by Stacey Lynn
I grinned and laughed despite myself. Fuck it. If he didn’t want her, I’d take her. I slapped him on the shoulder and uncurled from the barstool, rising to my full height, just over six feet. “Because women know pretty boys with their preppy haircuts and girly blue eyes are shit in bed.”
“Fuck you, man.” But Pete was laughing as he said it. It was the same shit we always gave each other. Pete looked like he belonged on a billboard modeling Calvin Klein underwear in Times Square, not working on a rig with a bunch of broody, overweight, and bearded men. He turned his back to the bar and surveyed the rest of the decent-sized crowd while I slowly sauntered over to the woman with the wine glass.
I caught her looking at me out of the corner of her eye before I reached her. I knew that look. It was the look that said a woman wanted you but wanted to pretend she wasn’t easy, either.
As I hit the barstool next to her, her eyes darted away from me and down to her almost empty glass. A hint of a smile ghosted the edges of her lips.
“Ryker.” I extended my hand.
She looked for a second, her grin growing slightly larger, but she didn’t take it. I shrugged and put it back in my front pocket. It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to know her name. She was beautiful, and I’d gladly take her to bed for one fun-filled night. A night that included more whiskey and wine, very little sleep, and even less talking.
She looked at me, interested yet hesitant, over the top of her wine glass before finishing it off. “Your mother not like you?”
I grinned wickedly. “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”
Her eyes melted into soft pools of lust right before she choked on her last drink of wine. “Pardon?”
“I’m sorry.” I flashed her a lopsided grin and shrugged. I wasn’t sorry. “I thought we were randomly quoting Top Gun.”
“Funny.”
“And smart.” I looked down at my chest and her eyes followed. “And sexy. At least that’s what the ladies tell me.”
She looked at me like I was trouble. She wasn’t wrong, but still, she smiled. “Arrogant, too.”
“I prefer confident and charming.” I splayed my hands flat on the bar in front of me, slapping it once to get the bartender’s attention, and then turned to her. “Now that we have my positive attributes out of the way, let me buy you a drink.”
“Another for the lady, please.” I raised my almost empty highball glass. “And another whiskey for myself. Two fingers.”
“Elizabeth,” she said slowly, and that hint of a smile returned to her lips. “My name is Elizabeth.” I caught the faint tease of an accent that sounded a bit too familiar. A bit too northern for her to be local. I blinked and nodded toward the bartender.
From the corner of my eyes, I watched Elizabeth’s eyes drop to my glass… and my fingers. A pale pink hit her cheeks as she swallowed slowly.
This was going to be easier than I imagined.
I thought about starting basic conversation while the bartender refilled our drinks but stopped myself. I didn’t need this woman getting thoughts in her head that I actually cared about her. That always made the next morning more of a headache than necessary.
I slipped the bartender a twenty when he slid the drinks in front of us and turned to Elizabeth. Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. She truly was. She wasn’t dressed like she was seeking attention in skinny jeans and a grey shirt that draped off one of her shoulders. Her eyes stayed fixed on her drink as if she really didn’t pick up men in bars often.
I sighed. Maybe I should give her to Pete. She almost seemed too innocent, too kind, to be mixed up with me, but I really needed to forget the memories that were still too close to the front of my mind from earlier.
“So,” I started to say, but was interrupted almost immediately by the buzzing of my phone. “Sorry.” I apologized and watched her take a deep breath. Gaining courage or relieved she had a break from me? Whatever. I shrugged my shoulders and pulled my phone out of my back pocket where it was vibrating away.
I expected Meg. She almost always called to see if our helicopter landed safely.
I didn’t expect it to be Daemon. It’d only been a few weeks since I talked to him, but I knew he was freaking the fuck out now that his ex-girlfriend, Olivia, was back in town and knocked up by a cop they had all been friends with years ago.
Sighing, I knew I had to take it. He’d hound me until I picked up.
“What’s up, brother?” I asked as soon as he growled my name. Instantly, I knew something was wrong, but I smiled at Elizabeth anyway. She watched me with nerves written all over her face and a slight trembling of her hands while she clutched her wine glass with her long, slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails. Damn, she was really gorgeous. If Daemon fucked this up for me, I’d strangle the asshole.
“I need you, Ryke.”
My heart skipped a beat. No.
I quickly took a swig of my whiskey, draining the entire glass. Something was wrong. Daemon’s voice sounded full of pain and desperation. That was the only way he’d need me anyway—if he were desperate.
I looked at Elizabeth. Her brows were pulled together, concerned about whatever was showing on my face. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, yeah sweetie?” I smiled, trying to make it sound friendly and genuine. Based on her frown, I failed miserably.
Blackness… pressure was pushing down on me and stealing the breath from my lungs. Whatever Daemon had to say to me was going to fuck with my head. I knew it.
I told him to hold on before I pushed through the doors to the jazz bar. The summer humidity in New Orleans slammed against my chest, making it hard to breathe while I began pacing the sidewalk.
“What’s up, D?”
His voice was shaky as it came through the phone. Shit. My brother was losing it. “I need you, Ryke. I need you here.”
No. Fucking. Way.
My feet froze on the cement and I collapsed against a brick wall. The cement dug into my back through my thin black t-shirt. Back to Jasper Bay? The man was fucked outside his head if he thought that was going to happen.
“What the fuck, Daemon?”
“Liv’s been shot.” Blood poured down her legs as vomit dripped from her lips, Cherry’s brains splattered all over the couch. I gasped for breath as the night almost five years ago flashed in my mind.
My dad jumped. Guns went off. Two bullets fired right before my dad collapsed to his knees, sinking to the floor.
My free hand gripped my hair before I smacked my head against the cement to get the pictures out of my head. Blood. All that damn blood.
“She okay?” I asked. Maybe? Something came out of my mouth, but it felt filled with cotton, so I couldn’t be sure. Olivia shot? Again?
“No, Ryke. She’s not. I need you, man. I’ve never asked you for a single fuckin’ thing. But this? I need you. Shit isn’t good.” Daemon was impatient, angry even. I could tell he was tense and scared. Shit…
I had left him alone to deal with this once before.
But still… I couldn’t.
“I can’t, Daemon. You know I can’t go back there.” I couldn’t stop the memories. Bullets. Blood. Black Death MC Member with his lips on Faith’s. Fuck!
He growled at me, using the name brother in a way that meant something deeper between us than just our blood. Damn it. “My girl’s been shot and she’s lost her kid. And we have problems in the club that are bigger than any shit we’ve ever seen. I need you.”
No way. There was no way I could do what he was asking. I had Meg to take care of now. Another promise made to a woman who lost her man, another death on my hands.
Jasper Bay was my past. One I couldn’t return to.
New Orleans… Meg… Brayden… those were my priorities now.
But I couldn’t stop remembering. Olivia, eighteen years old and tied to a chair with blood everywhere. It seeped from her legs and trailed down her cheeks. She reeked like piss and vomit, and her head was flopped to the side, unconscious.
&nbs
p; I was so screwed.
I inhaled a deep breath, my eyes closed, and the heat beat down on me in the New Orleans night. My hand ran through my hair again, and I scratched the back of my neck until I hurt.
Finally… slowly… I breathed out my acquiescence. It was going to kill me to go back, but shit, Daemon was right. I had left him alone to deal with the fallout from the shooting five years ago.
I could never forgive myself if I let it happen again.
“All right, brother. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” Daemon breathed heavily through the phone, as if my willingness to return home allowed him to dispel the weight on his shoulders. “I’m not stayin’, though. One week, that’s it. I can’t be there for longer than that.”
I ended the call, snapped the phone closed, and slipped it back into my pocket before he was done talking again.
This wouldn’t end well.
There was always a moment when I was working where the shame over what my life had become inevitably rushed to the surface. I hated that moment. It was the hardest part of my job… my life. I had become so well trained that my body no longer faked the physical reaction I wished I could hide.
“Come on, Diamond.” James moved against me. His hands were by my head, and I turned my face and closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see him. Not that James was bad to look at. As far as clients went, he was one of the better looking and nicer ones I had.
My hips rocked involuntarily, my body shook, and my arms tightened around his lower back. He released immediately after me.
It was over, and it wasn’t so bad that time. The shame I felt at my inability to control my orgasm surfaced like a small ripple instead of the vast wave that normally hit me. I would not cry in front of James. I would save it for later, if I allowed the emotions to come at all.
We dressed in silence, and once I’d fixed my hair, James turned to me. He pushed his light brown hair back with one hand, his other hand loosely held his black framed glasses at his side.
“Forgive me for asking, but I’ve always been curious,” he spoke slowly, as if he was afraid of hurting me. Ironic, yes?
I raised one eyebrow, waiting for him to finish.
“How did a nice, beautiful girl like you end up as one of Penny’s girls?”
I wanted to say that my mom sold me to pay for her drug habit, but I didn’t. And it was only partly true. The rest was too painful to think about—the life I had before my dad turned on the Nordic Lords. The night before my ex-fiancé, Ryker, killed his dad and took off and out of town without a word to me. One text, dismissing our relationship, was all I got. A relationship where I’d loved him since before I knew what love was. I no longer allowed myself to think about that part of my life.
The truth was… sometimes life gave people lemons, and they made lemonade.
Life gave me a handful of rinds, seeds, and pulp, and I made the most of the crap hand I was dealt.
I shrugged in answer.
“How’d a nice guy like you end up calling for one of Penny’s girls?”
I had never asked a client this question, but James made me wonder. He seemed genuinely nice. He had a preppy haircut and he looked intelligent and handsome with his plastic framed glasses and the fancy suits he always wore when he called on me. He drove from five hours away just for two hours with me.
He blinked once, then twice, debating whether or not to answer.
“My wife had an affair with my best friend and I can’t bring myself to touch her.”
His honesty stunned me. So did the lack of emotion in his voice. “So an eye for an eye sort of thing?” He smiled, but his eyes were sad. I knew that look. It was the same look I saw when I looked at myself in the mirror. “Why don’t you leave her then?”
He was silent for a bit, then turned away as he tucked his tie into his pocket and shrugged on his suit jacket. “I care about my wife and I won’t divorce her. I just… can’t forgive her either.”
I understood how that felt. It felt strange to connect with someone whose life was so different than mine, yet full of similar pain.
“I can find someone else,” he said, turning back to me, “next time.”
I shook my head and smiled. It may have actually been genuine. He was nice and didn’t hurt me. As far as clients went, I could spend time with worse. “It’s okay. You’re not so bad.”
He laughed once. It was deep and rich and full of a lightness that told me even though he was going through a hard time, he had an easy life. I envied him instantly.
“You might not be so good for my ego.” His eyes flickered to me and then to his wallet. He’d already paid one thousand dollars for my two hours. I was a whore, but I didn’t come cheap. He handed me a generous tip with an almost sheepish look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was ashamed of what he was doing or if it was pity for me.
“So, can I ask what you do after this?”
“Shower.” I regretted the quick response when his already hesitant smile flattened. I could almost see the guilt over what he’d done to me. I didn’t see it on a client’s face very often, and for some reason I didn’t want him to feel so bad. It wasn’t his fault I had the life I did.
He nodded.
I watched James walk down the hallway of the hotel and away from me. He had only come to see me a handful of times, but there was something about him—the lost look in his eyes when he mentioned his wife, the way his shoulders curved inward as he walked away, that told me how defeated he felt. It made me call out his name before he reached the stairwell and disappeared from me. I had a suspicion I wasn’t going to be seeing him again anyway.
“Go home to your wife,” I told him, resting a hip against the doorway, my arms crossed in front of me. I let them fall to my sides. “Figure out how to make it work.”
His lips pursed together like he was thinking of saying something, but he changed his mind. He raised his chin and lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Good-bye, Diamond.”
Diamond.
I blinked away the memories of the dark eyes that used to croon the name into my ears as he made love to me. Stupid me for choosing that as my working name in the first place. It pierced straight to my chest every time. As if my punishment wasn’t bad enough.
“Bye, James,” I returned with an understanding smile before he vanished into the doorway. I watched the empty hallway, unashamed that someone could walk out of their rooms and see me in my satin robe and negligee with my hair looking freshly fucked. Everyone in Jasper Bay knew who I was—knew who I’d become. There was no point in hiding it anymore.
Turning back to the room, I clicked the lock in place before stripping back out of my clothes and stepping into the hotel’s scalding hot water. I always showered before I left, needing to wash the feel of a man’s hands off me immediately.
I replayed the conversation with James in my head as I dried off from the shower and re-dressed in my skinny jeans, silver ballet flats, and a loose-fitted black top that hid my figure. It was the first friendly, and potentially honest, conversation I’d had in almost five years.
I hit the back stairway intent on leaving Penny’s for a night at home with my drugged out mom. I’d watch mindless television, maybe knit a scarf. If I started now, in July, I might have it done by the time winter hit in northern Minnesota. I scoffed at the idea. Screw that. Wine and ice cream seemed like a much better plan.
I was mentally creating a quick grocery list as I walked down the back hallway in Penny’s. It was lined with private rooms where clients could request blowjobs and quickies. The room upstairs where I had been with James were used for the “longer term” requests and the rest were rented out by the week. Reputable men like James were rare finds as far as clients went. Most of the clients and boarders were bikers from the Black Death Motorcycle Clubs other charters passing through town for the week.
Surprisingly, the main room in Penny’s was tastefully decorated. I took in the red couches and the women who sat around and tried to ca
tch attention from the men who perused the room. They smiled, they swayed their hips, and they licked their lips. They took every good thing God had given to women and used it for evil and sinfulness, all while keeping a fake smile of interest plastered on their faces.
We were wicked women. Unforgiveable. It made absolutely no difference that I was forced into this life. It didn’t matter that my mother’s life and safety were held over my head in return for willingly and happily spreading my legs.
I was no different than the women who chose this life.
We all did what we needed to in order to survive.
“Diamond.” The deep, greasy voice rang in my ear and snapped me back to the present. I twisted around and looked at Mills. He was gross. The worst Black Death member when it came to what he wanted physically. He actually preferred it when I acted like I didn’t enjoy it. He was sick. Demented.
And I was his favorite whore.
I tasted vomit deep in my throat, but smiled pleasantly. “Yes, Mills?”
His eyes roamed my body, making me wish I could go back upstairs and take another shower. Thankfully, I was off duty for the next few days. Mills would have to wait.
He finished his slow and slick perusal of my intentionally, well-covered frame and nodded his head toward the door.
“Someone’s looking for a room.”
“And?” I asked, cocking a hand to my hip. “I’m off duty.” The only benefit to being as good as I was at pleasing men was that I had earned the respect of several Black Death members. They let me quit working the main floor two years ago and I started working in their office handling all their accounts… at least the legal ones. Booking rooms for boarders was part of my job description. My other job description was taking appointment only clients, like James. I was, after all, the best whore in northern Minnesota.
“The client’s in a hurry and Hammer’s on a run.” I rolled my eyes. Of course he was. The president of Black Death was almost always on a run of some sort.