Sin, page 4
I make my move the moment the town car pulls up; my own vehicle awaits me at the mansion’s doorstep. Grabbing the key, I enter and turn the fob just in time to see them drive down the driveway.
“Where are you heading, pretty girl?” I whisper, following behind them down a winding road. The highway is only a few miles away, and we merge left onto US-41 heading south.
For seven miles I follow close behind, only easing up a bit as traffic picks up while we get on the I-94. There’re more cars than I expect for this time of night; a few semis and some drunken asshole yelling from the passenger side window about a basketball game we won.
And while the world around us zips by and the bustle surrounds me, I don’t lose sight of her car.
They’re heading straight for Chicago’s downtown area, and it makes no sense. Why are you here?
The town car stops near my building, across the street and one over to be exact, at a garage meant for my employees. No one else is outside. No other car waiting for her.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Turning my headlights off, I pull over a little way down and watch her exit the vehicle. She says something to the driver and waves him off before turning around and walking up the small ramp where one of my security guards suddenly appears.
Someone who has been working for my family for over twenty years. Who I consider to be loyal, and trust.
Earl smiles and helps her with her bag, even says something that makes her throw her head back and laugh. A part of me wants to slam his head into the pavement for being so at ease with her, but I know him and his wife. A woman he adores.
From my position I can see that he’s not looking at her with lust. No. There’s something else there…
They disappear out of sight, and I’m tempted to follow.
Find out why Earl’s letting her park here? Ask him how he knows—
Right then, a conversation we had three days back comes rushing to the forefront.
Sir, would you mind if a family friend parks here at night? She has a job that’s far, and needs somewhere trustworthy to leave her own vehicle while she commutes…
Family friend. That’s what sticks out the most since they haven’t resided here long.
As more pieces come to light, something doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know what Twirl’s hiding, but I know Earl enough that he will never agree with what she’s doing inside that club. He will borrow the money before letting her dance.
“Hurry the fuck up.” The clock on my dash blinks with another minute passing, and I find myself growing anxious, my patience thinning.
A push of a button and my doors unlock. Hand on the handle, I’m pushing it open when headlights flicker near the building’s exit. But then I am furious for a completely different reason.
“I’m going to burn that son of a bitch alive,” I hiss, fingers clenching around the handle. A rusted piece of shit—what can barely be considered as a safe vehicle—passes in front of me, pausing at the corner to turn.
A thousand and one scenarios run through my head, and neither is better than the last. Why would a girl that comes from a somewhat affluential family sell herself for money?
Moreover, it’s not for pleasure. Not because of a kink.
This is starting to smell like desperation, and I don’t like it.
Within seconds, I am right behind her. Something she doesn’t notice. Something I’ll teach her to be aware of with time.
An old Toyota Corolla from the ‘80s with a muffler that’s close to falling off and chipped paint isn’t what she deserves. The more I see the car struggle to gain speed or change gears, the more my protective instincts grow.
Pressing the phone feature on my steering wheel, I hit number two and wait.
“Everything okay, Malcolm?” Javier asks after only two rings, sounding half asleep.
“Meet me outside of the Fosters’ house.”
“I’ll be there in thirty.” He doesn’t question me. There’s some rustling, and my cousin’s voice in the background grumbling about the time. She’ll get over it. “Are we going in together, or am I delivering a message?”
“We’re delivering a personal invitation.”
“A personal invitation?” he says slowly, sounding full of interest and confusion.
“That’s it. Just a friendly visit.”
“Something you aren’t telling me here, Asher?” The man knows me, but now isn’t the time to sit and discuss. We have tomorrow for that. Right now, all that matters is my little Twirl making it home safely.
That I assess her surroundings. Figure out her motives.
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
5
“WHAT DID I just do?” My legs are shaky, body trembling as I exit the private room. It’s surreal. I feel lost, and yet, I won’t deny that having his beautiful green eyes on mine made me experience the kind of excitement I’ve never been privy to.
Is that what having the attention of someone you find attractive feels like?
Even worse? I know what he did.
I could hear his grunts of pleasure while I danced for him. Know the exact moment he found his release, and I won’t deny that my skin still tingles. That my panties are wet.
Does that make me sick? Weird?
With the cards I’ve been given, I should be running. And yet, here I am. Trying my hardest to calm down and move away from the corridor before he finds me a panting mess. A quivering ball of confusion that’s using the wall for support.
Because he wasn’t what I’ve been expecting. Not at all.
In my head, the men I’ve pictured since taking this job were bald, fat, and sexist.
Handsy. Disgusting.
However, what I got didn’t fit the preconceived man in my mind.
Malcolm isn’t any of that.
No. Not at all.
He’s not the man the other girls told me is cold and distant. A dangerous animal that isn’t to be trusted, but for some inexplicable reason, I do. Inside that room, I didn’t experience fear or anxiety. Not once.
It’s the opposite. With him, there’s calm.
He didn’t ask for extra privileges like the others. Like I know some of the other women here agree to. Enjoy.
Something that I might need to accept if the price is right. If my desperation sinks to a new low.
Malcolm’s touch—I can still feel the possessiveness in his hold—was gentle yet firm. It didn’t come with the repulsion I thought would accompany it. Not once did I feel like a whore.
Like the virginal idiot I am deep down.
The kind that in desperation ran to a total stranger’s door asking for a chance.
The stereo clicks off then and I push myself off the wall, rushing down the hall before Malcolm opens the door. There’s an empty room on this floor that Liam told me to use in case I want a breather, and right now, I’m needing more than that.
“Jesus, what is wrong with me?” I whisper, out of breath as I close the door and his opens a few doors down. My back to the wooden structure, I close my eyes and focus on his steps as he passes me and continues down the hall.
Heart pounding and hands clammy, I try and regain some semblance of composure, but it’s hard. Too hard, when behind closed lids all I see is him.
That man is the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome. I’m petite against his harsher planes—soft curves to his muscular frame. The way he wore that suit, tailor-made to define every solid inch, is sinful, and yet the way he removed said jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and popped a button up top made my knees weak. Add to that the bold tattoo on his right arm, the skull with dark shadowing and bright blue eyes, and I’m left a literal mess.
And what’s worse, I like it. Him. A lot.
His smile made me feel warm inside.
How his attention never left me still causes goose bumps to break out down my arms.
He’s the kind of man no one survives from. A total destruction of one’s senses; he’s the hurricane I didn’t see coming.
Jesus, London. Snap out of it.
Malcolm is a client. A client.
He’s paying for a service, while I need men like him to reach my goal. He’s nothing but a means to an end.
Shaking off thoughts of him, I wait another ten minutes before slipping out of the room and then taking the private stairway down to the employee area. It’s a large space with three separate rooms attached; a locker area, changing room, and an employee lounge for a bit of relaxing.
Moreover, while Liam’s a smooth talker with a penchant to come off as creepy, he’s been very accommodating to my fears. To the years of distrust that have been scaring me.
My contract isn’t like the others here:
No touching under my clothing.
No full nudity.
No sex unless I consent.
Liam knows who my family is. Why I’m here.
He’s sticking his neck out by helping me, and that’s something I appreciate. I know that having me dance for his clients will make him money, but he didn’t have to hire me. Could just as easily told me to leave.
He doesn’t have to offer me a way out. A possibility with hope.
This mansion whose walls hide secrets is exactly where my father and brother wouldn’t be. I heard them one night saying as much, talking down the members and owner, making plans to out someone important.
They made the place out to be morbid and disgusting, while I find this a sanctuary.
Quick money. A way out from under my family’s thumb.
My brother wants more than he should. Becomes braver with each night that passes, while my father sees me as a way out of his mounting debt.
They spend faster than either can produce and demand that I help maintain their lifestyle one way or another. I don’t want to be a part of either of their schemes, much less what they are planning at the moment…
They want a war. Money. Power.
I need to be far away when that happens. They want to become what they will never be, and I refuse to become the casualty of their greed.
“So?” Stacy, Liam’s assistant and a performer here, asks. She’s by the small kitchenette preparing coffee, and she’s not doing it right. There’s splattering everywhere. “How did it go? Was he rude?”
“Not at all,” I answer truthfully, walking toward her and shoving the cup deeper under the machine’s percolator. No more splashing coffee.
“Thanks.” Stacy gives me a sheepish grin. “I’m not exactly the Susie Homemaker type.”
“Do you want to be?”
“That’s weird, though.” She waves a hand in the air, ignoring my question. But I see it in her eyes. Stacy wants to be, just in her own way. “All the girls complain he’s a giant asshole. That he never let any of them physically near him. You dance, but don’t touch.”
That’s the last thing I want to think about—someone else performing for him—but then the last part hits me. I did touch him. He initiated our contact.
Closing my eyes for a second, I relive the last hour and a half of my life. How reluctant he was to let me go.
Why am I different? Not that I say this aloud. Never. I’m new here and know how easily people can turn on each other. How someone can destroy who you are just because.
Instead, I find myself shrugging, opening the small fridge beside us to pull out a bottle of water. “Seriously, no complaints. He made me feel sexy, not stupid. I thought for sure I’d fall on my face and cry.”
“Girl, that happened to me once. It’s how I met Liam!” Her laughter makes me grin, the earlier tension dropping as we both fall into giggles. That fog he put me under starts receding and each breath I take is easier than the last. I can still feel his touch. His warmth.
“For real?” I ask, trying to act nonchalant, hoping she doesn’t realize the sudden high pitch in my voice.
“Swear on my favorite pair of Manolos.”
“That’s one hell of a story to—”
“Take it from me, kid. Learn from my mistakes.” Her mood change is instant. From happy to almost heartbroken. As if her uppers are making her crash. “Don’t get attached. These men won’t give you a fairy-tale ending.”
Grabbing the now full cup, she places it on a tray with a sugar bowl and creamer. Not another word is said as Stacy walks out, leaving me in a state of confusion.
Why would she say that?
I’m not here looking for a man. I’m looking for an escape.
Besides, even if I did find him attractive, Malcolm has heartbreak written all over him.
“You’re home early,” I hear the moment I step in my father’s house. Not that this surprises me, but it’s wishful thinking that being early tonight would give me enough time to escape. To slip inside my room undetected.
It didn’t.
Instead, I find my brother sitting inside the living room in his favorite leather chair with a glass of what looks to be cognac. His eyes are blue like mine, but a few shades darker. He’s tall where I am short and muscular where I am slim. Our facial features differ, and personalities are like night and day.
Alton stares at me in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. Makes my skin crawl.
“The diner closed early tonight,” I say, letting the heavy wooden door close behind me. Even the low, muted thud it produces makes my body jump in place. “Bad batch of meat made a few people sick.”
“Are you sure you weren’t fired, Lola?” God, I hate that nickname now. Reminds me of Mom. She gave it to me, but now only he uses it, and each time it hurts. Cuts deep. Alton knows this, I’ve told him as much, yet the glint in his eyes tells me he doesn’t care. He enjoys this sick game; there’s a smirk on his face, a slow licking of his bottom lip before he takes another sip. “I’ll be more than happy to hire you as my—”
“All is fine. I promise.” The lie slips so easily past my lips as I walk deeper into the house. I have no choice. If they find out where I’ll be spending my weekends and how much I’ll be making, things will get worse. They’ll take every dime, and Alton will demand that I serve him too. “I’m back on tomorrow for an overnight shift.”
“Come here.”
“Alton, I’m really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?” Or never. Slowly, I edge closer to the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. My bedroom.
“I’m not fucking asking you. Come. Here.” The bastard pats his lap, spreading his thighs apart, and I freeze. It’s not the first time he’s tried this, demanded that I get close, but dodging is my specialty and this time my saving grace comes from our father.
“Why the fuck are you home?” He stumbles in, almost falling over the entryway’s carpet. Dad looks unkempt and reeks of alcohol. The cheap kind. His hand snaps out, grabbing onto my arm to stop his fall and bruising me in the process. Fingernails digging in, he rights himself. “If you got fired, then you know the alternative. Get me that money, London.”
Before I can respond, a hand slips around my waist, pulling me back. “Enough, old man. Let’s not upset my little Lola.”
“Of course, son. You’re right…” he digs his fingers in deeper, making me whimper before he lets go “…marking her isn’t going to help me.”
A harsh shudder runs through me as I choke on a sob. Just feeling them close, much less touching me, makes me sick. They know this. Get off on my fear. “Can I please go upstairs now? I’m tired.” Even I can hear the desperation in my tone.
Lips, Alton’s lips, press against my temple as he squeezes me one last time. “Head on up to bed. We’ll finish our—”
He’s cut off by a sudden banging on our front door. Everyone stops, and I don’t miss how fast Dad straightens himself. How he clenches a hand.
“Are we expecting anyone, Alton?”
“Not that I know of,” he says, already pulling out his phone to check the front door camera.
There’re cameras everywhere here. This isn’t a home, more like a jail cell.
Whatever pissing game they are trying to play can end badly.
I’m not an idiot.
I know what they do and how much they owe a powerful family in Miami; a debt they are forcing me to pay while they live their lives in peace. That my brother’s thirst for authority will end bad. His greed will be their downfall.
There’s one lesson everyone, no matter what walk of life you come from, has to learn.
Don’t bite the hand that feeds.
And for people like them, the mob is their God.
“Son of a bitch,” Alton spits out, hands clenching around his phone a second before his eyes flick to mine. There’s something in his stare. A subtle hint of fear. “Get upstairs and don’t come down.”
“Son, what’s going on?”
“It’s Asher’s right hand.”
“At this time?”
“Who?” Dad and I speak in unison, and immediately I wish I kept my mouth shut.
“None of your business. Get the fuck upstairs.” Alton’s pissed, his nostrils flaring while he grabs my arm and pulls me in the direction of the stairs. His hold hurts. He doesn’t care that I trip or that I crash into the banister; he wants me out of sight.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, trying to pull out of his hold. “Let me right myself.” And as the last word slips past my lips, a gunshot is heard and a bullet lodges itself in the wall nearest to my brother.
No one moves for a minute. No one breathes.
“Open the fucking door, Foster. Don’t force my hand,” a man calls out, his voice deep with a hint of a Spanish accent coming through. “You have three seconds.”
“Don’t say a word,” Alton threatens, pulling me behind him while nodding at Dad. And like the blind man he is, our father listens, opening the door to a man dressed in a crisp suit holding a gun.
“Evening.” His tone is friendly, yet it’s his eyes that let on to just how dangerous he can be. What he will do if push came to shove. “Thank you for accepting this early morning visit.”
“What can I do for you, Javier?” Alton asks, shifting his body to cover more of me. It has the opposite effect, because I see how this man’s eyes slightly widen at the sight. There’s curiosity there, and surprise, but no hostility toward my persona.
