by Skye Warren
He didn’t hit me back. He didn’t even try to stop me.
In fact, I vaguely heard some of my fellow students—seriously confused at this point, probably—offering to help him, but he refused. God, they’d probably call campus security and then I’d be the one getting arrested. He said he was fine, there was no problem here, even as I aimed a kick at his groin. That one he blocked.
I turned into a crazy person. No, I’d been crazy for a while, I knew that. Maybe I had finally let the crazy out. I beat him up, as much as a small woman can do for a built ex-FBI agent, which turned out to be not much. Then I was crying on the grass, and he was down there with me, holding me.
“I hate you,” I sobbed. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much.”
That’s all I could I say. I thought of other things, things on the level of a little girl but still meaner. I hope you die. Go away and never come back. I couldn’t say any of those things. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t even mean that I hated him, or maybe I did hate him, in my own crazy, loving way.
He murmured things to me, I don’t know what. They weren’t important, the things he said. It was that he was there, he hadn’t left. He really should leave and not look back, but I wasn’t able to say it, even in anger, and risk him actually doing it.
And then when I’d finally wrung out every drop of moisture in my body as tears, I asked, “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Ah, Rachel,” he said. “You know.”
That made me smile through my splotchy cheeks and puffy eyes. “I honestly don’t, you ass.”
“Don’t make me say it.”
My watery smile died. “I don’t know what it is, Zachary, but if you don’t want…”
“I couldn’t keep you safe,” he interrupted. “I don’t know why I even follow you now, pretending I can keep you safe when I couldn’t before.”
“You did what you could…”
“And it wasn’t good enough, not even close.” His teeth were clenched and the side of his face ticked.
“It’s over now… isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s over, for now, but… I’ll never forget, Rachel.”
“Is that what you think? That we have to forget to move forward? We don’t ever forget it. We can just stay together, that’s all.”
“It can’t be that simple,” he said.
I shrugged. Now I was the helpless one. “I don’t think it will be easy, but I don’t see any other choice. I’m ridiculously, stupidly in love with you.”
I couldn’t see his face through my tears, but I heard his groan, felt his hands tighten around my waist. “I love you, too. I can’t stay away. Every morning I tell myself to leave you alone, to let you find peace, but I have to see you. I have to make sure you’re okay, and if you ever need anything I can give you, I’d be right there.”
“I don’t want anything else, Zachary, just you.”
I felt his own sobs from the heaves of his chest and his hot, damp breath against my neck as he clutched me close to him. It was probably the time for a passionate kiss of consummation, but we didn’t do that, at least not right then. To be honest, I was all teary and a little bit snotty, and this desperate embrace was sweeter than any kiss, more intimate than sex.
And not long after that, the campus cops did come by. They made us go to their offices and give a statement, but hell, I was like an expert at statement-giving by then. One retired cop, future occupation undecided, and one new student engaged in a domestic dispute, resolved peacefully.
No charges pressed.
* * *
Trust in Me
Skye Warren
Praise for Trust in Me
“Dark, disturbing, haunting, and beautiful, Skye Warren will take you into the depths of depravity but bring you home, safe in the end.”
—Kitty Thomas, author of The Last Girl
“Skye Warren is a true mistress of dark and twisted love stories.”
—The Forbidden Bookshelf
Night Owl Top Pick! “The author plays with metaphors and imagery in a prominent way to express Mia’s abuse at the hands the men in her life. This story was literally hard to put down.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“…this author does a really great job at not just showing Mia as a physical whore, but presenting her mental status as a whore is done so well.”
—Smexy Books
“It felt like I was reading a much longer book and it was a very intense read. Palpable. Tight.”
—Manic Readers
“Mia’s character is very well written and as I read the story through her eyes I don’t see the mistreated Mia, but a strong young lady who will do whatever it takes to survive and save others.”
—Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Author’s Foreword
Dear Reader,
I must warn you that this is a disturbing tale, one that starts dark and gets darker. If you are looking for a straight-laced BDSM book, this is not for you. It’s intended as a fantasy for those who are as fascinated by erotic pain and consent as I am. The only balm I can offer is that I’m a romantic at heart, and I think that surfaces by the very end.
Yours,
Skye Warren
Prologue
My stomach growled. It pretty much always did that, because my corner was one of the darkest and most dangerous in the city. Not many customers came by. Good corners were run by girls who didn’t want to share—or by their pimps. The kind of men who picked me up terrified me, but not as much as pimps did, so I kept working here.
The sweet tang of pot filled the air from two streets down, where homeless guys gathered around a barrel fire. A cat cried out, sending shivers up my spine—until the sound was suddenly cut off.
An ordinary night.
Until a scuffling sound came from the alley. My alley, the one where I took my tricks.
Who’s there? And how did they get back there without passing me? But I knew. There was a narrow walkway that ran behind the buildings, connecting all the alleyways. No one ever went back there except the mice—and the cats who chased them.
Except now.
A grunt came from the shadows. From a man or woman? I couldn’t tell. Pain sounded the same, all ages and races. Grunts. Screams. Moans. I heard them all on the street. I’d made them all too, one time or another. Pain was a constant here. A currency.
Another grunt. A chill raced over my skin. Someone was getting beaten in that alley. My alley. My fingers gripped the block so hard I felt them bruise—I would break before the old building would. Slowly my eyes adjusted, and I could make out a figure looming over another one slumped against the wall.
Thwack. What was that? A gunshot? Oh God, a gun with a silencer. The tall figure didn’t even flinch as the person in front of him slid to the ground and fell sideways.
The man stood and walked away, toward the back walkway.
I bit my lip after he rounded the corner. What if he came back? Run, Mia. Get out of there. Except what if the person on the ground was still alive? It might be a working girl like me. Calling the cops was a surefire way to get a target on my back, but if she needed an ambulance, if she needed my help, I would do it.
Doubts ripped through me, tearing me up. I could die if I went in there. I might never come out. But what would be the point of surviving if this is what it cost me? I didn’t want to be a person that would see a person bleeding out and walk away. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.
After checking that the street was still clear, I crept down the alley and crouched by the figure. Definitely a man, I could see up close. Skinny, with needle tracks down his arms. And definitely dead. I put two fingers to his throat—clammy skin, still warm—and felt no pulse.
Gone.
I glanced up. From the back of the alley, two eyes stared back at me, unblinking in the dark. Oh God. He was there, watching me. I held my breath, bracing for the pain of a bullet. He’d seen me. Even though his face was half
hidden, even though I’d never tell the cops, he’d have to kill me now. I’d seen him.
A second passed. Another.
My breath hitched. Then I was off like a shot, running toward the street, my cries strangled in my throat. I kept running down the sidewalk. I didn’t stop running until I reached the hideaway where I kept my second pair of clothes and my stash of money.
I huddled in that crack in the wall, staring at the night sky, listening to the faraway sirens whiz by.
* * *
It took me a week to gather the nerve to go back. A week of rotten garbage. A week of fighting the rats for dinner.
The body was gone. Taken away with nothing but a dark stain to mark his place. I felt dizzy looking at it and remembering the glassy stare. No one cared. Not the police. Not the other people on the street. He was just another faceless body—like me. I’d die here too, but not tonight.
Tonight I’d find food.
I stood by the street and tried to look sexy, even though, God, I mostly felt desperate. Some men liked that. A lot of men did.
Moonlight flashed off chrome and glass as a car turned the corner. It seemed to grow longer as it turned. A limo. My heart beat faster.
The shiny black car looked out of place against the crumbling, graffiti-painted concrete. Were they lost? I hoped they didn’t stop and ask me for directions. With my luck the neighborhood punks would take the opportunity to jack them and I’d get caught in the crossfire.
Was that what had happened to that guy? No, I’d been around long enough to recognize a hit when I saw one. That had been deliberate. Murder.
The limo slid to a stop right in front of me, its engine so quiet all I could hear was the crunch of gravel. I took a step back until I was pressed against the brick wall.
My stomach grumbled, reminding me I could really use the money. As in, I might not make it through the night. But the limo was too pretty. Too strange, and in my world, strange was dangerous. And I was still spooked after last week. I braced myself to run, but that would mean turning my back. I learned early not to do that.
The car window rolled down in a smooth glide, revealing a shadowy interior.
“How much?” said a low, masculine voice from inside.
I really need that money.
“Depends what you want,” I said, but I was stalling. Was I really going with him? It was always a risk, getting in some stranger’s car, but this felt more intense than a ride around the block and a blowjob in an alley. Like I might never see this street corner again.
“Everything,” he said.
That didn’t reassure me.
But it felt like there was a stampede in my stomach, hunger pains and anxiety rolling together. I couldn’t turn him down. I might not get another hit tonight. Fifty cents in my stash wouldn’t even buy a soda from the guy at the diner… not unless I sucked him off first.
I figured out how much I’d charge for a blowjob and a fuck. Then I doubled it. “Two hundred.”
A low laugh sent chills over my skin. “I think we’re going to get along fine,” he said.
The back door opened, leaving only a gaping black hole. I was supposed to get inside now. I’d take off my clothes. I’d take off his clothes.
If that was all that happened tonight, I could live with that.
But I couldn’t stop thinking… why would a guy like this be shopping for a date on this corner? There must be something really wrong with him. What if he wanted kinky stuff?
Or worse?
“The money first,” I said. That wasn’t standard on the streets, but I wanted it from this guy. Just like the extra money I’d asked for. A little insurance, even though nothing could make this safe.
The rustle of fabric. A hand reached out. I studied that hand like my life depended on it—because it did.
Strong. Masculine. With some sort of white cuff and black jacket, like he was wearing a suit.
He was holding crisp bills, folded once. I snatched them and stared at the money. Two hundred dollar bills. I’d only glimpsed this kind of money in someone’s bankroll. I’d never held it. Never had it for myself.
“Coming?” he asked.
I bit my lip, peering inside the car. Pitch black. I couldn’t see anything. I’d gotten in a lot of cars. I’d fucked a lot of scary men. I’d survived this long by relying on my instincts, but my instincts told me he was the most dangerous man I’d met.
In the end, I needed this money more than I needed to be safe. Needed food more than I needed to be safe. Wasn’t it always that way? The human body would survive even when the mind wanted to run. I tucked the bills into my boot.
With a deep breath I stepped into the car and lost my balance for a moment. A hand took my elbow and steadied me. I landed in a seat across from him. He reached for the door handle, and for the briefest moment, the streetlamp lit his face from above, giving him a dark and demonic glow. The man from the alley! Then he closed the door and the limo started moving—with me trapped inside.
Oh God, it was him. He must have recognized me. Hadn’t he? Did he know I recognized him too?
This might be a test. He might be waiting for me to mention the murder—or not. If so, I’d never say anything. Not to him, not to the cops. We rode in a silence for seconds… minutes… It felt like forever.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you want me to suck—”
“Have you heard of Mateo Bernard?”
My heart started beating faster. Mateo Bernard was known as Pit Bull on the streets. I’d seen him around, and mostly steered clear. He was a scary guy. “No.”
“How about Carlos Laguardia?”
Everyone had heard of him. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Information. That’s why you’re here. Why, did you think I wanted something else?”
My hands tightened into fists. “You know I did.”
A hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. I was pulled forward, falling off the seat and almost in his lap. He’d hauled me across the car, and he wasn’t even breathing hard. His voice whispered against my temple. “I may take that too. If I want to. When I want to. But first you’ll give me the information I need. And after that…”
I whimpered, and he loosened his grip on me. But he didn’t let me go.
“After that,” he murmured, “you’ll give me everything else. Because you’re mine. I own you. I bought you for two hundred dollars, understand?”
I was trapped with him, staring at the buildings as they pass by, faster and faster. We picked up speed. I couldn’t even say I was worse off in the back of this limo, surrounded by the soft fabric of his clothes and the leather of the seat and the warm skin of his grip.
Did I want to be back on the street? Out in the cold?
My stomach clenched on itself, like it was tearing itself apart. They really might tear me apart tonight if I didn’t eat. I had the feeling this guy never went hungry. Never wanted for anything. This could be better for me. I wanted to believe it would better. As long as…
“I understand,” I whispered. He’d bought my silence, I understood that too. “But… don’t hurt me.”
He sounded almost regretful when he said, “I can’t promise you that. But I’ll promise you this. Whatever happens, I won’t let you die.”
His arms around me were an embrace, but his words—they felt like a threat.
Chapter One
“Come, slut.”
His words dragged my body across the floor, invisible chains. I hated him for calling me that way. I hated myself more for going to him. And I went the way I knew he wanted me to—crawling. A layer of grime covered the concrete floor of the warehouse, but it was only fitting to crawl through muck. This whole game was dirty, and so was I.
Carlos looked down at me from his seat with a half-smile. The guy next to him was speaking in low, urgent tones, but I had his attention.
Other whores might try coy smiles or a flash of cleavage, but if you really knew El Jefe—and, unfortunately, I d
id—then you knew all you had to do was drop to his feet. I knew what he wanted and how he liked it, knowledge born of years of training. As long as I behaved, he wouldn’t kill me. I craved the release of death, but I was too well trained to earn it.
I reached his leather shoes and waited. The same Italian leather shoes that had kicked me only recently, but they weren’t a danger to me now. Carlos didn’t like to get too messy when he had guests. Even though I didn’t like performing, I could be glad this new guy was around today. Then again, I’d probably have to service him next.
Carlos unzipped his pants.
The guy sucked in a quiet breath, as if we’d shocked him.
That wouldn’t stop Carlos. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. He was a sadist, and the only thing better than causing someone physical pain was causing emotional discomfort. Every pinch was designed to humiliate, every blow to subjugate. You’re not worthy, they said, and I lapped up every blow to my shrunken ego like the masochist I’d learned to be.
Eagerly, I leaned forward and sucked the head of his cock with my mouth. Eager because delays were only an excuse to punish me later, and Carlos was nothing if not creative, and extreme, in his punishments. The whips, the knives, the cage. I shuddered.
His cock was musky today, but not urine-tinged—I could be thankful for that, too. Finding things to be thankful for kept me sane. It could always be worse. It had been.
I worked my tongue in a swirl and laved under the tip of his cock. Carlos grunted.
It was almost funny, the way the guy next to him stuttered a few starts, as if unsure if he should continue talking to the infamous El Jefe while he was getting his dick sucked. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, just a brief glimpse of jeans and a black t-shirt. Mostly I noticed a big, strong male body. That was enough. Maybe some girls got turned on. I just got scared. It wasn’t about weakness or strength. This was pure survival instinct.