Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)

by Madison Faye

  “You wanna see my pussy, daddy?”

  A shadow crosses the camera, and suddenly, she’s moves in front of it.

  “Hi, Lewis,” she purrs it out, the heat in her eyes swirling like smoke.

  Lewis. As in Lewis Carroll, author of Alice In Wonderland. I mean, it goes with “Alice,” and it’s not like she could call me daddy all the time.

  And she’s been waiting for this too. No, I’m not one of those guys who deludes themselves into thinking the stripper is “really into them,” but this is different. There’s no actress in the world that could fake a look with that kind of lust behind it. My Alice enjoys doing what I ask, I can see that plain as day. I can see it in the way her breath still catches and her cheeks still flush when I tell her something particularly dirty. But she does it, and I’m beginning to suspect that it’s not entirely about the money.

  Hey pretty girl.

  She smiles, those white teeth raking over her bottom lip as she settles on her bed in front of the camera. She’s on her side, and when her black silk robe falls open, I catch a glimpse of the half-translucent, lacy white lingerie underneath. I groan, my cock throbbing rock hard at the sight. I fucking love white on her. Something about the purity of it against her inked skin gets a fire going inside of me.

  “Hey daddy,” she says, her face glowing and her voice husky.

  I growl, reaching for my cock. Alice begins to slide her robe off, and the blood starts to roar in my ears, when suddenly, there’s a crashing sound.

  Alice goes white.

  “Oh, fuck, I—” She starts to scramble from the bed, and I find myself lurching to me feet as well. There’s the sound of a man yelling, and my blood runs hot.

  “Lewis, I have to go—”

  “You little fucking bitch!”

  Alice screams as the camera lurches to the side and a man lunges into the frame. I snarl, my hands closing into iron-gripped fists.

  “Goddamnit! Fuckin’ whore!”

  “I’m on camera!”

  My blood turns to molten steel in my veins. My eyes lose focus of everything around me except what’s on the screen in front of me.

  She’s in trouble. My base, caveman instinct is to protect her — to protect what’s mine. I want to jump through the fucking screen and wrap my hands around this asshole’s neck until he stops fucking breathing. But knowing I’m totally powerless right now has me ready to tear my skin off.

  The man grabs her, and this time, I do roar out loud. He shakes her, heedless of her screams, before he shoves her back across the bed.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re on camera, you fucking bitch.”

  He grabs her again, and it’s like a blade slicing through my heart as I watch him haul back and slap her across the face. I scream in rage, picking up a coffee mug from my desk and hurling it at the wall. The man grabs her again, shaking her before he shoves her away, sending her crashing into her bedside table.

  Crashing.

  Crash.

  I don’t hear it through my computer speakers, I hear it with my own fucking ears. I hear it through my floor, from the apartment below me, and suddenly, the world goes still.

  Alice isn’t just “somewhere” in the world, on the internet.

  …Alice is my downstairs fucking neighbor.

  3

  Zoe

  How did we get here?

  I’ve asked it of myself about a million times in the last few weeks, but I still don’t have any answers. How did we get to the point where I’m so fucking excited for this that I’ve been pacing the apartment for an hour, waiting for the email ping? Or to the point where when it does, I can barely contain myself as I make a beeline for the laptop and camera set up against the far wall, across from the bed.

  “Hi, Lewis.”

  Hey pretty girl.

  My heart skips a beat, like it always does at his voice.

  Fuck, I did it again. I keep referring to it as “his voice.” It’s not even a voice, and I keep having to remind myself that. It’s a fucking chat message. It’s not a face, it’s not hands touching me, and it’s not real words murmured into my ear. But, it’s just the power of his words that seem to be driving me out of my mind with want.

  …Great, I’m lusting over a faceless, voiceless man, over the internet. It’s like a bad scifi movie.

  At first, it was the money, obviously. When I first “met” him, and heard the offer, yeah, it was the money. I mean, whatever sick shit this guy had in mind — well, to be honest, I was prepared to do a lot on camera for fifty thousand dollars. Fuck it, seriously. You can only get so naked, right? And aside from hurting myself or committing a crime, or like, I don’t know, going to the bathroom on camera or something, there wasn’t much I’d say no to. And I was prepared for the weird.

  I wasn’t prepared for him, though.

  Commanding, and not in a controlling misogynistic asshole way, but in this powerful way that ignited something inside of me. He exuded power, and confidence, and this magnetic charm. His words made him hot. The way he knows exactly what to say to me have made him fucking irresistible.

  And fuck he turns me on so much. I mean, I’m wet even right now, just from looking forward to this. I’ve felt the tingle of knowing this is coming teasing through my body for the last hour or two.

  I mean, there’s not a lot else going on right now for me. I lied before, when I said I had a life. I don’t. At least, not anymore. Not these days. I used to, I suppose, but even then, it was more war stories than happy endings. But now, after the interview for the movie, and the spiral that took me down, and then Joey?

  I shiver.

  Well, that's why I’m here.

  Kept.

  A prisoner, working off a debt.

  Or at least, that’s what I was, before him. Before “Lewis.” Before my trip through the looking glass and down the rabbit hole of whatever this is with him. And whatever it is, I will say this: it makes me feel more alive than I have in years. Maybe ever.

  I take a deep breath, trying to chase away the schoolgirl-crush blush on my face before I step in front of the camera and sit down across the bed.

  I smile, blushing and biting my lip, exactly how I told myself not to. I’m supposed to be sexy for him — a sultry fantasy come to life. Not some blushing, giggling, nervous girl with a crush.

  I swallow and move onto my side, letting the silk robe I’m wearing slip open so that he can see the lingerie underneath. I know he loves this see-through stuff, and fuck do I like wearing it for him. It’s the contrast of the pure white with the fact that you can clearly see my nipples, my piercings, my tattoos, and my pussy right through it.

  “Hey daddy,” I purr out, my face beating with heat. I start to slide the robe off, the blood pounding in my veins, when suddenly, I hear it.

  Oh God.

  First, it’s the sound of a key in my lock, and that has me confused before the door slams in, crashing off the wall. That’s when I know who it is, and that’s when I remember.

  Oh fuck.

  “You bitch!” Joey roars from the kitchen, slamming something against the wall as he storms through the apartment towards my room.

  I meant to text him back, to tell him the money was here.

  Fuck.

  I forgot, because the only thing I could think about was getting online and talking to Lewis today. We didn’t get a chance to yesterday and it was really boring, and goddamnit did I miss him. And then today, I was just excited and completely forgot to text Joey back.

  And now the shit is about to hit the fan.

  Joey comes once a week to collect on the debt I owe. You see, Heartthrob Cams sends a check, weekly, with what we’ve made. And every damn Saturday, Joey’s here, taking me and the check downstairs, out the back door, and twenty feet to the liquor store behind the condo building, with the check cashing window next door. I cash the check, I give the money to Joey, and that’s that. I’m sure there are easier ways for him to get paid, but I’m also sure it’
s some sort of tax-evasion thing for him.

  I’m also sure it’s just an asshole power move.

  After that, we go back inside. If I’m lucky, he calls me names and tells me to get back to work. If I’m not so lucky, there’s some slaps in there too. If I’m really unlucky, well, that’s only happened once. He didn’t do much, just put his hands where I wish he hadn’t. I’ve heard it’s been much worse for other girls who owe him.

  I hate him.

  I haven’t told him about, well, my mystery man. About Lewis. I’m still getting paid, and way more than usual actually, so he hasn’t exactly questioned me on anything. And most of the time, that’s all the interaction I have with him: the check, cashing it, and giving him the money. Except today, I forgot to answer when he asked if the check was here yet.

  “Oh, fuck, I—” I start to scramble from the bed

  “You fucking answer my goddamn fucking calls you fucking skank!”

  The color drains from my face. Okay, this isn’t just usual mad Joey. This is really mad Joey

  “Lewis, I have to go—”

  “You little fucking bitch!”

  I scream as the bedroom door kicks in, and Joey comes storming towards me. The camera knocks to the side as he grabs me and shakes me hard.

  “Goddamnit! Fuckin’ whore!”

  “I’m on camera!”

  Joey grabs me, and I scream as he shakes me and shoves me back across the bed.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re on camera, you fucking bitch.”

  He grabs me again, and I cry out, my cheek stinging from the slap of his hand. The world spins as he shakes me again, like my whole brain is turning to jello inside my head. Suddenly, he shoves me again, and this time, I go crashing into the nightstand. There’s a dull thudding sound as my head hits the wall, the lamp crashing to the ground and shattering.

  “I don’t give a shit about some asshole jerking off, you fucking bitch!”

  My head’s still throbbing, and I can see stars as Joey advances on me, crumpled on the ground. He reeks of booze, and he’s got a fury in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

  “Fuckin bitch,” he mutters again. “Wasting my fuckin’ time!”

  He hits me again, and I groan. I glance up with wincing eyes and see that the camera is still pointed right at me. I wonder if Lewis is watching me.

  I wonder if he cares. I hope he does.

  Joey’s fist hits me again, and I cry out as I slump to the ground.

  “The money, it’s on the kitchen counter!”

  “Tomorrow,” he hisses. “I’m not dragging a crying bitch out to cash a check. So get your shit together, and tomorrow we do this,” he sneers. He rears back like he’s going to hit me again, and when I flinch, he just laughs.

  “Tomorrow, Zoe. Don’t ever waste my fucking time again.”

  He kicks at some of the broken glass of my bedside table-lamp before he turns and steps from the room. I listen to the sound of him moving back through the apartment before I close my eyes and exhale.

  And then I hear footsteps.

  I cringe, curling into a ball and squeezing my eyes shut as they get closer and closer, until I can hear them at the doorway.

  “Please,” I choke out, throwing an arm up as if it might block another hit. “Please don’t—”

  “Don’t cry.”

  The voice is deep and resonating, a velvety baritone that wraps around me like a blanket. But then, there is a blanket wrapping around me, pulled tight across my shoulders by strong, warm hands. It’s not Joey, obviously. I don’t know who it is, but when those warm, comforting hands rub my arms through the blanket.

  “Don’t cry, Alice,” he says quietly.

  I freeze. A lump forms in my throat, and as I swallow it back, I slowly raise my head and drag my eyes up. I see dark, smoky and intense eyes. Dark hair, a chiseled, handsome jawline. I see an insanely attractive man looking right at me with more concern in his eyes than I’m sure anyone has ever looked at me with.

  He called me Alice.

  It can’t be. There’s no fucking way this is…

  “I’ve got you, Alice,” he says quietly, and before I know it, he’s wrapping me in the blanket and effortlessly lifting me off the floor and into his arms.

  “Lewis?” I say it quietly, like I’m not sure this is real. But his eyes pierce right into me, holding my incredulous gaze as tears come to my eyes.

  “What…how?”

  “Let’s go, beautiful,” he murmurs, stepping over the wreckage in the bedroom and then through the apartment.

  “Where— where are we going?”

  “You’re coming with me, to my place.”

  His eyes dip down to mine, and there’s a fire there when they lock onto mine.

  “I’ve got you now. I’m taking care of you. And no one is going to hurt you.”

  4

  Gray

  Well shit.

  This isn’t how I expected this night to go. Not in the fucking slightest.

  She’s light as a feather in my arms, and as we step into the hallway, I turn and shut the door to her place. For a second, I wonder how in the hell a girl stripping on a webcam affords a place like this. I mean, it’s much smaller than my place, but this building is a far cry from “cheap.” But, I put it out of mind.

  I’ve got more important things to worry about. Things like Joey.

  Joey Luco, a lieutenant in the Moretti crime family. The very same Moretti crime family that I actually work for. Yeah, that whole thing about ignoring work and how it’s dangerous? Well, I’m not worried about a quarter evaluation, or a goddamn HR department. I’m worried about a guy in a ski mask shattering my kneecap in an ally, or putting a bullet through my eye.

  I recognized Joey the second I saw his face on that camera. And I had no idea what the fuck I was doing storming down here, but I’m pretty sure I moved on autopilot. I mean, I’m built — from years in the Marines and then years taking care of myself afterwards. But I’m not entirely sure how things would go in a fight with a steroid-popping gorilla like Joey Luco. Not to mention, I’m sure he’s packing heat. I think I came crashing through her front door half expecting not to walk out of there alive, but Joey was already gone by the time I did.

  He’s a serious piece of shit. I mean, I work for a crooked fucking mob family — they’re all pieces of shit, mostly. But Joey’s a special kind of fucked up. Cruel, mean, viciously brutal. I’ve heard the rumors about him — about his taste for beating on women. I've heard of “his girls” too — girls he’s got either turning tricks, or stripping, or God knows what else to pay him back for whatever he bailed them out of — things I bet they’d prefer now instead of being in debt to that asshole.

  It seems I have one of his girls in my arms.

  I grit my teeth, the rage rolling up.

  Not his girl.

  Mine.

  The elevator dings, and she clings to me as we step inside.

  “Oh, wait please!”

  Shit.

  Mr. and Mrs. Sampson, an elderly couple who also live on this floor beneath mine shuffle around the corner and step into the elevator.

  “Oh!” Marjorie gasps, bringing a jeweled hand to her lips as she realizes what’s in my arms.

  “My sister’s friend,” I gruff out, staring straight ahead and ignoring the awkwardness of me holding an almost naked, half-unconscious girl, bleeding from the head, in my arms.

  “She’s just visiting and I think she had a bit too much fun on the Strip.” I try and make a joke out of it. I try and smile knowingly at them. I think it comes across.

  “Tried to get into the wrong room,” I mutter with a shrug.

  “Oh…” Marjorie’s brow furrows pitifully. “Oh I see. Poor dear.”

  “You’re a good man, Grayson,” Dick Sampson says, patting me on the arm as the elevator rises to my floor and stops. The doors open and I swallow as I step out.

  “Night,” I murmur, making an attempt to smile again before the doo
rs close.

  Fuck.

  Inside my place, I lay her out on the couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The blanket falls aways, and I grit my teeth, ignoring the flash of tantalizing skin that flashes before my eyes. I ignore how nearly naked she is, or how fucking sexy she is, even like this. I ignore how the mere sight of her at this point is hardwired to make my dick grow.

  She blinks, looking around her like she’s just realizing where she is, and starts to stand.

  “I— I have to g—”

  “You have to sit still and take a deep breaths,” I growl.

  She blinks, still looking dazed from the hits that fucking prick doled out to her.

  “I—”

  “Hang on.”

  I pull out my phone and thumb on the flashlight.

  “Look into this,” I say gruffly, my eyes narrowed in concern as I wave it back and forth across her eyes.

  “What are you— cut it out!”

  She swats at my hand, but I grab her wrist and pull it back..

  “Sit still,” I growl.

  She does, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before she swallows.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I just got punched in the head?”

  I supress the urge to grin at that sass.

  “The good news is, you don’t have a concussion.”

  “Thanks,” she mutters, frowning. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “Field medic training.”

  I get up and go to my kitchen.

  “Field medic training?”

  “Marines,” I toss over my shoulder. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, cracking it open as I walk back to the couch and hand it to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. She holds my gaze.

  “You’re really him, aren’t you?”

  I mull it over for half a second.

  “Yes.”

  Slowly, she shakes her head. “How? Did you fucking stalk me or something? Is that it?” Her voice rises as her brows furrow. “You figure out where I live and—”