Dirty

by Skye Warren

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what the sign on the door says. Don’t think just ’cause it’s late that a pretty little thing like you is gonna get the jump on me. You got something to sell, show me the goods.”

  I pulled out the velvet bag that contained the last of my inheritance. The small stones rolled onto the glass countertop, reflecting the dim light with disproportionate brilliance. Only the gemstones were here; the diamonds had been left for Ella with a small note of farewell. They had been earned with my skin and blood. Hopefully she would find a better use for them.

  “Whoa, girl.” He rushed over to rally them onto a ratty velvet tray. “Be careful with those. This shit doesn’t grow on trees.”

  He seemed genuinely offended by my callous treatment. It made me glad someone would finally appreciate them. A sort of wistfulness filled his eyes as he nudged them over, like a small boy who’s caught a caterpillar in his palm.

  “These are beautiful. But I don’t know if I have the cash on hand for something like this.”

  “Make me an offer.”

  He did, and it was surprisingly good. He really wanted them. “Done.”

  Squinting at me, he said, “Look, how hot are we talking here? I don’t need no fucking search warrants, if you know what I mean.”

  “They aren’t stolen.” Well, not really. I hadn’t exactly had permission from my father to take them, but it had been years, and he’d never tried to get them back from me. They definitely weren’t hot in the way Raine meant, stolen from a robbery or something.

  “You would say that. For all I know, you have cops on your tail, about to bust me as an accomplice.”

  He was practically panting over them. No way he’d let me walk. I started to gather them back up. “Okay, I’ll take them somewhere else tomorrow. I just really needed the money tonight, that’s all, and—”

  “Okay, wait. Give them to me. This one’s off-the-books, though. No fucking pawn slip for this, you hear? When you walk out that door, I never want to see your pretty face again.”

  My breath caught as I ducked my head. I didn’t want him examining my looks at all. “Just hurry up, okay? I have a party to go to.”

  He snorted. “I have a party in the back room. Come see.”

  I shook my head. “I’m meeting someone.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” He squinted. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

  I shrugged as my heart beat wildly. “I come and go. Chicago’s a big city.”

  “Yeah. A big windy fucking city.” He finally turned away and counted out a slim pack of bills. “You remember what I said, now. I don’t want to see you back here. If anyone comes around asking, you were never here.”

  “Perfect.”

  I tucked the money into my jacket pocket, wishing I could stash it somewhere safe. But at least I had the money now. If I needed to run, I could. Strange thoughts. I wouldn’t run. I had nowhere to go. And yet the premonition nagged at me. I was free, unencumbered. I had a gun, I had money—this was power. I didn’t feel powerful, though. I felt melancholy, already missing a life I had tried so hard to escape.

  A block away from the store, a slight scuff of a shoe on pavement caught my attention. I slowed and heard the quiet clop-clop of footsteps following. Ducking into an alley, I waited for the person to pass me. Nothing came. No club visitors sauntered by, no more sounds at all. I was getting paranoid. I stepped out to head toward the club again. A hand reached out and sealed over my mouth before I could utter a squeak. Then I was pulled back into the alley. Farther, farther into the inky black, until all I could see were the stars above me.

  “Be still.” Luke’s whisper was harsh in my ear.

  “Jesus,” I gasped when he took his hand off my mouth, my heart pounding. I blinked up at the stars, stiff against him, filled with relief I couldn’t examine right now. “Did you do that just to scare the shit out of me?”

  His hands softened; his hold turned from a cage to an embrace. “Probably for the same reason you waltzed into headquarters and lifted my ID.”

  “Okay,” I grumbled. “You had your revenge. Let me go.”

  I pushed against him, halfheartedly, turning to face him, and became aware of the hardness of his body, the tautness everywhere, and the firm length of him against my stomach. I didn’t want to breathe his bitter-soap scent or hear the catch in his voice whenever he spoke near me—but God, I needed it. Like stepping out of my heels, peeling off the tight garments after an evening of work; like collapsing on the couch, finally safe; like standing beneath the hot beat of the shower, finally clean—meeting Luke was like coming home.

  He cupped the back of my neck, and I let my head fall back. With slow, aching deliberation, waiting for me to deny him, forcing me to choose, he lowered his head. I strained for him. Not just my breath—my whole body panted for him.

  The touch of his lips on my neck was so light I barely felt them. Like the flicker of moonlight on water, the moment my nerves centered on his kiss, he was gone, skimming over the surface, alighting on a new slip of my skin. And myself, the dark, fathomless depths—liquid, effervescent, effortlessly languorous. Pleasure rippled over me, while something long hidden stirred beneath the surface.

  “What are you doing?” My voice trembled.

  He didn’t pause in his exploration. “If this little game of yours is going to work, we have to look like lovers.”

  A game, then. “I’m great at faking it,” I said blandly.

  His laugh was soft—seductive. Did he know how he sounded? Did he do that on purpose? “I’m sure you are. Though I’ll know. Don’t doubt that.”

  I attempted to snort my derision at his statement, but it came out breathy. “Spare me the promise of your magic dick.”

  “I didn’t say I’d make you come. I said I’d know if you didn’t. I’m sure you can moan very nicely, but the truth is in the eyes. I bet you close them when you’re pretending.”

  “By that point, the guy is usually too far gone to notice,” I admitted.

  “I wouldn’t go so easily.”

  No, he wouldn’t. Even though his thumb stroked the column of my neck and his mouth grazed the curve of my ear, this wasn’t surrender. If I were to pull up my skirts right here, right now, he wouldn’t take me.

  “Then don’t tease,” I said crossly. “There’s a word for people who do that.”

  His laugh turned husky. “I’m not the one holding back. But that will change. Very soon.”

  Before I could process that unnerving declaration, he stiffened and stepped back, letting the stale stink of the street flood between us. In his raised hand, I recognized the ominous shape of a gun. My heart beat an erratic tattoo of fear and disbelief—and relief. This would be the end.

  His voice turned cold as he said, “What is this?”

  Mine. The gun was mine, not his. He wasn’t going to use it on me. Of course not. I wasn’t going to be shot again—what were the odds? I blinked away the sense of inevitability that had claimed me for a few surreal moments.

  “A girl’s got to protect herself. Surely you didn’t expect me to meet you unarmed, now that I’m without that lovely security of headquarters.”

  Even in the dark, I could see his scowl. Or maybe just feel it wafting in the air, slipping along the invisible cord that connected us.

  “Ah, so we are back to that. I wonder what I would have to do to make you trust me.”

  “Don’t sell me out to your boss. That’s a start.”

  “Because of what I did, what you did, I’m walking around with his boot shoved up my ass. Try again.”

  Stop using me. Want me. Fight for me. “I want you to go inside that club and pretend to be my pimp. Help me get proof that the girl was kidnapped. Even if she played a part in their deaths, which she didn’t, it would have been within her rights. Self-defense.”

  “And you? If you’re serious about clearing her legally, that’s going to mean taking this to my boss. It means working with the DA. It means testifying.”
<
br />   Every cell in my body revolted at that idea. “That’s what she deserves. She should have her life back, a clear name. She deserves a regular life.”

  “It means going public with your identity, with what you did. Everyone in Chicago will know.” His tone was grim.

  “Afraid of what people would think of me?” I asked, feigning disinterest, though the idea of him ashamed of me made my insides tighten.

  “I’m afraid of what your father will do if it comes out,” he said quietly. “I’m fucking terrified of what you’ll do if he lashes out at you.”

  It shouldn’t have surprised me that he knew. He had seen every crack and flaw in me, so why not this? Even stranger that Luke should worry about such an eventuality. Surely it would happen one day. So strong was my certainty that it had never occurred to me to fear it. Luke would be reunited with his long-lost prostitute, and I would be returned to the waiting hands of my father, both of us where we belonged. No reason to worry over it, no reason to fret.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said gently, feeling unaccountably protective. Did he stay up nights worrying about each of his informants, about each prostitute he tried to help? Did it break his heart to think of his lost love in my place? Even the thought of her couldn’t dampen my warmth toward him. A man in love was a beautiful thing, even if he wasn’t in love with me.

  “If we go in there, then it’s real. I’m really your pimp. You do whatever I say.”

  I smiled. “Playing out a fantasy? I like that.”

  “I’m not kidding. Going in there half-cocked is asking for trouble.” He put up his hand. “Don’t say anything.”

  “Wasn’t going to. Too easy.”

  “I’m just worried that you—” He turned away, the troubled sound of his voice ringing through the chilly night air.

  “That I can’t cut it? Oh, come on.” And here I’d been worried about him being able to handle himself in disguise. “I’ve done worse than this. I’ve lived this.”

  “No, you haven’t. Not like this, in the slums. Half the time, you look like you belong in a country club. You couch everything you say with sexual innuendo, putting everyone else at a disadvantage. You turn prostitution into a little rich girl’s game so you don’t have to face the reality. I’m not blaming you for any of it. But that’s not what we’re going to do in there.”

  “Right, because you’re a goddamned expert on life in the slums.”

  “Never mind. If we’re going to do this, let’s go.” He sounded grim but resolved. “We go in, we get out. We keep a low profile. What’s my name tonight? I assume you had a fake ID made.”

  I huffed. “You ruin my surprises.”

  “You’re reckless and intermittently suicidal, but you’ve got a practical streak that really works for me.”

  A laugh escaped me. He saw me clearly enough. It made me wonder what else he saw in me. “If you wanted me to work for you, all you had to do was ask.”

  I pulled out the fakes Marguerite had made me and went over our stories. He was a small-time street dealer who liked to pimp out his girlfriend when money was tight. I would be too coked out to care. He would be slimy, I would be skanky, and with any luck, one of us would get the scoop on what had happened the night Ella was here. Ever the Boy Scout, Luke wanted to talk exit plans.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “If things start to go south, you get out. We can meet up later.”

  And leave him to the wolves? Not likely. He was strong and capable, but this was my turf. “Are you going to split if I’m in trouble?”

  “Of course not. That’s different.”

  I rolled my eyes in the dark. “How chivalrous.”

  “If you ask me, you could do with a little more chivalry from the men in your life. A lot more.”

  “And you are volunteering.”

  “Actually, I insist. Now come into the light. I need to rough you up a little.”

  “What a gentleman,” I said, following him onto the street.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said. “Like you stepped off the pages of a magazine. That’s not going to work for us.”

  Under the flickering streetlamp, I finally got a good look at him. Gone were the rumpled suits and casually messy hair. In their place was a stereotype of a different sort. He wore a loose blue shirt hanging open to reveal a dirty undershirt and cargo pants, with a mottled gray wool cap covering his hair. The biggest change to his appearance was his face, where a two-day scruff complemented darkly oiled skin.

  I wanted him because he was good and I was bad. Because he was worthy and I was not. And yet seeing him like this, like the lowest of men, made me hotter for him. Every excuse I made for wanting him fell away. I wanted him in every incarnation, in any form I could get him.

  He pulled out a small round tin. “Your turn.”

  I didn’t ask what the black substance was. He smeared it across my cheeks and along my arms. At least it didn’t smell bad.

  When he started to work it into the ends of my hair, I protested. “Is this really necessary? I already changed the color.”

  His eyebrow rose. “Did I recognize you immediately?”

  “Fair point.”

  He circled behind me, gently combing the grease through my hair. His hands settled on my shoulders. The heat of his body seared into me from behind, more acute now that I couldn’t see him. My hair swept away from my neck, replaced by the kiss of his breath.

  “It wasn’t really fair,” he murmured. “I would recognize you no matter how you looked. I would find you anywhere. I haven’t learned every secret of your body, but I know what’s inside. I know you.”

  My eyes fell shut, releasing a tear on both cheeks. They would make tracks in the dirt, I thought inanely. And then realized that would be more authentic. He removed his hands, a loss that felt like a blow.

  “When you believe that, then you’ll be ready.”

  I couldn’t put voice to the question. Ready for what? For I already knew the answer. I had been waiting for it, carefully cultivating the seed. Telling myself a thousand times it wouldn’t grow, until, like magic, a tendril of green peeked through the cold, packed earth. Us, he meant. When I believed he knew me and not the persona, not the prostitute, then I would be ready for us.

  Chapter Eight

  A thick line of eager partygoers blocked the entrance. In front of us, a pair of girls shivered in their halter tops and short skirts. Those thigh-high striped stockings were to show how hip they were, not for warmth. They clung to each other like vines; even from the back they were clearly too nervous for the giggling and flirting that marked the other women in line. One of the girls whispered to the other, briefly pulling out an ID and then slipping it back into her shiny black purse. There was no way for me to see if it was fake—but it was. That much was loud and clear from their body language. This must be how Ella had looked, all vibrating anticipation. I wanted them gone, out of this line, off the street, far away from the life Ella would be leading right now if I hadn’t found her. But anything we did would draw attention to us.

  I sneaked a look at Luke. He wore his gangbanger appearance well, so I almost didn’t know him. Underneath the soot and ratty white-gray fabric, it was still Luke. Wasn’t it? Like studying an optical illusion, I could look at him once and see Luke. I blinked, and the noble cop receded, replaced by the sooty criminal. The same image, different perspective, and my mind didn’t know what to make of it. His blank expression gave no clue as to whether he had noticed the girls in front of us, but I knew he had.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  His green eyes flicked to me. “Don’t what?”

  I raised my eyebrow. He already knew. Don’t pull your cop routine to get these girls out of line. Don’t mess up our plan to assuage your goddamned integrity.

  “They won’t let them in,” he said quietly. “Then they’ll look at ours more closely.”

  “You don’t know that. Ella got in.”

  A line appeared between his eyes, the only sign h
e was disturbed. “Look what happened to her. We can’t let them go in.”

  “We’ll be inside too,” I pointed out. “We can help if there’s any trouble.”

  “Us being there increases the odds for trouble¸” he said drily. “Besides, it would blow our cover to help.”

  “It would blow our cover to stop them from going in.”

  We shuffled forward with the line, quiet for a moment as people resettled.

  The girl with the striped stockings checked her phone. “My dad’s calling.”

  “Don’t answer it,” the other whispered. “Text him. Tell him you’re at my house.”

  I approved of Striped Stockings. The anxiety in her voice made it clear she didn’t want to be here. Her friend Blondie was the troublemaker.

  “What if he calls there?” she persisted.

  I mentally cheered. That’s right. Think of the consequences.

  “Say you’re going to sleep now.”

  From the side, I saw her bite her lip.

  “It is pretty late. I’m usually asleep by now.”

  It was barely ten o’clock. Luke didn’t have to look at me to make his point. See?

  Okay, I did see. He couldn’t stand by and let them inside, knowing they might be targeted. And maybe that was beyond my capability too—damn Ella for messing with my sangfroid—but hell, I didn’t know how to make them leave. I sure as hell couldn’t make Ella do anything. We were nearing the entrance. The bouncers stood impassive, disinterested in the crowd, but any attempts to dissuade the girls would surely attract attention.

  The group at the front slipped inside, and we all inched forward, a giant lumbering caterpillar with a multitude of feet.

  I held my breath, hoping he would stay silent. Hoping he wouldn’t.

  Luke cleared his throat.

  A nervous sound of objection or surprise escaped me—Oh!

  The bouncer in front looked over at me, bored at first, but his expression rapidly turning to one of interest. Sexual interest, hopefully, because if I had been identified before I even made it through the doors, I really had lost my touch. Like some sort of cartoon sketch, the bouncer pointed at me—directly at me, and I half expected a trapdoor to open in the concrete, sending me to a pit of crocodiles.