by West, Jade
I couldn’t hold back a hiss of my own in return. “Such a shame she wasn’t your concern when she was walking headlong into a total fucking shit show to save your ass earlier. Such a shame she wasn’t your concern when you were stuffing your greedy little snatch with random dicks to pay for your drug habit, not giving a shit for the sister you’d be dragging in after you.”
Her eyebrows jumped high. “I didn’t want her to go to them!”
“Not enough to stop her though, seemingly.”
“Paige isn’t like that! She wouldn’t let me stop her. You don’t know her.”
No. I didn’t.
Not yet.
But I would know her. I’d know her pretty damned fucking well by the time her sixty days were through.
“As I said, your sister is not your concern. Not until her contract is through.”
Her eyes softened. “Please,” she asked, changing tactic. “Please just let me see her. Just for a few minutes. Please just let me talk to her. I need to talk to her, need to see she’s ok!”
My eyes hardened in response. “What you need, Miss Emmerson, is a clear fucking bloodstream. What you need is a cold hard shot of fucking rehab with people who can get that crap from your system.”
I saw how my words hit her. She tipped forward a little, one hand to her belly as the other clutched her nicotine prop tight.
And I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be the cold hard sonofabitch baying behind my eyes to trample her to nothing in a beat.
“What you need,” I continued, “is a brand new fucking start. Another chance. A real chance this time.”
Her gaze was suspicious but her desperation was palpable. “There’s no such thing as a real chance,” she whispered. “Not for girls like me. Not when I’ve sold out in all the ways I’ve sold out. Nobody wants to know. Nobody except Paige.” Her pause was long. “She’d be better off without me. Maybe I should’ve turned myself in to those assholes and let them finish me off and be done with it.”
“Or maybe you should knuckle up and commit to a cleaner future. For your sake and hers.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Not if you associate with the dregs of existence and take whatever’s given by scum who’ve already taken everything from you.”
I stared at the night sky above and tossed my cigarette butt down the steps, well aware she was staring right at me.
I wondered whether this girl could be a guarded beauty like her sister. Whether her soul could be as tragically alive with the same sense of fight.
Whether she was in any way worth saving.
“I loved him,” she whispered. “He said he loved me.”
I couldn’t stop my lip curling. “Your pitiful excuse for a boyfriend? Believe me, any man who calls you his love then sells you out to scum in a back alley to fund his own habit isn’t worthy of calling himself a man at all.”
Her voice took on a hint of sass, even in her upset. “And what do you call yourself then? You sell women out to whoever pays, no? Just because it’s a mansion not a back alley doesn’t make it any more noble.”
And that’s when I knew it.
This girl could be a guarded beauty like her sister. Her soul could be as tragically alive as the girl I’d stormed into a shit show to save.
For money.
I’d saved her for money.
“I’ve never claimed to be anything other than a monster, Miss Emmerson. Not to you, nor your sister, either. And believe me, I never call anyone my love before I profit on their performances.” I pulled out another cigarette, but this time I didn’t offer her one. She clutched the butt of her last in her fingers as I lit mine up, eyes wide in the lighter flame. “Luckily for you this evening, this monster is feeling ever so slightly merciful.”
“Merciful?” she asked.
And that’s when I smiled, the generosity in my core spitting up a little harder.
It was a strange smile. Curious in its potency.
I felt the night sky smiling right back at me.
“Tell me, Phoebe May,” I said. “How do you like the idea of switching to the clean life once and for all? In a rehabilitation that holds no prisoners and accepts no defeat.”
“What kind of rehabilitation is that?” she quizzed, and the suspiciousness was back in force.
“One that works,” I told her. “A real chance this time. A brand-new fucking start, if you’re willing to work for it.”
I could hear her brain ticking through her shivers. “You mean that? Really?”
“I’m a lot of things, sweetheart, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
“What would you want in return? Some sixty-day shit from me too?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want anything but your guarantee you’ll come good this time. No fucking excuses. No chasing after some useless cunt of a boyfriend and signing back up for his bullshit. No back-alley visits for the cheap stuff when life gets a little tough.”
“And my sister? When will I see my sister?”
“When she’s finished and you’re worthy,” I said. “Not a minute before.”
The girl looked like she would cry all over again, blubbering and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
I could barely hear the words when they came.
“You’ll really give me that? A real chance? Why would you?”
I had no answer for that, so focused on the what not the why.
“Yes,” I told her. “I’ll give you a real chance. But only one. Fuck up the opportunity and you’ll find my generosity pairs heavily with my wrath. It’s a mistake I’d avoid if I were you.”
She nodded.
I could imagine her dropping to her knees with the same defeat her sister did upstairs. Imagine her giving me whatever I wanted. Whatever I demanded.
Surprisingly enough, I didn’t want it. Not any of it. The girl’s submission meant nothing to me, despite the family resemblance.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “I’ll take the chance. Please, God, give me the chance.”
My laugh was low.
“It’s not God you should be asking,” I told her. “But you’re lucky enough that there is a miracle at play today.” I took another drag and let my eyes feast on the hope in hers.
“And lucky enough that even monsters can care.”
Chapter Five
Paige
I was there for what felt like hours. Kneeling. Waiting.
My mind spun with thoughts of Phoebe. Worrying.
But I didn’t move.
Not now I was all in for sixty days.
If I could make it through and out the other side we’d be set up for a whole new life, both of us.
It was all I could cling to. That and him.
Even through my tiredness my eyes couldn’t stop themselves soaking up the sights of the bedroom. This was his private place. It had to be. From the row of polished shoes at the bottom of the four poster, to the perfectly hung jackets on the wardrobe doors, he was everywhere. I could smell him, taste him, feel him. As though the room was alive with him. With his presence.
Maybe the walls themselves had grabbed part of him for all time, to hold on to his essence.
I wondered if he owned this place. If this was the place he always brought his sixty-day girls to fulfil their contracts.
I told myself I was nothing more to him than another girl for his viewers. More cash in his pocket. More thrills for his clients. That there was probably nothing more to me being here than any one of a string of others who’d been in this exact same spot before, kneeling and waiting.
I told myself he’d be driving me past my limits without even a sliver of care for how I felt. Not a sliver of care for anything other than how the other men were enjoying the show.
I should’ve believed it. Should’ve.
But didn’t. Not quite.
I couldn’t shake off the tingling belief that I was the first of my kind in this space.
The flutter of m
y hopeful little heart was at odds with every scrap of common sense in me, and it was weird. Really weird. I wasn’t a girl who relied too much on hope or heart. I relied on keeping calm and in control, pushing for the best future I could off my own back, not daring to risk my own self by putting my faith in another.
Especially not another like him. A god like him.
Still, despite my frantic reasoning, my heart wouldn’t let it go. Not completely.
Brandon Grant could have picked so many girls to perform for such a pay day, and I knew it. Girls who’d done so much more. Who’d give a better showing. Who’d know exactly how to act for the camera.
I couldn’t even pretend to imagine why he’d ventured to come to me in that alleyway and rescue me from the men who were going to take their fill and leave me stranded. I couldn’t even pretend to imagine why I was kneeling at the foot of a bed that was so clearly his, waiting for him in his private world when I’d imagined being trussed up to some steel rack somewhere for the next sixty days.
The very least I could do to thank him for his generosity was to be a good girl for his demands, but it was hard. Kneeling there with my hands clasped behind my back with my head down low and my legs spread wide, was hard.
My head kept dropping, sleep threatening to eat me up in spite of my fascination with my surroundings. I was drifting in a half-sleep state where I could still feel his fingers fucking my throat raw. Still feel his fingers curled tight inside my pussy. My tits were sticky with retched up bile, my naked skin pimpled from the chill from such a big room. His four poster looked the most comfortable bed on the whole planet, and I wished I was Goldilocks, able to take liberties with the big bear’s house.
I’d have given so much to curl up under the thick covers and sleep until the sun found me.
I backed into the frame just a little, enough to run the fabric in my fingers. So plush. Ridiculously plush. Nothing like the scrappy budget student bedding in my room at uni. Nothing like the dirty worn bedding I’d hopped into as a little girl back home before I’d learned how to wash it.
I spread my legs further, wide enough that I could rest my haunches down on the carpet. It cradled my weight enough that staying awake was even harder. I couldn’t fight the yawns that came calling, not even by clenching my pussy tight enough to send welcome sparks through my clit. I was a wilting lily, swaying back and forth with drooping eyes, soon past even focusing on anything other than the hazy door as I struggled to keep my attention ready for him.
And then the door handle turned.
Fuck, how I lurched up on tired thighs, head bowed low as though I’d been in prime position for him every single second since he’d walked away.
He didn’t say a word, and I daren’t look up at his face as he paced across the room to the dresser and shrugged his jacket off.
I felt invisible. A nobody.
Just as he wanted me to feel.
Nothing but a slave awaiting her master. Nothing but a girl who existed for one brutal man and his wishes.
“You’ve caused me trouble enough this evening that I should belt a hundred rounds into that sad little backside of yours,” he said finally.
“Sorry, sir,” I whispered.
“I had a well-crafted schedule that your antics disrupted,” he continued. “You’ll pay dearly, but not tonight.”
I couldn’t hold back the sigh of relief, my thighs dropping despite myself. “Thank you, sir.”
“You won’t be thanking me tomorrow,” he said, but I didn’t care about tomorrow, not right then.
He approached with big strides, and I welcomed his firm grip on my chin, tipping my face up. My eyes struggled to focus, swimming in his until my head was spinning.
“It’s been a long night,” he told me. “As you were a good girl who maintained her position, I’ll let you rest until morning.”
I doubted morning would be long coming, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t disguise my gratitude. My smile was all real as it greeted his scowl.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You won’t be thanking me tomorrow,” he repeated, but my smile didn’t break.
“Thank you for saving me,” I continued. “I won’t forget it, sir.”
The smile that beamed back at me didn’t mirror my gratitude. It was nasty. Brooding. Full of sin and want and spite.
“Oh, you will, sweetheart.” His voice was low. “Soon enough you’ll barely be able to remember your own name, I promise you.”
I didn’t have an answer for him, and it seemed he was done. My face dropped as his hand moved away, and I tumbled forward until my hands braced on my knees.
I watched him tug his tie free and hang it over his jacket. He freed the top button on his shirt and moved to the far side of the bed, flicking on the bedside lamp in exchange for the overhead and plunging the room into low orange light.
“You are excused for the bathroom,” he told me, and pointed to the far side of the room.
It was a struggle to get to my feet, but the bedpost helped me. I heaved myself up on shaky legs, staring at him just a moment as he kicked off his shoes and dropped himself to the bed.
His position was strong. Rigid. Propped on pillows as his eyes glittered darkly at mine.
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
I felt so exposed walking away from him naked into the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my feet. The lighting cold to match as I pulled on the light and caught my reflection in the mirror over the sink.
I was pale. Sunken. Broken.
Exhausted.
I managed a trickle of pee, and my pussy was still tingling as I wiped myself dry.
I washed my hands thoroughly, and wiped a smear of alleyway dirt from my cheek. The soap smelt of jasmine. The hand towel was soft against my skin.
My nerves were rife as I finished up and dared to step foot back into the low lit bedroom.
I was expecting to be made to lie back on the carpet and make my bed like a slave dog at her master’s feet, but he surprised me and patted the plush bedding next to him.
“Come,” he said, and I walked over, hardly daring to believe he had a place for me alongside him.
I was careful as I dropped onto the mattress, being sure to keep my distance and my eyes down low. I couldn’t help but flinch as his hand reached for my wrist and gripped tight enough to pull me closer.
My heart raced as I settled onto my back at his side. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to keep my breathing steady.
“Don’t even think about moving from here,” he told me. “You sleep until you’re told you can wake.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
The pillow was welcome under my head. My eyes struggled to stay open.
My body thrummed the full length from being next to his, even though no part of me was touching him.
Magnetic.
Both pulling and pushing at once.
I was still thrumming when the bedside lamp was turned out, but my eyes were too tired to follow his body in the shadows when he got back to his feet and left me.
Chapter Six
Brandon
“Seriously, Bran, what the hell is going down here?”
Eric’s face was a picture of white horror, and for once the idiot was right on point. He followed me from the office, keeping hard on my tail as I made my way to the rear of the house. I’d abandoned my handset inside and didn’t even have my cigarettes from my jacket pocket. There was only me and the cutting winter chill through my shirt, staring up at the glittering dawn with a scowl on my face from the back porch.
My brother let out a sigh and moved closer, folding his arms over the balustrade and taking in the same view.
“Drake isn’t gonna get over this shit,” he said, like it needing voicing. “Viewing levels spiked at ten last night. Fucking loads of viewers. Loads. He wanted action. They all did. I don’t get it…”
I didn’t have an excuse for any of it, and I didn’t for
ce one. I’d been ignoring the messages from Drake on the encrypted portal, knowing full well what would be heading my way from the piece of shit.
He wanted action with Annabel Fisher, and cash lining his already fat pocket.
I wanted to know what was happening with Rebecca Lane’s disappearance and what the fuck that cunt had to do with it.
I’d tell him to fuck off in a heartbeat and the thrill would last me for weeks. I’d love to ditch him in a cesspit of has-beens and never set eyes on the old fucker again.
I’d love to do a whole host of vile acts to the piece of shit, but it would be a dumb-fuck move on my part.
Henry Drake may have been on the later side of life, but a run in with him couldn’t be taken lightly. He was powerful. Dangerous.
Yet, so was I.
“What’s he said to you?” Eric asked, interrupting my own grim thoughts.
“Nothing that’s any of your business,” I told him.
He sighed and shook his head, a damned sight more together a figure than he had been when I was dragging him from Annabel’s room and pummelling shit out of him just a short period ago.
Bravado was a fool’s friend. Unfounded arrogance was another.
Eric had both on his contacts list.
I wasn’t going to tell him about Drake’s previous message. The one before I’d bailed all the further and long before the host of abuse that had followed.
No more fuck ups. Tonight needs to be your best fucking game face. The stakes are high. Clients waiting. Ten p.m. fucking sharp.
Paige Emmerson deserved every sliver of punishment she’d be receiving from me. The girl’s idiot endeavours to save her idiot sister had cost me a whole fucking mountain of conflict.
“You gonna go up and put on a show?” my brother prodded, ignoring my blatant reluctance to speak in more than grunts to him.
The dawn was breaking through the treeline opposite. Barely suitable timing for our US viewers, let alone the European ones.
That’s why I told myself I wouldn’t be playing with Annabel Fisher’s filthy little body for the sake of another filthy payday.