by Aven Jayce
I look up, seeing a guy about my age taking off a black sport coat. He lays it on the counter next to a smoldering bowl; his heavily tattooed arms and muscular chest are outlined with a fitted grey tee. Handsome, except for his mutilated earlobes which are easy to spot, sticking out like a sore thumb beside his chiseled jawline and straight white teeth—an extreme blemish amongst beauty.
He swaggers toward us—not a walk but a swagger—his shiny black oxfords sounding like tap shoes on the wooden floor.
Both he and Quinn are the same height and build, one running his ringed fingers through his light blond mop, swooping it to the side and back, the other scratching the top of his short brown hair. Amber eyes scrutinizing spaced-out blues—poverty in the company of wealth.
“What are we dealing with?” His thunderous voice echoes through the open two-story room.
“One’s a return, the other’s new,” Roxanne says.
He pulls out a gun from the back of his jeans, using the barrel to scratch his neck before racking the slide and pointing it at Quinn.
“This your wife, girlfriend, sister? What?”
Quinn steps back and the guy steps forward, following him until his back hits the wall. “She’s my girl.” He speaks quickly, raising his arms and surveying the gun.
“You won’t get it out of my hand so stop looking at it.” He grins like mad. “Did Roxanne ask you to go into the basement?”
“Yes.”
“So why aren’t you down there?”
“I’m not leaving Addie until I know she can stay.”
“Protective... I like that.” He lowers the gun. “That’s good for a relationship, but not for my business.”
“Your business? Who the hell are you?”
“Yeah fuckwad, my business. I own all three Afterglow Retreats. She’s just a lowly manager.” He waves the gun at Roxanne. “I need to check in from time to time to make sure no one’s fucking shit up, like what came out of her mouth a moment ago. Paying employees? Hell no. Did I just hear you correctly?”
“It would just be until I found another massage boy to take his place.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong with him?”
“For one, he won’t get in my bed!”
“Excuse me?” He points the gun at her face. “Cry me a river, bitch. I never said these kids had to touch you.”
“I did,” she snarls.
“They’re here to fuck the guests, not an old washed up porn star.”
“Eww,” I say under my breath.
“I have the right to benefits too!”
“Are you telling me I lost money because you didn’t get laid? What the fuck?”
“He won’t screw the guests either.”
“Is he good at massages, or no?”
She scowls in our direction, reluctantly nodding at the guy.
“Case closed.” He turns to Quinn. “Get in the basement. You don’t have to fuck her, but do what she tells you otherwise. I’m sure there’re twenty other men at this place who’ve already stuck their dicks in her. That’s plenty without you getting involved. Ain’t that right, Roxy?” He steps back to the desk and takes another hit from his bowl, blowing smoke high into the air with a grin. “I hate it when greed manifests itself on the low end of the ladder. That shit destroys companies.”
“What about—”
“I’ll make sure your girl’s okay.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Why?” An unrestrained burst of laughter fills the room. “Because you always trust the guy holding the gun.” He points it toward the back of the retreat. “Go on. She’ll be fine. If you want to stay, take your punishment then get back on the job.”
I nod to Quinn that I’m okay, for some reason trusting this guy more than Roxanne.
He hands me his pack and disappears into the dining area, on his way to the basement.
“I have no use for her,” Roxanne says.
“I sure as fuck do. You’ve got one woman here and I want at least three. I’d like more men booking stays.”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “I’m not fucking people. I’ll do anything but that.”
His smile fades, gesturing for me to follow him down the corridor toward the suites.
“Tell the guy in the basement I’m putting her in the first room. She’ll be there when you’re finished messing with him. Give me until morning to decide where she fits in.”
She snubs me on her way out, lighting a cigarette with a devious grin, barely able to walk in her tight jeans.
“A washed up porn star,” I whisper, dragging the duffle bag and Quinn’s pack as I follow the owner.
We pass the open door of Roxanne’s room where Dylan’s naked in her bed, stroking his dick. He kneels so I can get a better look, flaunting it in his hand.
“I think I’m in Hell,” I whisper again.
“More or less,” the guy says, opening the door to the suite. “What’s your name? Abbie?”
“Addie.” I drop our stuff, my shoulders burning and the room a blur.
“Last name, too.”
“Moore.”
“Do your parents know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“No. Not a soul.” I swallow hard, keeping the truth hidden away.
He hands me a Snickers from the mini-bar and I devour it, shoving the chocolate in my mouth, moaning at how fucking good it tastes, not giving a shit that a mix of drool and melted chocolate is running down my chin.
He steps closer, cocking his head in curiosity—the gun positioned between my breasts with the barrel pointed toward my chin.
“This is how it starts.”
“Please... don’t touch me.” I place my unsteady hand over his, making the gun shake.
He grips my hip, bringing me closer so he can sing softly in my ear. I become hypnotized by his deep voice, somehow allowing him to get inside my head.
You shoulda listened
To what your mother had said
If you had, you’d be safe today
But being so young and unwise, poor girl
You let love
Lead you... astray
“Don’t stereotype me as being on some destructive path,” I say, intimidated by the seductive brush of his hand across my stomach. “And I know that song, ‘House of the Rising Sun.’ You’ve got the lyrics wrong.”
He unbuttons my jeans, the gun still in place. “That song might date back to the Civil War, could be even earlier. I think that’s cool, no one knows the true origin.”
“Don’t sing it to me. Stop!” I grip his wrist. “Don’t.”
My hand’s pushed away and the gun’s pressed under my chin, my head lifted and neck exposed.
“It’s my song. My lyrics. And you should listen to it, because if you hear it again, maybe late at night when you’re all alone... if you hear it and it makes you shiver—someone around you is about to die. Could be one of my prostitutes, a prisoner like in that song. Like you.”
“I’m not a whore or a prisoner.”
There is a man
In the cold dark night
They call him the Rising SON
He’s been the death of many a poor soul
And you, oh God, could be one
“This is business. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Please, don’t touch me,” I beg.
“Like I said...” He sniffs my skin, feels my hair between his thumb and forefinger, then reaches into my jeans, skimming a finger over my underwear and pulling out in less than a second. “It’s business.”
He takes a short whiff and points the gun toward the bathroom.
“You’re one of filthiest women I’ve come across in a long time. Your foul scent’s coming right through your panties. Get in the tub and wash.”
I cover my lower body, trying to protect myself from another touch.
“Hurry up, in the f
ucking tub.”
“I need to sleep... can I just sleep? I’ve been awake for days.”
He points the gun at my head and I stop arguing, hurrying into the bathroom to turn on the water. I sit on the toilet, staring at my muddy sneakers while the water warms.
“That’s better.” He leans alongside the doorframe. “You know, my dad always sings to his victims to let them know he’s coming. He suggested I do the same... said it’s soothing and will keep me in control when I concentrate on the words instead of the man screaming for mercy at my feet. Less mistakes that way.”
My heart just stopped. It was racing a minute ago, but is frozen by his words.
“Are you going to kill me?” My voice cracks.
“I don’t have much reason to. Doubt I’d ever kill a woman anyway. It’s not fair game.” He takes out his cell and smiles at the screen. “Where ya coming from?”
“Albany.”
“How long have you been on the run?”
“I-I don’t know... a day or two.”
He searches his cell, still humming his song. I take a mere glance at the door leading to the corridor, nervous that he’s blocking my path. I wish Quinn were here, and I’m praying this guy doesn’t ask me to undress.
“Wash your pussy.” He tosses me a washcloth with his face still in his cell. I place it under the water and wring it out, wrestling to get it under my clothes, trying to clean myself without having to take off my jeans. “I’ll see it sometime this week, so just undress and get it over with.”
“You won’t.”
“This is how it starts.”
“You said that when we walked in.”
“And I’ll say it again.” He holds the cell in front of my face. A short news article about a body pulled from the Hudson is on his screen. “Your man do this?”
I stare at his cell in disbelief... she was found. There’re no details of who she is, but I’m sure more will come out this week... and if any of the homeless open up to the cops...
Fuck, just fuck.
“I don’t see much else in today’s evening news.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“So then what’d you do? Rob a bank?” He laughs. “You’re tired, hungry, covered in dirt, hiding out... what’s the story?”
“There’s no story.”
“Uh-huh... so tell me, you feeling vulnerable right about now?” He stares at my hand in my pants.
“Can you leave me alone? I want to clean up and go to sleep.” I toss the washcloth in the tub and slip out of my sneakers, feeling an instant burn when the air hits the open blisters. They’re on my heels, my ankles, and on the tops of my toes—raw and on fire with dried blood around the edges of each one.
“When I’m finished talking, I’ll leave.”
I exhale, turning to put one foot under the running water, jerking it out when I’m hit with a flare of burning pain. It eases and I try a second time, little by little getting it under the stream.
“This is how it starts.”
“Stop saying that or tell me what you mean. How what starts?”
“Needing a guy like me to protect you.” He puts the gun in his waistband and crosses his arms.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“And you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about him. If he works here, he’s in good hands too.”
“You’re a pimp and I won’t fuck you or your prostitutes.”
“A pimp might be an easier profession, but nope, not quite.”
Yes, he is, I assert to myself, soaping and rinsing my feet while he picks at his fingernails, one shoulder on the doorframe, his red stoner eyes looming over me.
“This is your golden moment, your beginning. You won’t be fucking prostitutes—you’ll be one of them. Think about it. You can open your legs and let men enjoy your pussy, or you can open your legs in prison and let your butch cellmate enjoy your pussy. Either way, someone’s getting pussy. You choose.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fuck what?” He cups his ear.
The gun reappears in a speedy motion like an old western duel, aimed at my head. “You’ll be on the schedule for this weekend.”
“I’ll leave.”
“Okay.” He waves the gun toward the suite’s door, calling my bluff. “Get your shit and go.”
“No, I’ll prove my worth in other ways!”
“I don’t need a freakin’ secretary or a cook. People here do that on top of the sex. Making a buck from a fuck comes first, other work second, not the other way around.”
“But... can’t you find it in your heart to—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, wah, wah. I’ve seen this a hundred times... kids on the streets hiding out from abusive parents or the cops, in over their heads, shitting their pants because they might go to prison over some dumbass mistake. They’re fucking miserable... that’s where I step in, round ‘em up and become their savior. Afterglow Retreats were built for people like you. I give my body and blood to you sinners and in return you serve me.”
“I’m very offended by that. You’re not Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, but I am Jack Jameson, and that’s damn fucking close.”
He turns, hearing the door open.
I’m elated that it’s Quinn. God love him. He’s carrying a plate of grapes and a box of bandages. God love him even more.
“Thanks, pal.” Jack takes a grape and slaps him on the shoulder before heading out. “Clean her up, clean yourself up, fuck and get some sleep, then meet me for breakfast at 9 a.m. sharp. We need to talk.”
He closes the door and walks away singing, his haunting voice still lingering in the room...
They call him the Rising Son
He’s been the death of many a poor soul
And you, oh God, could be one...
I’m relieved when our warm bodies meet, his strong arms holding me close.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay. Are you okay?” I ask.
“I survived and we’re here, together. We made it.” He puts the grapes on the counter and takes off his shirt, looking at his back in the mirror. “She went easy on me. Must be in a hurry to fuck my brother.”
“Quinn...”
“What? Shit, you look scared. Did he touch you? I’ll break his face if he did.”
“Not really. He... he put his hand...” I look down and frown. “He’s an asshole. He smelled his hand after touching me through my underwear.”
“What the fuck?” He heads for the door and I pull him back.
“Don’t... let it go, just for tonight. I can’t take anymore fighting and we’re no match against his gun... besides, there’s something else. He searched his cell for the Albany news... she was found. Someone discovered the body.”
“What?” He rests against the counter. “I thought it’d be at least another day or two. Was there a name? Any names?”
“No.”
He’s quiet, his thumb and forefinger massaging his forehead as he takes deep breaths.
“I’m just in shock.” I set my palm on his cheek and he leans into my hand, giving it a gentle kiss. “You’re right though, we’re here, out of the city and invisible. It’s better than last night. That’s what I need to think about, nothing else right now. Just you and me.”
“I know.” He puts his hand over mine. “We should enjoy the fact that we’ve finally got some time alone.”
His fingertips run down my arm to the bottom of my shirt, lifting it over my head in one quick swoop.
“This okay? You awake enough and feeling better than when we first arrived?”
“It’s more than okay with me.”
“Good, cuz I can’t stop thinking about your beautiful lips...”
His hand floats over my face.
“... your penetrating eyes and kickass body...”
His mouth presses to mine, nipping my bottom lip and giving it a sligh
t tug.
“... and your quiet moans when you know we’re about to fuck.”
“God... I’m so ready for this. Help me forget this mess we’re in, even if it’s only for a minute.”
He shakes his head with an alluring smile. “Trust me, we’ve got time. This one’s gonna last longer than a minute.”
He lowers my jeans and kneels before me. My knees are kissed while his hands rise along the back of my legs, stimulating my entire body. He watches my face, working his sweet kisses to my underwear, tugging them down with his teeth.
“Tell me you want me.” He looks up, licking his lips, holding my ass in his hands.
“I do,” I whisper. “I love the way you make me feel. I want you.”
His tongue enters my pussy, slipping slowly in and out, forcing me to grip the counter.
“Oh, dear God.”
I rise to my tiptoes, watching our reflections in the mirror. The muscles in his neck relaxing, his head leaning to the left... then the right while his tongue follows suit. He slides up to my clit, circling it in deliberate, sweeping licks until I start to sway.
“Quinn... my legs... I’m gonna collapse, it feels so good.”
He doesn’t stop, moving so damn slow, covering my clit with his lips as his tongue tiptoes around my sensitive flesh—perfectly mind-blowing. I can’t stand it. My lower body accelerates with each caress while my brain turns to mush.
He removes his jeans and boxers while his mouth pleasures me, staying attentive the entire time.
I’m guided to the tub to sit and spread my legs—his tongue back inside, his nose warming my clit, and his strong hands possessing my hips.
“Your pussy’s so wet. You ready for me? You ready to fuck?”
“No, keep going.” I throw my head back, needing more. “Same speed,” I exhale. “Don’t stop until I cum. I’m close.”
He continues in delicate circles and broad strokes, quick to figure out where my best arousal spots are, staying on course until I start to whimper and he knows... he knows I’m reaching climax.
I’m lifted in a swift motion and carried to the bed, my legs spread as his stiff dick slides inside.
“Yes!” I moan.
His body collapses over mine with his hands to each side of my head.
