by Alta Hensley
“I can do it,” I assured. “And you said there is a lot of money for Dark As Fuck. And isn’t that the reason we are all here? Money?” I straightened my shoulders to help strengthen my resolve. And you said there is no sex involved, so wouldn’t this be an easy one for my first time? I’m in. Put my name on the list. Please.”
Marlowe shook her head. “You need to trust me. I went to one of these themed nights before. The men who want these contracts have expectations that even your most shadowed thoughts can’t comprehend. I mean it, Anita. Unless you have sampled this kind of dark, I really wouldn’t do this.”
“I can do dark.” And I really believed I could. I liked the idea of not actually having to have sex with these men, which really had been my hang up. I couldn’t get past the belief that if I had sex, I would be a prostitute. But this was different. I just had to play a role. I could play anything they wanted if it didn’t involve their penis in my vagina. I had already been chained to a table, swatted on the ass by men who had too much to drink, and had used the term “sir” as often as I breathed, so really how hard could this be?
“You’re crazy, Anita,” Ivy said. “Are you prepared to shit on a newspaper while you are forced to purr? Really?”
I shrugged, careful to hold back any fear or disgust because of what she said. I knew Tennessee was watching me closely. He made the final call, and he could easily decide I was too green and virginal to the sinister ways of The Tasting Room and make me work The Humidor Room instead. But being a cigar girl was not going to help Virgie.
“If the money’s right,” I said with as much bravado as I could muster. And that was the truth. I had heard we were not talking about hundreds of dollars but rather thousands. High thousands. That would be more money than I had ever seen in my life. It would be life changing. And if I attended enough tastings, I could save up enough to make sure Virgie didn’t have to stay in a nursing home ever again. Her news rattled me. I know she said she was going to be okay, but I also knew how frail she was. She needed a full-time nurse, and those weren’t cheap. But her house was everything to her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her losing it. And if I kept the safe job of cigar girl, I would be able to stay at Marie St. Claire’s comfortably, but that was about it. I needed more. I needed The Tasting Room.
Tennessee crossed his arms with skepticism washed all over his face. “If I allow this, you better not fuck up. I can’t have you breaking down and crying like a little girl in there… unless the rich fucks want you to, that is.”
“I won’t,” I assured. “Or I will, if they want.” I was breaking down his wall. I could feel it. And the thought of having all that money in my pocket fueled me. “I’m not as innocent as you think.”
Tennessee smirked. “You will read the contract carefully. And I mean carefully. If you feel you can’t do something, you need to negotiate it out of the contract right away. When I allow you to leave with the buyer, I need to be damn sure that you are going into the situation with your eyes completely wide open and consensually entering the darkness.”
It sounded so ominous, but I nodded and smiled. “I promise. I won’t sign anything without knowing and understanding what I am agreeing to.”
“Fine,” Tennessee said. “Don’t make me regret this.” He turned to the rest of the girls. “All right, the rest of you get to work and cover the empty spots. The Tasting Room girls need to get ready and meet me upstairs in thirty minutes.” Everyone scattered around, eager to start their nights. No work, meant no money.
Marlowe took me by the hand and stared at me once Tennessee walked away and busied himself with other things. “I really think this is a bad idea. Why don’t you wait until the next tasting? They come really fast. You will only have to wait a couple of days. A week tops. There will be tastings that aren’t this dark.”
“I got this.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think you do.”
“You’re doing it. Why are you doing this tasting if it’s as bad as you are making it sound?”
“Because I’ve been to The Tasting Room to begin with. And because I have experimented and been open minded to more things than you. I’m not buying your I’m not innocent act for one second. I’m telling you that The Tasting Room is no joke. It’s hard as fuck and will change a woman. You can’t go in and think it won’t.”
“Did you ever think that maybe I want that?” I asked. “That maybe that is exactly what I want? I’ve been wanting something… anything at all to change me. I need a fucking change.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Marlowe said, shaking her head. “There are some things that you can’t unchange. Just remember that.” She glanced at Tennessee to see if he was listening, and when she noticed that he was out of earshot, she added, “Do not sign that contract if for even a second the warning bells in your gut go off. Some of the men—most of the men—who attend The Tasting Room are harmless. Some are very decent and kind men who have a kinky or darker side. But there are a few who are mean motherfuckers. Fucked up more than you can imagine. You do not have to go with just anyone. If you don’t like him, or he gives you a bad vibe, you walk away.” Her face grew extremely serious. “You walk the fuck away. Do you hear me?”
I nodded, trying to not show that her words sent a shiver down my spine. “I will.”
Her eyes darkened, and in a very monotone voice, she said, “No, I don’t think you will.”
8
Kenneth
What the fuck was she doing in here? Anita hadn’t even worked a month yet, and hadn’t been moved to waitress. She was a goddamned infant, and Tennessee had the nerve to allow her in The Tasting Room already. And on a night like tonight? I was spitting mad and seeing red. If it weren’t for the fact that Tennessee ran a tight ship and kept all the girls in line, and Spiked Roses had truly benefitted since hiring him, I would have fired his ass right there on the spot. Goddamn idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?
But here Anita was, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Removing her from the room would draw attention, and it also appeared that Tennessee didn’t have the same number of women attending as he usually did for the other tastings. But considering the theme, I didn’t blame the women one bit. It was a night that would push most boundaries.
Which was why Anita Kyle—our freakin’ baby—didn’t need to be here. She was just starting to learn how to walk in our world at Spiked Roses. Now she was about to enter a full on sprint for her life.
There were ten men in the room tonight, and for some unknown reason, it drove me crazy picturing Anita with any one of them. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t fucking ready. Why in the hell did Tennessee not see that?
I grabbed a glass of whiskey and walked over toward the window, making myself inconspicuous near the long velvet red curtains, observing the room. The men were in tuxedos, exuding wealth from their pores. The women were draped in silks and satins, exuding desperation and need for something better, something more exciting, something different than what they currently had.
Some of these men were real pricks, and my anger sizzled beneath the surface just knowing they were in the room. My hope was that one of the Spiked Roses owners would find Anita interesting and contract her, rather than some of these men stalking around the room, hunting their prey. Maybe I could convince Harley or Victor to contract her. Feed them some line about having to sample the goods or something. At least then I would know that Anita wouldn’t end up with the likes of some of these dicks. We had mobsters, killers, and men I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of the table from, mingling about. For some reason, this tasting seemed to bring out the darkest of souls.
Tennessee walked over to me. He shouldn’t have. I was not approachable, but I also didn’t expect Tennessee to see that. I was the one who read people. And right now, I could read in the eyes of many that they all saw Anita.
She intrigued them.
Fresh blood in the water.
“You look pissed,
Kenneth.”
“Why in the hell would you allow the new girl to be at this tasting? It’s too much.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to, but she insisted. And frankly, I think there is some darkness in that girl’s soul. Didn’t you tell me she likes the thorns? This might be right up her alley.”
“No.”
Tennessee looked at me confused. “Do you want me to escort her out?”
I looked over at where she stood, in a long silk black dress—The Tasting Room attire for the event. She leaned up against the vintage wine barrels that we used as tables for the room and sipped from a flute of champagne. Her hands were shaking, but I could see that she was trying to conceal that fact. She kept nibbling her lip and glancing at the double doors as if she was planning her escape.
Yes, she should run. She should run as fast as she could.
I wondered if she felt like the red walls were closing in on her? If the large black vases with spikes jutting out of the glass tempted her to use one for a weapon? Did she want to kick off her pumps and run barefoot along the marble floor so she could flee faster than anyone could catch her? Was this elegant room lit by a large crystal chandelier her dark and dank cell? Did she see the nightmare lurking behind all the red roses?
Her weight shifted from one black heel to the other. Though she stood there with a soft smile on her face, making eye contact with the men who walked around, I could see her body wanted to flee. She was screaming from the inside. I could hear her silent pleas. I could hear them so clearly.
Just as I was about to tell Tennessee to get her the fuck out of there, a man walked up to her.
“Who is that?” I asked Tennessee, trying hard to identify the man wearing the tuxedo.
“Marco Nunez. Head of the Nunez family. They run a large gun ring out of Rome, Venice and New York. He’s in New Orleans for a few weeks, but tonight is his first time at Spiked Roses. He’s using a guest pass to sample us out.”
“How did he get the invite for this tasting?”
“He’s an acquaintance of Harley Crow.”
Of course he was. Harley knew all the assholes.
Marco’s hand touched Anita’s and I wanted to chop it off from his wrist. He was talking to her with a sinister smile, and I could see that whatever he was saying was making Anita even more nervous. Her eyes showed fear, and the way her chest moved revealed she was breathing rapidly. She was a deer caught in the headlights. And now that Marco was over there, touching her, I couldn’t send Harley or Victor to her anyway. Not unless Marco left the wine barrel where they stood. As of right now—per the tasting rules—Marco had claim on her. No one else could cut in unless Marco left to go sample someone else.
Please, motherfucker, go sample someone else.
“Does Anita know the details of the contract? Does she know the term of the contract is for two weeks? Two fucking weeks?” I asked between clenched teeth, fighting the urge to storm over there and break up the little party. Marco wasn’t doing anything wrong or breaking The Tasting Room rules, but I wanted to fucking kill the man. My gut warned me, and my gut was never wrong. But I couldn’t exactly go over there and pull Anita away. I had the club to think about and the other members. A scene of any sort wouldn’t be appropriate or good for business. Especially when the man was doing nothing different than every other man in the room. He was just sampling the goods so to speak.
“Yes. I went over it, and then also gave each of the women the contract to read for themselves before entering. She didn’t as much as blink or hesitate. If I’d sensed she felt she had to do this and was scared shitless, I wouldn’t have allowed it. But, Kenneth, I’m telling you, she wanted to. You wouldn’t think from looking at her, but that girl has some darker tastes.”
I watched, studied Marco’s every move. The bastard wanted her. I could see it in his eyes. If he for even a second walked away to even have a piss, I would swoop in and contract her myself. This wasn’t right. I could feel it. I could see it. I knew it.
Tennessee walked away, leaving me as I stewed and stalked my prey. One move away, and I would strike. One fucking move.
But he never did. He remained.
And then it happened. He motioned for Tennessee to walk over to the wine barrel with the contract. They were about to sign the fucking contract. Tennessee glanced over my way for a split second, but there was nothing I could do. He then glanced at Anita who swallowed hard and glanced at the double red doors one last time before offering a half-hearted smile to Marco and nodded. Marco pulled out a pen from the inside pocket of his tux and signed the contract, then handed the pen to Anita.
She took it with shaky hands. Why the fuck could no one see her hands were shaking?
She signed.
She signed the fucking contract.
Tennessee pulled out a small dagger that we used in The Tasting Room for that special macabre touch, and pricked both Marco’s and Anita’s index finger. And just like that, as both parties stamped their bloody finger next to their signatures… Anita Kyle was bought.
Anita
I walked into his study, preparing myself for what was going to happen. Marco had a business call he had to make when we arrived in his southern plantation house. A house that reminded me of Gone With The Wind, but one that would house vampires. I pictured the paranormal living in these halls. Evil lurked everywhere. I could feel it.
Marco had been a bastard for making me wait. Wait and think. Wait and fear what would come.
Wait.
But now my fate was set. I didn’t know exactly what was in store, but if I went in expecting a nightmare, I would at least have a shield of some sort. Eyes wide open, even though I wanted to squeeze them shut.
I had always been like that even as a child. I remembered that outside my window a shingle broke loose from the ramshackle of our roof. I hadn’t known it at the time, however, so at night when the desert wind howled across the flat landscape, that damn shingle would bang and scrape on the glass. Being young, my imagination would run wild. Was it a monster? A witch with her bony fingers running along the glass as she cast an evil spell on me? Was it a killer with a clown mask getting ready to kill and torture my tiny body? Whatever it was, it was enough to put me in a panic each night the wind picked up. But I never pulled the covers over my head. I never cried out and called for my pappy or meemaw. I would look at that window and try to figure it out. Face the nightmare head on. I wanted to see my demon. If death was coming, then I wanted to see the blackness of his eyes first.
So, when I knocked on the door and heard Marco’s voice telling me to enter, I was prepared for the worst thing imaginable. He wasn’t going to fuck me. That much was for sure, and that was all I knew because the contract said he couldn’t.
No vaginal penetration by the penis.
I had read those words over and over to be sure. But so many other things were on the table that he could do. That he would do. He was going to want it rough. To make me cry. There would be no kindness. He had signed on to buy an animal.
I was that animal.
He wanted me to be his prey so he could play predator. It was all an act.
Yes, all an act.
If I kept telling myself that this was all an act, then I would survive this. Like a horror movie. It wasn’t real. All make believe. All actors and fake blood. Yes, I had to keep telling myself that.
When I crossed the threshold of the room, I took account of the scene of my own horror flick. Books lined the shelves all around. They even had one of those moving ladders so you could reach the very top. By the huge fireplace sat oversized leather chairs separated by a chess set with intricately carved pieces. Oriental rugs were spread across cherry wood floors, with the largest rug sitting beneath a huge desk. One of those kinds of desks you see in the movies that the rich people always owned. Like the mobsters, or the presidents. The desk was huge. Massive. If it weren’t for what I knew was about to happen in this room, I would have loved it. It smelled of rich tobac
co, which oddly reminded me of my pappy’s pipe. Though he smoked nothing that was rich.
“Come in and close the door behind you,” Marco said from behind his desk. He sat on a large leather office chair that reminded me of a king perched on his throne. “Remove your dress, but keep your heels on. I want to see the long, toned curve of your legs.”
I did as he asked, shedding my dress and my undergarments without taking the time to focus on what I was actually doing, and slowly made my way to where he sat, inches from his desk. There were chairs in front of him, but I didn’t dare sit without being told to do so. I was naked and waited for his next command. I knew the only way I would survive these two weeks was by doing exactly as the man asked and desired. I had to check my pride and spine at the door. Hell, I’d checked it the minute I’d pricked my finger and stamped my blood next to my signature.
He got up from his chair, placed his hand on my bare shoulder and pushed me down to my knees. “I like my women broken.”
I stared but said nothing in return.
“I like my women to come to me an empty shell so that I can fill them with all my fucked up darkness.”
Again, I remained silent, but I also didn’t feel he wanted a response.
“Have you ever been beaten?” he asked simply as if that were a normal question to ask.
“No.”
“Have you ever been choked? Pissed on? Locked in a cage?”
“No.”
“Fucked so hard in the ass you have no choice but to scream?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He towered over where I knelt at his feet.
“Is that what you plan to do to me tonight?” I asked in a soft voice. I had to prepare. Steady my terrified soul. I hadn’t even processed what the next two weeks had in store. I had to survive tonight first.
