by Jennifer Ann
What’s with the sugar? Does she honestly not remember Rook from high school? He really hasn’t changed that much in overall appearances. I wonder if she’s putting on an act like she has with me for most of the night. It could be an old habit to try to work everyone in the room. If that’s the case, I intend to break it.
Throwing me a wink, she slips off my lap, leaving my angry cock to stab at my jeans. While she’s getting dressed, I stand to face one of my oldest friends with a whoosh of blood rushing through my ears. “Didn’t think you’d come.”
With a harsh laugh, his sharp brown eyes remain cold. “Wasn’t so sure I would either. I left my eight-month-pregnant wife to travel over a thousand miles.”
A tentative smile pulls at my lips. Married and expecting a baby? I shove my hands into my jean pockets, knowing I should say something profound, maybe even congratulate him. But half a decade of hard feelings wedged a wall of awkwardness between us. “Glad you did.”
He flinches like he was punched. “Didn’t come for you. Came for Bender. If he’s in trouble, I wanna help.” Narrowing his eyes on me, his focus intensifies. It reminds me of the expression he had whenever Trask had a court appearance. “Fill me in on everything that happened.”
I throw a tentative look Zoe’s way. She watches on with her shoulders back, chest out, and chin high. Her confidence is a serious turn-on, making me hard all over again. While I’d love more than anything to continue where we left off, it’ll be a long night of catching up with Rook.
“Call a cab.” I collect my shirt off the floor and throw it at her before digging for my wallet. “Put that on so the driver doesn’t get any ideas. Check in with me when you get home. I added my number to your phone. And for the love of fuck, buy something that won’t give my older customers a heart attack.” When she reaches for the crisp bills I offer, expression uncomfortably tight, I don’t let go. Instead I stare her down over the bridge of my nose. “Consider this a rain check for tonight.”
When I release the money, she stuffs it into her shorts pocket. With my shirt draped over her shoulders, she lifts her chin in Rook’s direction. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you around, too.”
A possessive twitch spreads over the palms of my hands. Once I have another opportunity to be alone with her, I plan to convince her to leave the days of working customers for money far behind. If I have my way, I’ll be taking care of every last one of her needs from this point forward.
4
Zoe
As I’m running around getting ready for my first day as Ryker Blackwood’s bitch, I question whether or not I’ve lost my damn mind. I still don’t understand why he was so bent out of shape over whether or not I strip. Either way, I guess I’m grateful to be done with that place…at least for now. Instead of quitting like Ryker demanded, I told my boss I was taking some time off from the club to take care of Charlize. I needed a safety net in case this thing with Ryker doesn’t pan out.
How the hell am I supposed to work with him all day, pretending we both didn’t want to fuck? I was genuinely surprised when I didn’t leave a puddle when perched on his lap. It’s the most turned on I’ve been with a customer…just seconds away from climaxing. If he had touched me, or if Rook hadn’t walked in on us, I might’ve ridden him all night like a damn bronco. He’s so maddeningly attractive, and the possessive bit was an unexpected turn-on. But sleeping with him would’ve resulted in disaster, a mistake I couldn’t erase.
After his smart-assed comment about buying something appropriate, like I run around in bedazzled bikinis 24/7, I threw together a pin-up type costume with tiny shorts and a fitted shirt tied above my pierced bellybutton, finishing it off with a red bandanna. New job, new start. I’m done letting someone tell me how to dress, no matter what obscene amount they’ve agreed to pay. And I don’t know where in the hell he thought I would shop, but he gave me enough money to cover the monthly hospital bill. I sure as shit wasn’t going to waste that kind of cash on clothes.
I find my little sister sprawled out on the couch downstairs with a bag of chips under her arm, controller in hand. I’m still not convinced I believe the story of how she scored the video game console at the thrift store, but since it’s an older version and came in a battered box, I gave her the benefit of the doubt that she wasn’t lying—at least not this time.
Whenever she returns home from a friend’s, I’m immediately relieved to see she’s still alive. Then I wonder how many laws she broke, and if she’s still drunk or high.
She sees me coming and her gaze skips down my body. When our eyes meet, a crooked smile passes over her lips. Whenever she does that it reminds me of our mother, making it hard not to resent the little punk. She’s already long and willowy like Mom—so much that she’s built more like a teenage boy. If she didn’t have such a gorgeous, feminine face, she’d be easily mistaken for a dude the way she’s always wearing band t-shirts and backwards baseball caps. When her hair isn’t dyed every other color of the rainbow, like the current hue of lavender, she’s even prettier since it’s the same soft shade of blond as I get from a box.
Her crooked smile grows a little more as her eyes return to her video game. “What’s with the outfit? Those old dudes at the club into some new kind of kink?”
“I’m starting a new office job today…at some auto repair place.” I swipe the chips from her, scanning the nutrition label. “Did you even bother to check how many carbs are in here? You’re going to have to bolus for this shit!” She doesn’t answer, so I anchor myself between her and the TV. “What are your levels?”
Her brown eyes narrow. “Do you mind? I’m trying to pass this level!”
I click the TV off and fold my arms, glaring at her over the bridge of my nose. “Char, I asked you a question.”
She tosses the controller aside and shoots up to her feet, mirroring my stance. “Obviously I checked it, or I wouldn’t be standing here, Mom.”
The low blow churns in my gut. Times like this I want to tell her if she hates me so much, she can track Mom down to see how she does instead. “Mom wouldn’t give a shit whether or not you go into ketoacidosis, and you know it. Have you been drinking a lot of water this morning?” I lean in to smell her breath.
She elbows me back while adjusting her beanie hat. “I told you it’s good. My levels are normal. I’m not a little fucking kid.”
“No, but you’re irresponsible. You have a disease that needs to be taken seriously, or you’ll wind up in the hospital like last time, racking up another bill we can’t afford.”
Rolling her eyes, she starts for the stairway.
“Where are you going?” I call after her. “You have a day full of chores to do.”
She continues without stopping. “We were up late. I’m gonna take a nap. It’s summer, for Christ’s sake. The chores can wait.”
“No, they can’t! If you don’t like my consequences, next time leave the spray paint home! And don’t walk away while I’m talking to you!”
Turning back, she throws me a bratty sneer. “Graffiti is an artistic expression. My art teacher says everyone should have a creative outlet.”
“Then next time instead of vandalizing your ex’s car, you should express yourself under a bridge or on a train like a normal sixteen-year-old. We can’t afford any more red flags on your record, or Human Services will be up my ass. We’re already on their watch list after you threatened to poison Mrs. Hill’s cat.” I motion to the kitchen, wincing when I notice the mess from the day before has grown. “Clean that mess, scrub the downstairs floors, vacuum upstairs, and pick up your room. I want everything done before I get home. And make sure you eat something healthy for lunch.”
“What’s for supper?”
“Whatever Raven brings back from work.”
The freckles on her nose dance when she scrunches her nose. “Old people food again? That shit’s disgusting! Everything’s soft and flavorless!”
“Feel free to get a job, and help with the bills so we can affor
d filet mignon,” I snap. “When’s the last time you contributed to anything around here?”
“Last week when I snatched that guy’s smart phone off the Green Line.”
“You mean the phone you’ve been using to stream movies off Mr. Anderson's Wi-Fi? How’s that contributing exactly?”
“We don’t have to pay for cable.” She waves a dismissive hand through the air before spinning back around. “I’ll take care of everything later. I promise.”
Just as she’s sprinting up the stairway, the front door to the old house repeatedly slams shut. I drop to my knees, scrambling for the bat we hide under the couch while vowing to strangle Freddie for letting this place fall apart. As many times as I’ve told him during his short visits home that we can’t have a rotting door in this shitty neighborhood, he hasn’t made any attempt to fix the damn thing. I certainly can’t afford a new door.
“Where’s that little shit?” Raven yells from the entryway.
Letting the bat clatter to the floor, I blow out the breath I was holding and close my eyes. “What’d she do this time?”
My eyelids flip back open to the sight of my best friend in nothing more than a leopard-print towel wrapped around her curvy body, midnight black hair swept into a horrifically messy bun, mascara streaking her almond-shaped eyes.
On any given day, Raven’s a knockout. Today, not so much. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told me she was run over multiple times while crossing the street from her place.
I bite back a nasally laugh. “You auditioning for a part on Walking Dead?”
“I was getting ready to shower, and noticed my wireless speaker is gone. I just know Char took it.”
“You have a wireless speaker?” I ask, amazed by her inability to budget for things that actually matter, like clothes that fit, or electricity in the brutally cold winter. Last December she spent an entire week camped out in our living room.
“I won it.” Her gaze snaps away from mine. “At work.”
In other words, she stole it. I cross my arms, smirking. “Since when do pimps hand out prizes? Wouldn’t it be more productive if they gave away condoms and penicillin?”
“Fuck you, Z.”
With a playful scowl pulling at her lips, she laughs and plops down onto the couch, digging a hand inside the bag of chips. While she’s not really a prostitute, there’s no denying she often sleeps with old rich dudes, hoping they’ll fall madly in love and become her sugar daddy so she can quit wiping old people’s asses for a living. I was tempted to follow in her footsteps after some guy paid for her boob job. But so far she’s only managed to snag adulterers and crooks who are strictly interested in a piece of young pussy. It’s partially her fault for being so damn gorgeous. The girl oozes sex appeal with everything she does.
She jerks forward, pinching her nose. “Why the shit does this couch reek like booze? Did Freddie spend the night again last night?”
“Freddie hasn’t been around in weeks. He’s laying low because he owes Terrance Fisher a shit-ton in gambling debt.” I lean over her and inhale, cursing myself for not smelling it earlier. How the hell am I supposed to keep my little sister from indulging in the very things that could kill her? “That’s courtesy of Char’s late-night shenanigans.”
Her lips flatten as I’m reaching for my purse. “Hold on, sister. Where you goin’ dressed like that? Pinky’s isn’t open this early. They have a new ‘boobs and breakfast’ happy hour?”
I lower down beside her, hardly able to contain my smile. “You’re so not going to believe this. I was offered a job last night by Ryker Blackwood.”
“Get the fuck out!” Chips spray from her mouth as her eyes pop wide. It’s odd to see her indulging in junk food, considering she’s always watching her figure. She usually doesn’t eat enough to sustain a mouse. “How? Doing what? Does it involve anal?”
“Yes, along with a minimum of three blowjobs a day.” I smack her arm, satisfied when she yelps. “Jesus, Rae! Who do you think I am?”
She scowls, rubbing her arm. “Someone who makes money utilizing her sexy body?”
“I mean…you’re not totally wrong.” I sit back, sighing while staring up at the ceiling stained from the time my mother blacked out and almost drowned in the tub. Sometimes I don’t think it would’ve been such a bad thing.
Rae smacks my arm back. “Spill the deets, girl! I wanna hear everything!”
“At first, he paid me a thousand bucks to hang with him for the night. Then he offered an even more obnoxious amount of money if I’d quit the club to answer phones and shit at his mechanic shop. I clarified that I won’t have sex with him no matter how much he pays. I have no clue why he’s taking me on as his charity case though. I’m pretty sure he didn’t recognize me from high school.” My fingers fumble with my battered purse strap as I try to crack her unreadable expression. “It’s weird, right? Am I crazy for accepting his offer?”
“Depends on how much we’re talkin’. For the right amount, I’d agree to anal.”
I glance over at her, lips spreading with a dreamy smile. “Oh, my god, Rae…that man…he’s as irresistible as they come. Everyone knows he can sing, but have you ever heard him speak? He has the sexiest voice known to man. And those fucking eyes. They allude dirty sex. When I danced for him, I was one heartbeat away from coming, and he didn’t lay a hand on me.”
“Sounds to me like you’re already fantasizing about sleeping with Mr. Dirty Sex Eyes. Don’t you know that has disaster written all over it?” Raven clicks her tongue in a condescending way that gets my blood boiling. “You do remember we’re talking about the nephew of the former South Side King, right? That boy can only equal trouble. You don’t want to go tangling with the likes of him.”
“I know who he is, Rae. I’m not an idiot.”
I bite down on my tongue before I reveal anything more, like the fact that I was sitting across from the former South Side King mere hours ago. I don’t know what that means for the neighborhood, but I’m hopeful he’ll soon be stripping Terrance of the power he has over my father. It’d be one less dumpster fire to worry about in my messed-up life.
Watching Raven shove more chips into her mouth, I shake my head. “Why are you stuffing your face with those this early in the morning?”
“You remember Henry, that stockbroker guy I’ve been seeing the last couple weeks? He mentioned the other day that he likes a woman with wide hips. Says he likes something to hold onto during sex.”
“First of all, you’re dating a guy named Henry? Exactly how old is he?” I snatch the bag from her and stand, holding them out of her reach. “Second of all, you’re not packing on a few pounds of junk food for someone you just met. Have you completely lost all respect for yourself?”
“Henry is fifty-eight. You don’t hear me judging you for wanting to be Mr. Dirty Sex Eyes’s bitch.” With another click of her tongue, she jumps up to reclaim the bag of chips, holding them protectively against her side while glaring me down. “And for your information, Henry drives a Maserati.”
I throw my arms up at my sides. “Then by all means, fatten yourself up so you can ride in his fancy car. Seems totally worth it to me.” Wrapping my purse strap around my head, I roll my eyes as I start for the door. “I gotta run…I’m already late. Wish me luck.”
“Don’t be dropping anything while wearing those shorts,” she calls after me. “Wouldn’t want your new hottie-with-the-body boss to poke you with anything.”
I hold my middle finger up over my shoulder without turning back. “Thanks in advance for bringing dinner home!”
As soon as I enter the impressively large garage, early morning sun no longer warming my back inside the air conditioned building, it’s already alive with the sounds of heavy metal and the high whine of whatever power tools they use to fix cars. I curl my nose with the stink of dirt and motor oil, but it still beats the stench of b.o. and stale cigarettes from customers who don’t think the club’s rule of no smoking applies to them.
> Before I can wrap my head around the fact that I caved to Ryker’s demands like a puppet by coming here, the instinct to flee curls inside my empty stomach until I’m ready to spew. Easily the most intimidating man in existence stands beside a car, wiping his greasy hands on a rag while sizing me up like I’m a lollipop. Just like Ryker, he’s equally as beautiful as he is terrifying.
Fuck my life.
I never thought to ask Ryker who else works for him. I hadn’t heard Camden Stone was back in the neighborhood. Last I knew he was living in California, serving in the military.
I feel painfully exposed under his lewd stare. Suppressed memories from high school come rushing back so quickly that I waiver on my high-heeled boots. God, he was such a dick to me and every female in existence. But it’s still hard to say whether he made more girls cry, or ache for his touch.
His dark blond eyebrows lift. “You here for a centerfold shoot, sweet thing?”
Well, shit. Doesn’t sound like he recognizes me either. Guess I was more transparent than I thought. I adjust the knot on my shirt, exposing my belly button a little more.
Chin lifted, I meet Stone’s chilling stare. The pale blue eyes evoke thoughts of icebergs and serial killers. “Is Ryker around?”
“You don’t need that tool. I can help you out with your…needs.” His thick tongue slides between his lips as his eyes snap down to my bellybutton ring, stirring an odd mix of excitement and fear in the pit of my belly. “You ever drive a Porsche?”
“You’re late,” Ryker’s deep timber rumbles behind me. When he appears at my side, he’s taking in my outfit, nostrils flared. A flash of the same desire I saw in those beautiful blues the night before sizzles a second after our eyes connect. “I told you to be here at nine.”
“You also told me to buy something to wear on my way in.” I give him a careless shrug. It’s far too much fun pushing him when I sense he likes being in control. “None of the malls open before ten.”
