by Sansa Rayne
“Thanks.”
We eat quietly, our minds elsewhere. Mine’s on Sibel; I don’t ask, but I’m pretty sure Chase’s is too.
—
I take a shower after breakfast, washing away the last traces of her scent from my body. Steaming hot, I let the water scald my skin. I deserve it.
Nobody likes lying to people they care about, but I’ve accepted that sometimes it’s necessary, especially with someone like Chase. Still, I feel like shit the rest of the day. Busying myself with video editing for the site doesn’t help much. It certainly doesn’t help get my mind off Sibel, not for more than a few minutes at a time.
You’re so fucking selfish.
After all he’s done for you.
Like a swinging pendulum, I beat myself up, and then console myself, back and forth.
What if Chase would understand?
You should just talk to him.
The idea sounds so alluring: just go all in, show my cards, see what the river brings. But what happens if Chase refuses to fold? How could I choose?
You’re either going to have to, or not. Why put it off?
Easy to frame the issue — to rationalize the cost of inaction, the consequences of making a move. Actually making a decision… that’s much too hard. The guilt’s too great.
It also doesn’t help that Chase isn’t the only one I feel like I’m betraying. Sibel, too — she deserves to know about Chase: the circumstances leading to our meeting… and the night that almost ruined our lives. She’s going to want to know how this all started, and I’ll want to tell her. I’ve thought about it so many times.
On my eighteenth birthday, I met a pimp named Chase…
Sleepless nights, I’ve recited it, sometimes aloud. I’ve put the thoughts in order, cut away the meaningless or embarrassing parts, and told my story to the darkness. It never answers back, though — it doesn’t get mad about what it hears, or asks if I regret doing what I did. Sibel will.
When that time comes, I better know the answer.
“So I’ve got my pants down on the floor, and Janine’s looking at me like I’m just a regular john,” says Chase, sprawled out on the hotel lounge’s comfiest couch. Surrounding him are me and six more of our women, all of whom wear tight, sparkly dresses that cut off mid-thigh at the longest. They smile politely, mostly minding their Diet Cokes and juices.
He laughs to himself, turning to Janine. She sighs, staring intently out the lounge’s tall window, as if wondering if she could jump through it.
“I tell her, ‘This is your fucking job. If you can’t suck a guy off in less than ten minutes, you need some fucking practice.’ So we practiced. We practiced a lot, actually — and I even timed her! Tell them your record, sweetheart.”
Janine blinks away a tear. Her lengthy curls bob as she shakes her head.
“Don’t be shy,” says Chase.
“One minute, twelve seconds,” Janine sighs.
Chase laughs out loud; the other women and I force a few polite chuckles.
“Give it a rest, man,” I say, patting Chase’s shoulder. “We’ve heard the story before.”
He throws back a shot of tequila and grins. “I like telling it.”
Shaking my head, I get up off the leather couch and make for the bar. I don’t really want another drink, but my head is aching from the cloud of cheap perfume. It’s a slow night; too many of the girls are just waiting around for a call to come in. Some heavyweight title fight is drawing away business, though they’ll probably show up at the end of the bout.
That’s going to be no picnic. Maybe the girls know it. I feel their nervousness like an ache in my bones preceding a storm front. If the fight isn’t over by now, it must be a good one. The guys have had plenty of time to drink and grow envious of the boxers. Most of them will work off the alcohol and the aggression with a good lay, but there’s always one who wants to throw a few punches, to prove to himself he could’ve been a contender.
“Get you something?” says Colin, the bartender, after he’s served all the real customers. He knows about Chase and me; he gets a cut of our take for keeping quiet, and for serving free drinks to any customers forced to wait on busy nights. He’s a handsome guy with short, dark hair, but he takes himself way too seriously, never smiling.
“Coffee.”
It’s going to be a long night.
Loaded up with sugars and a little cream, I take my mug back to our corner of the lounge. Dani’s returned from a job, but Tina’s left. She’ll be back soon though; petite and pretty, the slim brunette works fast. She’s easily our top earner.
I sit down next to Dani, my coffee in one hand and an ice water in the other. I set the water down in front of her on the glass table. “Doin’ okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is high and throaty, giving it a sweet, innocent tone. I can’t help staring as she drinks, noticing as her pink lips leave a print on the rim of the glass. We’ve known each other for years now, but I still have trouble seeing her as an employee — to me she’s still the sweet, lonely girl I met at Tim’s Bar on my birthday.
“Need a break?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Really.” She puts her hand on mine; it’s cold from holding the water, but her smile is warm. “Thanks, Justin. I’m good. When I started… you know… I didn’t expect to work with anyone as nice as you. It’s really made things… good.”
“I’m glad,” I say, putting my other hand on top of hers. “I really want to do what I can for you and the others. Chase isn’t a bad guy, but he’s…” The word I want escapes me. There’s not a very good way to say, He doesn’t really care about his whores.
“I get it,” she says. “And the others, too. We appreciate that you’re here for us.”
I nod. There’s one matter left unsaid; I’m nervous to bring it up.
“Dani,” I say, clearing my throat. “About the other night…”
If she’s worried, she needn’t be. She did nothing wrong. What we shared was wonderful, but it brought back some bad memories.
I thought you wanted the girlfriend experience. That’s why I went along with it this whole time.
Dani’s face freezes, and she stares.
“I want you to know that there’s no pressure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be with me. It’s not going to affect your job if you say no; I’m not going to take it personally, okay?”
She exhales and squeezes my hand. “I had a good time, Justin. I like you.”
“I like you too,” I say, my turn to be relieved. “I thought it was wrong that I’m sorta your boss and you’re…”
Laughing, she leans back in her seat and crosses her legs. “Here, I was the one worried. After all these years, you never… sampled the goods. I didn’t think you wanted me, considering the night we met.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I just never wanted you to feel pressured. Plus, I’d always wanted to take you up on those handcuffs.”
Blushing, she rubs her wrists, recalling the feel of the restraints I’d used on her.
“You liked it, right? Being tied up? Getting spanked?”
“Yeah,” she says, cheeks reddening even more. “It was hot. But Justin… There’s something we need to talk about.”
“What is it?” I ask, sitting up. Concern etches her brow as she reaches out to take my hand.
Dani takes a deep breath before speaking. “I think I’m out. Like, soon. A few more days, tops.”
“Oh,” is all I can say. Our girls quit all the time, so I shouldn’t be too surprised, but Dani’s been part of our business since I joined. It’s hard to imagine her leaving. “If that’s what you need-”
“Justin!”
Dani and I both turn to the voice.
“Chase! Come quick!”
It’s Wendy. Tears thick with makeup run down the tall blonde’s cheeks. She’s holding her sparkly, gold platform heels, and is breathing deeply, probably from running.
“What’s wrong?” I ask,
already on my feet.
“It’s Tina. I was passing her room, and I heard her crying, and screaming! Come on!”
We move immediately, sprinting through the hall, leaving the other girls. Chase’s footsteps follow close behind mine, stomping up the stairwell and skidding around the hall corners. When we reach Tina’s door, her sob rings out, a high-pitched wail. My first instinct is to kick the door open, but Chase pushes me aside and inserts the room’s keycard.
Inside, Tina lies naked on the bed, limbs sprawled out. She turns away her head when she sees us, but we still catch sight of puffy lips, bloody nostrils and dark bruises below her eyes. She groans weakly, barely a rasp.
Her john sits at the edge of the bed, gazing out the window and caressing her foot. It takes a second for him to hear us, but then he gets up and turns around.
“What?” he says.
There’s a switchblade in my pocket; I feel it heavy against my thigh. I keep it for protection, but right now it’s calling me, begging to be sprung and thrust deep into this man’s abdomen, again and again.
Barely taller than Tina, he stares at us like we’re room service, only we’ve come to the wrong door. Despite his diminutive height, he commands an authority through his stance and fairly muscular build. Expensive, navy suit pants and a jacket hang in the closet; he still wears his button-down shirt and maroon and gold striped tie. He looks a little familiar, though I can’t place him. Maybe he’s a returning customer, but I’m not sure.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I ask, sitting down next to Tina. When I brush her hair, a handful of locks come away in my hand. “Look what you’ve fucking done!”
The man sighs and points to his pants. “Get my wallet, will you?”
I turn to Chase in disbelief. My heart wants to shoot up my throat and strangle the man itself. I’m close to losing it, but Chase stays calm. He watches the man with unusual fixation; this is hardly the first time we’ve been in such a situation, and I’ve never seen him so reserved.
Our technique for dealing with assholes is pretty simple: I get mad, make like I’m going to beat the piss out of the john. Chase demands compensation, or he’ll let me let loose. How much the asshole pays determines how badly I wreck his nose, and how many fingers I leave unbroken. None of them leave undamaged.
This man, however, is not leaving the room on his feet. No one has ever abused one of our girls as badly as Tina’s been. My hand moves practically on its own, slipping out the knife and popping the blade.
“Which would you rather lose: your eyes, or your balls?” I ask, though I have no intention of letting him keep either.
“Justin, stop,” Chase says, covering my hand with his until I put away my knife. “Keep your shit together. He’s going to pay, trust me.”
“He went too fucking far,” I argue. “He’s not buying his way out of this.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s see how much he’s got,” Chase says, taking advantage of my barely contained rage.
Stepping back to the closet, Chase only takes his eyes off the john for a second to find the man’s pants, which he rolls into a log and hurls.
As we watch, the john takes a few extra bills from his wallet and flings them onto the bed. “Satisfied?”
“Not even close,” I snarl.
He grimaces, but throws out another twenty.
“Keep going.”
The man snaps shut the bi-fold wallet and drops it back into his pants pocket. “No, that’s more than enough. I’m not getting robbed by a pair of Jersey shitstains and an ugly whore-”
My right cross carries the full weight of my body, plus the momentum of my leap off the bed. Blood sprays from the man’s nose, and he staggers back hard against the window. If not for the thick glass, he could have gone through.
Tasting his own blood, he bares his teeth like an enraged animal.
“What?” I ask, mimicking his flippant tone. He lets out a sickening wheeze when I drive my fist into his soft belly. “You think you can beat defenseless girls and not pay the price?”
He starts to choke a reply, but then turns to the door. When I look, Wendy, Dani and the other girls are there.
“Hey,” I say, beckoning them in. “Get Tina, take her to the doctor.”
Nodding, they come in and work together to carefully dress the girl and get her out of the room. They know who I mean by “the doctor,” and that Tina will be well-cared-for.
“What’s your name?” Chase asks the man after all the women have left.
He watches us for a second as I get my knife back out and rap it against my open palm. A switch must flip in his head, because instead of answering, he jumps to his feet tries to run. Chase blocks his path, though, and throws him onto the bed. I grab the man by the neck, lift him back up against the window and press the edge of the blade ot his throat.
“I said, what’s your name?”
“It’s… Phil,” the man replies, after a second.
Chase shakes his head. “No it’s not. Tell me your name, or my associate breaks a kneecap.”
“Okay, okay. It’s Nick.”
“Let him down.”
I do as instructed, but stay close.
Give me an excuse, fuckface.
Nick wipes the blood from his nose while Chase picks up the wallet and checks the ID.
“You know who this is?” Chase asks.
“I’m an important fucking person,” Nick cuts in. “I’m going to put you motherfuckers away for thirty goddamn years-”
I drive my elbow hard into his solar plexus, cutting off his oxygen.
“Shut up, asshole.”
Chase laughs, watching the man try to catch his breath. “We deal with important people every day,” he says. “Every hot connection you’ve got, we’ve got hotter.”
“And unlike you, they like us,” I add, though I’m not sure if Chase is bluffing or not. We get our share of high rollers, but we’re not in the practice of asking for favors.
“Plus,” Chase continues, “I doubt you want to get in the middle of a prostitution scandal, Mayor Uplinger.”
I turn to my friend, stunned. “No shit.”
The man sits up on the bed, avoiding a spot still sticky with Tina’s blood.
Chase removes the rest of the cash from Nick’s wallet, then tosses it to me. Driver’s license and credit cards all confirm: Nick Uplinger.
“Wow,” I mumble. Though I don’t follow politics well enough to know much about the guy, I’ve seen him in commercials during election season. “You think he wants us telling anyone what happened here?”
“Ten grand,” Uplinger spits. “I’ve got an account I can-”
This time it’s Chase who lays out the mayor. He doesn’t punch as fast as me, but he’s got plenty of muscle to throw around. His fist collides with Nick’s cheek, snapping the man’s head back and knocking him down into the bed.
Chase doesn’t stop there though: he climbs on to the bed and on top of the man. “What about me, Nick?” he asks. “Do you recognize me?”
Nick blinks a few times, his eyes rolling back in his head. Chase grabs his shoulders and shakes him.
“Look at me, you piece of shit!”
Whatever is happening, I don’t understand. Chase never gets this mad or lays a hand on anyone. That’s my job.
“Why should he recognize you?” I ask.
Chase grins. “That’s the question, isn’t it? He hasn’t seen me in thirty years, after all.”
What?
“You’re…” Nick wheezes. “You’re…”
“Take a good look,” Chase says, holding the man’s chin. “Think really hard. What’s my fucking name?”
Nick looks to me as if asking me to intervene, so I cross my arms and take a step back. He turns to Chase and swallows. “You’re… you’re Chase.”
“That’s right, Dad.”
“Holy shit,” I say. “You said he was dead.”
Chase nods. “That’s what I told myself. Otherwise I might ha
ve done something sooner.”
“Chase,” Nick says. “I’m so sorry, son. I should have-”
The next punch snaps cartilage, and the blood streams anew from Nick’s nose.
“Thirty fucking years and you’re still beating up hookers,” Chase says. “Mom told me everything, Nick. She made me promise I wouldn’t throw my life away going after you. That was before she shot herself.”
“Oh, God…” Nick croaks.
“I was fifteen when that happened.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Chase,” I say, feeling my hairs rising. “Take a second. Don’t do anything your ma wouldn’t want you to.”
He nods, then jabs Nick’s face, splitting the man’s lip. “I kept my word. I didn’t go after him.”
Another punch; this time there’s a crunch of bone.
“I didn’t go after him. But today, he came to me.”
Nick groans, sounding worse than Tina. Chase’s knuckles glisten.
A knock hammers at the door. “Justin! The police are coming!”
It’s Dani.
“We have to go,” I say, grabbing Chase’s fist, smearing Nick’s blood on my palm. “Now.”
Chase pulls out of my grip. “This is all on me,” he says. “You go.”
“I can’t let you do this.”
He turns to me, and for the first time I’ve ever seen, tears wet the corner of his eyes. “Please, Justin. Go. Be my friend and fucking go!”
“Justin!” Dani screams. Now I can see the flashing lights through the window.
“When you get out, I’ll be there,” I say, backing toward the door.
Chase nods. “See you then.”
I should have taken off my dress before collapsing in bed, but exhaustion sets in and doesn’t let me go until past noon. When I wake, the soreness hasn’t left my body, but I feel like a flower freshly bloomed, radiant and inviting. Though I take pride in my ability to come on command, my self-indulgences have never felt as incredible as the ones Pierce put me through last night.
My eyes widen from an adrenaline spike; I haul out of bed and search for my purse. Opening it and dumping it out, I find the memory cards. Relieved, I fall back into bed.