by M. N. Forgy
“Like you didn’t use me? You took that money without any problem,” he whispers, his breath feathering my face. “Just like a greedy little whore.” He grins wildly. My eyes widen, realization setting in. I am a gluttonous whore. There’s no denying it. The idea of having food and rent was more important than my morals, the high of doing something risqué shadowing over any thought of honor.
Living in care, we didn’t get the love kids grow up with. We didn’t get cuddles on Christmas morning, or kisses on boo-boos when we fell. So to say I’m desperate for that connection is obviously an understatement.
“Come on, baby. Give it up, you fucking tease,” Spiked hair grunts, grabbing my wrists and yanking me from Chasen’s hold. I twist and pull, trying to get away, but it does no good. He turns us and shoves me against a rusty fence placed between two apartment buildings.
“No! Please, stop!” I scream, trying to pull away, but he’s too strong. My attempt of trying to free myself is pointless. My heart drives against my chest in fear, and tears fill my eyes to the point I can barely see. A vision of a woman who looks like me flashes behind my eyes, my mother. Her telling me to hide and not to scream echoes in my head. I close my eyes and shake my head to clear the noise. But my body responds in a way that has me clamping my mouth shut and obeying.
I feel a hand slide through my legs, causing me to clench them together tightly.
“That won’t help you,” a voice whispers into my ear, making the hair on my neck stand up.
Fingers touch the bare skin of my butt cheeks, making me jump and whimper with desperation.
“Shhh,” Chasen soothes, brushing my hair from my face.
Fingertips edge closer to my most intimate spot, causing me to buck and attempt to pull away from the intrusion. I look up and down the street, not finding anybody. I’m alone and about to be gang-raped. I close my eyes, spilling tears of shame. I hold my thighs tighter, feeling hands try to tear them apart, bruising the skin painfully.
“You’ve already whored yourself out, so why fight who you are?” The words begin to swirl and echo in my head as I clench my eyes shut and cry harder. Hands pull at my dress, lifting it upward, and greedy palms grasp at my chest uninvited. My breathing becomes so harsh my head starts to spin. Just as I’m about to give in, knowing I can’t fight all three of them, hands which were once intruding are suddenly ripped from my body. Voices which were taunting me turn to ones of painful grunts. I throw my eyes open, curious where Chasen and his friends went, and turn my head. I find a shadowed figure holding Chasen and Buzz-cut by the throat against a brick wall, his foot holding Spiked hair on the ground and pushing his head into the concrete. Chasen and Buzz-cut are both bleeding from the face profusely, and the guy on the ground looks to have his nose completely broken.
“Apologize now!” The shadowed figure roars, making me jump. My fingers clench the rusty fence like a lifeline.
“Sorry,” pant Chasen and his buddy simultaneously. I nod and turn the other way. My emotions so up and down I’m not sure what to feel or think at the bloody sight.
“I will fucking bury you if you ever look at her again. If you so much as walk up this street again, I will murder you in your sleep. Do you understand?” the shadowed man seethes, his words holding venom as he threatens. That voice. It sounds familiar.
“You got it, man,” one of the guys cries.
I watch Chasen and his buddies start limping away back toward the college. Chasen stops, turns around and grabs his crotch, blood spilling from his nose and lip.
“You were a lousy whore anyway!” he sneers, turning to run. I wince from his harsh words.
“Are you okay?”
I blink tears away, my fingers still hooked into the fence. The smell of spice and manliness caressing my senses makes me wake from my state of terror.
“I was just trying to survive. I didn’t know I was becoming a whore,” I whisper gravely. Even if I didn’t have sex with him, I still did things that were immoral in exchange for money. I close my eyes, wetness clinging to my lashes. Jayden and I needed the money, though. We needed food. We needed to pay our rent.
“What?” the voice asks.
I open my eyes, and it’s Landon from the café, looking at me with concern. His brows are raised, mouth parted, as he lowers my dress over my backside gently.
“Charlie, are you okay?” he questions again, lifting my chin with his thick finger. He looks me over as if he’s searching for injury. The fact he even cares is overwhelming.
“You,” I whisper, my body instantly flooding with a sense of comfort.
He chuckles. “You can call me Landon, remember?”
“L—” I choke on my words. “Landon, you saved me,” I mutter, pulling myself from the fence. My knees wobble from the adrenaline rush spiking my bloodstream, and I grab the fence again to steady myself.
“I was in the neighborhood.” He shrugs and straightens his tie. “Come on, you look like you could use a drink,” he invites, his voice smooth yet rough at the same time. He holds his hand out, waiting for me to take it. I bite my lip, unsure, and look back up at Landon. His face is sincere as he waits.
Even after everything that just happened, my body responds to him in a way that doesn’t make sense. I should be running to the cops, or at least be crying it out with Jayden in our apartment, drowning my sorrows in a tub of ice cream. Instead, I hold my hand out and take Landon’s.
I take a step toward him and my knees give out. Landon quickly grabs ahold of my waist and picks me up, holding me like a princess. My eyes connect with his, and my chest aches with desire. The cold that was once there blossoms with a caring warmth.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice low and sexy.
I shake my head and furrow my brows. “Um, yeah. I’m fine. Put me down,” I instruct, wiggling from his strong grasp. The smell of spice and freshness is clouding my train of thought.
He sighs and slowly lowers me.
“I can walk by myself,” I state, slowly standing on my own two feet.
He places his hand along the small of my back, his large frame cordial next to mine. “That might be, but I’m still helping you to my car whether you like it or not,” he demands. His alpha ego takes my breath away, and I don’t argue. I can’t, actually. The idea that someone cares about my safety has me speechless. I’m consumed in the strong vortex that is Landon.
“O-okay,” I mumble.
SIX
CHARLIE
Landon walks us to a fancy black car and opens the side door for me to get in. I slip into the luxury leather seat and notice the vehicle is loaded with dials and buttons. A small screen sets in the dash. This car puts Chasen’s truck to shame.
“Wow,” I whisper.
Landon climbs into his seat, the smell of sweat and cologne filling the space as he starts it. He’s wearing a gray dress shirt and black slacks—sexy and sophisticated, as usual. Tove Lo’s “Talking Bodies” starts blasting through the speakers. The lyrics of the song have me biting my lip and looking at Landon from the corner of my eye.
He looks over, his face empathic.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I inhale a deep breath, and smile softly. “Yeah, I’ll survive.” I’ve had to push pervy men off me before. I once woke up to an old guy standing over my bed, fondling himself. I kicked him in the nuts and ran to the phone to call my social worker. The guy’s name was Mr. Jenkens, and he was my foster parent at the time. He told everyone he must have been sleep-walking. That he ran out of his sleep aid and it made him do things in his sleep. Needless to say, nothing was done. I was moved to another home, but not before I was told I couldn’t seem to live anywhere without having a problem of some kind.
Life’s a bitch that keeps dishing out free life lessons. I clearly fail most of these lessons, but it doesn’t mean I give up. I push back and make my way through it, every time.
“Those boys won’t be coming near you again.”
I turn
my head, shocked at the danger and promise laced in his voice. A primal need rushes through my bloodstream, a craving that has me holding my breath as I stare at Landon’s bright green eyes. My body sways toward him on its own accord, Chasen and his buddies’ acts of aggression soon forgotten. Landon smiles a boyish grin, little dimples popping up on each side of his mouth. I close my eyes and turn my head to stare out the window.
The pull I have toward Landon is strong. I feel like a precious metal, and he’s the strong element that draws me toward him, even when I know it’s wrong… like now.
Landon takes us to a very upscale bar which sits just beneath an elegant hotel. A man in a red vest opens my door, helping me out as soon as we arrive.
“She’s with me, Franco,” Landon informs the man standing outside the glass double doors to the bar. Franco is wearing a black tux, sunglasses on his face even though it’s nighttime. Once inside, the place isn’t what I expected for a bar. Small tables with red cloths draped over them are dotted around the room, little candles sitting in the center of each one. A man plays a piano at the front of the room, and a bar sits at the back with people wearing suits and cocktail dresses drinking along the counter. I’ve never been in a bar, but whenever I thought of one, I imagined grimy floors, the smell of booze and vomit, and music so loud you had to shout to one another.
“Sit,” Landon commands, pulling a chair out. I comply, taking a seat and crossing my legs.
“This is not what I expected for a bar.” I laugh nervously, looking the place over.
Landon raises an eyebrow, rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. The candlelight shines off his distinguished jawline, and I notice dark stubble growing along his face, his sharp cheekbones fierce as he looks at me with hard eyes. I stir in my seat; the way Landon looks at me could be compared to a caveman witnessing a female for the very first time.
An initial glance at Landon and your first thought would be he’s handsome and sophisticated, but really looking at him up close, you can see the small sliver of a scar slicing the cupid bow of his upper lip. It’s small, but there. Landon’s not as clean-cut as he wants the world to believe. He’s something darker.
“And what did you expect, exactly?” Landon grins deviously.
“I dunno.” I laugh. “People drunk, singing karaoke. Something dive-y.”
Landon chuckles, running his large hand over his cheeks.
“How old are you, Charlie?” Landon lowers his head, his green eyes pinning me in my seat. I shift my legs, an unbearable throb heightening in my core.
“Old enough,” I reply, lifting an eyebrow.
“Right,” Landon responds, not giving anything away with his tone or body language.
“What can I get you, sir?” a waiter questions, breaking Landon’s severe gaze toward me.
“I’d like a Manhattan, and a martini for the lady,” Landon orders. The waiter bows and walks away. Silence falls between us, the man playing the piano a filler for the awkwardness.
“I told you those boys were trouble,” Landon reminds me, sitting back in his seat.
I sigh and nod. I knew he was going to say that, eventually. “Yes, you did,” I clip, looking at the flame of the candle and desperately hoping he drops the subject.
“Some of Chasen’s buddies were on the news some time back for drugging a college girl. The news showed a group photo of the guys at the party where the event took place, and Chasen was named among them. They were cleared, but still, if Chasen is hanging around those kinds of guys, what does that say about him?”
I frown at the information, angry with myself for not digging deeper into Chasen’s explanation when I asked him about the tension between him and Landon. Seeing what Chasen and his friends were about to do to me, I’d say Chasen is just like them. They prey on young, clueless girls.
“Why were you with him?”
I look up, finding Landon staring at me intently. This man is so intense; it’s nerve-wracking. I shake my head and give a small laugh.
“I was his whore,” I respond matter-of-factly. Even if I wasn’t one hundred percent aware of my actions with Chasen, I enjoyed it to an extent.
Landon doesn’t even flinch at my words, just stares at me with those green eyes flecked with brown. I bite my lip, a little disappointed I didn’t shock him with my brashness.
Giving Landon a once-over—with his expensive-looking clothes, the way he talks with such grace, and the snazzy bars he goes to—it makes me wonder why in the hell he’d be around the area where I live.
“Why do you hang out at the café? Why would you hang out in a place full of college kids?” I question.
Landon smirks and looks toward the table. “Let’s just say, it’s nice to get away from where I live every now and then. People I know wouldn’t look in such an area for me,” he explains, his voice deep and rugged.
“You mean the ghetto. Your uptight, working colleagues wouldn’t find you in the shittiest place in Vegas,” I clarify, my tone coming off bitchy.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Charlie,” he responds sternly, and I tilt my head to the side and sigh.
“I’m just telling you what I see,” I mutter.
The waiter brings us our drinks, setting them down before us. I grab mine and take a big sip. My mouth is engulfed in the nasty liquid, and an expression of distaste crosses my face. I hover over the martini glass, contemplating spitting it back out. I look up, finding Landon chuckling at my reaction. I close my eyes tightly and swallow, not wanting to spit the drink all over myself and the table. The disgusting taste causes me to nearly gag.
“I take it you don’t approve?” Landon questions with a smirk.
“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted,” I reply while choking, wiping at the liquid slopping down my chin.
Landon looks over my shoulder with a hard stare and in seconds, the waiter is running to our table.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get us a green apple martini,” Landon demands, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of his stare causes me to hold my breath. He’s obviously a man of power and wealth, but that’s not what strikes me. It’s the way he looks at me, how he looks, and the way he makes me feel, like a cross between a horny teenager and a crazed, smitten woman.
“So, where are you from, Charlie?” he asks, cupping his chin. I open my mouth to respond but stop short, remembering Jayden and I are on the run.
“Around,” I hesitate.
“Hmm,” Landon responds, squinting at me quizzically. The waiter places my drink down and bows before leaving once again. I grab it and take a light sip, not wanting another mouthful of nastiness. After finding the green apple taste appealing, I down it.
“Another, please,” I request.
Landon sips on his drink and nods at the waiter, who apparently is waiting for Landon to give him ‘the look’ from the back of the room.
“Another, please,” I repeat to the waiter when he rushes to our table. The man looks at Landon for permission, making me roll my eyes. Landon nods once again, and the waiter takes off.
“You should slow your pace,” Landon scolds, taking another sip of his drink.
“I’m a big girl. I can handle myself,” I sneer, crossing my arms.
“Clearly,” Landon responds dryly. Following my much-needed rescue from Chasen and his buddies even after he warned me, I’m sure I look pathetic.
He sits up, rubbing his jaw again. The sound of his whiskers against his palm causes my body to heighten from aggression to lust. I shift my legs, trying to stifle the wetness gathering between my thighs.
“I affect you,” Landon points out arrogantly. My body stiffens, eyes widening.
“Excuse me?” I mutter, my heart racing with adrenaline.
“Your legs are clenched, your breathing is escalated, and the way your eyes survey my body hungrily… you’re affected by me,” he rasps.
I close my mouth and swallow, my eyes never leaving his. He does affec
t me. I want to punch him in the mouth, yet also tear his clothes off and run my nails over his chest.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I murmur weakly.
Landon smirks and leans over the table, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his dress shirt. “Your body stacks ammo against your words. It often knows of your surroundings before you ever will. Never underestimate it, Charlie.”
I nod. What else can I do? His words make sense, and the way my name leaves those lips puts me in a daze. I’d agree to anything he says.
The waiter places another martini in front me. I instantly grab it, breaking our eye contact, and down the contents, needing the distraction.
“Are you?” I question, nibbling my bottom lip nervously.
“Am I what?” he asks, running his hand over the back of his neck, making his shirt tighten against his chest.
“Are you affected by me?”
He smirks and takes a large sip of his drink, peering over the rim of the glass as he nearly drinks it all.
“You look very appealing in that black dress,” Landon flirts, his eyes squinted at the corners as a smirk crosses his smug face. He’s dodging my question.
I giggle, the effects of the martini beginning to take their toll on my body.
“It’s from the thrift store. Still think it’s appealing?” I laugh, pulling at the worn material of the dress. Landon chuckles and stares off, and I can’t help but smile myself. There is something about his laugh that’s contagious.
“I think you look ravishing nonetheless.”
My laughter falters, and I swallow hard. I can’t keep up with my body’s reaction to this man.
“So, why are you staying in such a bad area? Where is your family?” Landon prods, taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t have any family,” I mumble, the overwhelming feeling of isolation creeping its way into my chest.
“Nobody? Not even an aunt?” He looks at me with pinched brows, like I’m forgetting some long-lost uncle and just not realizing it. But the truth is, there’s nobody.