by Debra Kayn
She stared at him without raising her head. He left his hands loose at his sides taking the way her dark blue eyes flittered over his face. She remained skittish despite giving her the news article on the phone backing his story regarding Vince.
"I don't want you to come back here," she said, barely moving her lips.
"That's not your choice to make. You're working at Red Light. I'm a paying customer."
Roni moved forward one step and stopped. "If Vince is dead, leave me alone."
"I can't do that," he whispered.
She shifted to the side, closer to the door. "I'll inform the madam who you are and tell her you're trying to steal me away from the Network."
"You can." He lowered his gaze to her chest. "But you won't."
Through her silk robe, her breasts heaved with each breath. He brought his gaze back to her face and caught her brow lifting. If he would've paid more attention to the short distance between him and Roni and planned for her right arm coming up instead of appreciating her body, he could've blocked the knife cutting the air.
A flash of heat sliced his cheek. He grabbed her wrist before she could take another swipe at him.
She held a blunt knife in her fist. Not a steak knife or even a utility knife, but a God damn butter knife.
"You got your one and only hit on me, Roni. Don't try to do that again." He squeezed her wrist until she dropped the knife.
The utensil clattered on the hardwood floor. He stepped on the knife and let her go.
She scurried across the room and pressed against the wall. He ignored the warmth of blood trailing down his cheek. If he could, he'd kill Vince again for what he'd done to the woman.
Chapter Three
Dawson picked the knife up off the floor that Roni had taken out of the kitchen and hid in her room. She curled her fingers into her empty hand and fought the urge to lift her arm and bite the barely felt hardness of her thumbnail.
"You can keep the knife if it makes you feel safer to have a weapon." He stepped over and put it on the dresser. "Can you get me a washcloth before your madam comes back and thinks we got in a fight?"
She refused to move. Not because she wanted to stand up to Dawson or she feared what Tiff would do once she discovered the damage she'd caused a customer, she couldn't move because she'd hurt another human being.
She cut the skin on his cheek.
Everything had happened faster than she could think.
She'd brought the knife to her room because it made her feel better knowing there was a weapon available. Never planning on killing someone, she'd swung out at Dawson with enough anger to do some damage.
She only meant to show him she wasn't helpless. If he tried to hurt her or take her with him when he left, the knife was something to dissuade him.
The cut on his cheek was minor compared to death, but it wasn't until the knife met something solid that she could've killed him. The moment she swung out, she hadn't known her strength or determination or the complete loss of control over her fear.
"Roni?" Dawson stepped away from her. "Can you get me a washcloth?"
She turned and lunged for the bathroom. Scrambling to fulfill his order, she wet the corner of the cloth under the faucet and hurried back into the room. Her feet skidded to a stop, keeping her body out of his reach and thrust her arm out in front of her.
Dawson took the washcloth from her. She jerked back her arm before he could touch her and returned to the far wall in the room. The pounding of her heart slowed into a cathartic rhythm leaving her senses numb.
She'd learned long ago to distance herself from danger. Even while performing blowjobs, she could empty her head of any thoughts. She never pretended she was somewhere else or doing something mundane. She simply shut down. Completely.
Her thighs quivered. She jerked her shoulders back and glanced back up at Dawson. Her reaction took her by surprise. She couldn't ignore him. She couldn't stop looking. She couldn't stop her stomach from rolling in guilt. She couldn't tune out Dawson or the way he wiped the blood from his face without a care.
His eyes never wavered from hers, and he went through the movements of cleaning his cheek to stop the bleeding without any hint of pain or anger of what she'd done.
"Where should I put this?" He held up the rag.
She glanced at the dirty clothes basket where she placed all the throw rugs after each customer left her room.
Dawson walked over and tossed the rag on top of the pile. "We don't have much time left today. I hadn't planned for that little accident, so I'm going to send you a text later. I want you to read it, and then I'll come back on Tuesday after your two-day break."
She stared at his chest unable to meet his eyes any longer. He knew her schedule and would be watching if she ran away.
If she stayed out on the balcony after two o'clock in the morning, the alarm system would be set in the building. Tiff and the others would believe she was staying in her room for the rest of the night. Once the crowd dispersed from Silver Girls, she'd use the fire escape to leave or maybe it'd be smarter if she tried to get down into the alley while business was open and the crowd would hide her from anyone watching. She hadn't decided which way to go yet.
"Roni?" Dawson lifted the corner of his mouth on the opposite side of the cheek she'd sliced open and continued to bead with blood. "In less than three months, you'll need to make some decisions on what you're going to do now that Vince is dead. I'm here to help you decide what you want to do next. If you need money, an escort, information...anything, I can help you."
She shook her head.
His gaze softened. "Sweetheart, you don't have to hide anymore. You don't have to sell yourself."
The bridge of her nose throbbed and she realized she frowned deeply at him. Schooling her features, she looked away from him. She'd never go with him voluntarily. He was no better than Vince, wearing the Sparrows head, sweet talking, and using the women.
His act of showing her empathy, offering her protection, would turn into him putting her up in his home, locking the door, sending her out to blow off his friends, or worse. Men would often say anything to get their way, and their way wasn't the direction she wanted to go.
Working for the Network gave her the control she needed to sleep at night without fear for her safety. In return, she paid with the use of her mouth. It was a small price to pay for having a roof over her head and the option to leave if she wanted to go at the end of her contract.
At Red Light, Tiff treated her with respect and because of Dawson finding her, she'd lose all the security she'd built up on her own and would have to start over.
His coming here bordered on a personal relationship because he wasn't here for sex. If she remembered right, bringing someone connected to her into the bordello brought the number three rule.
A knock startled her. She raised her gaze to Dawson and found him studying her. His forehead wrinkled and frustration stared back at her.
Tiff stood in the doorway. "Time's up."
Dawson turned and walked out of the room without any argument.
The door closed.
Her legs quivered and her knees buckled. Roni's back slid down the wall, and she landed on her ass on the hardwood floor. She used her teeth to find the bit of nail left on her thumb. Choices were never easy for her.
When her mom got sick and found out she was dying of stomach cancer, her stepdad, Mike, convinced her grandparents she was better off living with him in the house she grew up in with her mom. Her grandma and grandpa were older and not in the best of health. She'd seen the looks grandma gave Mike when they'd all gathered around the family dining room table, hoping Roni would choose to stay with Mike.
Brokenhearted, Roni had done what her grandparents expected her to do. She stayed in her home with her stepfather and learned to put up with his drinking. Later, she learned to put up with the way he'd leer at her from the bedroom door. When she reached sixteen years old, she learned to stop saying no when he got int
o bed with her and forced her to have sex.
Her choice at seventeen years old to run away and live in a homeless shelter only brought her more abuse. She learned to survive on the street during the day and how to get along with other runaways at night to make sure she received a cot to lay down on and a meal to eat.
She lived in fear that her stepdad would send the cops after her and force her to return home. Being underage, she knew to go by a fake name at the shelter. But her fear of getting caught never materialized. The police passed her by without a second glance, and nobody questioned why she was young and alone.
Back then, desperate times had her taking risky endeavors. She should've known her choice to walk away from City Hall Park with Vince would only lead her down a worse path. But, she'd gone anyways to get away from the shelter, hoping she'd have privacy and a door between her and everyone else.
Tired of worrying about where she'd sleep, where she'd get her next meal, where the next man would attempt to take liberties with her, she went willingly with Vince. She was a teenager tired of taking care of herself and foolishly believed it would be nice to have someone take care of her for a change.
And, staying with Vince was nice, for about a week. Then Vince started hitting her and she found herself caught in his obsession over making her into one of his trophies to flaunt in front of his gang.
Pushing to her feet, she placed a throw rug at the end of the bed to keep her room as clean as possible in case the customer wanted to sit down when the next knock came. She straightened and wiped her face of any expression.
Tiff filled the doorway, and the last customer of the day entered the room.
Roni undid the belt at her waist, letting her short robe fall open. The cool air in the room puckered her nipples. The desired effect helped the man standing at the end of the bed, and he massaged his cock through his jeans.
"When you're ready, there's a condom on the edge of the bed for you to wear." She rested her hand on her bare hip.
"Name's Curt." Curt rolled the condom over his hardness.
"I like your name, Curt." She stepped forward. "Sit on the rug and I'll make sure you like my mouth on you."
Nobody forced her to perform for the men at Red Light. She had the option to walk out the door and quit the Network. She stayed because she benefited from her job. For the first time in her life, she had money—more than she'd ever had. She'd saved every penny, refusing to buy anything extra, except for her stash of wintergreen Lifesavers. In return, she had a bed where nobody bothered her. A choice to say no.
She wanted to continue working for the Network and depending on the bordellos, but her safety net had a big hole with Dawson hanging around. Nothing came without risks.
Curt sat down on the bed. She kneeled between the customer's shoes and braced her hands on the edge of the mattress, fisting the comforter to hide her bitten nails. Leaving the pooled saliva under her tongue, she lowered her head and put her mouth around his covered cock.
His dick pulsed in her mouth. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. The rubbery taste suffocated her. With each downward plunge, she exhaled hoping she wouldn't gag and instead counted the minutes until she could brush the nasty taste out of her mouth.
Curt groaned. She tightened her lips and sucked, careful not to swallow her tainted saliva. Her schedule only allowed ten minutes with her last customer of the night.
He put his hand on her head. Her back stiffened. House rules forbid touching of any kind from the customer to the prostitutes. She continued her up and down movements. It was only a hand, and he wasn't hurting her.
Curt's hips shifted. She lengthened the stroke of her mouth, almost coming off his cock before plunging down fully until the head of his dick bumped the back of her throat. Spit ran out the corner of her mouth, and she ignored the dribble.
The customers never noticed her distaste for latex or how the texture of the condom rolled her stomach or the monotonous motions of oral sex or the little effort and zero pleasure she received. In their heads, they believed she enjoyed pleasuring them.
Curt grunted, thrust into her mouth, and groaned out his release. She rocked back on her ankles removing her mouth and pushed to her feet. Her easy job giving blowjobs for cash would end the moment she slipped out the sliding doors onto her balcony tonight to escape Dawson.
She'd made her choice.
Dawson Carver was not a man to trust.
Chapter Four
Snow fell on the street matching the quiet and melancholy mood in Dawson. He leaned against the window's edge in his room at the Ryan Hotel. His first night sleeping in a bed in over a week brought nightmares that followed him into the morning.
Unable to shake the visions out of his head, he'd quietly stood in front of the window and watched daylight reveal a snow covered town. Inch by inch, the pristine whiteness wiped away his haunted thoughts and he looked forward to viewing Roni away from her bedroom at Red Light.
Jeremy had called him last night and mentioned he'd like another set of eyes on the ladies from the bordello on their way to and from the doctor. After the president of Moroad assured him nothing was up, he relaxed.
There was something in Roni that begged him to take care of her. His need to help her move on with her life came from more than needing to clean up the mess that Vince created in his wake.
The vulnerability mixed with fear he spotted in Roni reminded him of his sister. His forehead hit the window. God, he missed her.
He'd fucked up. One mistake cost him the most important person in his life. Tomorrow was only another day to live through the pain that never lessened.
His baby sister had tagged his every step, right into the nest of Sparrows.
She'd never laugh or lecture him again. He'd never pick her long strands of hair off his clothes or yell at her for leaving her curling iron on the bathroom counter.
He needed her. Life was too fucked up without her.
Movement out the window caught his attention. He pulled back from the glass and wiped the moisture off the surface with the arm of his flannel sleeve. There was no mistaking the ladies from Red Light and the big guy wearing a full-sleeved jean jacket escorting them down the sidewalk.
Roni walked between two women, following the biker and a short lady. He braced against the boost in his pulse. The adrenaline rush shook him.
She walked with her head down, shoulders pulled up near to her ears, protecting her bare neck from the snow falling gently down the back of her lightweight jacket. Unprepared for winter, she took each step with her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
The other ladies were no better dressed for the cold weather in sweatshirts and their hands bare to the elements. He exhaled, steaming up the window. Moving to the side to keep Roni in view, the pressure of finishing his job settled on him.
He only had three months to convince her to leave the Network and in that time, the pass over the Bitterroot Mountains would be tough traveling if winter continued spitting out snow. He'd need to get snow tires put on his car and plan for any extended stays if the roads weren't passable.
Roni stepped off the sidewalk, slipped, and stumbled to her knee. He stiffened, ready to go outside when she pushed herself out of the six inches of snow and brushed off her hands.
The biker never turned around.
A quiet thing, Roni probably never made a sound.
One of the ladies beside Roni reached over and held her hand, and together they navigated the slippery street and disappeared inside the doctor's office out of his view. He pulled out his phone and walked away from the window. He'd sent a text to Roni yesterday, and she still hadn't answered him.
He sat down in the chair and pulled on his boots. If Roni took a week to make her decision or three months, he'd be ready to pull out of Federal and get her far away from the Network and the reminder of what she'd lived through.
Chapter Five
On her knees, Roni stared up at Eric, her second to the last customer
of the evening, and sucked his cock. Her upper body shook in awareness, and she struggled to keep her lips snug around his width. In her least favorite position—not that she liked any of them—she was at a disadvantage.
She preferred the men to sit on the bed and not stand. Having to kneel on the floor with a six-foot man towering over her, she couldn't get away if a customer became violent or decided to push himself deeper into her throat.
"Harder," said Eric, thrusting his pelvis toward her face.
She refrained from grabbing his thighs and holding him back. It took all her concentration to keep her jaw lax and look up at his face. What she saw in Eric's eyes disgusted her.
Blind to her, Eric took in her submissive posture, her servitude, and got high on lust. His control over her in his position more powerful than any drug he could take.
His fingers curled at his sides. Her jaw locked. He took the added pressure and groaned his release.
She let her body weight pull her away. The momentum tossed her on her butt. She pushed off the floor and stepped close to the dresser, distancing herself.
"If..." She cleared her throat, careful not to swallow the saliva in her mouth. "If you'd like to leave a tip, you can place it on the shelf by the door."
God, she hated begging. Even homeless and living on the street, she'd refused to put her hand out and ask those more well off than her for their extra change. She was not entitled to more. Instead, every night, she had lined up to enter the shelter, followed the rules and received her charity peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was enough most days.
Eric nodded, fastening his jeans, and sucking in air.
Tiff knocked and opened the door, leading Eric out but not before he placed a ten-dollar tip on the shelf. She waited until the door closed, blew out her breath, and placed the money in her top drawer. Leaving her mouth open, she hurried into the bathroom, proceeded to brush her teeth, popped a Lifesaver into her mouth, and returned to the bedroom to prep for the last customer.
