I try not to cry because I have half a dozen dances to slink through. I tip my head back, and hot sadness leaks down the sides of my face, dampening my temples. I gulp and bear down on my emotions. It's unnerving how smooth I’ve gotten at that. How numbingly simple.
I drive to the new venue after tapping the address into my GPS. The arrow rotates as an iconic race car appears on the screen. I follow the directions given by the sexy British voice and park where it tells me.
My eyes take in the skyscraper as my hand clutches the gearshift. I can't count the stories. The building seems to disappear into a sky polluted by the light of the city.
In glittering silver neon, the name blinks at me: Rose Enterprises.
Of course, Thorn’s venue would be one of Mick's buildings, though I’m surprised he's so careless after the big raid. I thought he'd be more cautious. Embarrassment seizes me. What kind of woman wants a man who peddles what Jared McKenna does? He’s hiding behind being a self-made billionaire when he gets a hefty kickback from young, desperate women.
It's sick, and I wait for the justifiable shame to strangle me. A wheezing exhale escapes my lips. My moral compass no longer points true north. It's guided by circumstance and fate, neither conferring with the other.
I sit inside my car, hands gripping the wheel. A second cell chime reminder sings in the silence of my car and I jump. Sighing, I slide out of the cold darkness of the car's interior that held me like a cocoon and walk toward the gigantic sleek glass doors. A bellman greets me with a secret smile I want to slap off his face. I brush past him as though it doesn't hurt that he knows what I do.
I wait until I get into the elevator before I slip on my back up mask, both hands trembling tonight. I can't remember where I left my original. The altercation with Mick, the surprise of him showing up. It's too much to hide. But somehow I must.
I walk through the elevator doors as they slide open.
The venue is the nicest I've attended, if I think on those terms. Hand-cut glass chandeliers drip their elegance like an upside-down wedding cake, five tiers tall in a triangle formation. The table is dead center underneath them and holds a group of ten men.
I approach, thinking the “clients” are in short supply tonight. My eyes seek every corner for who else might be here, what other anomalies are present.
Thorn rises like a Poseidon in a deadly sea, reaching out to me. I want to run from that outstretched palm.
Instead I move nearer and slid my damp palm into his dry one.
“Faren,” Thorn says, giving me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
He draws me behind him, and every male's eyes are glued to my ass. I whisper by them. A hand passes through the fringe of beads that make a faint noise as I walk.
“No touching,” Thorn reprimands him playfully.
Tension sings in a taut line through my center.
The man from my first dance slaps a paddle on the table. “Enough of this showmanship, Thorn.” Jay shoots Thorn an angry glare, and Thorn smirks.
He has all the power. I am merely the puppet whose strings he manipulates.
I want to speak, and Thorn sees it in my expression.
“What is it Faren?”
I hate his face.
“I...” I feel the intensity of my blush and know it's bad. “Why am I the only girl?”
“That's an interesting question,” Thorn says.
Jay rolls his eyes, twirling his finger.
“Get on with it. Your attempt at foreplay grows tiresome.”
My eyes flick to Jay's then back to Thorn. I'm not sure what's going on. It can't be good. My gaze lands on each man, and I feel my shoulders drop. Ronnie Bunce isn’t among them. The laps are old. Jay is maybe thirty-ish, but the rest are over fifty.
The old pervs. I keep the revulsion off my face, but the effort's not pretty.
“Faren,” Thorn begins, running his eyes down my body like he knows it intimately.
I loathe his show. Jay narrows his eyes on Thorn, his assessing gaze moving between the two of us.
Thorn lowers his voice. “You've been selected for a bidding lap dance.”
His words are a sucker punch to my gut. The last auction had been won by my stepfather. I had escaped by a hairsbreadth. This one has all the trappings of some new violation.
An older man dressed as a butler flows out of a corner. His silver tray is ready and waiting with a single card on it.
Thorn said, “A predetermined figure has been selected for this dancer based on popular demand.”
I cringe at his words, my eyes hopping from one face to the next.
I watch the card pass to each man. Whatever they see causes them to look at me then each other. No one speaks. A silent acquiescence flows between the bidders. An excited but invisible buzz begins, and I cringe. What's on the card?
I realize they've all been my laps. That's the common denominator. I’ve tried to expunge the memory of dancing for them only to have their physical presence serve as a grim refresher.
“The winner of this auction gets all the extras as part of the cost and can pay an extra five thousand for a maskless dance.”
Maskless.
My head whips in his direction, my hair skating across my bare shoulders in a flurry from my response. “No!” I say, backing away. “Thorn, you promised.” I know it's pointless... like that man owns a shred of integrity.
I've never wanted to kill anyone but Ronnie. However, Thorn might be the exception.
He sees it and throws his head back, laughing.
“No one is going to want to pay that much to see my face anyway,” I say. I cross my arms, unconsciously putting my breasts on sharp display. All eyes follow the movement, and I fling my arms to my sides.
“You can always say no, Faren. No one here is about force.” Thorn looks around at the men's lascivious eyes. “Right, gentleman?”
They murmur their agreement, but their gazes reveal their lies. They want more than they have a right to.
It's laughable. Thorn hides behind his position, his criminal coercion. I look at the one client who might show me mercy. My eyes lock with Jay's, and I beg a silent plea.
Our stare is broken when one of the men stands, tossing his cloth napkin on the table. “This is absurd. No woman is worth that!”
The room falls instantly silent.
Only money has the ability to suffocate noise so completely.
Thorn inclines his head. His cufflinks are a parody of Mick’s. Thorn’s like a one-dimensional copy. He tries so hard that all a person sees is artifice, not the result he covets.
For me, everything circles back to Mick. Mental, physical—all of it.
The irate client stalks toward the door. Thorn makes no move to capture, wheedle, cajole or beg. He just lets one of the birds walk.
He turns back to the others. “One less man to take away this lovely, young... dancer.” Thorn says dancer like whore and winks at me.
My head dips and tears sting. They are not tears of sadness but pure, unadulterated rage. I hide it, casting my eyes to the floor like lures.
“Faren.”
I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm myself and lift my hate-filled gaze to Thorn.
He nods at my expression, his indifference to my feelings profound. “Let's begin, gentlemen.”
They wouldn't know gentle if it bit them on the ass.
They begin at the atrocious figure that should make me gag and feel like a prostitute. Instead, it makes me greedy for what it can do for my mom. Twenty thousand dollars could pay off half her debt tomorrow.
I'm game, I decide.
I feel as if I'm watching myself from a distance. This is happening to someone else.
Then the bidding stops. A final twitch of a finger rises then falls with the softest tap on the circular table.
The ticket slides across the smooth wood to Jay.
He's won. I'm so thankful.
So resigned.
~ 10 ~
Jay leads me by the hand to a new room. We're encased in a modern swath of chrome, metal, and glass. It’s so unlike the seedy, once-glamorous confines of the carousel of past venues.
The door is still marked with the number one, like the other doors before it. The number hangs slightly askew and I can't help but think Thorn has a sense of humor. He must run around with numbers in bulk. I put the fist of my free hand against my mouth to stifle the giggle. I know it's an insane stress reliever and take what I can get.
Inside the room, the bright city lights stretch below us. The acres of glass reflect the artificial lights like chips of brilliance embedded like diamonds. The dark velvet of the cityscape appears vast and untouched. We move to a chair that anchors the center of the room.
Ten chairs stand in a half moon around the one I know will hold Jay and me.
I whip around, my hand still clasped in Jay's warm, large one.
Thorn is there, the evil smile of accomplishment a natural break in a face that should be handsome but just looks chiseled apathy.
I can't believe I didn't anticipate this eventuality.
Thorn has met someone who presents a challenge. Someone he instinctively knows does not fit. Thorn doesn't know why, but his masochistic edge hones in on my innocence and desperation like a tuning fork, and I am helpless before him.
The old laps file in. Toward me, surrounding me. Their eyes tell the story of their intent.
They're the audience for my performance.
My eyes narrow on Thorn.
“This isn't a problem, Faren... right?” That empty gaze challenges me to deny him, to quit.
But like any predator who senses a weakness in his prey, he's got me by the short hairs. Thorn doesn't know the reason; he just knows he does. The soft underbelly of my desperation is present for slicing and dicing. Thorn jumps in with both feet to crush my hope.
I turn away from him as the men settle in. Jay squeezes my hand gently, and my eyes rise to his. Jay's gaze tells me it's still just him and me. We can do this. I don't know when I went from being a girl giving him release to a girl he wants to save, but it happened fast, like a switch being flipped.
We move toward the chair, and it looms large at our approach. Jay drops my hand, and the fringe of beads sways at my rear as quiet music fills the space. Not a murmur, mutter, or voice can be heard.
Jay begins a silent striptease, removing his suit. The tie pulls through his collar, a flag of silk floating to the armrest as he unzips his pants.
My hand shakes when I pick up the towel. I can't stop my eyes from making a downward shift to his giant erection. I swallow, brave as I've ever been, and stand before him, ignoring Thorn's presence at my back.
Jay reclines in the wide chair, a copy of every chair I've done a lap dance in. The cushion is wide enough to accommodate my knees on either side of his muscular thighs. I slide my knees in place, straddling him.
“Faren.” Jay threads his fingers through my hair. His grip tightens, and he pulls me toward his mouth.
No kissing. The heat of his lips touches mine.
I pull away. The bruise on my upper thigh throbs as it begins to deepen, and I search his face. Beyond the tightness around his eyes is care.
Concern for me.
I can't have that. Right now, I feel as though I'm cheating on Mick. It doesn't matter that it's a job, that my mom is the beneficiary of these illicit monies. No, those are emotions. Real, vital, undeniable.
“No kissing!” Thorn barks. “You know the rules, Jay.”
I wonder what his full name is. I'm certain the reason for first names only is anonymity.
Jay's fingers leave my hair and trail down my arms, gooseflesh rising in their wake. He gives a barely perceptible nod, and I run through the “extras” I remember.
Hand job.
Breast suckling.
Vaginal digit penetration.
Anal digit penetration.
There won't be a police raid to save me.
My head dips when I think about anyone but Mick touching me there. I'm selling my soul to the devil. I can't go back. It's bought and paid for.
Being a virgin doesn't mean I’m innocent. There're degrees of compromise. I'm becoming an expert on skirting the inevitable, like swimming against a vortex.
I look into Jay's eyes and move. I’m subtle at first, my upper thigh pressing against his erection. He takes liberties without asking, and I bite my bottom lip when his hand covers my breast. He grips the fullness at the bottom and squeezes it just on the good side of pain. I muffle a gasp. His hand moves to my back, fingers spread wide, and he bends his head over my captive tit. He covers my nipple with his mouth, and my body's confusion surfaces.
Mick's tongue has been on my flesh, and my body remembers. It rejects all other tactile memory and latches onto the one that resonates. My nipple reacts in traitorous spontaneity. It rises as Jay laves the sensitive bundle of nerves, and my head tips back. My cheating mind thinks of Mick, and the thin strip of my panties grow moist.
The shifting of legs and clothes behind us breaks through my fantasy of dancing on Mick's lap. Ten rich, perverted men are watching a young, desperate woman dance on a stranger's lap.
I ignore them all, keeping my eyes shut tight.
I rise up, moving expertly, faster and faster. My legs are more powerful than they once were. The bruise sings like a beacon each time my flesh strokes his penis through the thin barrier of my clothes. Jay's breathing becomes harsh. I hear a distinctive groan behind me and move a little more slowly, grinding in deliberate, arced strokes against his rigidness.
His hands move to my ass and flip up the hem of my dress. The beads slide like cool ice against my flesh. The air glides against my butt cheeks, which are on full display. The slim thong offers no coverage.
Jay's hands slap on the globes of my butt, and my eyes snap to his. I’m startled me out of my fantasy, rudely awakened into the reality of the moment. I hear a symphony of sounds under the music. Primitive and dark, they speak of what's happening behind me. I suddenly realize I'm present. I can't watch from the outside. I begin to panic.
“I need this,” Jay murmurs as he thrusts his hips... and a finger penetrates my anus.
My butt clenches against the invasion, and I fight against moving away. I battle for my shattering fantasy as a stranger takes yet another liberty, stealing one more thread in the fabric of my lost innocence.
His finger breaching that entrance is so unexpected, I fall against him. His finger sinks a little deeper inside me, and I cry out in surprise and horror.
Jay mistakes my intense reaction for arousal. He forces my knees wider in a spreading shove of his knees, and I'm wide open. My panties are totally misplaced, and he crams his stiffening erection against the bare cut-out on my stomach. I feel his hard flesh connect with my soft belly, and I know what will happen.
I'm helpless to move away as he traps me, perfectly unbalanced. With a final thrust, he releases against my stomach.
I feel nothing as I hear the chorus of grunts and moans behind me. The only proof of Jay’s release is the cold edge of my dress as his cum soaks the material.
My heart tattoos a staccato rhythm. Artificial detachment coats me in icy calm as I crawl off Jay's lap. His penis sits like a limp, soggy noodle and provokes my gag reflex. My good hand comes to my mouth as I meet Jay's eyes and choke. He rises, stuffing himself inside his slacks and zipping up. He reaches for me.
I stagger back, vertigo hitting me like a released demon.
Strong arms come around me from behind. A man's forearm sinks into the damp mess at my front.
“Pull it together, Faren... or we're going to have some words.”
Thorn.
My teeth sink into my tongue. Copper pennies fill my mouth, and the dizziness floats away. Jay's face comes into sharp focus.
I elbow Thorn in the gut, and his arms release me. I run to the door while men in various states of undress follow me with hooded eyes.
I
tear open the door and rush to the bathroom.
I shake as I empty my stomach into the porcelain bowl of the toilet.
I can't do this.
But when Thorn gives me my cut from the twenty thousand dollars, I bend my head as he berates me.
I say yes to negotiations for something more.
With Jay.
Even though my heart longs for Mick, I agree to the deal with the devil for my reasons.
They don't seem as important as they once did.
~ 11 ~
I drop my keys twice as I try to unlock my apartment door. My bad hand trembles so much, I'll have to put a heat compress on it to loosen it.
I move through the door and slam it. I tip my head back, resting it on the solid wood, as I close my eyes. My heartbeat slows as I stand in my soiled dress and cry. Tears run down my face, and I stop the sounds that want to go from whimpers to wailing by sheer will alone.
Memories of my childhood after Ronnie Bunce took over fill me with steel. Nights when he creeped past my door as I feigned sleep. The doorknob wiggling. The kitchen knife in my sweaty grasp, underneath my pillow, that comforted me. Cold metal with killing potential guided me toward sleep in that faraway memory.
I slide down my door, and my soul shatters. Broken sobs tear out of me as I clutch my handbag in my good hand. I cry for what I'm becoming, what I've lost, and how the end of my life is turning out.
At first, I don't hear the pounding on the door. When the noise breaks through my despondency, I rise up on my knees and turn the bolt. I sneak it open a crack and meet Kiki's eyeball.
“Oh my god... Faren! Baby, what's wrong?”
What is right?
My chin sinks to my chest, and my tears soak the bit of material that makes up the bodice of my dress.
The door swings wide, smacking against the wall stop. Strong hands lift me by my armpits. My bad hand thumps Kiki, and a nervous laugh chuffs out of her.
Blood Enchantment Page 33
