Sin, page 8
“Mary and Amelia were best friends. They grew up and went to school together…Catholic school at that.” He chuckles as a small hint of pink touches his ears. “They were beautiful, but my eyes have always been for Mary, even though she was completely out of my league. They came from a somewhat upper-class upbringing while I was poor, not that it mattered to me. One look at Mary and I was a goner, something that amused Amelia. She didn’t get it until she met Julian Conte her senior year of high school.”
“Julian Conte? That names sounds very familiar.”
“That’s because he owned a chain of restaurants all over Illinois. Amore was theirs.”
“Was?”
Earl nods. “He passed away when Amelia was still pregnant with London. Horrible car accident on his way home one night…he died on impact.”
“Jesus.” My poor Twirl’s entire life has been filled with nothing but loss. Of her father. Of her mother. Her money and basic human rights.
“Yeah.” Grabbing his drink, he takes a few sips while trying to gather his thoughts. “They fell in love. It was fast and hard and everything she ever wanted. Julian was good to her, there for her, and even in his death, took care of them. Everything he had was given to Amelia and at her death, it went to London.”
Standing up, I walk over to the windows and look out at the Chicago sky. “However, it didn’t go to her. Why?”
“When Marcus sunk his claws into Amelia, whose father left her some money as well, he adopted London and became the guardian of her inheritance until she turns twenty-one. He pushed and pushed and fought with her until Amelia took in his son and did the same. He manipulated her. Isolated her. Kept her from anyone and everyone that could see what was really going on.”
“Where was her family? Why didn’t anyone step in?” There’re so many questions running through my mind. So many emotions.
I’m angry for her. For everything she was put through because of someone’s greed.
Because that’s what the fucked up situation my Twirl’s in comes down to. Money.
“We tried,” he suddenly snaps, but it’s not at me and I don’t interrupt him. You can tell he’s angry at himself for not doing more, and I want that. Let him talk. Get it off his chest while I get the info I need. “Time and time again, we tried to reason with her. Prove to her that she was better off without his toxicity.”
Turning to face him, I lean back against the glass. Expression neutral. “And what happened?”
“Mary had a really bad fight with her the year before she died.” For a few minutes he’s quiet, breathing choppy while he looks down at the last sheet of paper in the folder. The private investigation into Amelia’s death. “She begged her to leave him after a particularly bad fight. He was cheating and when confronted, smacked her around a bit. I fought him for her, beat his ass, and then went over with a few guys to get her out of that house until she could evict him through the courts. Everything had been set and bags packed, when the asshole decided to take London out of school for a father/daughter day.” Earl looks up at me then, his eyes holding so much sadness. “You know what’s the best way to win any mother over?
“Love the child.”
“Exactly. He knew that treating London like a princess would grant him forgiveness.”
“I’m going to make this right for her. I’m going to take care of her.”
“Amelia was a good mother that made mistakes, Malcolm, but I swear to you, all she wanted was for her little girl to have a family. The father that she lost.” He stands and walks over to me, looks me in the eye. Pleading with me. “To the courts, he’s in charge of her inheritance—the sale of the restaurant chain and her mother’s money—and decides how her monthly stipend is spent until she turns twenty-one as per Amelia’s will. All her life that little girl has been nothing more than a pawn in a game, and she needs someone to defend her. Care for her.”
“I’m going to make him pay,” I vow, extending a hand out, which he takes and tightens his grip. “Both of them will be avenged.”
“Thank you.”
“None needed.” Just then my phone pings with a message from Javi.
Breaking News on 32 ~Javier
Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, I turn on the large TV mounted on the wall. It’s already on the channel when an image comes on, and I can’t stop the smile that forms on my lips. There, in the middle of a quaint little shopping center’s parking lot, is a white Mercedes Benz on fire.
Completely engulfed and unsalvageable. No victims or witnesses.
“Is that?”
“Yes. It’s Alton’s.” The first of the many losses to come. This one is for the piece of shit ‘80s Corolla they have Twirl driving, while he leases a Mercedes on her dime. And if he gets another one, I’ll burn that one and each that follows.
I’m going to take everything away from him. Slowly. Methodically.
“He’s going to flip his shit,” Earl snorts, smile as wide as mine. He’s enjoying this as much as I am, but then turns serious. “Be good to her. Don’t let them break her down like they did Amelia. Promise me you will save her.”
“I’m going to do more than that.” Taking my phone out of my pocket, I pull up her number and send off a quick text.
Did you get my gift. ~Malcolm
It doesn’t take but a few seconds for three tiny dots to appear letting me know she is responding.
You are insane. ~Twirl
How did you know I needed one? ~Twirl
I don’t know if I can accept this. ~Twirl
My reply is just as quick.
You can and will. You deserve the best, sweetheart. End of. ~Malcom
11
THE MUSIC IS LOUD as I enter the employee’s lounge on Friday, walls vibrating with each pulsing note that comes through each speaker. There’s a party tonight, a celebratory function with a CEO of a tech company—a bachelor’s sendoff that includes a free-for-all with the staff.
A bride and groom will each own a floor tonight to have what they call a last hoorah.
I’ve been dreading this night; I know I’m on the schedule for a group dance, and I’m not looking forward to it.
It feels wrong. Like somehow I’m cheating, which is ridiculous.
That kiss is messing with me. His thoughtful gift throwing me for a loop.
He sent me a brand new iPhone when my old cell was about to crap out. But it was more than the thoughtful gesture—it’s the text he sent after that gave my heart a jump start.
You deserve the best, sweetheart. End of.
The man is an enigma I want to solve, even though I should stay away. It doesn’t slip my mind that his package arrived fifteen minutes after my brother and father left for God knows where. That he somehow knew that I’ve been eyeing a rose gold one, setting a small chunk each week outside of my moving fund to do just that.
My father doesn’t know just how much I make. They have no idea that the waitress salary they think I have doesn’t even make up an eighth of what Liam pays me.
The phone in my hand beeps with an incoming text, which I ignore. I can’t give in. Must fight it, whatever this is, even though I want nothing more than to get lost in him.
It’s a week later and I can still feel the ghost of his lips on mine; I can’t get him out of my head. He’s there and refusing to give me a single moment of reprieve. Swear I can smell his woodsy cologne inside my room when I wake up each day.
Feel his lingering presence.
I’m going insane.
Every single day since then, all I do is think. I let him steal my first kiss, and it’s creating ideas in my head—wants that before meeting him never came to mind. What I didn’t think is possible for me until I’m far away from this place: hope.
For more. For peace. For everything.
Back at his house, the way he held my brother under his control, was sexy. Made me feel safe and untouchable—they couldn’t treat me like dirt. As if I’m their property.
Malcolm is powerful and rich. He commands respect by merely entering a room, which is something I never thought to find attractive in a man.
He’s not like Alton and the idiots he associates with.
My brother and father haven’t spoken a single word to me since that awkward brunch. A few glares from Alton, yes, but no reprimand or recrimination. Instead, they spend their days in my brother’s office trying to figure out who stole and set his car on fire. There’s been yelling, cursing—glass smashed, but all behind a closed door, and that was more than okay with me.
Those few days of calm were a godsend. While they slept, I took care of the house and their mess, staying out of the way the moment they rose from sleep.
“Get it together, girl,” I whisper under my breath, trying to shake off this feeling that sits heavy in the pit of my stomach.
I can see Stacy inside the employee dressing room with another girl from where I stand, one that I met just briefly the day I came asking for work. Neither notice me, and that’s okay. The last thing I need is another person asking me how my night with Malcolm went.
Each girl is wearing tonight’s uniform, which consists of a ruffled pair of booty shorts, tassels, and stilettos, all in white. While the men on staff usually wear a variation of boxers or briefs depending on the request, I’ll take a wild guess that theirs tonight will be all-black and tight.
Everyone that works here is beautiful, and so much more comfortable in their near-naked state than I will ever be. More uneasiness settles deep into my bones. More doubt on how I will get through the night.
You need the money. You need it to get out. It’s my mantra. On repeat as I square my shoulders and take another step toward the room.
My plan of going unseen doesn’t last long when my foot catches on the threshold, and at once, their low whispers cease. Both girls look at me.
One with amusement, the other like she’s trying hard to figure me out. It’s almost comical, and had I not been freaking out about getting up on a stage, my giggles would’ve burst forth.
“Hi.” I give a small wave, walking over to the wall where our performance schedules are. Skimming the name list, I find mine, and pause. What the…?
London:
Room 305
Private Dance
My heart takes off at a galloping speed and my skin prickles with excitement. He’s back.
“Someone did a good job,” Stacy sidles up next to me, speaking low. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. You’re not meant to be downstairs with the rest of us.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, looking over at her. The thin strap of my shirt falls, and it’s hard for me not to fix it, but I don’t move. Instead, I keep my eyes on hers, begging her to give me an answer that makes sense. “Please give me something.”
Our last conversation became weird toward the end, and the way she left, odd.
Suddenly, my strap is fixed and another shoulder bumps into mine. “You are too innocent for this kind of a job, sweetie. We like what we do, love sex, while you look afraid of your own shadow.”
Turning my face, I scrunch up my nose. “I do not…do I?”
She nods, a hint of warmth in her stare. “Sorry, kid.”
“Yes, you do, London.” Stacy interjects, pulling my attention toward her. “And don’t take offense, but Sila is right. You’re a virgin…” she arches an eyebrow for confirmation, which I give with a nod “…then take this as the best thing that can ever happen to you and keep him happy. Come in, dance, and feel at ease that he’s the look-but-don’t-touch type of client. That you can still walk out of here when you are ready with that V-card intact.”
But he does touch me. He kissed me.
Why am I so different? “I’m in way over my head,” I mutter low, but not low enough as they both hear and laugh. “Not funny, jerks.”
“A little,” they answer in unison, and this time I join them in giggles. The world I’m suddenly in the middle of is out of my depth, should send me screaming, but instead, I am full of butterflies in my stomach. A nervous excitement that I can barely hide from them.
And while they are right about everything they say; it doesn’t quell my curiosity. The yo-yoing emotion dominating my body and mind.
I want. I don’t.
Stay. Or run like hell.
Malcolm is like a roller-coaster ride. The kind that go up really high with a massive drop, and even though I’m scared of the unknown, getting on is all I find myself thinking about. Even when I know it’s bad for me, that rush still flutters and tempts.
Confuses me.
“Your outfit for tonight is hanging next to your vanity, London,” Sila says, bringing me back to the present. “It’s per Mr. Asher’s request.” The look she’s giving me—her grin—hints at something that I’m just not getting.
“Ummm, okay?” I shrug, not sure what this can mean.
“It’s time to get ready.”
“Still feel as if I am missing something.”
“What Sila means to say…” Stacy rolls her eyes while also grinning “…is that you have a rack of clothing with dates for each beside your dressing area. All from him.”
“All from him?” Are they messing with me?
Trust me.
Trust me.
Trust me.
“London, you only dance for him. Take a look at that schedule again.”
My eyes shift to the wall and the piece of paper hanging on a corkboard. Finding my name doesn’t take long, and neither does seeing what room I’ll be in. Every night I’m scheduled says the same; he will own me every Friday through Sunday for the foreseeable future.
Throwing an arm over my shoulders, Stacy gives me a squeeze. “At least with him you’ll be away from the craziness…no one will bother you.”
Room 305
Private Dance.
Why would he do that?
Or better yet, why do I like it so much?
12
TWIRL ENTERS THE ROOM five minutes before our time is set to begin. It’s Friday night, and I need her, my body’s wound tight from denying myself the pleasure of her touch. From only watching her through a small screen or sitting beside her a few hours at night when she’s sleeping inside that tiny bedroom.
For her I’ve gone from voyeur to stalker, and I’m not the least bit ashamed.
And knowing what I do now, my killing of her family is a gift to humanity. They deserve the worst. Will receive a punishment befitting the crime.
“I can do this,” she whispers then, pulling my attention back to her. For tonight, I vow to focus and make this solely about her. Give her something no one has ever before.
A choice.
London is stunningly beautiful; her steps slow while making her way toward the stereo and picking up the remote. That’s when she notices the piece of paper there. A small note asking her to follow my instructions:
Hit play.
Face the wall.
Close your eyes.
Count to ten.
Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Miss her looking at me with sweet and curious eyes. Miss seeing the want reflecting back at me.
Her breathing escalates, and the remote in her hand slips to the floor as a shiver runs up her spine. This between us is palpable—an unstoppable force we can’t control.
Can’t deny no matter how much I know she’s fighting it. Hearing her tonight while she spoke to the girls through a speaker inside Liam’s office only confirmed what I already know…
Twirl is afraid.
Too pure for this son of a bitch that will break down every one of her walls. The more I see—learn about her—the stronger my urges become. The more the idea of us cements itself in my head.
“I’m going insane,” she whispers to herself, oblivious to my presence within the room. Just how I want it. I’m hiding in the shadows. Nothing except her stage is lit up while I watch and sip from my drink. “Why am I letting him get to me?”
Because you want me. Because I’m as under your skin as you are under mine.
Twirl stretches her neck from side to side, shaking her limbs out to expel the tension. It’s a waste of time; we’re meant to explode. To burn hotter than the motherfucking sun each time we come together.
It takes her a few minutes, but London bends at the waist to pick up the small control. The little dress; a flirty light yellow number with a sweetheart neckline and short hem rides up, giving me a peak of the silk panties underneath. The ones that carry my initials at the upper right hand corner.
A guttural growl builds in my chest at the sight, but I fight it. Swallow my desire while palming my hard-as-steel cock, the thin dress pants doing little to contain the visible bulge—the throbbing against the metal zipper.
I want to fuck her. Own her.
Bury myself so deep within her pussy that she’ll feel me for days after. Ride her so hard that the imprint of my dick will forever be etched into her walls. Mine will be the only cock she’ll ever know. Ever want.
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep inhale. Try to regain composure when the music begins. A slow and sensual beat meant to entice the senses. That blatantly expresses my desires.
The hunger to taste every single inch of her.
My eyes snap open as the first riffs rent the air. I wait for her next move.
Her acceptance.
London takes her time, and I am in no rush.
I count down the seconds until I see her turn and give me her back. Another harsh exhale leaves her, arms shaking, and I quietly stand.
Another minute and she tips her face down. I follow her move with one of my own. Then another, and it’s when I’m halfway across the room that I hear her.
“One, two, three…four,” she whispers to herself, and then pauses. London tilts her head as if listening for my entrance. Tsk, tsk, baby. Come on. Finish for me. Holding my position, I wait for her to begin again. Sixty seconds pass, the intro for another song begins, and she gives in. “Five, six, seven…”
Before Twirl can say eight, I’m right behind her, her back to my front, and my hands clench as she whimpers out a shaky nine.
