Blow Softly (Red Light: Silver Girls #1)

by Debra Kayn

  He was a biker like Jeremy, and although she knew nothing about what one does when they belong to a gang, she imagined he liked the quiet nights as much as her.

  She cleaned her area at the table and put her paper plate and napkin in the trash. When she turned to escape to her room, Marci touched her arm and stopped her.

  "How is everything going? Are you settling in okay?" Marci walked Madison over to the windows out of the way of everyone moving around the kitchen.

  Madison smiled and removed the small notepad she always carried in her back pocket and wrote. "The room is very comfortable. Tiff runs a tight schedule, and her kindness makes fitting in easy. Thank you for asking."

  Marci read the paper. "I'm so glad to hear everything is going smoothly. Sometimes it's hard if you've come from a bordello that was ran differently to one that runs a strict business and asks you to give up socializing for three months. I also wanted to tell you in four more days, you'll have your first day off from working, and everyone will need to go to the doctor. I'll escort you a few doors down the block to the doctor's office early in the morning, and then I'll stay in the waiting room while you have your appointment. Will you feel more comfortable if I go back with you or do you need me to help do the talking during your appointment?"

  Madison wrote. "I'll have my pen and paper if I need to answer any of the doctor's questions. I also know sign language and enough ways to tell him what he needs to know."

  "I figured you'd have no problems, but I needed to ask." Marci laughed softly. "If you change your mind let me know."

  Madison mouthed, "Thanks."

  Only Paige remained in the kitchen. Madison pointed at Paige's auburn hair, which she had loosely braided, and stuck her thumb up, then fluttered her hands down the side of her cheeks at the way the unbound strands brought attention to Paige's green eyes.

  Paige frowned in confusion. Madison held up a finger for her to wait and quickly scribbled a note, ripping out the paper and passing it to Paige.

  "Your hair is gorgeous. The braid shows off your pretty eyes."

  "Oh." Paige relaxed on the chair. "Thanks. I get so tired of my hair falling on my face when I'm working. It's nice to have it out of the way when I'm not working."

  Madison held the ends of her hair and used two fingers of her other hand to scissor the strands.

  Paige laughed. "Are you kidding? If I cut my hair, I'd be the least popular lady in the house with no customers requesting me."

  Madison grinned and finger wrote out Aubrey's name in the air and then stabbed her fingers up and through her hair.

  "Aubrey can pull off short hair. She's got ADD and always bouncing around, I swear. I can't fake that kind of energy." Paige stood from the table. "Do you want to come up on the roof with us tonight?"

  Madison shook her head and faked a yawn.

  "Okay, maybe tomorrow night." Paige leaned closer as they walked together down the hallway. "We take turns judging the men that come through the back of the building. Either most of the customers who watch the dancers are bikers or there's a rally going on in town. They're pretty hot."

  Madison stopped at the blue door, waved to Paige, and stepped into the room. She hurried to the sliding door and peeked her head outside, squinting through the grates of the balcony down into the alley. The air left her lungs. Bear hadn't shown up.

  She'd spent more time during the hour break with the others than she'd planned and worried Bear left the alley thinking she refused to come out of her room. The music downstairs started. She went back inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and removed her phone out of the drawer. It took forever for the phone to turn on and she almost jumped when the message icon flashed on the screen.

  "Be on the balcony tonight."

  She flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her stomach fluttered, and she closed her eyes, afraid she'd be sick. She only wanted company. There was no reason for her to want him to come back so badly, and yet her heart raced in excitement over his message.

  In a lifestyle that afforded little time for friendships because she moved every three months and the only men she met gave her money for sex, she'd learned in the last six years to give up on any normalcy in her life. She pressed the phone to her chest. Even before she became a working girl in the most looked down profession, she'd lived a quiet life. Trying to stay under the radar of her mom's boyfriend, the male teachers who touched her whenever they passed her chair, and the men who leered at her when they found out she couldn't talk grew tiring.

  Not one male in her life would ever stand below her balcony and whistle. Bear must want something else from her, and she had to give up the fantasy that he enjoyed hanging out with a woman he couldn't touch and who couldn't talk to him.

  No matter how many times she told herself that her problems as a child would stay in the past, she picked the wrong profession to prove herself right. Men looked at her every day, and they paid her to do things she'd never been able to give to someone on her own accord.

  She'd given up on believing time would change the facts. Her voice would never come back. Men would always want her for one reason. Sex.

  She curled up into a sitting position and pushed herself off the bed. Knowing Bear had put her phone number in his cell and they had a text window going, she walked outside to wait for him. Later tonight, she'd ask him what he wanted with her. She'd appease her mind and then if his motives were anything more than enjoying the night together; she'd stay away from him. Rules were in place for her safety and her sanity.

  She'd be a fool to put herself at risk with her career at stake.

  Out in the night air, she swallowed her nerves chilling her and wrapped her arms around her legs in the chair. A few minutes later, she spotted Bear walking from the back of the alley toward her. Unable to question him before he sought her out, she inconspicuously watched him through the slats under her chair.

  She could knock on the table, get his attention, and try to sign her way to getting answers, but men usually never took the time to understand her. They were too busy ogling her or caught up in a fantasy running through their head to pay attention to what she wanted them to know.

  The screen on her phone lit up. She snatched her cell off the table and read the incoming message.

  "Not going to talk?"

  Her heart thumped heavily in her chest, and she sagged in the chair. She texted, knowing her hope to share the night in comfortable silence sank with the more information she gave him. "I can't talk. I only hear."

  The three dots signaling he typed blinked until his reply appeared. "Are you shitting me?"

  "No. You can talk. I can text. I'm mute. I hear, but don't speak."

  He moved out from under the balcony and said, "Why didn't you say something the first night?"

  She raised her brows and hoped he could hear how ridiculous he sounded.

  "Shit, sweetheart. That was a stupid thing for me to ask." He reached up, scratched his head, and looked back up at her. "You don't talk at all?"

  She shook her head. Not surprised by the endearment most men used, but disappointed that speaking would matter to him, she refused to elaborate any more details about herself. He was a nobody to her. She owed him nothing.

  With that thought, she stepped away from the railing to go inside.

  "Wait," he said.

  She stopped and returned to the railing.

  "Name's Bear."

  She already knew his name.

  "Do you have to stay up there?"

  She nodded.

  "Right. Okay." He took a few steps closer until she had to look straight down. "Do you want company?"

  She crossed her arms and lifted her left eyebrow.

  "I'll take that as a no." He chuckled and raised his arms out at his sides. "Wait. I didn't mean it that way. We can just talk. I mean, I'll talk, and you can text or whatever you do if you want."

  She held up her phone to show him she'd answer and typed. "It's against the house rules for
you to be here. I'm..." She flinched, and continued with the pre-planned cover story all the ladies at Red Light were to use if questioned by the authorities or someone in the community. "...recovering from a broken relationship. For my safety, no one is supposed to know I'm here."

  The façade of seeking shelter from an abusive relationship seemed plausible to her. A woman hiding out from the world seemed better than a confession that she sold sex for money. People had firm opinions on prostitution.

  "Sweetheart, you can't bullshit me. I know what goes on here." Bear frowned. "I'm asking you if you want company or not."

  She bent her neck and typed. "It's against house rules."

  "I'm not asking you about the rules. I'm asking if you want my company. Yes, or no?"

  She gazed down the row of balconies. The other ladies were either in their room or up on the roof. She needed the job. In three months, she'd leave and go live somewhere else for the next quarter.

  Bear would be a memory.

  Before she could change her mind, she sent her answer by text on a skip of her heartbeat. "Yes.".

  Chapter Four

  Acting on Madison's willingness to let him be with her before she changed her mind, Bear returned to the balcony with his Harley and parked underneath her room. He cut the engine, toed his kickstand, and eyed the distance from the seat of his bike to the railing. Ten years ago, he would've scaled the distance easily. He'd gotten lazy, put on a few pounds, and now hoped he could haul his ass up to the second floor without making a fool of himself.

  "Here goes," he muttered, stepping up on the seat and grabbing hold of the bottom of the balcony.

  He swung himself to the right and grabbed a foothold, pulling himself to the top of the railing. He grunted, straining to lift all two hundred and forty-five pounds until he balanced on the outside of the railing. From his precarious position, he swung a leg over the handrail and landed on the balcony.

  Madison scooted back to the sliding glass door and put her hand on the handle. He held his hands up in front of him. "It's okay. I'm only here to talk."

  She sidestepped to the corner and nodded.

  Bear picked up the chair and set it in the middle of the balcony between them. "Go ahead and sit over there if you want."

  He stayed on the other side of the small space and perched his ass on the railing, his back against the building. His heart raced from the exertion of the climb, and he inhaled deeply to catch his breath. Without a pretty lady witnessing his climb, he'd never had made it.

  "So..." He chuckled. "A vacant building. The street light. And, some strange biker hanging out in an alley is your view? I can't say it's that great."

  Madison moistened her lips and gazed at where he had looked. He studied her, waiting for the smile he'd witnessed before to make an appearance.

  In the light coming from Cedar Street, she presented him with a face of indifference. He whistled out an exhale, and she whipped her gaze toward him.

  Her arched brows rose a fraction of an inch, and she tilted her head. He stopped, and she frowned. It wasn't his attempt at easing the situation that got her attention.

  "You don't like whistling?" he asked.

  She shook her head and stared at him.

  "You do like whistling?" He watched her facial expressions change in a blink from frustration to eagerness.

  She nodded.

  "Ah," he whispered. "You heard me whistling in the alley."

  She bit her lip and nodded, barely containing the need to smile.

  "Do you want me to whistle?"

  The small smile broke free, and she stepped closer.

  He willed his jaw to unclench and reminded himself he came to find out more about her. Surprised to find out she couldn't talk, he refused to give up. If she wanted him to whistle, he'd damn well whistle.

  He started low and soft, following the rhythm of the music downstairs leaking out into the alley. Halfway through the song, Madison sat down in the chair and pulled her legs up on the seat, propping her chin on her knees.

  Not wanting to lose the way she focused on him, he continued whistling through the next two songs. The longer he stayed, the more fascinated he became with her. She no longer tried to avoid him and actively took an interest in the music.

  He stopped. "I can't be that good."

  She lifted her head and nodded. He chuckled. Tonight's turn of events confused him. He'd come to her expecting to talk. Instead, he found out she couldn't speak, and she wanted him to whistle.

  She took her feet off the chair and stood. He slid off the railing, not ready for her to go inside. The questions he planned to ask her remained unspoken.

  Madison held up her finger for him to stay in his spot and then she went inside her room. He strode three steps across the balcony and back when she returned and handed him a bottle of water. Dry mouthed, he guzzled half of it wishing he had a beer instead.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. "Thanks."

  The whole time Madison studied him. The intensity of her observations intrigued him. Normally when he came to Silver Girls, he'd go inside and watch the dancers until time to escort the Moroad women back to the motel. Tonight, he found himself more aroused with a fully-dressed woman who seemed content to have him risk his neck to keep her company on her balcony.

  Madison puckered her lips, pointing from her mouth to his mouth. He gazed down at two, plump, kissable lips. For someone who couldn't talk, she gave him no wiggle room to believe she wanted a kiss. The lady wanted him to whistle.

  "I'll keep whistling if you answer a question for me," he said.

  She rolled her lips over her teeth and gazed away from him. He tapped his boot to the beat of the music. Soon the dancers would finish, the music would shut off, and he'd leave with more questions than he'd arrived with tonight.

  Madison looked back at him and nodded.

  "You'll answer?" He stepped forward.

  She tilted her chin and gave him her full attention.

  "Alright," he mumbled, stepped back and taking his seat on the railing.

  She followed him to the other side of the balcony and nodded again. He grinned, realizing she wanted to know his question now rather than later.

  "You'll have to wait."

  She reached toward the table, grabbed her phone, typed, and held the screen toward him. "Why?"

  "Because you'll have to wait," he repeated.

  She shook the phone in front of him, pointed at the screen, and asked him why again. He gazed up at the dark sky and back down to her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was a selfish bastard. He wanted to stay with her longer.

  He lowered his voice before the music returned and dominated the space and said, "There's stars, music, a beautiful lady who wants me to whistle, and that's what I'm going to do. Afterward, I'll ask the question."

  She stepped backward and sat on the chair. He moistened his lips and began to whistle. Caught in the moment, the music settling around him. He enjoyed watching her while she studied his lips. Seemingly lost in thought, she wasn't even aware of him looking.

  Soon, she pulled her feet up on the seat and settled back and enjoyed the night. He liked the audience.

  A police siren blocked out the music. Bear stopped and gazed out on the street. The sheriff's SUV passed the Sterling Building, and he shook his head to clear the tension. Caught in entertaining Madison, he'd forgotten about being inside the city limits and to keep on guard.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he reached into his pocket, glancing at Madison, who sat tapping on her phone.

  He read her message. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," he answered her aloud. "I need to go."

  Madison remained in the chair. He walked over and crouched in front of her, and braced his elbows on his bent knees. All of the questions she brought out in him ran through his head.

  Why couldn't she talk?

  What made her smile the day he first spotted her upstairs in the hallway?

&
nbsp; Where was she from?

  How could someone so gentle and beautiful handle selling sex for money?

  Madison hugged her upturned knees and waited for him to say something. All the important questions fled, and he asked the most apparent one. "Why do you want me to whistle?"

  She straightened, putting her feet down. Her head bowed to her lap where she texted on the phone. When she finally raised her gaze to him, he looked down at his phone and read.

  "At first, I liked the sound. Something about you whistling around me made me feel like I wasn't alone."

  He raised his head. "You said 'at first'. What changed?"

  Her brows pinched, and she tapped away on her cell phone in concentration. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, make her look at him. Words were unimportant. She accepted him when others stepped away from him or avoided him altogether— for his looks, his past crimes, or the patch he wore on his vest.

  She noticed none of those things.

  Madison waved her hand in his vision, snapping him out of overthinking the situation, and pointed at his phone. He read the text from her.

  "I want you to teach me to whistle. I can pay you."

  His chest tightened. The offer pissed him off. He came here interested in her, not her services. She was worth more than fucking whistling.

  Madison scooted to the edge of her chair and typed away on her phone.

  Angered over her offering sex, he clenched his teeth together. Her eagerness to use her body for something so ridiculous drilled the point home to him. She was a prostitute.

  Her occupation bothered him more than he first thought.

  She snapped her fingers and pointed at his phone. He read the screen.

  "$10 a night until I learn? Ok? Please."

  Guilty of assuming she had other things in mind, he nodded. "Yeah, I'll teach you, but you're not paying me. I have to be at the Sterling Building anyway."