“Would you like a drink?” his voice was low and nervous, and I watched the tic of his hand, fluttering against his coat pocket, as if unsure whether to go in or out of the space.
“No thank you, Master.” I could be good. I could behave. Maybe we could go back to Phase One, this time with my cooperation. My life, in Phase One, had been a bearable one.
I felt the stiffening before I saw it, the switch that flipped and knew, even before the shoes came into view, that we were being approached. A single set of men’s dark brown dress shoes. A buyer.
“She looks American.” I searched for a hint in the man’s voice, an accent, an inflection, but got nothing from those words.
“She is. And well-trained.”
“Fully broken?”
“Yes.”
“She looks rough, like she’s been punished recently.”
There was a pause before he spoke, a moment where I felt a ridiculous moment of hurt, the criticism stinging. I had never been described as ‘rough.’ Never considered, in the hours leading up to this, the possibility that I might not be wanted.
He finally spoke. “Not a punishment. Just my form of sex.” He laughed, an awkward bark, and the man stepped back.
“Not my thing. Good luck.”
Not my thing. I wanted to call out, Wait! It’s not my thing either! We’d be perfect together! Instead, I watched his shoes move a few steps over, heard his greet of another couple. Cheated a bit and lifted my eyes to the right. Saw shoes and slacks and bare legs displayed on heels. People everywhere.
“Keep your eyes down,” he hissed. “And try to look fucking pleasant.”
Pleasant? I weighed, for a brief moment, the downfalls associated with a swift pivot left and a strong knee to the balls. The thought brought a small smile. Then a strange hand, one that curved around my waist and pinched my skin, so hard and sharp that I wheezed in a breath of protest, stopped that smile.
“Nice... very nice.” The stranger hissed when he spoke, his body a stench of alcohol and cologne, my nose getting a front seat to the party when he pulled me closer, against his chest, his thick features rolling into place as he smacked thick lips together and squinted at me from inches away. I dropped my eyes, said nothing, did nothing, even as his hand traveled down my back and possessively squeezed my ass.
“How much?”
Not this man, not this man. I’d take a thousand clipboard questions and beg for my keeper’s touch before I served this man.
“Fifteen thousand.”
Fifteen thousand? I almost lifted my head, almost broke character and stared at my keeper. That is all I was worth? That is what the training and hell was for? To increase my value to the point to where my skin fetched the price of a used fucking Camry?
“That’s too much,” the man drawled, his fingers moving across my ass cheeks and digging into the crack. I bit the inside of my cheek and struggled not to speak.
“Twelve.” My Master spoke too quickly and I wanted to scream. Twelve thousand??! I had twelve thousand in my savings account at home. Was fairly certain that Brett would pay a hundred times that amount without hesitation. This could not be my ending. I wouldn’t let it happen.
I raised my head and stared into the man’s eyes, the action unexpected, his eyes narrowing in response. Then I licked my Revlon Super Lustrous #680 Temptress lips and spoke.
“Get your fucking hands off of me or so help me God I will break every one of your fingers.”
Beside me, my keeper jerked into action, his hand clamping down on my arm harder than I’d ever felt it, the punishment in the bite of every single finger. I fought it, stared into the man’s eyes and let him see every ounce of hatred in my heart.
Behind us, a voice, so low and deep that it stopped us all, the casual authority a hundred levels above the three of us.
“Is there a problem here?”
Five words that gripped my heart and smashed it into place.
Five words spoken in a manner I’d never heard yet instantly recognized.
Five words that caused both men to turn but I stayed in place, a tremble starting from my feet and rocketing up, till I thought I’d drop, till I thought, right there on that floor, that I would burst into a hundred pieces.
Brett had found me. I pressed my lips together and fought the breakage of my soul, my eyes squeezing together, a lump in my throat fighting to burst through every opening in my soul.
I had been saved.
The trio of black SUVs were ahead of us, my app verifying Brett’s location in the car.
“Very James Bond,” the driver called out cheerfully, lifting his chin and meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Uh-huh.” I gripped the front passenger headrest and stared at the cars. Watched as we wound through downtown. Brett’s ‘friends’, the men from the house, now here, with two extra SUVs, headed into the heart of the city. Not going on a boat sales call, that was for certain. They must work for him, be part of the drug operation. I wondered at his house, at all of the rooms that we had passed through, made love in. How many of those rooms had closets full of drugs? Or guns? Or both? How many nights had I sat in a hotel room while he had destroyed lives? Broken a hundred laws? Empowered terrorist and drug organizations?
I had seen enough. I should go back to the hotel. Book a flight home and be halfway to the airport by the time Brett returned.
“You getting out now?”
I raised my head, looked around, scrambling into action when I realized that the brigade before us had stopped, doors opening on all three vehicles, two men I didn’t recognize joining Brett’s foursome. I glanced at the meter and pulled out a twenty, holding it out. “Keep the change. What is this place?”
He twisted in his seat, taking the cash with an appreciative nod. “A salsa club. Real popular with the tourists. But it’s early, won’t be too crazy right now. It’ll heat up in an hour or so, be really crazy then. Want me to wait for you?”
I glanced around, Brett’s entourage entering through the front, the street quiet and relatively clean. “No, I think I’m okay. Taxis come through here often?”
“Oh yes, every few minutes. But here’s my card. If you can’t find one, just give me a call.” He smiled, half his grin void of teeth.
I took the card. “Thanks.”
I was slow to exit, a group of girls approaching the club, and I waited for them to pass before stepping out. I followed them closely, an attempt to hide, a barrage of Spanish bouncing between them as they pulled open the doors and shouted a chorus of welcomes to the doorman.