my sights distant, but something just beyond the stumbling smokers caught my eye. Someone. We passed by too quickly, but I could’ve sworn I’d glimpsed a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in years. Hair that was darker than I remembered but still familiar, chiseled jaw, devilish mouth. Could it be?