by Zara Cox
Her fingers find her hair again. “But, you won’t hurt me, physically?”
“Not intentionally, no.”
She clears her throat. Decision made. “You chose me, and I don’t intend to fail.” Determination born of self-preservation.
Against my will, pique digs in a little deeper.
“No. You won’t. I won’t allow it.”
Her lashes sweep down for a moment as she gathers herself. “What happens next?”
“Next you get prepped.”
“Prepped?”
“A minor ground rule, Lucky. Don’t make me repeat myself. Don’t ask for explanations for things that are out of your control. A million dollars buys me unlimited access to your body and a button on your lip, barring further ground rules to be hammered out. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That said, you have questions. I’ll allow a few. Make them count.”
I sit back and sip the whiskey at my elbow. She doesn’t instantly launch into questions. She takes her time, considers. I approve of that.
“Am I going to meet you before we start?”
“No.”
“But aren’t you worried we might not be compatible?”
I recall the flicker I felt when she served me on Friday. She almost succeeded in piercing the outer layer of the seething blackness with her unexpected presence. At her initial interview, I overestimated what a wall of bricks and glass could achieve. Sensing her close in the restaurant, looking into her eyes afterward, I’m almost certain the flicker turned into a daring little spark. “I’m not worried.”
Cynicism twists over her face. “You sound very sure about that.”
“I have a cock, you have a cunt. We’re compatible.”
Her nostrils flutter at the uncouth words, which surprises me in light of the hardened look I’ve glimpsed in her eyes.
“Does my language offend you?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve heard worse.”
I slot the info away, for what purpose, I don’t know. “Glad to hear it. Do you have any other questions?”
Green eyes probe the camera lens. “What…umm, do you have a name?”
“I do.”
She waits a beat, then I get the cocky eyebrow again. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
She frowns. “Then what should I call you?”
“What would you like to call me?”
Her head tilts. “Mechanical Man?”
“That won’t suit.”
“I’m not great with terms of endearment.”
“I don’t require one.”
Exasperation filters through. “So you want me to call you nothing?”
“If you could pick a name or an initial for me, what would it be?”
She stares into the camera for a few seconds, then her gaze drops. The corner of her lower lip twitches, as if she’s worrying her flesh from the inside. Her fingers still in her hair, her breathing alters and a light flush drifts over her skin.
“What are you thinking about, Lucky?” I murmur.
“Nothing.”
“Who are you thinking about, Lucky?”
Focus returns to her eyes. She blinks rapidly and shakes her head. “Nobody. I don’t feel comfortable just slapping a name on you when we haven’t even met.”
“A number then. Or a letter.” I derive detached amusement in herding her where I want her to go.
Predictably, her nose wrinkles. “It’ll be weird for me to call you by a number.”
I remain silent.
She sends the camera another direct stare. “J?”
“I’m not a bird,” I drawl.
Her sumptuous lips purse. “M.”
“Too British spy movie. Tell me who you were thinking about a minute ago.”
She shakes her head again. “I’d rather not.”
“If you insist. Do you have any more questions?”
“The…umm, money. How will you pay it to me?”
“However you want. When the time comes you can furnish me with your wiring details.”
Her brow creases. “Can I be paid in cash?”
“Of course.” I press the intercom on the table next to me.
The knock sounds on her door a minute later. She jumps up immediately, her stance firmly in fight or flight mode. “That is Fionnella. She works for me. Let her in.”
The fight drains out of her, but her approach remains wary.
Fionnella enters and smiles at her. “Hello. I’m head of the team hired to prep you. May I call you Lucky?”
She eyes the woman cautiously, then nods.
“Great. Would you like to come with me?”
“Umm, I’m not sure if we’re finished here.” She clears her throat and glances over her shoulder at the camera. “Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“I have some more questions.”
“They can wait.”
She hesitates, flicks a glance at Fionnella. “Where are you taking me?”
Fionnella smiles. “To another room, to answer a few questions to start off with.”
Lucky tenses. “What sorts of questions?”
Fionnella indicates the clipboard in her hand. “Routine questions about your health, your diet, boring stuff like that. Then we get to the exciting part.” Her smile isn’t reciprocated.
Lucky slides her hands into her pockets in a feigned gesture of calm. But still she hesitates.
“Go with her if you want the job, Lucky. Or leave.”
She won’t leave. I already know that. Fear and desperation hang over her like dark clouds. She casts one last glance over her shoulder before she nods. “Okay.”
I watch her leave, track her via the monitors until she reaches the studio set up to begin her transition. I find myself wondering how far I can push her. How fast her resistance will hold. Whether I can exploit her fear, take this game to another level or satisfy myself with finding out what her secrets are.
It’s clear she’ll do just about anything for the money, despite her feeble attempt to set boundaries. I also get the feeling her boundaries have already been tested.
But I can’t imagine they’ve been stretched as far as I intend to stretch them.
And fuck if that doesn’t make my black soul twitch.
6
LIGHTS, CAMERA…
Lucky
I follow the plump lady with the clipboard and giddy smile down a dark grey hallway. The rooms we pass are all empty, but just from the expensive wallpaper and light fittings alone, I can tell a lot of money has been spent on this apartment.
Clayton threw a ton of money for a major revamp of The Villa a few years ago in a bid to attract clients from as far as LA and Frisco, but it was nowhere near this classy. This is solid gold compared to Clay’s nickel-plated efforts. The hardwood floors gleam beneath my feet and inside the rooms, the curtains I catch glimpses of are heavy and expensive looking.
“Would you like something to eat while we complete the forms?”
Fionnella’s question jerks me back to the present. Her hand rests on the handle of a wide door at the far end of the hallway, and she stares up at me from a diminutive height.
For a second, I wonder what a woman who seems to vibrate motherliness is doing in a place like this. Then I catch myself. I’m pretty certain she’s not here out of the goodness of her heart. She’s being paid, same as I hope to be. And money can pretty much buy you anything. Even temporary absolution from death. I should know. It’s what I’m attempting to do.
“I have a menu if you’d like to see it?” she presses. “It’s not very extensive but there’s a good selection to choose from.”
The timely gnawing in my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since a rushed half burrito at lunchtime. “If it’s no trouble, thanks.”
Her smile widens as she throws the door open. “It’s no trouble, honey. Besides, putting a little more meat on your bones is part of my brief.”
> Brief. I swear I’ve heard that word more times in the last week than any other time in my entire life. True, I’ve also thought about it, specifically the part where it involves my brief interaction with Quinn Blackwood.
I haven’t been able to get him out of my head, although the actual reliving of our meeting has been kept to a minimum, simply because it messes with my head and body in a way that scares the shit out of me.
Even more alarming was the gutting disappointment not to have been summoned into Sully’s office today and sent to help upstairs. A lingering look from a cop on the way here reminded me why risking exposure in any way could shatter the thin layer of protection I’ve managed to buy myself.
I enter the room and stumble to a halt. I hadn’t quite understood that a team would mean more than Fionnella. Three more people from sectioned off corners of the room turn to stare at me, and I can’t help the visceral chill of fear that rises.
“Let me introduce you. This is Wendy, my assistant,” Fionnella says, pointing to the woman seated at a table draped with lingerie. Beside her are three railed rows of clothes. Wendy nods, and returns to her sorting.
Obviously not as bubbly as her boss.
“The camera-wielding fiend over there is Todd.” She smiles at a tall, skinny guy with dirty blond hair at the far side of room. He sends me a two-fingered wave, but his attention returns to the expensive looking camera in his hand. Scattered around his workspace are all types of lighting equipment, back lights and three large floor lamps. “He’s just setting up. You won’t work with him or Wendy until your grooming gets underway.”
I drag my gaze from Todd to a woman in a skirt suit who approaches with a serious face and an outstretched hand. “And this is Dr. Allen. She’ll be in charge of your blood work, and a couple of other things. I’ll let her explain, after we get you something to eat.” I shake hands with the woman who then disappears behind a screen. Fionnella smiles encouragingly. “Do you have the menu, Wendy?”
Wendy rises without responding and presents me with a heavy folded menu, the kind you find in posh restaurants, only in miniature. She retreats just as silently, but not before I catch a look I’ve been familiar with for most of my life.
Contempt.
I choose to let her keep the stick up her ass. One less person who takes an interest in me is one less person to worry about exposing myself to.
Fionnella indicates a desk with two chairs on her side of the room. As I walk to it, I wonder again about the man behind the camera.
The man without a name.
I look around what was probably a great room or a small ballroom in the original design. The walls, like the rest of the apartment, are beautifully lined and there are elaborate ceiling designs that I’m sure didn’t come from some production line in Taiwan.
On the far side nearest Todd, a set of French doors looks out onto a softly lit terrace. I don’t have to be money savvy to know that terraced penthouses in Manhattan cost millions of dollars.
Right now, the room is divided into four spaces. The last space is unoccupied, but I see what looks like a portable massage table and several baskets of grooming products. There’s also a makeup table and chair set up. “You’ll meet Angela later. She’ll go through makeup with you.”
I nod and take a seat in front of Fionnella’s desk. When she gesutres encouragingly at the menu, I open it. My mouth waters immediately, and I want to point to the first thing I see, which happens to be a triple cheese burger and fries. I swallow the surge of saliva and force my gaze down the list.
Pasta and prosciutto in white wine sauce.
Beef and spinach stuffed ravioli.
Rib-eye steak with Cobb salad.
My stomach rolls in painful anticipation. “I’ll have the burger and fries, please.”
Fionnella smiles. “Anything else?”
“Soda?”
Her gaze drops over my body. “How about we make it a milkshake? Unless you don’t like milkshakes?”
I barely stop myself from telling her I’d give both pinkies for a banana milkshake. “Okay. Banana. Thanks.”
She gives me a happy nod and picks up a sleek phone on her desk. My order is relayed in crisp tones. “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Now, let’s get started.” She places the clipboard in front of her and spears me with a slightly less maternal look. “Fair warning, it’s in your best interest to be as truthful as possible. Everything you say here will be held in the strictest of confidence, but the boss doesn’t take well to liars. Okay?”
I want to cough out the fear knotted in my throat. But that would give me away. So I nod. It satisfies her and she’s back to being kind and gentle Mother Superior.
She clicks her pen. “I have your contact details but you don’t have a permanent address?”
“No, not yet.”
“Okay. For the purposes of this job, this will be your address. Is that okay with you?”
I want to ask why she’s asking. It’s not like I’m going to file taxes or cite this gig on my resume anytime soon. But the look in her eyes says she wants an answer, so I nod again.
“Great!” She looks me over again for a second. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you normally this weight?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me how much weight you’ve lost recently?”
“Umm, about twenty pounds.”
She nods thoughtfully. “And is the reason a medical one? You’re not on drugs or anything, are you?”
“I’m not on drugs, no.”
She pauses. “Let me be specific. We’re going to put you on a healthy meal rota. Will there be anything stopping your weight from coming back to normal if you eat right?”
“No.”
She smiles and scribbles on her clipboard. “Do you exercise regularly?”
I curb a hysterical laugh. Sure, I exercise regularly if you take a cross-country run for my life, exercise. “I keep fit,” I prevaricate.
“Perfect. You’ll be assigned a fitness instructor as of tomorrow.”
I frown and remember a work schedule was one of the questions I meant to ask Mechanical Man. “I have to work tomorrow.”
Fionnella’s brow creases. “I’ll check with the boss. I’m sure we can rearrange a few things.” She scribbles some more and ticks a couple of boxes, then turns over the page.
“You’re sexually active?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you had sex? Weeks or months?”
Ridge’s sweaty face swims before my eyes and I suppress a shudder. “Umm, weeks,” I say. My voice doesn’t emerge as firm as I wish, and I earn a peculiar look from Fionnella.
“Dr. Allen will go through this more thoroughly with you, but are you on birth control?”
“No.”
I’m not sure if this pleases her or not because her expression neutralizes. She ticks a box.
“Have you ever had a colon cleanse?”
“A what?”
“I’ll take that as a no. You have to have one once a week.”
“Why?”
“For the anal scenes,” she states without blinking.
I stare at her, unable to form words. She stares back. A throat clears beside me.
I jump and snap my head to see a man in chef’s attire holding a tray of food.
“Ah, great, thank you, Georg.”
Georg nods and sets the tray down in front of me. The burger’s aroma hits me in the face and I almost drool. Fionnella’s smile widens.
“Go on, eat.”
I’m not sure I want to eat while having a discussion about my colon and anal sex, but hunger takes no prisoners. I grab the burger and take a huge bite. Fionnella grins as if she’s personally responsible for curing world hunger. She waits for me to swallow before she looks back down at her notes.
“So you’re okay with that, right?”
I pick up a fry. “Does it hurt?”
She shrugs. “I’m told there’s a small degree of discomfort, bu
t I expect it won’t be anything to worry about.”
“Okay.” I take another bite of food. The first pull of the divine shake makes me almost moan in pleasure.
“It’s good, right?” Fionnella grins at my plate.
“Incredible,” I mumble round another bite.
“Okay. Almost done. Do you have any piercings, inside or out?”
I shake my head.
“Do you have a toy preference?”
“Toys?”
“Sexual toys. The boss has his own selection, of course, but you’re allowed one or two of your own.”
“Ah…no, I don’t have a preference.”
“Are you good at deep-throating or do you think you need instruction?”
I nearly gag and my stomach attempts to twist in on itself. I’m not sure if it’s because of the conversation or because I ate a little too fast. I suspect it’s a mixture of both. “I…uhh…”
Fionnella drops her pen. “The boss doesn’t like gagging. You’ll need to know how to swallow him properly. You can be taught how to relax your throat to avoid gagging. Are you good with that?”
“Can I…say no to performing the act?”
“No,” she replies firmly, then makes up her mind one way or the other and scribbles on her notes.
The sensation of living a weird fantasy returns. I quickly polish off the burger and fries. If I’m about to wake up from a hallucination, I’d much rather do it having enjoyed the best meal I’ve had in my life.
I look up from an empty plate to see Fionnella going over her notes. “That’s about it from me. I’ll go and have a word with the boss as to when to start your grooming and exercise regime while you talk to Dr. Allen.”
She escorts me to Dr. Allen’s side of the room and leaves.
The doctor waves me to a chair. “Sit down. I’ll try not to keep you too long,” she says briskly.
I get the feeling she’s trying to be as professional as possible without letting her true feelings show. On the sliding scale of friendliness, I put her third after Fionnella and Todd. Except I’m yet to experience the camera guy so maybe I should reserve judgment—
“Fionnella went through a few sexual questions with you, but mine will probe deeper.” No apologies. No niceties. Just straight to the point.
