by Chloe Adler
I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a breath of stale, rancid air, reminding me how disgusting this place really is. And some of the girls have been letting unsavories crash here too. Just last week one of them brought in a smashed homeless guy. I always try to look out for people who have less than me but now that I’ve been attacked here, my hubris is faltering.
I obviously need to find a safer place to live. Maybe I can stay at Maggie’s while I look for one. “Maybe just for a few days?”
Her face lights up and she grabs my hand again, practically pulling both of us down the stairs. “You’re going to love it.” She skips down with me in tow.
“As long as there’s a bed I’m sure I will.”
When we pull up in front of her garden complex twenty-five minutes later, I clench my teeth to keep from yelling ¡Hurra! There’s an ornate wrought iron gate in front decorated with spirals and crests. It’s beautiful and practical. She taps out a code on the keypad. The gate opens to a garden full of colorful flowers and lush greenery lit by twinkling lights. The only flower I recognize is the bird of paradise, its orange head rising into the early morning, waiting to greet the sun. The rectangular courtyard is hugged by a U-shaped building. Doors to multiple apartments litter the bottom floor, and verandas on top hide more doors, no doubt.
“I know you’re tired and I’d carry you up if I could but . . .”
“No one’s carrying me anywhere. I can walk.”
“Second floor.”
There are only two.
We enter through her little upstairs patio. It looks like each of the four corners of the building house separate apartments. She has the back right corner.
“Sweetie, I’m home,” she calls out after entering. “I brought a friend.”
“Don’t wake him or her on my account. It’s late.” I pivot my head to the wall clock. Four a.m. A couch and chairs sit on the left and a large dining room table toward the right. The space is broken up by a counter, a stainless steel kitchen peeking from behind it.
“Nah, he works nights. He’d rather know you’re here than be surprised in the bathroom in the morning.”
A door opens from the back of the house and a sleepy guy with a mop of blond hair over half his face emerges.
“I can’t seem to wake up,” he says groggily, practically slurring his words. “I feel drugged.”
“Were you drinking last night?” She doesn’t sound mad.
“No.” He waves his hand at her and it falls down.
He certainly seems drunk.
“Honey, I want you to meet my friend Sydney. She’s going to be staying with us for a couple of days.”
He turns his head to look at me through his hair, the strands falling over his forehead and eyes. But even so, I’ve seen this guy mussed and naked. I’d recognize one of my johns anywhere. He squints at me and Maggie brushes his hair out of his face. His eyes grow so large that the whites show on all sides.
“Sydney? What happened to your face?”
I cross to him and extend my hand, smile plastered on my face. “Yes, my name is Sydney. It’s nice to meet you . . .” I look at Maggie and raise my brows. He takes my hand awkwardly.
“And this is Jerome.” She smiles, looking between us.
He’s clutching my hand like it’s a life raft.
“Sweetheart, Sydney was attacked earlier. I brought her to the hospital. I texted you about it, you must have been sleeping.”
He nods but is still staring at me, mouth open, holding my hand. I let his go and it falls heavily to his side.
“Maggie said I could crash here for a couple of days but I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”
“Please, Syd, stay as long as you need. Let me show you to your room.” Maggie turns and walks down the hallway to the left, and I follow her. Jerome stands in the living room, watching.
Sadly, this is not the first time I’ve met a john’s wife. I’ve had to go out to dinner with men I’ve slept with and their wives and pretend to be a business associate. I’ve been caught in men’s homes by their wives, and as long as I wasn’t naked at the time, I’ve always talked the woman down. Only once did a wife chase me out with a knife. I’ve pretended to be their cousin, their best friend’s fiancée, even one guy’s niece, which was totally gross.
This particular twist is a new one, I’ll admit. I’ve never had the girlfriend bring me home to the man I dallied with before, but I’m adaptable and I’m a great liar. A whore’s toolbox—lies, manipulation and deceit. That’s what we get paid for. Still, I really like Maggie. What’s she doing with that loser? He doesn’t deserve her.
8
Jerome
What the hell? What the hell? I pace back and forth in the bedroom I share with Mags. What the hell is happening? I’ve never been unfaithful to any woman and I would never do it to Mags, even if we are having problems. Even if I have been having second thoughts. But I did. The whole thing has come back to me in bits and pieces now, even if it did feel like I was watching it all from afar, like an out-of-body experience.
I have no idea how I even got to Ichor in the first place. I’ve never stepped inside a vectum before. Why would I? I’m a shifter, not a vampire. I certainly had no idea they were whorehouses too before last night. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would I do that and why would I have no memory of making the decision to do so? Why would I risk ruining my entire life?
I’ll tell Maggie everything. She’ll understand. But what if she doesn’t? What if she kicks me out of her life forever? I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but can I take that chance? Maggie and I may be going through a rough patch, but I still love her like a best friend. So what if our passion has waned? It happens to every couple eventually. So what if I’m not in lo— No. Not going there. Besides, on paper, we are perfect together. We both want the same things out of life and she is a good person. She treats me well and is totally drama-free.
Sydney acted like she wouldn’t say a word. Maybe I can just pretend it never happened and Maggie will never find out and we can get married, have our babies and live our simple life.
“Hey babe.” Maggie enters the bedroom and rushes over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “Is everything all right? You look upset.”
“I’m . . . tired. Just tired.” I take her in my arms and kiss her hard, trying to force back the passion we used to share. Sydney’s soft lips flash to mind. I pull away. “Let’s just go to bed. It’s late. I’d love to cuddle with you for a while before I have to get up for work.”
“Just cuddle?” She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “Where were you earlier? I called and called. Did you have to work after all?”
“I did.” I don’t want to lie to her but I can’t tell her where I really was, not until I figure out what happened. How I even got there.
“I was going to go by the restaurant but my mom called and asked me to bring her dinner at Ichor since she had to work late.”
“What time was that?”
Maggie starts to undress, slowly, with one knee propped on the bed.
I look away, pretending to busy myself with the water glass on my nightstand.
“Not that late, around ten.”
Shit, that’s pretty much the exact time I was at Ichor too. After my tryst with Sydney, I sat at the vectum in the front room for an hour trying to figure out how I got there and what had happened. What if she’d walked through that front door? There’d be no talking my way out of it, and what if Eleanor saw me? I didn’t even know she was working there now. Did I?
“I’m going to jump in the shower. Hospitals are filthy. When I get out . . .” She pauses, waiting for me to turn toward her but I don’t want to. I’m not worthy enough to see my stunning girlfriend naked.
But Maggie crosses in front of me, catching my attention. She knows how lovely she is, I’ve told her a thousand times, and everywhere we go she garners appreciative stares. Maggie is every man’s we
t dream. Her full breasts, a perfect C cup that defy gravity, top her slender body as though she was built to model. Chestnut-brown hair curls around a heart-shaped face pale as alabaster.
I bite my lip and force myself to look away. The guilt is too crushing. I feel no sexual stirring when I look at her. I appreciate her beauty like that of a lovely flower but I do not wish to pluck it.
As soon as she goes into the bathroom and I hear the water running, I jump into bed, sure to keep my pajama bottoms on. When she comes out twenty minutes later, I pretend to be asleep. She climbs in next to me and wraps her arms around my waist, insinuating a hand down between my legs. Immediately my cock responds as it always does to attention, but I mumble, “Let’s just cuddle. I’m too tired, sweetheart.”
“Too tired for sex? You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Is this something we need to talk about?” She nuzzles my ear.
“No, no. It’s me. I’ve just been working too much and last night I ate something at the restaurant that didn’t agree with me.”
“Oh, poor baby.” She moves her hand off my cock and up to my stomach, where she rubs.
I close my eyes and breathe in her scent of almonds and powdered sugar, trying to blot out Sydney’s scent of licorice and cloves with the tiniest hint of vanilla. I pray that when I wake up I will find out this has all been a dream, a nightmare. More than anything in the world I want to wake and find that I am not a cheater. We fall asleep with her arms circled around my back, her head lying next to mine on the pillow. Her soft breathing whispering in my ear. Taunting me with her kindness and my inexcusable mistake.
When the alarm rings a few hours later I leap out of bed and practically run to the shower. Mags mumbles and turns over.
I don my bathrobe and pad out to the kitchen for coffee. Sydney is awake, sitting at the kitchen table and reading one of my cooking magazines. She looks up, narrows her eyes and then looks back down.
“Do you want some coffee?” I fill the pot and pour it into the back of the coffee maker.
“That’d be great.” She doesn’t look at me again.
“Sydney . . .”
“Don’t. There’s no need. It happens all the time. Goes with the job.”
Whoa. That’s sad, both for her and for the men. So I’m just another statistic? I stand in front of the coffee maker until it’s done and then pour us each a cup. Removing some milk from the fridge, I put everything on the table and sit down across from her. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”
She looks up, wraps her hand around the coffee cup and brings it to her lips. “Thanks for the coffee.”
I lick my lips and look down at my own cup. Seeing her face bruised and stitched like that stirs something deep inside my core, like my insides are being whipped into a béchamel. I want to kill whoever did that to her. God, life is messed up. “I don’t understand what happened last night.”
“Well that’s a first.” She looks at me, a smile budding on her lips. A smile that doesn’t bloom. “Your penis, my vagina, pretty simple, really.”
I fold my arms on the table. “Not the mechanics. I don’t remember going to Ichor. I don’t remember meeting with Cheryl. I don’t remember asking for . . .” I circle my hand in the air. “. . . services.”
“But you do remember the awesome blowie I gave you and coming inside my pussy, yes?”
The temperature of my face rises to an uncomfortable level. I’m sure even my ears are beet red. “Yes.” I look away and take another sip of my coffee. “Well, no.”
“Which is it? I’m so bad in bed you’ve blocked me out too? You were acting pretty darn dissociative. I thought maybe you were special needs. Now I’m thinking it’s probably a case of selective amnesia.”
I shake my head. “I remember what we did, I was there. It seemed like I was watching it from above, as though someone else was in my body and I was a spectator.” I plop my arms down on the table.
“Yup, dissociating.” She cradles her coffee cup, keeping her eyes on me.
“How do you know so much about that?” I fold my arms up and rest my chin on my hands.
“I’ve been forced to learn over the years why people do what they do. It helps me with my job.”
“Maybe that’s it but it’s never happened to me before. And after we were done . . . after I finished, it felt like I was slammed back into my body.”
She nods, looks down at her coffee and swirls it around in the mug before taking a sip. “Textbook.”
Shit. Why the hell would that happen? Why would I do that and risk losing the best thing in my life? The situation I worked so long to set up? The family I’ve convinced myself I want?
9
Sydney
I send up a silent prayer of thanks when Maggie enters the dining area, ending this ridiculous conversation.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” She moves to him and kisses his cheek. “Thank you for making coffee.”
Jerome leaps out of his chair and practically trips over himself running into the galley kitchen to pour her a cup.
She sits down at the table next to me and looks over at the magazine I’m reading. “Can you grab the pot and pour Syd some more? She’s running low.”
“Sure, sure.” He brings out the pot.
She has him trained. “Is your day job a waiter?” I ask as he pours my coffee.
“Waiter?” Maggie pulls her chair closer to the table when he places her cup in front of her.
I gesture to her cup and then back to his retreating backside.
“Oh.” She laughs. “No, no. He’s an executive chef.”
“A chef?” I have no idea what the executive part means but it must be nice having a practical skill that’s both reputable and enjoyable. Not that I’ll ever know.
“A chef.” he says, coming out of the kitchen with his own cup and placing it on the table.
“No way.” I narrow my eyes and look between them.
“Show her,” Maggie says.
Jerome disappears back into the kitchen and a few moments later he’s humming and clinking pots and pans on the stove.
“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” Maggie takes a sip of her coffee.
“Not really.” I hold her gaze.
“Your eyes are purple but the bruising should go away in a few weeks. Do you want me to check under the bandage?”
I shake my head too hard and wince.
Maggie winces in empathy and then scoots forward on her chair. “You work at Ichor?”
“Yes, I’ve been there for a few months.”
“And you’ve never seen that guy before last night?”
I shake my head. “Never, and no one’s been aggressive before.” It’s one of the reasons I love working there. “But I doubt Miss Cheryl will let me continue. After this.” I point to my face and inwardly cringe. Do I really love working there?
“Your face was not your fault. You’re the victim here. She can’t fire you for getting beat up.”
“If my appearance affects my earning potential, which it will, she can.” I put my face in my hands, then jerk it away again. It hurts.
“Sydney.” Maggie puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to help you fix this.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. A vampire probably.”
I laugh. That’s what Dr. Delicious said too. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’ve always healed the old-fashioned way.”
“If you let this one go, you’ll have a permanent scar.”
On my face. I shake my head. “I wouldn’t be able to work with that.”
“Why not? A lot of beautiful men and women have scars. I’m sure there are donors with them too. Plus being a donor isn’t a career.”
“I’m not a donor.”
Her mouth forms a perfect O. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize . . .”
My throat tightens and I turn away, blinking rapidly. I’ve never met a kinder woman than Maggie. I don’t want her
to hate me but—I’m used to it. No matter how much I wish I could fit into a socially acceptable life, I plucked the short straw. “It’s okay, common mistake.” I push my chair back from the table and stand.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.” The most delicious smells waft from the kitchen and the last thing I want is to forgo whatever Jerome’s making.
“Why?”
“Because when people find out I’m a whore, they want me to leave.”
“I’m not one of those people. Not everyone gets to choose their profession. I know I could help you find a new one. Something safer.”
I shake my head, not daring to believe her offer. “That’s just it, Maggie, I love being a whore.” I clench my jaw. For once, it sounds false, even to my own ears.
“What?”
“It’s difficult for people to understand but I love my job. I have to.” I shrug and sit back down. “It’s all I’ve ever known and I’m good at it. I love the power. I love giving people pleasure. I look at is as a helping profession.” Why is that doubt niggling deep inside my head? It only happens when I interact with normies. Maybe that’s the real reason I don’t usually interact with them.
Maggie snorts. “That sounds very healthy.”
For a minute I think she’s being sarcastic but her smile says she’s not. I like her. I don’t want to but I do.
Jerome reappears with plates piled high. He’s made something I don’t recognize. It actually looks kind of gross. Mounds of thick white sauce covering something. But if it tastes even half as good as it smells, I’m all in.
Maggie squeals. “Eggs Benedict? You’re too good to me.”
“You’re my queen.” He places the first plate in front of her and the second in front of me.
By the time he returns with his own plate, I’m a quarter of the way through and trying not to moan aloud. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten in my life,” I manage to say with my mouth completely full.
