by Sky Corgan
“It is what it is, Knox.” I can hear the frustration creeping in. “Trust me, Edward does everything he can to make sure we're safe. That's why there's the service list. If someone wants to be violent, he has girls for that.”
“You've got to be shitting me.” I can't believe any woman would be willing to be beaten for money.
“I'm not.” She shakes her head, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. “Your sister is one of them.”
CHAPTER FIVE
What kind of man takes money for the abuse of others? That crosses so many lines. Moral. Ethical. There has to be a special place in hell for a man like that. I'd love to send him there, but if I do, the dreams of so many of these women are ruined.
I have to get Delilah out of this business, but how? I don't have a pot to piss in myself. It's not like I can afford to pay all of her bills and mine too. We're both on our own, trying to make it in this world the best we can. She's going about it the wrong way though. I have to make her see that.
I go home and try to formulate a plan. I can't protect her. I need to work just as much as she does, and even if I got a second job, it wouldn't be enough to support us both. Unless she moved in with me. It's the only thing I can think of that will work.
But then what about Marcy? I shouldn't worry about her, but I do. Screw it. She said she was saving up for a house. Surely she's got enough money put back to support herself for a while. And if she wants to continue with that line of work, then it's all on her. I want my sister out of it though.
I call Delilah between the gym and work, trying to be patient about getting a hold of her. It takes a few days before I'm able to catch her. She sounds worn out, but happy to hear my voice.
“We need to have a talk.” My tone implies it won't be a pleasant one.
“All right. What do you want to talk about?” She yawns sleepily.
“I'd rather have it in person.” So she won't run away. If she doesn't like what I have to say, she'll just hang up on me. That's the way Delilah is.
“What's this about?” Concern fills her voice.
“How about breakfast tomorrow? My treat.”
“You're not even going to give me a clue, huh?” I can hear her smirk over the line.
“You game or not?”
“Is this about Marcy?” It sounds like she knows what we did. I can't be sure though, and I'm not going to offer up any additional information.
“Breakfast. Tomorrow. At the diner. Meet me there at eight. Can you do that?”
“Sure. I'll be there.”
“Good. See you then.” Click.
Why does she make everything so difficult? She's a pain in the ass. She's going to become even more of a pain if she moves in with me, but I'll deal with it. It will be worth it to get her out of the situation she's in.
The next day comes, and I cut into my gym time to have breakfast with Delilah. She's dressed modestly in faded jeans and a black sweater. It's nice to see her looking more wholesome, which is kind of a strange thing to think.
I have the waitress put us in a corner booth. This is going to be one of those private conversations, the same as last time. I really don't care who hears what we're talking about, but I know that Delilah will. This is all for her sake.
She gives me a queer look once the waitress has seated us, taken our drink orders, and walked away. She knew by the phone call that what I had to discuss with her wouldn't be to her liking. But now she's even more suspicious.
“So what's this about?” She puts her elbows on the table.
“I want you to quit your job and move in with me.” There's no point in stalling. This is going to blow up into an argument, and the sooner we get into it, the sooner it will be over.
“Not happening.” She shakes her head, pushing herself back into the booth as if she can't believe I would suggest such a thing.
My eyes shift toward the other diners to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. “Marcy told me you let guys beat you for money,” I whisper between clenched teeth. Even I feel uncomfortable saying something like that out loud.
Her mouth forms a surprised O. “That little trollop! It's not true. I don't know why she'd tell you something like that.”
“Is it not true? She told me you get paid more for stuff like that.”
“Knox.” Delilah stares me straight in the eyes. “No one has laid a hand on me. I swear it to you.”
“But you would let them.” I give the waitress an annoyed look when she slides our coffee mugs in front of us. We both rattle off our orders and send her on her way.
“What I do with my body is none of your business.” Delilah crosses her arms over her chest as if that's the end of it.
“You're my sister. Your health and safety are my business.” I slam my fist against the table and immediately regret it. Our coffees slosh over the sides of the mugs. A few of the diners turn to see what the commotion is about. Delilah grabs a napkin and wipes up the spill on her side of the table. I sigh and do the same, allowing a few moments of silence to pass and everyone to go back to their own conversations.
“That was unnecessary,” she chastises me.
“I know. I'm sorry. I just get worked up when it comes to you. I want to protect you, but I feel like I can't with this.” I shake my head. “It makes me feel helpless.”
She reaches across the table and puts her hands on top of mine, her tone softening. “Knox, I know you want to protect me. You're a good brother. You always have been. But we're not little kids anymore. I'm a grown woman, and I have to make decisions for myself.
“You don't understand the kind of money I can make from stuff like this. What Marcy told you is true, I am open to anything. But there are other girls who are too. I don't get all the baddies. I haven't even had one yet. I might never get one.
“I don't plan on doing this forever. I never planned on it in the first place. But it's the best opportunity I have, and the faster I can make money, the faster I can quit. I just want to make enough to buy a house and have a financial cushion. Then I'll cut down my hours and find a better job, one that pays a decent wage that I can live off of. This isn't forever. I promise.” She gives me an earnest look.
“I just don't like the idea of you not having protection. Do you keep mace on you, just in case?” It sounds like a stupid question. Mace isn't going to do shit, and we both know it.
“Yes.” She nods. “I keep mace on me at all times.”
“It's not enough, you know. Yeah, it would stop a guy for a while, but it doesn't guarantee you'd get away.”
“Stop worrying.” She drags out the words.
“I just wish there's something I could do. Maybe this Edward guy would be willing to hire me on to protect you girls. I don't know.” I shrug, slumping back into the booth in surrender. The thought that I can't be there to protect her from the world is unnerving. I hate this feeling.
She presses her lips into a line, as if she's actually considering my suggestion. “No. He wouldn't. He doesn't like people cutting into his profits. Besides, if I introduced you to him, he might think I feel like I can't take care of myself, and I don't want to get fired over it.”
“Well, I guess there's nothing else to say then.” I toss my hands up and scout the room for our waitress. I want my food, and then I want to get out of here and not think about this anymore.
Delilah has made her choice. She has a plan.
Nothing ever goes as planned though. It's a lesson she's about to learn the hard way.
***
The days and weeks pass by. I do my best to cope with my sister's profession. It's easy not to think about it when I'm not around her all the time.
My frequent visits drop down to once a month, at least with Delilah. I still see Marcy on the side. Sometimes she comes over to my place after she gets off work and we put in a late night. She says Edward doesn't care if the girls have relationships outside of work. I'm glad. I like spending time with her, having her in my be
d, waking up next to her.
Delilah will probably find out. That won't be pretty. But for now, she suspects nothing.
There's a knock at my door after work. I grin as I open it to Marcy's sweet face. She's all dolled up for me, like usual. Well, dolled up for whoever her john was tonight. But I like to pretend it’s all for me. She's wearing a little black and gold number that hugs her body in all the right places. As she walks inside, I pull her into my arms, kissing her hungrily.
Her blue eyes flit up to meet mine when we break free from the kiss, and they're filled with something strange and dark. She places her hands on my chest, a sign that I should back off.
“What's wrong?” I ask. It's not like her to be this way. Usually, she's every bit as excited for my touch as I am for hers.
She bites her bottom lip and walks past me, lowering herself onto the sofa. She always moves with such grace; it amazes me. Tonight, she seems extra careful, as if she's walking on glass. One wrong move could shatter the atmosphere around us.
“I'm worried about Delilah.” She doesn't look at me as she speaks, perhaps knowing how panicked her words will make me feel.
“What do you mean? What's wrong with Delilah?” My initial reaction is to rush to Delilah's aid, but I don't even know what's wrong.
“Sit. You're making me nervous.” Marcy pats the spot beside her.
I do what I'm told, staring at her. Waiting. “Tell me.”
Marcy shifts uncomfortably, seeming unsure about how to proceed. “She's been placed with a rather malicious client.” Every word is delicately chosen.
“Malicious as in how?” It annoys me that she won't get to the point. Women take forever to say what they mean.
“You know how I told you that some men have dark fetishes?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“He's one of them.” Her eyes finally meet mine, gauging my reaction.
“How do you know about this?” I clench and unclench my fists, wondering what this sick fuck could be doing to my sister.
“She's been coming home upset lately. Crying. Bruised. The other day she had a busted lip. She had to take off a few days to recover.” Marcy stares past me, and there's a shakiness to her tone. It rattles me to the core. “I asked her about it, but she won't talk much. She says she's not allowed to talk about him, that he's a special client. I told her to stop seeing him. That it's not worth the money. But he keeps requesting her. He only wants her.” She shakes her head. “The money is too good. Edward will keep sending her.”
My blood is boiling. I've never felt angrier in all my life. This… man, her boss, is allowing her to be repeatedly abused. I want to kill him. I want to kill the man who's hurting her, and then I want to kill her pimp or boss or whatever she calls him.
“Come on.” I stand, gazing down at Marcy.
“What are you doing?” Hey eyes widen in alarm.
“We're going to go have a chat with this Edward guy.”
“No. We're not.” She wraps her arms around herself, looking away from me as if I just struck her. “I should have never told you.”
“But you did tell me, and now I need to take care of this.”
“There's nothing you can do, Knox,” she practically spits at me. “There's nothing anyone can do. This is just the way it is in this business. Only Delilah can decide to get out, and I know why she doesn't.” If looks could kill, I'd be dead on the spot. I just threatened Marcy's livelihood and the livelihood of who knows how many other women. No wonder she's pissed at me. “If she turns down this client, that will be the end for her. Edward will fire her. She's stuck.”
“Then why in the hell did you even tell me?” I throw my hands up in frustration.
“I don't know.” Marcy licks her lips and drops her head, shaking it slightly. “I'm scared for her.”
“I need to go talk to her. We need to go talk to her right now.” It feels like everything in the universe is drawing me to my sister. Like the world revolves around me setting things right. I can't just stay here and do nothing.
“And say what? You think you can tell her anything I haven't already?” Marcy's a mix of hot and cold. Scared and livid. This isn't about her though. It's about Delilah. I don't care who I tick off as long as my sister is safe.
“I'm going. You can stay here if you want, but I'm leaving.” I grab my keys off the coffee table and head out the door. I half expect Marcy to follow me, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to be around when shit hits the fan between Delilah and I.
The cool air doesn't even faze me as I take the stairs two at a time to get to my truck faster. I don't know why I'm rushing. The damage has already been done. It's not like my haste will turn back time and undo it.
My hands wrap around the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip. The need for vengeance rages through me. I want to find the guy who hurt Delilah and rip him limb from limb. Nothing would give me more pleasure. I'm beyond the point of caring how much she's getting paid for this. No amount of money is worth being physically abused.
When I pull into the apartment complex parking lot, Delilah's car isn't there. It was a convenient oversight on Marcy's part and only irks me more. I get out of the truck and punch the wall. The wall doesn't give. My fist throbs.
I wish the wall was Edward's face. Guys like that don't deserve to live. They don't deserve to be responsible for the well-being of others. All they care about is money, and it doesn't matter how they get it.
I climb back into my truck. It's a cold night, but I stay put, waiting for Delilah to come home. Praying she will. I wrap my arms around myself and huddle down, staring at the street until my neck starts to get a cramp. Then I switch to looking at it every few minutes, as if my persistence could will her to come home sooner. Delilah, I hope you're okay. If you're not…
Despite the discomfort of the cold and the small space, my eyelids begin to grow heavy. At some point, I start hoping that Marcy might show up and let me in. She never does though. She must have decided to stay at my place and avoid confrontation. Once Delilah finds out she told me, well, that will open a whole other can of worms no one wants to deal with.
The sun is peeking over the horizon by the time Delilah's car finally pulls into the parking lot. I don't even notice until a car door slams. Then I see her walking towards her unit through my rear-view mirror. She's wearing a maroon mini-dress with a cheap-looking black boa wrapped around her shoulders. She hugs herself as she walks up the stairs, trying to keep warm.
I straighten myself and climb out of my truck, taking long strides toward the bottom of the stairs. “Delilah,” I call, more loudly than necessary.
She turns to me, looking like something out of a nightmare. Black mascara tears stain her cheeks. There's a cut below her right eye. Her left forearm has a bruise the size of a golf ball. She's a complete mess and horrified to see me.
I run up the stairs til we're face to face, grabbing her by both arms. I must look wild, stricken by a mix of anger at the man who did this to her and grief that it happened. “I'll kill him. Tell me where he is, and I'll kill him.”
“No, Knox. Just go home.” She bursts into sobs, avoiding my intense gaze.
“I'm not going anywhere until we talk about this.” I want to shake her, but she's too fragile. Seeing her like this is driving me crazy, making me lose my mind. I don't know how to cope with it.
“Come inside.” She knows she's not going to be able to get rid of me. Not when I've seen what he's done to her. She turns and pulls out of my grasp, continuing up the stairs. Each step looks painful. I find myself checking her legs for more cuts and bruises. The dark stockings she's wearing make it difficult.
We reach the door and she knocks twice, perhaps anticipating that Marcy will answer. Briefly, I think about telling her that Marcy is at my place. It's not worth dealing with right now though. She's under enough stress as it is.
She shoves her key in the lock and pushes the door open, stepping inside. I follow, closing the door behind us to ke
ep the cold out. The apartment is a bit chilly. They must have turned the heat off when they went to work, trying to save on the electric bill. That won't fly when it starts snowing in a few weeks.
“I'm really tired, Knox. I don't want to talk about this right now.” Her voice reflects her exhaustion. She continues to the bedroom, leaving me to wait.
“We're talking about this, Delilah. I don't give a shit how good the money is, you're not doing this anymore.” It's hard to keep my voice from rising in frustration. I just want to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, take her back to my apartment, and hold her hostage there until she sees sense. This can't keep going on. The guy is going to break her. He's already breaking her.
“I know this looks bad, and it is bad. But I can't quit now.” She re-emerges from the bedroom with a clean face. The boa, her stockings, and her shoes are gone too.
“Why not? Why the hell not?” My jaw tenses as I stare at her. Now that the makeup is washed off, I can see the cut better. It's starting to bruise, which means it's fresh.
She hugs herself and sits on the sofa. Tears continue to roll down her cheeks, though she's no longer sobbing. “You wouldn't understand.”
“Make me understand.” I sit beside her. I want to be gentle and soothing, but I just don't have it in me. I'm too fired up over what I see. And I've never been good at coddling.
“The money. I need the money,” she mutters.
“That's bullshit. You girls make tons of money on normal clients. You don't need this shit. Haven't you saved up enough already? It's been weeks since you started working there. Marcy told me the typical haul is six hundred dollars a night. You should be able to afford to quit by now.”
“Where is Marcy anyway?” She looks around the apartment as if her roommate might appear from nowhere.
“I don't care. I came here to talk to you. Not her. You're going to quit. That's the end of it,” I say firmly.
That strikes a chord with her. She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?”
