by Amber Lin
“I don’t know what he wanted with me. I didn’t do anything to him. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She was bowed down to me, her words like a prayer. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, a fake object of worship, a fraud. My skin itched, too tight, all wrong. She probably needed comfort, but I couldn’t give her that. I’d known all along I wasn’t cut out for this. I’d said all along that this wasn’t my thing. I would protect her, not baby her.
I slipped out from her grasp and out of the room, leaving her arms outstretched to nothing, ignoring the darkened stains of her tears on the bed. I really didn’t care at all.
Locking myself in my room, I dialed Luke’s number. I wasn’t ready to deal with his desperate search for some other girl, but this situation needed him. Ella needed him.
“He is only one cares enough,” Jade had said.
I called his apartment first, disconnected. Then his cell phone; it rang and rang. If he cared so much, then where was he? Not just now, but every time I had ever been hurt, ever been humiliated, why hadn’t he been there to protect me? It was irrational to think he could have saved me before we’d even met, but my love for him was irrational. It was obsession and affection, all blackened with the taint of resentment that I wasn’t pure enough. It was lust and it was familial, but then those two things had always been twist-dyed for me.
I kept thinking if I only had a name for what I felt for him, the solution would reveal itself to me. But there were no words for it, only sensations. Only the hollow sound of my voice calling out in a well where no one could hear me. There was only this churning, choking feeling in my gut, the remembered bite of a whip I had sworn never to feel again. Now I felt it always—phantom pain.
How much would I pay to keep my friends safe? It began as a mantra, a way to help someone who needed it at the time, a way to prove I wasn’t the shallow rich girl everyone thought I was. How much of myself could I give away and still be me? I feared we had already passed the mark, the sacrifice like a cancer that ate away at me inside, always hungry, never full.
A knock at the door startled me. I flung it open, expecting to see Ella: penitent, indignant, forgiving. Instead Philip glowered there.
“Where the fuck did you go?”
“Don’t start with me.” The look I gave him was pure venom, my whole body a poison. “I’m not in the mood.”
He brushed past me. “You and your moods. Everyone living at your whim. You’re like the goddamned queen sometimes, Shelly.”
“I’m a queen?” It was so ludicrous, a laugh puffed out of me. Resigned, I locked us inside, lest Ella get the idea to check on me after all. Can’t let the kids see Mommy and Daddy fighting. Or fucking, if that was what we were going to do here. I recognized the gleam in Philip’s eyes along with the bulge in his trousers. So he’d finally decided to collect, which felt like a relief. Why shouldn’t we fuck? No reason. Let it wash over me.
“I work my ass off to keep you safe here,” he was saying, “and come to find out, you run off at the first opportunity. No one knows where you are, except Allie.”
“Your sister-in-law,” I said, just to annoy him.
“My soon-to-be sister-in-law, who apparently doesn’t give a damn about your safety either, because she helped you. I mean, fucking hell. I told Colin—”
“Ooh, you told Colin how to handle Allie, didn’t you? I would have loved see his face when you did that.” I grinned, though it felt more feral than amused. I wasn’t sure why I was needling him this way, except that the only thing that sounded more appealing than sex right now was angry sex.
“Why are you taking this so lightly?”
I stepped close to him, bathed myself in his heat. “Because it doesn’t really matter what happens to me. It’s sweet that you worry, baby.”
He pushed back, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Jesus Christ, Shelly. What’s gotten into you?”
The glitter of silver in his onyx eyes gave lie to his refusal; he pulsed with lust, he breathed it out, filling the air between us with heat and spice. His desire might not have been for me, but caring had never been a requisite, so I purred anyway, rubbed my body against his in response, because ohh, he felt so very solid and aroused…so present. Yes, this was a little bit of payback to a man who’d used me and then turned me loose. And so what? That man didn’t want me anyway. Another girl.
“I’m trying to make it up to you,” I told him.
“And then worst of all,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken, as if his erection weren’t pressing into my belly now, “you leave that girl here. She’s got claws, that one, and here you’re a cat in heat.”
“So kick us out.” I stepped back, waving my hand as if I didn’t care—and I didn’t. I was halfway to suicidal on a good day, and this wasn’t one.
He smiled, and I shivered. “I came up here to make a deal with you, Shelly. You know how this works.”
“I said I’d give you what you wanted.”
“You don’t have that anymore, sweet girl.”
I stiffened, not aroused nor pliant any longer. He wanted Ella. He wanted her fight, her youth. Or maybe, as I had learned, there was no rhyme or reason to who we wanted. “You can’t have her.”
“Why not? She’s old enough.”
“I saved her from that life.”
“Saved her? You’ve got half of Chicago trying to arrest her and the other half trying to kill her. If this is how you save someone, I’d hate to see you angry.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then help me. I know you can.”
“My money. My favors. Mine. I’ve worked damned hard so that no one can tell me what to do, so that everyone owes me something, and I’m not about to give one goddamned inch because you ask me to. Once upon a time, maybe, but not now. Not after you sold me out.”
So it had come to this, finally.
“I’m sorry for that.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, don’t make her pay for my mistakes.”
His voice slid into a seductive murmur. “I’m not going to hurt her. Is that what you’re worried about? I understand she’s new. I’d be gentle. You know I can be.”
The temptation nudged at me, as soft and potent as any caress. I could walk away from this, just like I had done every time at the shelter. It wouldn’t be so bad. The shelter was a sort of prison too, and this one was much prettier. I could even pretend I had saved her still, since Philip was a far kinder master than Henri would have been.
“I won’t let anyone touch her,” I said. “She’s going to get her old life back, and when she does, she’ll be…” Pure. I wanted her to have the life I hadn’t. I wanted her to be worthy of the men I wasn’t. “She’ll be safe.”
“I would keep her safe.”
He would keep her, but would he let her go? And if he touched her, even once, she wouldn’t be the same anymore. Always remembering that her first time was with a man not of her choosing, even if he’d been kind enough to make her come. Forever wondering whether she would have to pay with sex one more time. Offering her body, again and again, because she knew at least that much worked.
“No.”
His face darkened. “You’re not in a position to negotiate, Shelly.”
“You won’t touch her.” That much I was sure of. There was a twisted honor among thieves, or in this case, sexual deviants. According to the rules of the street, by saving her and bringing her here, she was mine. Mine to sell, if I chose, and mine to keep. He wouldn’t touch her without my agreement.
“You’re here under my protection,” he reminded me.
But he could kick us out. He had no obligation to me or to her. Street etiquette was to not get involved, and by our very presence here, he was involved.
“Just give me a few days,” I said, my voice raw, naked. “Let her stay here, and I’ll fix this.”
He looked doubtful. “And if you can’t?”
She was mine to use as a backup plan. I swallowed. “Then we’ll see.”
“T
hen you’ll give her to me, wrapped up in lace,” he said amiably.
“Yes.” I choked on the word.
“I think we should ink the deal. Something to tide me over.”
I would, I swore silently. I would fix this and free her, the way no one had done for me, not even Luke. Yes, I could ink that deal, with blood, with sex. “I saw the way you talked about her. The way you got hard thinking of her. You’re hard right now with it, aren’t you?” Another roll of my hips; his sharp intake of breath. “What is it you like about her? Her age?”
“It’s… No… She’s not too young.”
Stammering was deliciously out of character for Philip. I worked at the buttons of his shirt. “Not too young. And she’ll learn.” Inside, I ran my hands through the light fur there, touched my mouth to his heated skin. “Wouldn’t that be fun, directing her? Guiding her?”
He groaned, almost there.
“Show me what you’d do.” I flicked my tongue at the base of his throat. “Teach me a lesson.”
His restraint fell away; he caved in completely, pulling off the rest of his clothes while I took off mine. I fell to my knees, eyes wide and innocent. “I want to please you. Will you show me how?”
It was so wrong. Not only to play the ingénue, but to do it in the guise of Ella. But Philip had always gotten off on the strange, the deviant, and I had been right about his desire for her. The fact that he thought she was too innocent, out-of-bounds, just made the lust sharper. I would play the part in her place, and in doing so, keep her safe.
He slipped his hand behind my head and guided his cock to my mouth. There he paused, giving me time to feel it on my lips, the patient instructor to a curious pupil.
“That’s right,” he murmured. “Let it inside.”
I opened wider, only a fraction. It seemed too big; suddenly it was too big, and I had never done this before. I felt poignant fear, both of this foreign male member and of the possibility of failure as I donned my role.
He bolstered me with praise while feeding the air of pretense. “It’s going to feel so good, your mouth around me, sucking me. I love your lips, so pink and full. It’s all I can think about when I see them, spreading them wide around my cock.”
I wondered briefly if he was really thinking of my lips or hers, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t about me and him; it was about our unfulfilled fantasies played out with another, and the wrongness of it was just right.
He slid inside, and I worked the head of his cock in clumsy swipes of my tongue. The more I flustered and bungled it, the more excited he got, hard and urgent, seeping cum into my mouth. His words were sweeter than he had ever used with me, almost painful to hear: yes, you’ve got it, just like that, you’re so brave.
For my part, I played the role like I had been paid to do it. That was how I liked it; I didn’t have to care, and that couldn’t be real fear. It was just a job, just another part to play.
Despite my play at inexperience, or because of it, he was close. So close his pretty words cracked into grunts and groans.
A knock came at the door. “Shelly, are you in there?”
Oh, Ella. Uncertain, stricken, I looked at Philip and saw that it was too late. He was panting, flushed, already there, the sound of her voice triggering his release into my throat. His orgasm was quiet, the raw sounds of his breathing easily muffled by the rattling of the doorknob.
I swallowed.
After a moment, Ella said, “Okay, I know you’re in there. Are you mad at me because of what I said?”
On my knees, with my mouth still tasting of salt and sex, I couldn’t remember why I would ever be mad at her. I could barely remember a thing she said either, except “I don’t know.”
“I didn’t do anything to him.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
It was a puzzle. If I found all the pieces, then Ella got her life back. And I got…what? Redemption, though the idea seemed laughable as I knelt on the floor, naked and well used.
Philip nudged me, handed me my clothes, and I realized he’d already quietly dressed. I tried to read his expression, but he could hide his thoughts, even from me if he tried.
But Ella’s expression was clear as day when Philip opened the door and strode past her: hurt. And then at me: betrayal. With a soft hiccup, she turned and walked away. That’s right, I thought, because this was all I had to offer.
Take of me, but all that was left was flesh.
Chapter Five
Eight months earlier
I woke with a start, blinking eyelids that felt sore and cracked. They felt broken too, jagged red seeping through and orange blurred so that I wasn’t sure they were open at all. But then a dark face hovered over me. I couldn’t make out the features, but his eyes were hazy pools of green rimmed with red, and I knew it was him. Luke.
He hadn’t left me or had me killed or any other of the rather unlikely things I had feared. No, he was too good to act on his justified anger. He was too good for me, but at least he knew it. He’d been careful to couch his lust for me in furtive glances. We both knew he wanted my body, and we both knew he wouldn’t fuck me.
If I had been smarter, I would have taken what I could get. A rich, handsome man had been willing to pay me for my company, for sex, and that should have been enough for someone like me. So what if he was a little bit criminal? So what if it was nothing more than bodily transactions? Philip was a decent guy. He deserved my loyalty. He certainly paid for it.
But then Luke had contacted me, with his soulful eyes and his stiff-as-a-flagpole ideals, and the longing had hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I held myself back from all-out begging, but I found a way to stay near him: I’d agreed to become his informant. And so I traded in the security of my benefactor for the hopeless wish on a star.
It had all come out, and I’d gotten shot, so this was what I got for it. The white-walled brightness of a sterile room and the beep-beep-beep of some machinery that was no doubt attached to me through plastic and metal. And Luke’s face, frowning and worrying and caring about me, and suddenly this whole mess seemed like the best idea I’d ever had.
“Don’t go,” I said, but it came out as a groan.
He seemed to understand anyway. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”
How could I be? And though I’d never seen it coming, it was somehow a cliché. Shot through the heart. I had been sure that was a metaphor, but Bon Jovi had known. They’d called it. It’s all part of this game that we call love. But maybe it wasn’t really love, this thing I felt for Luke. Just a pale shadow, because I hadn’t been shot through my heart, just near it. Just a loud sound in my ears and a sudden pressure in my chest.
I had no idea how close the bullet had come to the organ now pumping liquid thick as mud. Certainly my whole midsection felt tight and too large. It was like the time with that man who must have weighed over two fifty and not in the good-shape kind of way, which hadn’t been so bad until I had started to panic. But the face above me wasn’t his. It was Luke, and he was talking to me.
“Expect a full recovery,” he finished in his cop voice. That was the fake voice, the one he used when he needed to hide the truth. It was the booming mirage, and he was the man behind the curtain.
I shook my head slightly, and for a half second, the whole world shook too before righting itself. I didn’t want a full recovery. I wanted this body broken and bleeding. I wanted it unable to perform. That was what I deserved. It was what I longed for, maybe more than I longed for Luke.
“How long?” I pushed through my cracked lips.
His brows drew together, and I sympathized, because even I didn’t fully understand the question. How long until I made this miraculous recovery? How long would he stay?
But he answered something different entirely. “Five days. You’ve been here for a week. You woke up a few times, but nothing coherent until now.”
It took me a few minutes to process that. In fa
ct, it was possible I’d blacked out sometime during my study of what he’d said. For five days, I had been laid up in this hospital bed, and he had been by my side often enough to see me wake, incoherently, and coincidentally been here when I woke up just now.
“This whole time?” I asked, incredulous. He had been here this whole time?
He looked me in the eye, and it was like the curtain lifted, not because I had nosed my way back and exposed him, but because he was revealing himself, the man behind the curtain. All that earnestness was made more potent by the slight tilt of his lips. “Where else would I go?”
And then, like a dam breaking, he unleashed it all. “I’m so sorry, Shelly. It was my fault, not yours, not yours at all. I should never have gotten you involved in this. I should have protected you, not put you in danger. I should have convinced you to get out, and this never would have happened.”
Maybe the bullet had gone higher than I’d thought. It felt like there was swelling in the vicinity of my throat, making it hard to swallow. And some sort of malfunction too, in my eyes, causing them to water and spill down my cheeks. But he was there to fix it, drawing the tears away with his lips. Kiss it where it hurts.
“But you’re done with them now, aren’t you?”
His voice sounded thick, like maybe he was afflicted too. Like maybe it was contagious, this horrible, hopeful feeling.
“You won’t go back to Philip now, or anyone else. You can start a new life. Anywhere you want, doing anything you want.”
“I can’t— I don’t know—”
“You can, Shelly,” he said fiercely. “I know you can do this. I believe in you.”
He couldn’t know how much I wanted to quit. For so long I had dreamed of leaving, like drifting away on a cloud—nothing practical, no concrete plans that would disintegrate into dust the minute sunlight touched them. But how could I… And then I looked into his eyes, and I thought, how could I not? He was the goal here; he was the prize. All I had to do was the impossible. Walk through fire, and I would win a chance with him. Be a normal girl with a normal job, and I would be worthy of it.
