Devil's Bargain

by Natasha Knight

  Hell, I knew she was coming apart, but I was too pissed off that she wouldn’t come clean. That she was hiding something from me. That she didn’t trust me.

  That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Trust?

  I’m about to leave the room when I see her tote beside the door.

  After a quick glance at her, I pick it up, carry it into the living room and turn it over on the dining room table. Everything falls out, her wallet, her phone, a small notebook. A smaller bag with some lipsticks inside it.

  And a passport.

  This wasn’t there the other night.

  The name on the passport is Melissa Doe and the photo looks a couple of years old. I leaf through it and don’t find a single stamp. She hasn’t traveled with it. Hasn’t even signed it.

  Her phone is out of charge so I can’t go through that but when I go to put everything back inside, I notice something stuck half-in, half-out of a tear in the lining. A flash drive.

  This is new too.

  These are the things she went to get from her house. What if the videos are on here? What if she has them?

  No. She wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t keep those. What would be the point?

  I put the rest of her things back and go to my study, the only locked room in the penthouse. I switch on the light, sit behind my desk and plug the little drive into my laptop.

  It takes a moment for my computer to register it, and when I try to access it, a password screen pops up.

  I think for a minute and try the obvious, her birth date, her name and birth date, the name of her shop but nothing works. I’m thinking of different combinations when I hear her at the door.

  “I don’t want to be locked up here again,” she says from the doorway.

  I close my hand over the drive and discreetly pull it free then slip it into my pocket.

  Circles shadow the delicate skin under her eyes. She looks tired, and I want to say it’s lack of sleep making her look like this, but I know it’s not.

  I give her a long nod.

  She looks around the room, comes inside and sits in one of the armchairs.

  “Where were you?” she asks.

  “Away on business.”

  She just nods.

  “It’s late. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  “Senator Boyd, he wasn’t a nice man.”

  I don’t move. I don’t even take a breath so as not to spook her.

  “Neither was his son. Not to Liza either. That’s why I did this for her. The first night I mean. I wanted to protect her from you. From those men. But when I went to see her…well, people don’t change, I guess.”

  “Why did you accept the second offer? The month?”

  “The driver’s license, Melissa Chase.” She stops, reconsiders, changes track. “I don’t have great memories of that time.”

  “Your time with the Boyd family.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you ran away.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t want him to know where you are?” She knows who I mean by him.

  She doesn’t reply right away but when she does, it’s not quite my question she answers.

  “I don’t know what they know or don’t know. Growing up in foster care sucks, Hawk. I don’t remember anything about my birth parents. All I know is that I was told I had a bracelet with my name on it when I was found. And then I got lucky and got adopted by a wonderful couple, but after they died in a car crash, I was back in the system.”

  I don’t say anything. Just let her talk.

  “Everyone wants babies or toddlers. Not kids older than that and definitely not teenagers,” she pauses. “But then Senator Boyd…It was an election year and he’d just had a scandal. That’s all. He didn’t do it out of love for me or any remotely human feeling for a child.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  It’s taking effort for her to keep her expression neutral, but I see through it. I see the little girl she’s trying to hide.

  To protect.

  In fact, I can’t get the image of that little girl out of my head.

  But I need to be careful I don’t let her see it. Don’t let her know what I know.

  “No, nothing like that,” she says, but her answer is too smooth. Too quick.

  “Nothing like what?” I press.

  Her gaze snaps to mine and I think she’s going over what she said. I think she’s trying to make sure she didn’t give anything away.

  “When I turned seventeen, I left. That’s all,” she says, completely avoiding my question. “I was old enough to take care of myself and I did. I came to Las Vegas and I met Mrs. Adams who owned Wrinkles in Time and worked for her until she died. She left me the shop and I’m continuing her work. And her kids wish they could evict me and make real money on the building, but they weren’t able to contest the will. That’s about it in a nutshell.”

  “And you donate about fifty percent of your profits to the homeless shelter a few blocks away. That’s the reason you have the low rent agreement Mrs. Adams’ greedy kids aren’t thrilled about.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I heard the woman at the shop the other day and was curious, so I looked into it.”

  “Looked into it? Why didn’t you just ask me?”

  “You’re not so forthcoming, Melissa.”

  She looks around again, then cocks her head to the side. “You don’t have any photographs of family either, by the way,” she says.

  I remember when she found the one in my book.

  “Not in here,” she continues. “Not anywhere in the entire penthouse. In fact, this place, as nice as it is, anyone can move in. Apart from that tartan I saw the first night, there’s nothing personal in it at all.”

  “My mother died when I was six. My father remarried and it didn’t work out for me to stay.” It comes out strange. Awkward.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was a threat to her. To her son. My father is a wealthy man. Or he was,” I pause. “Greed makes devils out of people.”

  “Was? Is he…”

  I shake my head. “He’s alive and well. The fortune is what’s suffered. I haven’t spoken with my father in thirteen years.”

  “Hawk, you…he’s your father. And he’s alive and you know him—”

  “He made his choice. So did I.”

  She studies me. “How did you get here? The casino and everything?” she asks, understanding I won’t be answering more questions about my father.

  “I had cousins in Utah, but I only stayed with them a few weeks before leaving. Most people aren’t good, Melissa. Most people are sick bastards.”

  Her eyes grow wide and fill up and I think how she knows this so well already. Better than me.

  “How old were you?” she asks.

  “Sixteen.”

  “You were so young.”

  “Older than you were when Boyd took you in.”

  She doesn’t comment.

  “I eventually made my way to Vegas. Figured it’d be easier to find work here. I worked for Murray Lanigan who owned the casino and the building. He left everything to me when he died, and I grew the business into what it is today.”

  “Did you go to school?”

  “Not a proper school, no, but I learned plenty.”

  “Do you miss home?”

  That question catches me off guard. “This is my home now.” I have to force the words.

  And she sees right through me. “Is it?”

  I stand. “I have something for you,” I say, remembering.

  She follows me into the bedroom where I take the box out of my jacket pocket. I hand it to her.

  “Here.”

  She looks down at it, then at me. She doesn’t touch it. “What is it?”

  “Your bracelet. I had the clasp fixed.”

  She reaches out to take the box, opens it, shifts her gaze back to me as she lifts it out. “Sometimes you do things that are so not in character with who y
ou are.”

  “You don’t know me, Melissa. But then again, how can you get to know me or anyone else when you’re so busy guarding your secrets?”

  She doesn’t answer me but lets me take the bracelet and put it on her wrist.

  “It feels heavier,” she says.

  “I had a better chain put on it,” I tell her. That’s all I tell her.

  I look down at her. She’s so much smaller than me especially barefoot. I like this difference in size and for as possessive as I feel of her, I also feel protective. I’ve never felt this way for any other human being apart from Murray Lanigan.

  But he was an old man. A senile old man.

  Melissa, she’s a woman.

  She looks up at me, expectant.

  “I shouldn’t have left you there, Melissa. Not after what I did,” I say.

  A flush creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks. “I don’t want to think about that anymore.”

  “Alright.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  I smile, hunger is good. “I’ll call down for some food, but first…” I walk her into the bathroom and turn the taps in the tub, plugging the drain once the temperature is set. “Take off your clothes. Throw that dress away. I don’t ever want to see it again.”

  She reaches down to lift it over her head, and I look at her, her breasts too full for her almost too-thin body. She hands me the dress and I wait for the panties and together, I put them into the trash can.

  I walk around her, see the healing bruises on her ass. When I press on a spot, she pulls away.

  I help her into the tub. “What do you want to eat?” I ask her.

  “A steak. Like the first night. And potatoes.”

  “I’m glad you got your appetite back. I’ll give the kitchen a call.”

  It takes me a few minutes to call down and tell them to leave the food in the dining room. I then return to the bathroom and bring the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash to the tub and to wash her.

  I shampoo her hair twice, smooth the conditioner into it and rub her down with body wash, liking the feel of her skin slippery with soap. Liking playing with her nipples, feeling them harden.

  After she’s clean, I empty the tub and refill it, stripping off my own clothes. She watches me as I climb in across from her, some of the water splashing over the wall of the tub when I do.

  “Come here,” I tell her, pointing to my lap.

  She searches my eyes.

  “I need to feel you, Melissa. I need to be inside you.”

  She gets on her knees, more water splashing over the sides of the tub as she makes her way to me. I lift her a little and, as she grips my shoulders, I slide her onto my cock and she feels like home. And I’ve been away too long.

  Neither of us closes our eyes when I kiss her, tasting her softly. I want soft now. I want to feel her and hear her and watch her face while I kiss her, while I suck her nipples, not using my teeth, not yet.

  “I missed this,” I say.

  “You didn’t fuck anyone else while you were gone?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I tell her, holding her to me while I rise to stand.

  The bathroom floor is wet now, but the housekeeper will clean it tomorrow. She wraps her legs around me and I carry her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed so her legs are hanging off.

  I kiss her face, her cheek and her chin, her throat, her chest and her breasts. I pull out to slide my tongue down her middle and push her legs wide. Kneeling there, I look at her as she lies open and wet, her pussy pink and glistening.

  I push her knees back, lick the length of her, circle her clit, dip into her pussy, then tongue her asshole. Listening to her gasp as I do.

  Rising up, I grip her ankles, spread her wide and push my cock into her cunt.

  She’s so wet as she bends her knees and reaches for me, lifting her face to mine, kissing my mouth, tongue on tongue and she’s so wet, she’s dripping as she opens and stretches to take the thickest part of me.

  When I kiss her again her breathing is ragged and her hands fist in my hair. Her nails dig into my scalp as I take more, more, more, moving slowly, feeling every tight inch. Feeling her walls squeeze around my cock, her heat burning me up.

  When I rub two fingers over her clit, she begins to moan. I claim more of her and move deeper, my thrusts are harder and soon she’s whimpering and moaning and coming. I can feel her throb around my cock as I watch her face, her eyes, as she comes.

  I watch her take me as I fuck her hard and deep. I’m hurting a little but that hurt sends her over the edge again as she calls out my name and digs her nails into my back. She’s breaking skin, tearing my back as I bury myself inside her.

  My cock throbs and I fill her up and it’s different than before. Different than any other time.

  All I can think is that I want my smell on her always. My seed inside her.

  I want to keep her filled up with me and clinging to me and crying out my name again and again and again. Because this woman, this broken thing, I’m never going to get enough of her.

  21

  Hawk

  The next three days pass peacefully enough with Melissa accepting a ride to work and back. I’ve become obsessed with finding the password on the flash drive. Of locating anyone who had anything to do with those videos, including Sean Boyd, who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

  If she’s realized the drive is missing, she hasn’t said anything.

  She’s settling in a little better. Maybe it was our conversation from the night before. I don’t know, but she seems at least a little more at ease. She’s still secretive, but knowing what I know, it makes sense she would be.

  I’m looking at her on the monitor in my office when the man who’s been checking on her house brings me the stack of her mail. She’s up at the pool on the rooftop.

  I intend to just hand it to her. Most of it is junk anyway. But as I absently flip through, something catches my eye.

  It’s the envelope addressed to Little Bitch Whore.

  My eyes narrow.

  It’s not stamped so it was hand-delivered.

  I lean back against my seat and turn it over, then slip one finger beneath the flap and pop the seal. I take out the folded sheet of paper inside and open it to read the three hand-written words:

  Been a while.

  I look at the envelope again.

  Little Bitch Whore.

  I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and hit the button to call Axel. He answers on the first ring.

  “Are you on property?”

  “Yeah, downstairs.”

  “Come up here.”

  “On my way.”

  I disconnect the call and leaf through the rest of the mail but there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then I think of something.

  I open my desk drawer where I’d stored the thumb drive and plug it into the port on my laptop. The password screen comes up and, on a hunch, I type the words Little Bitch Whore.

  And…I’m in.

  So maybe this isn’t the first time she’s had mail like this.

  I double-click on the single folder on the drive and inside are several documents, with several .jpg files. I open the first of those and a moment later, I’m looking at Melissa’s face, younger, maybe eleven or twelve, a kid. Her swollen lower lip has some dried blood on it and she has a bruise on her jaw. There’s also a bruise along her right temple.

  The next one is zoomed in on her throat and the black and blue handprint. A big hand. And then her scrawny arms and concave belly with the worst mark. Someone punched her hard in the belly.

  I open the next one. She’s older in this one. I look at the date of the file. She’d be sixteen, I guess. It’s not as bad as the last ones because her face isn’t as badly bruised. Her clothes are filthy like she’s been in them for days. Like she got splashed with muddy water and it dried on her days ago.

  Sickened, I open the text files, but they look to be
screenshots so I print everything out to be able to read them.

  She didn’t go to the cops once. She went three times between the ages of twelve and seventeen.

  Three times.

  How many times did they hurt her, and she didn’t go?

  My mind goes back to the other day when I belted her ass. How she’d gone almost still. I’d found it strange she hadn’t fought me like I expected her to.

  Maybe that’s what she did then too. Went still and took it.

  Because when the instinct to survive takes over, the decisions we make don’t always make sense to an outsider.

  I wasn’t beaten, or worse, as a child. My uncle—the sick fuck—grabbed my ass exactly once and the instant he did, I left. He was a drunk and I still don’t know if he thought I was someone else, but I never went back to ask the pervert.

  After a knock on my door, Axel enters.

  I set the papers face-down on my desk and hold out the letter. “I think this was hand-delivered to Melissa’s house. It would have been sometime in the last three days.”

  He opens it, reads it.

  “I’ll have someone watching the house.”

  We should have had someone there all along. “Where are we on locating Sean Boyd.”

  “No luck yet. He might have left town.”

  I shake my head. “No.” Instinct tells me he’s not gone. “Bastard’s still here.”

  In these reports, she accused him and his father of the physical abuse. She never mentioned the fact that they were raping her. That they were letting others rape her.

  “When is Liza Boyd’s release?”

  “No date yet.”

  I shift my gaze to the security cameras. Look at the one at the pool that’s trained on Melissa. I think she’s fallen asleep out there.

  “I want to find the bastard.”

  Axel nods. “We will. I’ve got someone at the clinic 24/7. He hasn’t been by.” His gaze moves to the screen. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know about this.”

  “No and we’re keeping it that way.”

  Axel opens his mouth to reply, but my phone rings, interrupting him.

  I would ignore it, normally, but because it’s sitting on my desk, my gaze naturally drifts to the screen and I read the phone number.