My hand pours a shot and tips it down my throat quickly, resentment idling in my guts. It intrigues me enough to pour another as Anton’s steps get closer. The sound of them pisses me off, making me think of my mother in that fucking room all those years ago for some reason.
I snarl at myself, irritated with whatever underlying issue is getting in the way of business.
“Pretty kitten,” he says, reaching for her neck and pulling her towards him.
She fights, her body trying to edge away from the hold he’s got on her, nails flaring out at his face. It’s stimulating to watch, stirring me up and making me question why I’m letting them at her. She’s my dirty little girl. Not theirs. I could be fucking her myself, enjoying that mouth of hers.
One of the others laughs as she struggles against Anton. Their jeering and taunts piss me off as much as Anton’s steps, but still I watch, another shot sinking down my throat. Business is business.
“Quinn, please,” she begs, her dress riding up her thighs with her continued struggle against him. I watch him brace her back to the wall again, his dick getting closer to her mouth, and then see her snap her teeth at it before it gets there. The slap that lands on her face sends her flying to the floor.
“Bitch,” he snarls, his body hauling her back up before she’s got a chance to breathe from the impact. She’s turned like a rag doll in his hands, like she’s given up.
I sneer at her lack of battle, reminding myself of my mother’s fight at me when I visit her. That’s what real women do. They don’t give up after one harsh command. They fight and show their venom regardless of circumstance. She might as well be nothing more than one of my whores with this show of weakness.
I check my watch, seeing the minutes tick by without one of them managing to get their dick in her mouth yet.
“Nineteen minutes, Anton,” I call out as I open a button on my jacket and rest back into the seat. That’s what she’s got left to deal with. This might be a deal, but it’s a deal I control. If she’s got any intelligence about her she’ll make those nineteen minutes as difficult for them as possible.
She glares at me, trapped by his hands, some element of that passion I know she’s got returning. I tip my watch at her, tapping the surface of it with a smile and watch her whole body gain some rigidity at the thought.
Anton doesn’t waste any more time. He tugs her into the middle of the room, little care for the fight that’s beginning to come from her once more. I spin my dice, watching determination starting to inch into her features as she kicks the heels from her feet. Seventeen minutes now. I’m willing her to use them wisely. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s this fucking feeling in my guts telling me something’s not right here.
I catch the other two out of the corner of my eye, both stroking their dicks and getting themselves ready for my dirty girl’s throat. It makes the dice slow in my palm, the tension in my fingers deliberately crushing them quietly.
“Fuck you!” she shouts, her body giving everything she’s got to get away from Anton’s dick pressing at her face. The other two grunt. I know why. It’s the same reason my own dick’s hardening beneath these expensive pants.
Fight.
We all want it. Some show of power against us. Whores yield. Real women show their disgust. They might do as they’re told, but they don’t do it willingly. They prove their guile.
And she’s turning more vicious with every passing second. Hair flying around, nails wildly scratching at anything she can get to, another shove from Anton only seeming to heighten her instincts to battle him off again.
Russian cursing comes from his mouth, another grab at her before she counters, shocking him enough to get a chance to run. Her bare feet launch her across the room, scrambling away from his hold. She’s fucking beautiful like this. Wild and untamed, the civil world leaving her as she battles for her life in the middle of this carnage she’s been forced into.
“Fuck you all.”
She pants out as he grabs her more harshly and pins her against the wall, more Russian pouring from his mouth. She fights again, her shoulders twisting and turning to get him off her, but it doesn’t work this time. He shoves her down to the floor with such force she yells out in pain, all the time steering his dick at her again. She splutters around his cock as it’s forced into her mouth. The smirk I thought would come doesn’t.
I check my watch again. Eight minutes. It’s eight fucking minutes I’m not giving them anymore. That one yell of pain stirred an emotion in me I didn’t know I had for any woman other than my mother. Protection.
“Let her go,” I snarl, feet lifting me to stand. All eyes turn to me, including hers above the dick that’s pushed down her throat. Nobody moves, but Anton does eventually remove his dick from her mouth. Wise fucking choice. “Rody,” I shout. He walks in, the sound of the door opening making her look towards it. I snatch the black bag from him, tossing it into the middle of the room. They want a fight about this they can fucking have one with me. I’ll play all night if they want. Either that or they can zip their dicks up and take their money. “Take her home, Rody.”
Anton moves a step, one set of fingers still latched onto her hair in a show of possession, the other reaching inside his jacket. “Be careful with whatever fucking thought you’re having, Anton,” I snap. “You sure you wanna play with me?” Rody moves closer to her, his own hand hovering around the long coat he’s wearing.
I spin my dice and watch them all, unconcerned about bullets being fired in here. Nothing will happen. We all make too much money off each other for a woman to get in the way of it, regardless of how fucking edible she is.
He stares at my hand for a full minute. I feel the seconds going past, my dice spinning as they do. One turn in my palm, another, the pressure becoming less with each rotation now I know she’s not sucking anyone’s dick but mine.
“Have the bitch,” he eventually spits, throwing her head to the floor. She scrambles back to her shoes, cornering herself again. Rody moves in tentatively and grabs her, his hands pulling her upright and moving her out of the way. I watch her go, my eyes glancing at her ripped dress as Rody pulls his coat from his shoulders and wraps it around her. “Your father was more obliging with his debts, Quinn.”
I’m not my fucking father.
Chapter Fourteen
My body won’t stop shaking. I sit in the passenger seat with Rody next to me, making me feel even more uncomfortable. He looks out of place, like he doesn’t know what to do. At least his coat covers me.
A wave of shudders tremble through my body and I sink further back into the seat, making myself as small as possible. Tonight was a complete nightmare. I thought what Quinn had already put me through was bad enough. Serves me right for assuming the worst was behind me.
The chance he gave me might have been fleeting, but I held onto it as a sign of hope. Hope that there may be a way out of this disaster other than paying with my body. Quinn shattered that small beacon of light. His disregard for me hurt, and that was a pain I don’t need to process on top of everything else.
It’s clear he doesn’t give a damn about the money he is owed, otherwise why would he give me more to lose? I am a possession for him to use as he sees fit. Hand me off to someone else for fun. My stomach twists and my mouth fills with saliva. I can still taste Anton in my mouth. I shudder again and close my eyes. Tears leak through my lashes, staining my cheeks.
Rody doesn’t speak or move for the entire journey home. I noticed his eyes on me earlier, though. I pull his coat up to my neck, covering every square inch of me I can. I want to pretend that I’m not in this situation. Red hot anger bubbles in my stomach. It mixes with the feeling of repulsion that’s been with me ever since Anton laid a hand on me. Disgust creeps through my mind and slithers into my bloodstream, making me feel as dirty as the whore they all took me for earlier.
The journey back is smooth and quiet, a small mercy from the trauma of the night, and I can feel part of my body giving
up, succumbing to the need to shut down and recuperate. There was a part of me that was intrigued when we were on the way to the casino earlier. I’ve never been to America, and I couldn’t help but peek out the window at the lights and silhouettes of buildings as we travelled. Now, I want to barricade myself in ‘my room’ and never leave.
The car pulls to a halt, and I barge open the door, tripping over the end of my dress as I exit the car.
“Here.” Rody offers his hand to help me, but I just ignore him and clamber to my feet. My heels sink into the gravelled driveway, but I find my balance and march to the front door. I can’t help but notice the house as I approach.
It’s elegant and modern, all large windows and clean lines. I push the distraction away and grab the door handle. It’s locked. “Arghhh!” I scream, the frustration pouring out of me. I’ve come up against door after door that are locked, and I’ve had enough.
Two men in dark uniforms round the corner of the house at my outburst.
“All’s clear, guys. False alarm.” Rody dismisses them. Quinn’s security really do patrol the property. Rody punches some numbers into a keypad to the side of the door and then puts a keycard into the door to open it.
I kick my stupid heels off and fling them into the lounge before I storm through the kitchen and up the stairs. My door isn’t locked, and my fist slams the door as loud as possible before I let out a wailing scream and collapse in a heap on the floor.
The emotions from this evening vent, but it’s not enough. I rip the dress from my skin and run for the shower. Hysteria creeps in as I scrub every part of my body. The spray immerses me until my fingers have pruned and I’m numb. I take the toothbrush from the counter and brush my teeth until my gums bleed, spitting blood into the white sink.
My breathing begins to still, the adrenalin from my outburst diminished. I crawl into bed and wrap myself in the sheets.
If I could take a pill to block my thoughts, I’d happily down it right now. My mind is determined to play over the evening's events. The scandalous dress Quinn made me wear, the chance at freedom that wasn’t even a real chance, and finally, the Russians.
And to top everything off is my confusion over how I reacted to Anton, versus my reactions to Quinn.
I fought Anton, kicking out and resisting him as much as I could. I wouldn’t have given in to them, no matter how tired or how much pain I was in. That wasn’t the same as when Quinn came into the room. Sure, I protested. I didn’t want to do anything he told me, but there was something at the back of my mind that allowed me to give in to him. His behaviour warps my mind. First, he romances me, then kidnaps me, then offers me up to pay his debt.
My eyes squeeze closed and more tears stain my cheeks. I curl up on myself, fighting the chill that comes with the realisation that I’ve allowed Quinn to treat me like a whore, but no one else.
I long to be home, in my house, in my own bed where monsters and gangsters don’t exist. I want to go back to my business, capture smiling families and happy couples and not have nightmares about dark spaces or men who take without asking.
He’ll be back soon. Maybe then I’ll kick and scream and fight with all my strength, and he’ll give up. I dry my eyes on the pillow, unashamed of the salt and snot now on his expensive sheets. Deep breaths. That’s what I need, but the few classes of yoga I took years ago don’t help my quest to find some semblance of calm. My breathing starts to speed up, and the hysteria I’ve been balancing on the edge of threatens to pull me under again.
My minds pulls the page of sheet music from my concert, and I murmur the first few bars. The notes get stronger and louder, and it immediately calms me. My lungs fill with air, and I sing the complicated Bernstein piece.
Time blurs along with the notes from my mind. The tune becomes a hum, or my own strange kind of lullaby. My eyes drift closed and sleep whispers at the corners of my brain.
The click of the door breaks my concentration, and I silence my voice. I lay as still as possible, listening for the footfalls of Quinn. A sudden bolt of panic runs through me that it might not be him. How would I know if he’s even home? The panic simmers in my chest as I strain to hear anything, but all there is is silence. The faint smell of Quinn’s fresh aftershave reaches me as I regulate my frantic breaths. It is him. Relief and dread wash over me as I admit to myself that I’m glad it’s him over Rody or some other man he wants to pay his debt to.
I wait. For his voice, for his hand snatching me out of bed. Nothing. It’s unnerving.
And then the edge of the bed dips. My heart pounds and every muscle in my body tenses, ready to fight. All I can hear is my pumping heart beating loud and steady in my chest.
Warm infuses through my skin as Quinn slides up against me. I push off, ready to run, but his arm clamps around me like an iron girder.
“Shhh,” is all he says.
His body is warm and offers comfort. I’m like a block of ice, unable to move. He doesn’t shift his arm or try to move me. He simply lets me be, warm and…protected in his grasp.
Exhaustion hits me, and where my eyes were sore and tired, they are now heavy, like they’ve been holding up the whole world. They drift shut, despite the situation, and darkness claims me.
The morning comes far too soon, forcing me to consciousness. I immediately scramble up in bed and look around the room. I’m alone. Everything is where I left it last night. My dress is discarded on the floor between the bed and the bathroom. No sign of Quinn.
My heart rate levels out and I ease back into the warmth of the covers. My stomach gives a loud grumble, and reminds me that I’ve not eaten properly for days.
I head to the bathroom before looking for something to wear that covers some skin. Hanging on the side of the wardrobe is a cream coloured jumper. On the chair next to it, a neatly folded pair of black leggings. An interesting choice, given the last outfit I was asked to wear. Still no damn underwear.
I put my new clothes on and go to face the door. I refuse to get my hopes up because if it is open, it will give me a new dilemma. My hand encompasses the handle and eases it down. The latch clicks and the door jolts open.
Before I move a muscle, I listen. Is this a trap? Is Quinn waiting for me to try to escape? All I hear is muffled talking, and it sounds like it’s coming from downstairs. I swing the door wide and find the top of the stairs empty. The smell of something sweet, and possibly toast, invades my nose and focuses my mind. I creep down the stairs and wait at the bottom, gathering the courage needed to face whoever is in the kitchen. I can hear Quinn’s voice now, that low rumble he has that turned me to mush the first time we met. There are two other voices, and I guess that his brothers are back.
With my head held high, I turn into the kitchen and take sure but small steps into view.
“Em, how nice of you to join us. Come over. I saved you a seat.” Josh beckons me over to the table and the empty seat next to him. Quinn’s eyes flash daggers at his brother, a glare accompanying them. “What? There’s plenty of food. Besides, we don’t want her wasting away. Needs to keep her energy up. Otherwise there’s no fun.” Josh smiles at me, a full-blown Hollywood smile. On anyone else, it would be a stunning smile. A handsome man who could bed any woman he chooses. But there’s something behind his eyes. A darker, murkier side of him. It’s the same reaction I had to him at the first meeting. I wanted to shrink away from him and all of his questions last time we met. The charm he flashed wasn’t enough to calm my destroyed nerves.
Instead of taking a seat next to him, I walk around the table and sit as far away from all of them as possible.
The other brother, Nate, chuckles as he gulps from his mug of coffee. Quinn isn’t sitting down. He’s lurking around the kitchen, constantly moving. I keep my eyes focused on him, wondering if he’s going to punish me for daring to move from my room.
An assortment of delicious breakfast treats fills the table. A stack of waffles in the middle has me reaching for one before I consider asking permission. I bit
e the sticky treat, letting the sugary goodness dissolve in my mouth. It’s all I can do not to moan around the mouthful.
I devour the waffle and take another before I reach for the jug of orange juice and pour myself a glass. The conversation between the brothers has stopped, all three of them now showing me all their attention. If I weren't starving, I’d be worried, but I block out their gazes and continue eating.
“Our girl has an appetite.” Josh leans back and runs his eyes over me.
“She’s not our girl. She’s mine,” Quinn spits, scowling at Josh, but he doesn’t shift from the kitchen.
“Ignore them. I’m sure you’ve not had a lot of food,” Nate whispers towards me, encouraging me to keep eating. His lips twitch into a sort of smile.
Quinn hovers, glowering at Josh and seeming to ignore me. I carry on eating, happy to have something tasty in my stomach.
“This is why you’re not in my business, Josh. Your lack of awareness proves that you have no place getting involved.”
“It’s not your fucking business, Quinn. My name is Cane, too.”
Quinn snorts, his feet moving toward Josh. “When you start acting like a Cane, I’ll treat you like one.”
“What, like you? You’re such a fucking role model.”
“Guys…” Nate starts, but a swift look from Quinn soon stops the rest of his sentence. All their eyes then shift to me as if I’m interfering with some family debate.
“Em doesn’t mind a little banter. She’s not here to pay attention. She’s here to get fucked. Pay off her debt.” Josh stands up, throwing his chair back as the words leave his mouth. I freeze, my body now on red alert.
“Josh, watch it.” Nate looks disgusted at him.
“Hey, Josh.” He turns to look at Quinn, not seeing the hard-right punch squarely aimed at his jaw before it’s too late. I gasp, surprised at the action. “I told you,” Quinn growls. “My debt. Fuck all to do with you.” He grabs Josh by his collar and drags him out through the kitchen.
Innocent Eyes Page 13
