Broken

by Alexis Noelle

  I take a breath trying to calm my nerves. “I am hard working and extremely efficient. I am also a quick learner. I need this job and am willing to do whatever you ask of me.” Judging by the look he now has on his face I may regret that last statement.

  “I don’t know why, but I may be willing to take a chance on you. The job is basic for the most part. I need help keeping shit organized and updating the files daily. There will be other responsibilities once I see what you can do.” His eyes trail my body and I fight the need to squirm. “You’ll have one day to prove your worth, and to show me that you can handle this environment. Report here tomorrow at five pm.”

  I smile and nod my head. I stand. “Thank you, Mr…I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

  He walks forward and stops within inches of me. “That’s because I didn’t give it to you, the name is Cutter.”

  I nod my head and turn to leave. As I open the door I face him one more time. “Thank you.”

  When I close the door I breathe a sigh of relief that I finally got a job. The realization then hits me that there is no way I can go home and tell Dylan where I am working. I will just have to tell him it is a busy restaurant that needs someone to organize their files. At least I have something that will bring in money now, hopefully, that will give me some reprieve from the nightmare I am living with.

  Hopefully, he is in good spirits tonight.

  As I walk up the steps to my house, I say a silent prayer that Dylan is sober and in a good mood. Ever since he lost his job at the hospital he has been drinking almost every night, and as you can imagine booze and his anger problems don’t mix very well.

  I have been with Dylan since I graduated high school seven years ago. He is four years older than me and I thought running away with him sounded great. I was an idiot. The first two months were great but slowly his anger and abusive ways started to show. I used to find excuses for his actions and convince myself it wouldn’t happen again.

  The problem is it always happened again, and by the time I realized how bad it was I couldn’t leave. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but every time I managed to get away, he would find me. Each time he would find me he would beat me worse than the last time. Dylan cut me off from my family within a few months of us being with each other, he told me that they were a bad influence on me. Once I manage to work up the nerve to run away. Dylan found me and told me if I tried it again he would go after Sara. Sara is my younger sister by three years, and I love her more than I loved myself.

  Not only was I scared to leave Dylan for me, and for my family’s sake but I didn’t know what I would be without him. For the last seven years, I had someone controlling me, I haven’t made a decision even as simple as picking out an outfit since I met him. If I were on my own I don’t know if I would be able to survive at this point, and I think he knows that. He has made me so dependent on him that life without him seems impossible. I have nothing to my name, no money, no assets, and no one close that might help me.

  I open the door and hear the TV on, he must be in the living room. I walk in and see him sitting in his chair with a beer in his hand, great. “Hi, I have some exciting news.”

  He doesn’t even look away from the TV. “What? You found a way to not be a complete waste of time and space?”

  His words hurt just as much as his hands sometimes, especially because I know they are true. I feel so worthless and stupid, he is right when he tells me I’m nothing. “I found a job today.”

  “Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Can you go find some food and do what you think is cooking. I’m so hungry that even the slop you serve me sounds fucking appetizing.”

  I walk out of the room and into the kitchen. I’ve read tons of cookbooks over the years and tried my best at it, but apparently my efforts are never any good. I bread some chicken, then fry it up, and steam some vegetables for Dylan. I don’t ever eat the meals I cook for him. Since I don’t contribute to the house in any way, he tells me that I have no right to eat the food that he pays for. I take out my loaf of bread and make my usual peanut butter and jelly, then go into the other room to do my nightly workout.

  Gaining weight is unacceptable because if I expect Dylan to take care of me then I need to make sure that I keep myself presentable for him. It’s my job to keep him happy, clean the house, and make sure that everything he needs is done. After I run on the treadmill for forty-five minutes and shower it is almost ten o’clock, I am so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.

  When I walk into the bedroom to get dressed, Dylan is sitting on the bed waiting for me. I can smell the beer on his breath from here and work hard to not scrunch my nose from its smell. I know from the look in his eye that there is no point in me getting dressed. I walk over to him and his hands roughly grab my waist as he stands and pushes me onto the bed.

  I zone out during sex, it’s easier to not be in the present. I escape to a world where the man above me cherishes me. Where he kisses me softly and his hands caress me gently. I have never had an orgasm mainly because Dylan has no concern for my pleasure, and says that I don’t deserve any.

  I lay in bed and try to fall asleep even as my mind is racing. Tomorrow is my first day working with Cutter.

  I pray I don’t screw it up.

  House Rules

  By: Rebecca Brooke

  CHAPTER 1

  Miller

  Sweat dripped down every muscle in rivulets. I dropped on the bed next to her, pausing when she sidled up to me, like she expected to cuddle. What had given her that impression, I had no idea.

  “That was amazing,” she purred, pressing her lips to my chest.

  Fuck, what’s her name again?

  Long, bleached blonde hair and blue eyes. Skimpy clothes and fake boobs. For the last four nights I’d brought home a different woman, but although each one scratched an inch, none of them were satisfying enough to keep in my bed any longer than necessary.

  My breathing evened out and I sat up on the side of the bed, my back to . . .

  Shelia.

  At least I thought it was Shelia. Not that I really gave a shit. It wasn’t like we’d ever cross paths again.

  Small hands wrapped around my waist. “Why don’t you come back to bed, handsome?”

  Disentangling her arms, I stood and grabbed my phone, sending a quick text to Dean. He was going to make me pay for this one.

  “I’ll be going to bed once I get you out of it. Dean will take you home.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Are you throwing me out?”

  “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

  “But we were so good together.”

  Wow, this chick was dumber than I thought. “Really? You can’t come up with something better than an overused cliché?”

  She hopped off the bed and started snatching up her clothes. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “That, my dear, is the first thing you’ve gotten right all night.” I nodded to the stuff in her hands. “Dean will be here in about five minutes. You can either get dressed, or you can parade your naked ass out to the car. Either way is fine with me.”

  “Fuck you,” she snapped, pulling her dress over her head.

  I tried to muster up some kind of pity for the woman stuffing her discarded undergarments into her purse and slipping on her shoes.

  Nope.

  Nothing.

  “Do you need me to show you the door?” The sooner she was out of my hair, the better.

  Without a word she spun on her heel, the door slamming into the frame behind her. Annoyance seeped through me. If I’d listened to my brother, I would have stopped bringing them back to my place. But there was nothing appealing about going to a hotel for a quick fuck.

  Not bothering to dress, I walked out of my room and down the hall to my office. I poured myself a large glass of scotch and sat down on the sofa in the corner. I didn’t want any more than a quick orgasm from these women, and I made it clear from the beginning. But each and every one of
them thought they would be different; that they’d finally trap Miller Hawes. All the bitches really wanted was my money. That, or the connection to my father.

  I knocked back half the glass, the alcohol burning away the memories of the night.

  Why the fuck did I bother?

  On the surface the answer seemed simple: they scratched an itch. Unfortunately, they were becoming less and less satisfying. Getting wasted and jerking myself off in the shower brought a better orgasm than any of the loose pussy I’d slipped my dick in recently.

  I downed what was left in my glass. I needed to get some sleep. There was shit to do in the morning that wouldn’t keep. Leaving the glass on table for Julie, my housekeeper, to clear away, I climbed into bed and let my mind wander back to my sex life.

  I wouldn’t call it a sex life because it wasn’t sex: it was fucking. And not all of it was good. A woman to share my bed on regular basis would be nice, but I refused to waste my time on notions of love. That shit was for chumps and suckers. My goal was to take over from my father someday, and that couldn’t happen if I had my head in the clouds because of some bitch on my arm. My brother Aston’s girlfriend, Elena, seemed to think I’d feel differently if I’d found someone to give my heart to.

  I didn’t have a heart to give a woman.

  My family . . . yes. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for any of them. Even Elena had breached my defenses. She cared about my brother in a way I don’t think even he had expected. Most women wouldn’t be able to handle the life we led. Violence, crime, and risk surrounded us all of the time. There was no reprieve. No time out. Elena and my mom were a special kind of woman, accepting the men in their lives for who they were. They didn’t expect them to change.

  No woman in the world could change me.

  ***

  “Raise a grand.”

  The lighting in the room was low, but I didn’t have to see his face properly to know that this fucker had no idea what he was doing. If he kept this shit up, he was going to have to see my brother for a loan to keep playing.

  Wasden slid the chips into the center of the table, his hand shaking slightly. He never knew when to just give up. Worked for me. His tells were obvious, and I could always weasel more money out of him than any other of the other morons that graced my tables.

  Without a word, I counted the chips and dropped them into the center of the table. “Flip ’em.”

  I leaned back in my chair, waiting for Wasden to make the call. A slight chill caught my skin and I looked over my shoulder to see the back door closing, a long legged brunette having walked back in. I watched her intently as she made her way to the bar, leaning her elbow against the wooden top and cocking a knee, making her ass jut out at just the perfect angle. Her clothes were simple: a plain black dress, and a pair of high heeled shoes the color of emeralds. Nothing special, yet enough to hold my attention. Her hair cascaded down her back and as she ran a hand loosely through the curly mane, I imagined it spread across my pillows, the dark chocolate color in stark contrast to my white sheets. She called to the barman and such was my effort to hear what she was saying, I almost missed Wasden call and flip his cards. Almost. Unsurprisingly, all he had were two pair, Jacks high. The smile on his face fell when I flipped my own cards.

  “Fuck you. A goddamn flush?” He stood so fast his chair fell backward, clattering to the ground.

  All heads turned in our direction. Leaning over the table, I steepled my hands in front of me, my teeth clenched tight as I did everything to keep my ass in the chair instead of jumping out of it and beating the ever-loving shit out of the motherfucker in front of me.

  “I suggest you pick up the chair and sit your ass down, Wasden. And if you continue to behave like a fucking animal in my club, I’ll be forced to teach you how to behave properly.” My voice was low and dangerous.

  At least half the people in the room took an unconscious step back. Almost everyone knew I didn’t tolerate people acting like assholes just because they lost. Wasden put his hands up, then turned to pick up the chair.

  “Now sit your ass down, or settle up and leave.”

  Wasden’s eyes darted around the room. The rest of the men seated at the table didn’t say a word. They waited to see what Wasden would decide to do. I sat back and waited myself.

  “I’ll play,” he said quietly, taking his seat carefully.

  Smart bastard knew to be careful, which was a good thing because my temper was teetering right on the edge. The dealer looked at me and waited for the signal to deal the cards. I nodded and the game began again. Another drink had been placed in front of me and I let the alcohol cool the anger that had raced through my veins. The first hand after Wasden’s meltdown was played conservatively by everyone at the table.

  Hand after hand we played, the pots growing with each round. Wasden won one or two, but nothing significant. His hands shook every time he pushed chips into the center. I was curious as to what caused his panic. He didn’t owe me any money, which begged the question who he owed money to.

  If he didn’t owe Ashton, there was only one other person in town that it could be. I pulled out my phone to text Ashton.

  Me: Does the name Ray Wasden ring a bell?

  I put my phone down and waited for an answer. The hand continued. I knew this hand was mine no matter what anyone else had in theirs. Four of a kind Kings. There were only two hands that could beat mine: four of a kind Aces, or a straight flush. With only the river card remaining and no Aces or consecutive cards in the same suit in sight, those hands were impossible. Carson flipped the river card.

  Ten of hearts.

  My eyes were immediately drawn to Wasden. He would be the easiest read. Like always, when he thought he had a winning hand he bounced his leg, making his whole body shake. This time he was wrong. He didn’t have much in front of him on the table, but I had a feeling if I bet correctly, I could take him for what he had left.

  “Check.” I kept my posture the same. Any movement would give away what I held.

  Carson tossed a stack of chips into the center. “Two grand.”

  “I’m out,” said Sampson, sliding his cards, face down, into the center.

  The play turned to Sullivan. The expression on his face was almost blank, except for the slight twitch at the corner his left eye. Most likely whatever he held in his hand was decent. He scanned the other players, trying to decide if he could bluff the rest of us out.

  Not likely.

  Eventually, he picked up the necessary chips and tossed them into the center. “Call.”

  We all looked to Wasden. He lifted his cards one last time and pushed forward his chips. “Twenty-five hundred.”

  Carson nodded and grabbed the needed chips from his pile. “Three.”

  “Call.” I needed one more of them to fold before I could force Wasden’s hand.

  “Eight grand.”

  I looked at Wasden, only just managing to keep the shock from my face. Normally, the man was very conservative when he increased the pot. But this time, he’d more than doubled it in one round. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck as he pushed all of his chips forward. He knew the house rules. He must have honestly thought he had a chance to beat me. Then again, the probability of being dealt a pair of Kings was so low, most people didn’t expect it.

  Carson’s eyes were wide as he slid his cards to the center of the table. Most likely he’d been bluffing from the beginning and hoped his high bid would scare people out. “Fuck, that’s it for me. I’m not going home to my wife empty handed.”

  Two down. Two to go. I dropped my chips onto pile. “Ten.”

  Wasden’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull. “What?” he whispered.

  “Ten grand?” Sullivan repeated. “That shit’s way too much for me.” He slid his cards to the center.

  I turned my attention back to Wasden. He sat there, frozen, staring at the pot in front of him. When he finally looked up, his eyes were haunted.

 
“I’m already all in.”

  I could have felt bad for the guy and given him a break. Ashton probably would have. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t my style.

  “You know the house rules, Ray. You either match the bet or forfeit the pot.”

  I’d instituted the rule a few years ago when I installed the new poker tables into the place. Getting rich quick on sports betting was one thing, but poker, that was just an insult to the game. A few young idiots came in hoping to hit it big by bluffing and pushing their chips all in during the first round, forcing everyone else to call them. It pissed the other players off. When one guy almost took out one of the punks in my establishment, I talked to Dad. Neither of us wanted to call for clean up every night because of that bull shit. So I made it a house rule.

  Anyone who sat down at my tables knew the rules before any chips were set in front of them, including Ray Wasden. If it were at all possible, his hands shook even more when he ran one through his hair. He glanced at the cards on the table and then over to the pile of chips that sat before me. He swallowed hard.

  His head snapped up, eyes bright. “What if I don’t bet cash?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. What in the hell was he up to? “What could you possibly have on you worth two grand?”

  I knew enough to know, even from this distance that his watch was some cheap knock off. Beyond that, he didn’t have anything else on that might pay the difference.

  “A night with Theresa.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “You can have a night with Theresa.”

  How the fuck did my brother and I end up in these situations? All I knew about Theresa was that she took no shit from Wasden. My guess was the only reason she kept going back was money. Not that the little shit made a lot of it, but from what he said it was a hell of a lot more than her. He leapt from his seat and went over to the bar. What I hadn’t expected was for him to take the hand of the brunette I’d been watching earlier and lead her over to the table.