by Amber Lin
“Shit,” he said.
He pulled away, and I was sure it was over. Just like in his apartment, he didn’t want me anymore. But in seconds he returned, fierce, pulling at my clothes, tugging them down and away.
“Tell me to stop.” Harsh. Guttural.
“No, no.” Against the wall, I spread my arms like some sort of sacrifice, letting his hands and his curses crash over me. “Don’t stop.”
His hands parted my thighs. “You’re going to come for me, unless you stop me.”
I’ll make him want me. Both of us so determined. He would fuck me, and I would come, and then where would we be? Right here. No future, just sex. Broad fingers opened me for his tongue, pumped inside. I pushed back, halfway there.
I discovered that he swore during sex. I clenched every time, and God help me, he noticed, using it to bring me closer. “So fucking wet,” he muttered. “This can’t be fake. You didn’t lube yourself up before coming to see me, did you?”
That gave me pause, but then his finger reached a spot inside me, and I cried out.
“Shh.” He stood up, though his fingers stayed inside me, pressing right there, pushing and pulsing and oh Jesus, right there. His hand covered my mouth, muffling my cries and catching a pool of tears on my cheeks.
“Let go, let go,” he muttered against my ear, and I didn’t understand. I had come. What more did he want? He explained with his hands, massaging my clit through the aftershocks until suddenly lights burst behind my eyes, and I came again weakly against his palm.
It wasn’t the first time a man had made me come. Some clients knew their way around a woman’s body, demanding a real orgasm.
Limp, I waited for him to push me to my knees, to bend me over the table in the corner, anything. He didn’t move except for the bellow of his chest, in-out, in-out, and the occasional twitch of his cock at my hip.
“How do you want me?” I asked, my voice husky.
“I don’t.”
“Nice words.” I slid against his hard length. “But your body calls you a liar.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“What, you think I can’t come from anal?” I taunted. “Want me to put on a teddy bear costume? I assure you, if it turns you on, I can do it. If you can think of it, I’ve probably already done it. Or is that what bothers you? Do you want someone pure, a little innocent for the pristine cop?”
“Jesus. For a girl who’s seen everything, you can be really blind sometimes.”
“So let me see.” I found the thick bulge in the dark. One stroke, and he sucked in a breath. Two, and he jerked against me, his body hot, burning. I had him to hold, to touch, to finally see what it would be like, if he could be different from a hundred other men. Already I felt more than flesh, heard more than low animal sounds from him. Already I wanted this, and that made it new.
A knock came at the door; then Chase hissed, “Time’s up.”
Luke froze, his body taut with arousal and indecision.
“Let me finish you,” I whispered.
He pulled my hand away, groaning. “We can’t. You can’t be caught. I couldn’t protect you here.”
I let my head fall back against the wall, clearing my head, finding my footing. “No? Well, we can make our last stand here. The star-crossed lovers have to die together, you know. That’s how the story goes.”
“Is that what we are?” he murmured.
“The hooker and the cop,” I said. “We’re from opposing families. Fated to tragedy.”
Apparently done waiting, Chase opened the door, blinding us both. I leaned against the wall, unembarrassed by my breathless state, and felt Luke’s hands straighten my shirt. He buttoned my jeans. I had been undressed by many men, but it was a novel experience to be dressed by one. Everything with him felt that way. I looked up. A wash of orange light fell over Luke’s face, revealing his small, knowing smile.
“What?” I asked.
“We have more in common than you think.” His green eyes met mine, crinkled at the corners. “So we might just be spared a double suicide. We’ll call that plan B.”
More in common? Unlikely. Before I could say so, he pulled out his phone. He’d donned his professionalism before I had even managed to pull my panties up.
“Let me take you somewhere safe,” he said. “Or at least meet up with me later.”
At his very first words, let me, my body tautened, leaned forward as if to follow him. Yes, anything, take me. Like the Pied Piper, he could lead me into the sea. Already I was enthralled, tethered to him by an invisible string of yearning. I waded through the shark-infested waters of headquarters, going deeper and deeper just to hear his voice.
I couldn’t breathe, the dust or the tension filling my lungs. “No.”
“You still don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.
My head tilted back, letting me draw in air from the surface. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust men. Or really, people.”
“So what do you like, dogs?”
A smile played at my lips. “Too needy.”
“Cats?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Of course you are.” He flashed a small enigmatic smile. “I ought to drag you out of here myself.”
I tensed.
“But since you don’t trust me, you’d probably make a scene. Then we’d both be screwed.” His lips flattened. “Which is why you felt safe enough to show up here. You pretend you don’t trust me, but you come here, wriggle under my thumb, knowing I could trap you so easily.”
“Now,” Chase whispered. “She needs to go now.”
“What is that, some kind of psychobabble? I trust you, but I don’t want to trust you?”
“You said it, not me.” A glint entered his eyes. “I’d tell you to make up your mind, but I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter. One of these days, I’m going to take you. And then I’m going to keep you.”
In a blur of black-suited coat and sandy-brown hair, he disappeared from the room as quickly as he’d come. I stared after him, a little shell-shocked. I had expected him to push me for sex. Do the right thing, Shelly. Trust me, Shelly. Be a good girl so I can fuck you without feeling like an abuser, Shelly.
But what did he mean by keeping me? Like some sort of concubine. Crazy.
I straightened my jeans and smoothed my hair. Hadn’t I worn a cap? I glanced around but didn’t find it. Dim light pooled through the open door, revealing a dusty concrete floor and rows of brown boxes. Well, this worked too. I would take a different exit from the one in front, in case anyone tried to track me through security footage later. They wouldn’t, but paranoia was the constant churn that kept me above water.
In the main inventory room, Chase glared at me. I wondered if there had been any real urgency or if he’d just wanted me to stop sucking face with his favorite detective. It didn’t matter. I’d accomplished what I came here to do.
“I know what you did in there,” he said.
“Oh really, was it the pornographic sounds we made or the fact that I’m half-dressed that gave it away?”
“I told you,” he accused. “I told you not to touch him.”
“No, you told me not to hurt him. And he doesn’t swing that way, so it really wasn’t likely.”
“Don’t act naive, like you don’t know what effect you have on men.”
“Of course I know what effect I have,” I said lightly. “It’s big and hard and hurts every time.”
He shut up then, pursing his lips lest I forget he was pissed. Once I had straightened my clothes, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. Never leave a man angry; it only gave them more time to stew.
His expression eased. “Shelly, I don’t like you two together.”
“Get in line. After me. Then him.”
“You say that. Excuse me if I don’t believe you while you’re all flushed from making out with him like teenagers.”
“Teenagers?” I glanced at the back room. “Is that who you bring back
there?”
He snorted. “Such charm. I don’t know why I like you.”
“Ah, but you do like me. That’s part of what makes me mysterious. Men like mysteries,” I said sagely.
He waved me toward the exit. “Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re beautiful and way too smart to be doing the job you do.”
“Stop. I’ll blush.”
“Get lost, squirt. And don’t get into any trouble on your way out.”
“Actually I was thinking I might start a fire. Maybe you should pull the alarm, just in case.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me.”
“We’ll call it even, then. No more visits, cross my heart.”
He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you better be serious about that. If I see you back here, I’ll turn you in myself.”
In the hallway, I followed the flow until I found an empty broom closet. One benefit to these old historical buildings was that security was never quite up to modern standards. They could install all the fancy systems and safeguards, but the floor plan was designed with comfortable nooks instead of open spaces.
I pulled out the little plastic badge that allowed Luke to come and go into secure areas of the building—and to log into the network. It was a dirty trick, using sex against him like that, so of course I’d had to. I hoped he wouldn’t be too mad.
Right on cue, a loud clanging fell from the ceiling, shaking the walls. The footsteps sounded like thunder down the hallway as everyone slipped outside. When it quieted, I returned to the storeroom. It was empty, since of course Chase had evacuated with everyone. Such a good boy.
I got on his computer and found the files I needed.
Stephan Laurent had been wanted in connection with multiple homicides. All young girls, all prostitutes. Full immunity. Murder probably wasn’t beyond him, but what was the point? Young girls weren’t any good to him dead. Besides, if he was guilty, that didn’t explain the immunity. He needed to turn on someone. And ah, here. Known associations: Henri Denikin. The answer had been sitting in the corner, just waiting for me to turn and see it. My descent into prostitution hadn’t been random at all. I put my hand to my mouth to keep the bile in. My eyes fell shut, and I took a few deep breaths of musty air to clear my head. I needed to focus. I needed to get the hell out of here.
I tossed the little badge on the floor in the storeroom where Luke could find it and maybe even think it was an accident, that he’d dropped it. It had slipped from its clip while we’d kissed, and the fire alarm had been a coincidence. Sure, he’d believe that, just like I believed my father’s criminal connections meant nothing.
Jade had known. I remembered the look in her eyes.
In elementary school, my class had gone on a field trip to the zoo. Not the Brookfield Zoo, but a wild animal sanctuary out by Lake Michigan. We’d huddled outside the chain-link fence while the tour guide gave us a speech about rehabilitation. Inside, the tiger prowled the far corner, watching us warily. The woman told us he was more afraid of us than we were of him, and I believed her, but I didn’t see why that should make me feel better. The air vibrated with thinly leashed violence. The tiger’s eyes were filled with malevolence, and through them, I hated myself for being a part of his captivity.
We left uneventfully, but the next week there was an “accident” with one of the trainers, and the tiger was put down. Murder, my ten-year-old mind had thought. They had caged the animal and then killed it when it didn’t obey. No one else seemed fazed by the news. Our venerable teacher trilled a laugh and thanked God we hadn’t been there that day.
Bitch.
The next day, Allie left the tiger refrigerator magnet she’d bought from the gift shop on my desk. It was a white tiger, not orange, and the plastic represented the commercial value of his life, like a cheapened version of a rhinoceros horn, but I still fell in love with Allie that day. I twined between her legs like a stray cat, and she let me stay because she knew I had nowhere else to go. I would still be there, bringing her dead rodents, the only gifts I knew how to make, except for Colin. He was like me, operating on an animal frequency, and he had claimed her.
For that, I should hate him. I didn’t.
Loving her meant wanting her to be happy; that was what made it love.
Luke was a different story. I wanted him near me, over me, inside me—his happiness secondary. And so I would continue to seek him out, endangering his career, his life, manipulating him into helping me for my own benefit. The little plastic badge that I’d stolen and used and discarded was no better than the plastic tiger replica on my fridge, a symbol to covet, a trophy of misuse.
Underneath her usual brusqueness, Jade had looked like the tiger that day, hunted, haunted. Ready to lash out, and God, I knew—I knew exactly how she felt. Reading my father’s files had brought it all back to the fore, all the quiet rage and seething shame, every gentle touch and cruel, wrathful word. Each paid-for fuck had pressed it all down, pushed back old hurts in favor of new ones. But seeing Luke seemed to soften me, weaken me, and now I felt each memory like a sharp new cut.
Somehow I ended up in front of the shelter. The squat brick building looked the same, but I felt a world apart from the last time I had visited Marguerite. I didn’t have an envelope for her today, but I did have a girl who needed help, one who was fearful and helpless.
This time, it was me.
Chapter Seven
I felt hollow inside, from the base of my neck to the pit of my stomach. Empty and cold, the dubious relief of frostbite. Instead of pain, syrupy languor spread through my veins.
My reflection waited in the black-mirrored door of the shelter, and I watched it with a casual detachment. How pretty. A marble statue to be desecrated and then washed clean in the next rainfall. But there was no water this time, only parched lips and broken eyes.
The door opened. Relief flooded Marguerite’s face before she dammed it behind studied professionalism. Her minimal makeup was flawless as usual, her curves safely hidden beneath a severe black suit and skirt. She smoothed that skirt now, her hands twitching as if she wanted to reach out to me—or slap me. It could always go either way with her, and right now, I would have been grateful for both. Anything to make me feel again.
“I saw you on the news,” she said. “I assume you’re here to stay.”
Would she let me, if I asked? But I wouldn’t, for the very same reason I hadn’t brought Ella here in the first place. Henri was on the hunt, and this place was a too-easy target.
I shook my head. “I just stopped by… I came here because…” Because I thought she could give me advice. Something without pity, because I knew she didn’t have any.
Her lips tightened. Her hesitation drummed in my ears. She had helped a thousand girls. Why not me? Was I beyond repair, a lost cause? Then put me out of my misery.
Finally she gestured me inside. “Come with me.”
Our shoes clopped on the rubber floor, the sound bouncing off the egg-speckled walls. The fluorescent lights burned into my eyes, but despite that, some of my shock thawed. My tension eased. Strange, considering I’d just entered the human equivalent of the pound. The unwanted, the abused all crammed into cages, waiting for the world to want them again. But the air was bright and clean, and that was more than most of us would have asked for. The two girls who passed us in the hallway glanced at me curiously from beneath lowered lashes. No fear.
The sound of laughter and clinking metal on ceramic floated out from the cafeteria as we passed, comforting, familiar. It was like high school without the confusing and soul-deadening home life. Still, I didn’t doubt this place had its demons. They must have been banished to the shadows—neat trick, that.
I realized I’d lagged behind, and I hurried to catch up. “What do you do when someone doesn’t follow the rules?”
She didn’t look back. “It depends on the rule.”
“A big rule. Let’s say one of them punches the other in the face.”
“We don’t allow violence here.”
“She’s a rebel,” I said about my fictional rule breaker.
“We have a sliding scale of punishments, depending on the severity of the offense. There are a series of warnings. Then certain privileges will be removed. And finally, there are punishments.”
I grinned slightly, feeling back on solid ground. “Don’t tell me you paddle their behinds. That’s very naughty, Ms. Faust.”
Marguerite flashed me a repressive look. “If a girl is truly a danger to the others, we separate them. They eat their meals in their rooms and are given study work until they’ve shown they can interact with the other girls.”
We grew quiet, passing girls filing out of a classroom, giggling and bumping into each other.
“So basically, solitary confinement,” I said when they were out of earshot.
She sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d frame it that way.”
“The truthful way?”
“The worst possible way. We do what we have to do to make this work. There are only so many ways to keep teenagers in line short of beating them, which no, we don’t do. Do you think some legalized group home does it better?”
“Hardly.”
“These kids don’t have the luxury of a two-parent support system and the family dog. We are their family.”
“What if someone wants to leave Casa Faust?”
“When they turn eighteen, we help each girl with placement and relocation.”
“And if they want to leave before then?”
She paused with her hand on a metal doorway. “Then we keep them safe. And that means here. Don’t flip out. You had to know we couldn’t let them run back to guys who would hurt them and force them to say where they’d been staying.”
“It’s always about you, Marguerite.”
She sobered. “No man is going to hurt me or any one of the girls here. And one day, that will include you. You know that, right?”
Well, that was both comforting and creepy. “But not today.”
“Not today,” she agreed, opening the door and waving me inside. I followed her up a dimly lit metal staircase. We exited into a hallway exactly like the one downstairs, except this one was quiet. Empty. Eerie.
