Own Me

by Penny Wylder

  She's met Anthony before, of course. She was my platonic date to Mom's wedding a couple years ago, and back when I still worked for Anthony, she'd visit me in the office sometimes, bringing me coffee or snacks. I told her we had a falling out when he fired me, but I avoided going into the specifics. She guessed it was bad, and promised she had my back no matter what. But I doubt she guessed it was quite this bad.

  "You're late, Corbella." His eyes are still fixed on me, drilling holes into my skull.

  "We never agreed on a timeframe," I counter, lifting my chin. Which is technically true. He really only said Pay me back immediately–or else.

  "This is not a business negotiation. You sabotaged my company. You owe me the damages incurred, or I'll be forced to take it from you by other means." All the while, he doesn't break eye contact, doesn't let his resolve waver. His face is a perfect poker-blank, and yet, I can still read between the lines.

  Do this or your mother pays the price.

  I shift in place, reaching for my purse, and the two thugs react almost before I can flinch. One of them grabs my bag from my shoulder, while the other shoves me hard against the brick wall of the coffee shop. The whole world turns blurred at the edges, surreal. How can they be doing this in broad daylight, on the perfectly safe street where I work?

  And yet, when I glance up the road in both directions, I realize for the first time just how abandoned this stretch of road is at this time of day. The middle of the day, when the coffee shop is slow, the lunch crowd gone and the after-work crowd not yet rolling in.

  Diana is gaping at me, but she's the only witness right now. These men could do whatever they wanted, and neither of us would be able to stop them. Unless I screamed for help, but then, I think Anthony would only escalate this farther. Better not to provoke him. Better to give him what he wants– or at least, as much as I'm able.

  "I was only reaching for my checkbook," I protest, glaring up at the thug who's pinned me to the wall.

  Diana, meanwhile, has retreated to the shop door. She's got her cell phone in her hand, and she's holding it out, midair, so all of us can read the numbers in the call section. 9-1-1.

  "Let her go this second, or I'm calling the cops," Diana yells. I can see the goons calculating–are they far enough away that she'll be able to hit call before they reach her and snatch the phone?

  I clear my throat hard to get their attention back on me. "Diana, I'm fine. You remember Anthony, don't you?"

  From the way they're glaring death at one another, I'd say that's a yes.

  "Call off your misguided friend, Corbella," Anthony says calmly.

  "Does your mother know her husband is over here acting like a fucking gang lord?" Diana snaps in response.

  "Diana, seriously, go back inside." I catch her eye, try to communicate without words that I need her to listen to me for once. "This is a misunderstanding–there's no need to involve the cops." Then I shift my gaze back to Anthony. "I have money. I can pay you."

  The goon holding me relaxes his grip, just enough so that I can stand upright again. I feel bruises starting to form around my shoulders, and a harsh burn from the wall he shoved me against starting on my back. He's still standing between me and the other thug, the one with my purse, but he's not defensive anymore. I shove past him and grab for my bag, glaring at them both.

  "Let me write you a check," I say, keeping Anthony's focus on me, away from Diana. Last thing I need is for her to get hurt in this mess too.

  I hear the faint tinkle of a bell behind me and pray that was Diana being sensible for once and retreating into the coffee shop. The less she gets on this asshole's radar, the better.

  "For the full amount?" My stepfather's upper lip curls in a sneer. "You couldn't possibly."

  "No," I admit. "But I can pay you an installment." My brain is racing, calculating. I'm trying to figure out exactly how much will be in my bank account now, after a little more than a week of seeing Gio. "How does $20,000 work for you?" I ask, having finished calculating. I might have a little more than that actually, but that's fine. Better to have a slight buffer than to risk the check bouncing.

  My stepfather crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. "Where the hell did you get that kind of money?"

  I flip my bag open, grabbing my checkbook and scribbling the amount onto the first check. "Do you want it or not?" I rip off the check, then take a deep breath, summon all the courage remaining in me, and stride past the thugs, straight up to my stepfather to hand him the slip of paper.

  He glares down his nose at me, then the check, then back at me. "If that check bounces..."

  "It won't," I assure him, chin held high, gaze defiant. He probably knows me well enough by now to know that I'm not bluffing. I don't have a good enough poker face to pull that off.

  His eyes narrow. "Where did you get this kind of money so quickly? Did you skim off the top of our accounts before you left?"

  I snort. I can't help it. The thought of me stooping to his level is too hilarious.

  He raises an eyebrow. "Ah. I see." His gaze drops lower, rakes over my body in a long sweep. "Well. I never would have thought you had it in you to sell your worthless body, Corbella. What would your mother think?"

  I grit my teeth and clench my fists. "You wouldn't."

  "No. You're right. Because I know how much your poor mother has already suffered, having a traitor bitch like you for a child." He snatches the check from my hand. "You'd better pray this money is legitimate, girl. It's the only reason your mother isn't paying more for your mistakes, whore."

  My cheeks burn hot, but I hold his gaze. "Better a whore than a petty thief," I spit.

  He lifts his hand. I make no move to stop him. I can handle whatever this asshole wants to throw at me.

  But before the blow can land, a shrill sound erupts throughout the quiet street. All of us, goons included, whip around in shock. Only to find Diana halfway up the block holding an air horn over her head. She must have slipped out the back of the shop to find the air horn in the storage room, the one we take to tailgate parties at the local football games.

  Annoyed as I am at her for getting more involved, I have to admit it's a smart move. Doors everywhere are cracking open, curious neighbors and shop tenders opening their doors to peer out.

  My stepfather drops his hand, curls his fingers into fists instead, my check crumpled in one hand. "I'll be back for the rest."

  "And I'll have it," I call back, even as he gestures at the goons and starts to retreat up the block.

  It isn't until he disappears around the corner and Diana reaches my side that I realize I'm shaking. She wraps her arm around my shoulders, hugs me to her side as she leads me back into the shop. A few neighbors are still watching, frowning, confused. Someone yells something about noise pollution, but Diana ignores him and helps me into the store, onto a stool at the counter.

  My eyes sting. I'm surprised to realize, belatedly, that I'm crying.

  I guess this is what an adrenaline crash feels like. I bury my face in my hands and struggle to take deep breaths.

  Diana slides a cup of water up to my lips, and I take a few sips, then gulps, before I finally regain my head enough to wipe my eyes and pull myself upright.

  "Are you okay?" Diana is asking, her hand still gently circling my upper back in a relaxing motion. "Do you want me to call the cops? I will. I got that whole interaction on tape."

  I shake my head, harder than I meant to, and spill water everywhere. "No cops. Please."

  She heaves a sigh and draws a stool over to sit down beside me. "You know how much I care about you, Cor. Whatever you're going through, you can tell me."

  I swallow thickly. "I don't want to get you involved."

  She rolls her eyes. "What's your problem is mine too, Cor."

  I take a moment to sip at the water again, thinking as fast as I can. How much can I tell her without revealing just how shitty this whole mess is? Or worse, how I decided to solve it?

&n
bsp; "I just owe my stepdad a bit of money, that's all," I mumble.

  She raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Seriously? He showed up here with the Goon Squad over 'a bit' of money?"

  I groan. "Okay, so it's a bit more than a bit."

  She levels me with her trademark Diana glare. "How much is a bit more?"

  I shake my head. "It's fine, Di. Trust me. I'll get the money. I've already paid some of it."

  Her frown deepens. "How? Last time I checked we didn't have any mysterious tip benefactors at this place." She gestures around the empty shop.

  I open my mouth, not sure what kind of lame excuse is about to spill out of it.

  Luckily I'm saved by the bell, as the tinkle of the shop door announces a customer. Diana leaves me on the stool and heads for the door.

  "Can I help you?" she asks, her voice bright and peppy. I have to admire how fast she can switch from deadly serious while she was interrogating me to upbeat and happy the moment a customer enters.

  "I'm looking for Corbella," comes the reply, and immediately my insides flood with warmth and relief. I feel safe, even before I turn to see Gio's familiar frame filling up the door of the shop.

  Unfortunately, Diana isn't looking at me. She's too busy scowling at Gio and blocking his way into the shop bodily. It's hilarious, of course, her tiny frame trying to prevent his massive one from coming any farther inside. But I appreciate her effort, even if it's misguided. "What do you want? If you're here to try and rough her up too, I really will call the cops this time."

  His expression immediately shifts to dark, boiling anger. But not at Di. "Someone hurt Corbella?" His gaze darts past her to find mine. "What happened? Who was it?"

  I clamp my mouth shut. Shit. This is the last thing I need. For him to find out exactly what's going on with me. Why I need his money so much.

  If I know anything about client and escort relationships, this is definitely a line you aren't supposed to cross. "It was nothing," I mumble, at the same time that Diana scoffs.

  "These crazy thugs came here to attack her. I had to blow the air horn to get them to piss off. And now, she doesn't want to explain what was going on."

  Gio wheels on me alongside Di now, and both of them look like avenging angels, ready to rain hell down on whoever dared to mess with me.

  "Who were they?" he demands, scowling. "I'll make them wish they were never born."

  "It wasn't a big deal," I protest meekly.

  Diana crosses her arms. "Looked like a pretty big deal to me. Does your mother know about him?"

  "Him? Who him?" Gio glances back and forth from me to Diana. I narrow my eyes at her, and she rubs her temples.

  "Cor, if you don't trust your friends, who can you trust?" She casts a sideways glance at Gio. Then takes a longer, more appreciative glance at his body. "I'm assuming he's a friend, anyway."

  She lays it on just thickly enough to let me know that she's guessed exactly who Gio is–the mysterious guy I've been spending all of my time with.

  In light of everything else she just learned about me, it seems almost harmless to let her believe that Gio is my current hookup.

  "Corbella, you need to tell me what is going on."

  Between Gio's dark, steady gaze and Diana's fiery one, the shop walls seem to close in around me. It's not that I want to keep secrets from either of them, it's just that I know how much safer they are now, while they're in the dark. After seeing what my stepfather is capable of...

  I close my eyes and push myself off the stool.

  "Cor..." Diana makes a grab for my arm, but I brush her off and step past her and Gio. Pretty soon, before I realize it, I'm full-out bolting. Shoving my way out of the shop door, I run up the street, through a blinding haze of tears. I don't stop until I notice a little side alley between the pizza and barber shops a few storefronts away. Then I slip into that alley and press my back to the cool brick wall. I slide down it slowly until I'm huddled at the base of the wall, arms wrapped around my knees, face buried in them. I let myself cry for real now. I cry for the impossible situation I've gotten myself into. For my mother, who's caught in the crosshairs of this whole mess without even knowing it. For Di, who doesn't care if it puts her in danger, she still wants to help her friend. For Gio, who has been so supportive and caring, despite the fact that he's just my client, and who deserves to know the truth I can't give him.

  Only once I've cried myself out, fished some Kleenex out of my purse and wiped my eyes clear and blown my nose, do I finally lift my head to face the world again.

  I almost already knew he'd be there, even before I saw him. Giovanni waits at the entrance to the alley, leaning against the wall, watching me. Not interrupting. Just waiting until I feel ready to talk, I guess.

  That, or looking me over. Making sure I'm safe.

  A little curl of emotion flits through my belly at that thought. He cares enough to babysit me, even when I just ran from him and refused to give him the answers he deserves.

  "Hi," I tell him, self-consciously running my hands over my tear-streaked cheeks.

  "Hi." He steps closer to me. Leans over to meet my gaze. "How are you feeling?"

  "Stupid," I admit. Then I have to laugh, because it's too true.

  I was trying to do the right thing. How did I get here, in this mess?

  He drops to a seat beside me, right in the alley. Drapes an arm over my shoulders. "You can talk to me, you know."

  Another laugh escapes me. "Pretty sure that violates the client code of conduct."

  He lowers his face toward mine. "Then how about we forget about that. Just for a moment. Just for today." His fingers cup my chin, then gently tilt my head up until I'm forced to meet his gaze. "As a friend, Corbella. Tell me what's happening."

  "I can't," I whisper. My voice sounds thick with tears, despite all of the crying I just did.

  "Tell me," he repeats.

  My mouth sets in a stubborn line. "You aren't paying me for my life story, Gio. You're only paying me for sex. You can't make me tell you."

  The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. There's a sudden sad expression that comes into his eyes. The kind of sorrow that I want to kiss away. And I'm the reason he's feeling it.

  "Sorry," I stammer. "I–"

  But I don't have time to finish. Because he pulls me into a crushing hug against him, holding me tight to his chest. "Corbella," he whispers into my hair. Then he's kissing my cheek, my neck, down the tendons of my neck to brush his lips over my shoulder. "Cor. I will never force you to tell me anything. I would never force you to do anything you truly didn't want to."

  My chest tightens painfully. This sounds dangerously like emotion. Especially coming from him. I wet my lips, tilt my face so I can look up at him from where my cheek rests against his chest. "I thought you liked forcing girls to do things," I try to joke, weakly, forcing a smile.

  His eyes darken. He grips me by the shoulders and draws me back from him. Catches my eye again. "Have you ever felt forced with me?" He looks desperate, actually scared of my answer. "Corbella, please, answer me. Have I ever made you feel that you needed to do something you didn't want to?"

  The tightness in my chest increases, so tight it's like a burn throughout my body. My heart aches for him right now, seeing the frank pain in his eyes. "No," I say, louder than I meant to. "Of course not." I reach up to cup his cheek. Tilt my head in to kiss the corner of his lips. "I never felt forced with you, Giovanni. Not once."

  He shifts ever so slightly, turns his face toward mine so our lips are pressed together. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he deepens the kiss, pulling me tight against him, his tongue exploring my mouth. It feels like a breath of air after hours of holding my breath. Like I am finally safe again, secure, protected from my stepfather and his lackeys, from anything terrible the world could throw at me.

  When we finally part again, I sink back into his arms, resting against his chest, worn out. Too spent to lie anymore.

  "It's my fault," I whisper. "I
fucked up my life. No," I correct myself, realizing. "I fucked up everyone’s around me life. I ruined everything."

  "I don't believe you," he murmurs, still holding me close.

  I have to smile at that, although weakly. "I used to work for my stepfather," I continue. He waits in silence, until I'm ready to let it all out there. "Until a few weeks ago, I was his secretary. It was a pretty decent job. Just your usual office work kind of stuff, but I was good at it. Maybe too good."

  I swallow hard. "I started to notice some unusual stuff in his accounts. More incoming money than there should be, withdrawals from the company accounts that were off the books. Weird shipments that arrived in the middle of the night, that kind of thing. And..." I shake my head. "Stupid me, I thought it was a mistake. I wrote it off as an accident because I figured no way my stepfather–the guy who swept my mother off her feet, spoiled her rotten, made her feel happy and loved again in a way she hadn't since my father died– could be involved in anything shady. He was just too nice, too charismatic and happy all the time. So I started to investigate."

  Gio rubs my arm gently, up and down my bicep. Being as comforting as he can while still listening.

  "I was a little too good at that, too, as it turns out," I mutter. "Found out that his whole company was a front. They were selling pharmaceuticals, but actually all the drugs were fakes. Swapped out for imitations his colleagues would make, way cheaper versions, sometimes laced with shit. I tried to confront him about it, and he threatened to blame it all on me. I was freaked out; he knew so many shady people. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried going to the police…”

  Gio’s grip around my shoulders tightens. I’m sure he can guess where this is headed.

  “They wound up dismissing the whole thing. He paid off a few of the officers, I think, and that’s unfortunately who I reported this stuff to… But his business partners got wind of the police being involved, even though he managed to snuff out the police report anyway. They pulled out of some huge deal, this million dollar shipment he’d been about to turn over.” I shut my eyes, swallow hard so I can keep going. It takes everything I have to speak the rest of this story. “He fired me. Then he told me I needed to pay him back, or else…”