Warrant

by S. L. Schiefer

  “I don’t want to go in. I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t make me go in,” I beg, tears threatening to spill. Any sense of hope that I had is gone. It just poofed the fuck away.

  “Oh, but, sweetheart, you were already going to do whatever it is that I wanted. I just wanted to show you what happens to the girls who try to go against me.” His face has lost any semblance of friendliness, and has turned into a mask of pure malice. He grabs me roughly and shoves me in the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  I will never forget this night for as long as I live, although, I would do just about anything to simply forget. I receive my first lesson on what it is like to be a prostitute. To have all choices taken away. To have to be agreeable in any situation. To be the perfect fuck for the businessman whose wife doesn’t do it for him anymore.

  Basically I will become my mom. The person I thought did this just because she liked the money and the attention. The person I resented for leaving me to raise myself. But in the end, her attempts to keep me away are futile. Her death catapults me into the very world she died to keep me out of.

  Chapter 2

  Devon

  3 Years Later

  There is something to be said about being reduced to spreading your legs for random men. Moaning and screaming at the right times, learning the tells of each john that you service regularly. The differences in each grunt and the tightness of the words that spill out of their mouths. All in a day of the life of a prostitute.

  Sounds easy, right? Having men pay you to be their wildest fantasy. You try enjoying, or even faking that enjoyment, while a man thirty years older than you is pounding into you and all you feel is his beer gut hitting you first. Preventing him from getting deep enough to hit the right spot.

  Speaking of beer guts, the john I’m with tonight has been grunting behind me for about twenty minutes. I’m moaning at all the right times, but the only thought that replays over and over in my head is, How the hell did I end up doing this?

  He reaches around me and tries to get to my clit, but again his huge belly gets in the way. Growling, he pulls out suddenly and flips me over, my back instantly itchy from the cheap ass comforter on the full-size bed. Shoving my legs up in the air, he pushes into me again, at least from this angle I can get a little pleasure from it. What the fuck does that say about me? That I get pleasure from some random man that is paying me to be here.

  I throw my arm over my face, to block my view. Maybe if I imagine that he is a sexy movie star I can actually get off. Yeah, okay, fat chance of that happening. I start thinking about the bills that are piling up that will take me a fully booked weekend to get caught back up on. The john reaches down and squeezes my breast really hard, pulling me out of my thoughts. And in turn making me move my arm and glare at him. All I get in return is a menacing laugh.

  “Fancy, you want your money, you’ll let me do as I please,” he hisses between thrusts.

  “Fuck off. Get off and get out,” I snap back.

  Laughing more, he smacks each breast a few times. Each slap stinging a little more than the last. And I’m back to mentally putting together a grocery list, of stuff I can get at the local dollar store. I’m brought back to the john, his grunting and thrusting becoming jerkier and faster. He pulls out and whips the condom off. Grabbing his erection, he leans closer over me. But before I can move, his come is spurting all over my fucking tits.

  “What the fuck, man!” Jumping out from underneath him, I growl.

  “Don’t you fucking get an attitude; you’re nothing but a whore. This is all you’re good for. All you’ll ever be good for.” He walks over to his clothes, and starts yanking them on, while I just stand there. Out of all my johns, this one is the only one that I really have no control over. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, and pulls out a wad of bills and throws them at me. I don’t even make a move to pick them up. And I won’t until he leaves.

  He walks over to me, grabs me by the hair, and pulls me close. He gets right in my face and snarls, “If you want to continue doing your ‘job,’ don’t fucking pull an attitude with me. I will ruin you, little girl. I know everything about you, your fucking past, and your fucking present. If you don’t want all of this to crumble around you, you will continue to do as I say, when I fucking say it. You got me?”

  He yanks my hair tighter when I don’t answer right away, “Yes! Yes, God, I got you.” Tears fill my eyes, more out of anger than pain. Because he’s right. He could ruin my entire life. My school, my friends, my life. I would lose it all. All because this guy I serviced just happens to be the mayor of Columbus. Go big or go home, right?

  I watch him walk away after releasing my hair. Grabbing my scalp, I rub where he pulled my hair, trying to soothe the ache away. The minute the door shuts, I run over to lock it, not that this would stop anyone from busting in here if they really wanted. But I have a routine after every “appointment.” I all but bleach myself in the shower. If I could get my hands on a hospital-grade sanitizer that’s safe to use on the skin I would fucking buy it in bulk.

  My name is Devon Harper, but you’ll know me as Fancy during these trysts of mine. Only during the day will you hear anyone call me Devon. I don’t tell any of the johns my name. Except Mark, the man that just left. He knows all my secrets. Secrets that threaten to catch up to my fast-paced life and ruin everything. All it will take is one wrong move, and everything I’m trying to work for will go right out this barred-up window.

  **

  Shaking my head, I turn and walk out of the same dingy office that first introduced me to my new life. The Boss still isn’t my favorite person, nor am I his. I like to challenge everything he tells me. What? I’m not going to bow down to his every word. I’m not drinking his Kool-Aid. There is only one thing preventing me from leaving—he would kill me. That and just about every cop in Columbus is on his payroll. So even if I tried to turn him in, it wouldn’t work. They would laugh at me and probably hold me until he could come get me.

  If I could find someone that would be willing to help me, I would turn all of these fuckers in to the police in a heartbeat. But unless he gets a sudden attack of goodwill, insert eye roll here, my chances of leaving are not likely.

  I jump into my car, one of my more extravagant purchases, a 2014 Scion tC. What? What would you do with all of that money? I’m trying to go to school so I needed something reliable. And I skimp on everything else, so judge me all you want. I don’t care. I live in a … not so nice neighborhood. I live in the middle of campus housing. Where every house has the “ghetto” feel to it. Our house may not be much, but it’s all a few of us have.

  Starting my baby, I rev it up a little and drop it into gear and I tear out of the parking lot. Heading back into Columbus is always a relief. I hate when I get a text that I have a client. I also hate what I do, so it makes sense that I hate everything that goes with it. But as the buildings get more industrialized and taller, I always feel like a million pounds has been lifted off my shoulder.

  The motel I work out of is on the East Side, and it takes me about thirty minutes to get back to student housing. I go to The Ohio State University. I’m biased, but it’s one of the best schools in the nation. It helps that we have the best football team around here, which makes weekends on campus fun during the fall. Always a party before, during, and after the games.

  You’re probably asking yourself how a prostitute got into one of the best schools. Since everyone knew what my mom did for a living, I didn’t have any friends. So I studied. A lot. I graduated high school with a 4.0 GPA. I worked damn hard for that shit. Right after that, I was forcibly put into my work; I didn’t go to college right away. But they all too happily accepted me after I did apply. I decided I wanted to major in dance. It’s been the only constant in my life, always there for me when I needed an outlet. Never questioning me, never judging me. Dance was my one guilty pleasure my mom actually paid for. Granted it was a school in the hood not too far from where I
grew up, but it allowed me to be something other than me for a couple hours a day.

  Pulling up in front of my house I share with four other girls, I park the car and get out. No one knows what I do, and I need to keep it that way. I’m pretty sure the university would kick me out for openly committing a felony. No one needs that, especially me.

  Chapter 3

  Devon

  After taking another shower, I pull on my typical dancing gear: tight capri yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt that hangs off my shoulder. I’ve been known to wear things until there are noticeable holes in them, because when you grow up poor you make do with what you have. And as long as my mom paid for dance, I didn’t care what I went without.

  Even after a long day of classes, if I have a client I always go to a studio to dance. It’s the only thing I will turn to still to this day for release. I will never turn to drugs or alcohol. The girls that I live with think I’m a crazy nerd, if they only knew my true reasons for dancing.

  Marny, Peyton, Veronica, Ashley, and I are all in dance. We met our freshman year, granted I’m a year older than all of them, but we all clicked. The funny thing is that we’re all different like night and day. We all have different interests, but I think that makes us able to connect better.

  Striding out of my room, I run straight into Marny. “Whoa! Where are you off to in such a hurry? Oh! You’re dressed to dance, never mind. You’re heading to the studio. Surprise, surprise!” she says.

  “Hardy har, yes I’m heading out to dance. I have to stay on point,” I tell her as I brush past her and pull my door shut behind me.

  “Devon, you’re the most on point person in class. Don’t kid yourself, and don’t lie to me. I know you dance when you get back from wherever it is that you go. And don’t forget that I’m still trying to snoop enough to find out what it is that you do,” she tells me in her mom voice. She’s raising one eyebrow, expecting some sort of explanation. Not happening.

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re referring too!” I say, a little too enthusiastically.

  Without making eye contact with her, I walk by here and head downstairs. Our house is thrift shop decorated. We made every attempt possible to try to make this house look nicer than what it is. But there is only so much you can do to disguise the ugly. Which doesn’t help.

  I grab a banana and a granola bar off the counter. Have to stay fueled during my grueling sessions. Some days I forget to eat, and I always regret it after spending two hours doing nothing but dancing. As I am walking toward the front door, Peyton and Roni come striding in the door.

  “What’s up, guys?” I stop short of the front door, hesitating to walk out.

  “Nothing. Just got done with a study session. The group of girls in there are all stupid as shit,” Peyton says, with an attitude.

  Roni laughs. “Pey is just mad because these girls are freshman, so they ask a lot of questions. Just like we all did when we were freshman.”

  “It’s annoying! They all need to get their shit together if they plan on sticking with this major!” With that, Peyton storms off, heading up the stairs to her room.

  I just grin. “Well, that seems like it went well.”

  “Yeah, right. Where are you heading, you want to go grab dinner?”

  “No, I’m heading to the studio.” I wait for her lecture.

  “Oh, well have fun I guess. Don’t fucking forget to eat this time, though!” Roni scolds me.

  “It was one time! Just once! And you’ll never let me live it down, will you?” Grabbing my bag by the front door, I open the door, “Next time I won’t call you to come rescue me!”

  “Whatever! You know you will!” Then the door slams shut.

  I decide to walk to the studio, instead of driving. You never know what traffic will be like down here. And it’s rush hour, which always leads to sitting in stand-still traffic. I’m just glad that it’s fall, I love fall weather. Not too hot, not too cold. There’s always a nice breeze, to make it comfortable if it does edge closer to a little too hot.

  I live on 17th Avenue, which is only one road over from campus. I walk down an alley between two apartment buildings and come out next to McDonald’s. Taking a left to head to the stop light to cross the road. There are always students out walking around. I tend to people watch. I lose myself in watching other people, trying to figure out their struggles. What they had to endure to get to where they are now.

  I’m in my own world when a voice I cannot stand brings me back to focus, “Well, if it isn’t Fancy. Whatcha doin’ out here, hooker?” Kameryn asks me. She’s the Boss’s main girl. He rarely shares her with anyone else, unless they pay top dollar.

  Gritting my teeth, I spit out, “What the fuck do you want, Kameryn?” I continue walking, knowing she will follow. And I’m not about to derail my plans just because the biggest bitch I’ve ever met decides to slum it on campus.

  “Oh, you know, just wanting to see what it is you do on a daily basis. I know you had to meet with Mark today.”

  “And you’re point is? I have plans, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.” Even though I hate her, I can’t be mean. That’s on the list of no-no’s. The Boss likes to punish people if you fuck up. I’m not about that. I’ll keep my face and body parts the way that they are, thank you.

  “I can’t tag along? I have a few questions, for the Boss’s top moneymaking girl. I just wonder what it’s like fucking someone your mom used to fuck. There’s something about him you don’t know. That I know.” She has a knowing smile on her face when I risk a glance at her now that she’s caught up and walking next to me.

  “I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t know. You have no intentions of telling me, you’re just here to give me shit.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Fancy?” I can almost hear her batting her eyes. God I can’t fucking stand this girl.

  “Just give it a rest, bitch.” Knowing I’m going to pay for this, I keep going. “Just crawl back up the Boss’s ass where you like it, and leave me the fuck alone!” I’m practically yelling at this point.

  She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but is interrupted when a silky, deep voice says, “Ladies, is there a problem?” I’m almost afraid to turn around and look at him. It’s impossible for the owner of this voice to be ugly. A voice like that can send shivers down your spine and make you instantly wet with desire.

  Reluctantly I turn, and am almost knocked on my ass with the level of hotness this man possesses. He is tall, dark, and handsome. He looks to be over six foot, dark hair and eyes, tan skin, and looks like working out is his profession. And then, I notice that he has a detective badge clipped on his jeans. Fuck! Reality smacks me in the face. There can never be anything between us, one-night stand or not.

  “Nope. No-no problem, sir,” I stutter, making me sound like a schoolgirl. I’m better than this shit.

  He searches my face, for what I don’t know. “Are you sure? I heard you yelling at her to leave you alone. So I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  Kameryn has already departed us, her having the most to lose out of all of us. “Well, you scared her off. So you did a better job than I did of getting rid of her.”

  He smiles, and I swear to you my panties poof. Like they’re nonexistent. “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

  I laugh. “Ma’am. I’m sure I’m younger than you. Are you new to the police here?”

  “Yep, I just moved up here from Alabama a couple months ago. Received a job offer up here. It didn’t take much to twist my arm to get me up north.”

  “Well, enjoy this weather while it lasts … What is your name?” I ask.

  “I’m Lorenzo Baez, but everyone calls me Enzo.” He sticks his hand out to shake mine.

  I place my hand in his, and my nonexistent panties turn into nonexistent self-control as a shudder flows through my body. “I’m Devon Harper. You can call me Devon. I don’t have any nicknames. It was nice to meet you, Enzo. But
I have to keep heading to the studio. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

  Letting my fingers slowly drift out of his, I start walking backward. “Devon … such an interesting name for a girl. I hope I do run into you again. See you.”

  I smile and wave, turning to continue my walk to the studio. After the run in with Mr. Sexy-as-sin cop, I’m going to need more than a dance release. But that kind of release won’t come from dancing, or even from my clients. Nope that’ll come from me, alone, late at night. But I definitely found a new star of my fantasies. Sucks, him being a cop. I would have loved to get me a piece of that. I’ve never had a sexual partner I chose. And until I get out of doing what I do, it’ll stay that way.

  **

  As I walk into the building that houses the studio, I walk by numerous other students meandering out of the building, most likely heading home for the night. I nod to a few people I recognize from seeing around campus, but I don’t stop to chat. I have a single-minded mission right now. I typically keep to myself, not wanting to risk getting too close to just anyone. With everything going on in my life, I never know if I’m at risk at being found out.

  Grabbing the handle of the door, which leads to my sanctuary, I yank it open and all but fall into the large room in relief. There are floor-to-ceiling mirrors along the walls, a barre situated along one of the walls, and hardwood floors throughout. Hidden throughout the room are speakers with a CD player at the front of the room.

  Breathing in a deep breath, it’s like I can finally relax. Dropping my bag up by the CD player, I sort through all the CDs our instructor leaves for us. Finding what I want, some angry music, I put it in and get it ready to play. I walk over to the barre and stretch all my muscles, not wanting to accidentally pull something. Making sure I’m loose all over, I make my way back to start my music.