by Barker, Kira
I didn’t even shy away when he reached for me and slid his hand proprietarily over my ass, then over my hip and beneath my body so he could cup my pussy. Although the actual pain had long since subsided, I remembered the scratching of the tattoo needle all too well as he’d marked me as his. And tonight, maybe for the first time, I didn’t feel bad about acknowledging that the thought made me just as horny as it still horrified me.
I shifted my weight just a little to give him better access, and he took that as the invitation that it was. Hunkering down above where I remained lying stretched out beneath him, his fingers dipped lower, finding me wet and willing. I kind of expected him to go straight for it again, but instead he lay down behind me, his chest flush with my back, and kept stroking me, masterfully working me toward another climax. My mind wasn’t ready for it, but my body more than made up for that indecision still warring in my thoughts.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he whispered into my ear as he continued to finger-fuck me. “Go home. Move on. Do as I told you, and take it from there. I’m always here if you need me—or want me—but I will let you decide what you want to do. Should the guilt become too much, end it yourself. Or come to me, and I will do you that one last service. I promised you that before, and the offer still stands. I know that you’re stronger than this. I couldn’t break you, so nobody else will. But know that your place at my side is always waiting for you. You just have to come to me.”
Reaching for my shoulder, he flipped me onto my back so that he could kiss me, long and deep. It felt so good to get lost in that kiss, to just focus on the sensations he created—and how, slowly but steadily, the latent panic raging inside of me receded until it disappeared. That was furthered when his lips left mine and he kissed a hot trail down my body to settle between my legs, his lips and tongue now joining his nimble fingers. My eyes never left his face, meeting his gaze over the black letters emblazoned on my skin.
I knew one thing for sure—I was his. And he was mine. And tonight? Tonight that was the only thing that mattered.
Chapter 18
I left in the wee hours of the morning, but rather than stay at my suite, I just dumped the car in its designated spot, changed into more suitable clothes—for many reasons, I couldn’t stand to remain in the old sundress of mine that Darren had handed me to wear, seeing as my clothes of the day before were now in a charred heap behind the house—packed a light bag, and left. It was easier than it likely should have been to get a room at just after sunrise in a city that was chronically overbooked. I paid cash. That helped, and not just because it made me almost impossible to track.
I didn’t unpack, and I didn’t plan on sleeping. I just lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting my thoughts bounce around the inside of my skull until I thought I couldn’t take it anymore.
Then I showered, put on fresh makeup, and called a cab to take me over to Brigitte’s for our Sunday afternoon meeting.
Business as usual.
Except for the fact that concentrating was virtually impossible, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything, and the latent feeling of guilt was getting strong enough that throwing myself out of the moving car sounded like a reasonable option.
I made it to Brigitte’s in one piece. Most of the girls were already present, making me realize just how late it actually was. The thunderclouds on Brigitte’s face didn’t bode well. As I headed toward the kitchen to grab myself a mug of coffee rather than partake in the prepared mimosas, my former madam didn’t hesitate to corner me.
“Penelope, what the fuck is wrong with you? Clients have been calling me for two days, saying that you’re not picking up. And as much as I understand that you don’t like Pam, it was your duty to call yesterday and make sure that all three girls were actually fine. She came over here last night after she’d spent three hours waiting in the ER to get stitches. That is unacceptable!” I remained with my back turned on her, hoping that this way she wouldn’t see how much my hand shook as I poured the milk. Exhaling slowly, I forced myself to calm down and let her tirade wash over me. None of that was important right now. I knew I’d messed up there—still hadn’t checked my phones—but right now, I had to make it through the day first. Then I could start to worry about mending torn-down fences.
“Are you even listening to me?” she bit out, her change in tone letting me know that she was pissed off for real and not just dispensing what she thought of as mandatory scorn.
“Of course I am,” I assured her, taking a sip. The warm, sweet liquid had absolutely no effect on me, making me wonder why I hadn’t just remained at the hotel.
Something about what I’d said—or likely a clue picked up from my body language—made Brigitte do a one-eighty. Stepping up to me, she touched my shoulder lightly, making me flinch before I could cut down on the impulse. So I was a little jumpy. That was perfectly acceptable the day after killing an innocent human being.
“Penelope? Tell me what is wrong with you.”
I considered all the hare-brained excuses I might have dished out, but I knew that none would do. And I couldn’t very well admit the truth. What was the truth, anyway? Most of the jitters didn’t hail from my actions, but rather the indecision waging war inside of me right now.
“It’s better if you don’t know,” I finally said as I turned to face her, trying to pull myself back together.
Pale brows rose. “Something that has to do with a certain Mr. Hunter?”
“Have you ever seen me this upset about anything or anyone else?” I quipped, immediately wishing I could take the words back. Thank God I’d never told her the whole truth, or that could have been seen as a veritable confession.
“Why, is he still fucking that young thing? You know that you owe it to yourself not to fight a losing battle if she’s actually the real deal for him,” Brigitte offered, then paused. “Or is it something that only has to do with him passingly? Like the very reason for your return to the city?”
I held her gaze as evenly as I could, which meant that my eyes were flittering away every few seconds. My voice was raw and pressed as I finally managed to reply.
“I think we both know that I didn’t come back on anyone’s behest except to further my own agenda. Maybe I’ve managed to lie to myself for a month or two, but admit it. You saw right through me the day I stepped back into your hallowed halls.”
Her features held some of that pain that she rarely let anyone else see—true compassion and sympathy for a woman who, like her, knew that love just wasn’t a thing a prostitute could have as easily as other women.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to hear me say it. But I tried,” she offered.
I had to look away for good now, but did my best not to let my shoulders slump.
“The girl shouldn’t be a problem anymore. But that doesn’t exactly make things easier for me.”
“Have you talked to that agent yet? Is that it? They graduated from pressuring you to do their bidding into full-on blackmail? You know that I have lawyers who—“
“No, that’s not it,” I replied. “Although I do expect that she will try to do exactly that once she learns how things have shifted.”
“And where exactly are they now?” she asked, her voice perceptively gentle. Was she testing the waters? My paranoia came up with a slew of reasons for why she wouldn’t trust what I’d said.
Making myself catch and hold her gaze, I forced conviction into my voice that came surprisingly easy. “I’m done letting other people play and manipulate me. I’m better than that.”
It was an evasive answer that told her nothing, but my attitude alone seemed to be deserving of a smile.
“That we can both agree on,” Brigitte said. “I would just have preferred it if you’d given me a heads-up that you needed a few days off to get your head screwed on straight.”
I wondered if that was a deliberate slip of the tongue, but didn’t ask.
“I am truly sorry for tha
t. And I’m afraid that, just maybe, I won’t be the most reliable person over the next few days, either. There are still some things to sort out before I can hopefully leave this all behind me.”
“Then take the time and do that,” Brigitte advised. “You’re no use to anyone if you can’t even pick up the phone, and I need you sharp as a razor’s edge for this. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about wanting to run my operation in the future?”
That was about the only thing I was sure of. Shaking my head, I replied, “No. I’m all in.”
“Good. Are you going to stay for the meeting? You look like you could use some sleep.”
“I don’t remember the last time I slept through an entire night,” I admitted, then snorted. “But that’s not going to keep me from the pleasantries. But I would appreciate it if you’d take the lead. I know that I’ve neglected the girls—“
Her annoyed sound made me cut off right there.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They are old enough to take care of themselves,” she said. “Besides, that paycheck was fat enough that they could easily spend a week in a spa for recovery. Recovery that two of them don’t even need, and I’m not a hundred percent sure if Pam’s not just being a hypochondriac about things to use this as the final excuse to quit.”
“If she doesn’t, it won’t be long,” I replied. “I thought this was a fitting parting gig for her. To bolster her conviction that she’s over it and there’s nothing holding her back.” Like Brigitte had done for me with Ray, even if I only now realized that. I still resented her decision, but I was starting to see that things were yet more complicated than I’d thought. That reminded me all too starkly that there likely were other things I’d ignored that had been important, too. Would this never end? I was so sick of this uncertainty.
“Hold on to whatever thought just put that steel into your spine,” she advised as she turned to return to the girls. “You do remember what I told you a few days ago? Do what’s best for you first. Then you can help others. That is what people who have to watch out for others do. You can’t help them if you can’t even help yourself.”
That was probably the best food for thought that anyone had ever offered me. Be selfish. Do what needs to be done—for you. Already I could feel some of the tendrils of confusion fall into place rather than remain tangled up in the layers of problems that were piling up in front of me. It was also surprisingly close to what Darren had told me to do. That he and Brigitte agreed on something for once was eerie enough—but it probably made sense. They were both ruthless bastards in their own right—and I probably would have to join those ranks if I wanted to play with the big guns.
Sadly, my newfound conviction had barely time to settle before it got upended again, in the form of the elevator doors opening just as I joined the others, spilling a raging fury and her people into the suddenly much more crowded space of Brigitte’s boudoir.
I had a moment to exchange looks with my former madam, whatever she saw on my face calming the sudden look of panic on hers. Then I had to turn around and face the music. Literally, almost, from how Agent Smith came stalking toward me, bellowing at the top of her lungs.
“You fucking cunt! I told you that your plan would end in disaster, and that’s exactly what happened!”
My heart beat a mile a minute, but I forced myself to appear only moderately rattled. After all, just because I could guess what this was about didn’t mean I knew—and even if I’d been completely oblivious, that entrance would have both alarmed and annoyed me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, not bothering with niceties. “And how do you dare talk to me like that?”
From the corner of my eye I saw several of the girls shy back, panic spreading like a wildfire among them. I’d had the dubious pleasure of being part of a few police raids in my time, and that was never anything pleasant—even if they let you walk away after only intimidating the shit out of you. I couldn’t fault the girls for jumping to the wrong conclusions.
Agent Smith either didn’t care about my attempt at damage control, or plain didn’t see what her behavior was causing.
“What is this about?” Brigitte asked, more measured than I could have as she stepped up beside me. “Who are you, and why do you think you have a right to invade my private residence?”
“Private my ass. This is a fucking whorehouse,” the agent pressed out between gritted teeth. She got almost identical looks of scorn from Brigitte and me.
“Excuse me, but no illicit or indecent acts have ever happened here. I have to ask you to leave immediately, or I will call security,” Brigitte said, widening her eyes ever so slightly in my direction—a sure sign that she intended to do that this very second, which left me about a minute to either defuse the situation or take it elsewhere.
Agent Smith didn’t even ignore Brigitte’s objection but continued to hammer me with her overly loud bullshit.
“I will talk to you any way I want,” she huffed.
I almost told her that the last woman who’d thought that was a good idea had ended up dead in a ditch, but thankfully managed to hold that back. It served as the perfect reminder that I needed to be more careful now.
“Is there any reason why you’re storming in here like a raging stampede?” I asked. “I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that I will not allow our business to infringe on my other work. Which, as I remember, was actually your idea. Do you really think you can keep your little sting operation under cover if you blow up in front of a good twenty witnesses?”
That made her shut up, although her face took on a pinched look. I took that moment to turn around and make a calming gesture at the girls.
“Don’t worry, I got this covered. This is nothing that concerns any of you. Just forget any of this happened, and I’m sure that the nice agents will forget ever having seen any of you, right?”
The last I directed at Agent Michaels, who, as usual, didn’t bat an eyelash, but also refrained from looking anywhere near the sitting area at the other side of the room.
My peacekeeping mission was rudely interrupted by the elevator doors opening yet again, this time to reveal the downstairs doorman, flanked by two security guards. What they could have done against the eight agents and one disgruntled hacker, I didn’t know, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from how important the trio made themselves out to be.
“Thank you for being so quick about this,” Brigitte cooed at them. “I think the agents were about to leave?”
“Do you have a search warrant?” one of the security guards barked.
It was rather satisfying to watch as Agent Smith’s ire seamlessly transferred from me to him, but the grim set of her mouth told me that she technically had no right to be here. I shouldn’t have gotten quite such a kick out of that. Instead of answering, she reached into the pocket of her jacket and thrust a stack of printouts at me. I didn’t need to look at them to know what they were—crime scene photos. But I couldn’t not watch, the contrast of the white snow, churned up earth and bright red blood too vivid to look away. If I hadn’t known that this had to be Daliah’s body, I could never have recognized her.
“What is this?” I said, my slightly strangled voice sounding appropriately disgusted. “Why are you showing this to me?”
“This,” Agent Smith said, flailing around with the photos even more, “is what remains of the woman you were charged to protect!”
Brigitte blanched, and I could tell that the cogs inside her head were spinning. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together—and even if she didn’t suspect that I had anything to do with this, my frazzled state must have made it abundantly clear that I’d already known that this had happened. Her, I couldn’t so easily lie to, not that I’d tried. Agent Smith, now, was a different affair.
“Last time I looked, you were the agent, and I the civilian,” I told her, my voice cold as ice. “Isn’t it your sworn duty to help those that cannot help themselves? I have agreed to hel
p you in the past because, if not nice, you at least tried to be civil to me. If you change your attitude, nothing keeps me from changing mine. Good day, Agent Smith. You may call on me again—at my home, in private—once you have gotten a grip on yourself, but you will leave now. I have nothing more to say to you.”
I could tell that she would have loved to go after me, but in front of more than thirty witnesses, that was a sure way to get herself demoted at best, and fired most likely.
“This isn’t over yet,” she hissed at me, stabbing at me with the photos again.
“Of course it isn’t,” I agreed with her. “Now go.”
We all watched in silence as her people piled back into the elevator, the two guards joining them. Adam was the last one to step in, sending me a pleading look, but I ignored him. The doorman remained behind, looking highly uncomfortable as it was. When Brigitte raised her brows at him, he turned to me instead.
“Ms. Thompson, there is a Detective Donahue from the Chicago PD waiting downstairs. He asked me to inquire whether you’d have a minute to talk to him?”
I was surprised that the police hadn’t charged in like this also, but I had a certain feeling that, just maybe, the good detective had done his homework and had a sense of just how large the anthill was that he was about to poke.
“Thank you for letting me know. Please tell the detective that I will be down in a minute.”
The doorman nodded and got in the elevator as soon as it was back. I waited until the doors closed behind him before I turned to Brigitte.
“Want me to call a lawyer?” she offered in that no-nonsense kind of way that told me that she wouldn’t tolerate a negative answer.
“No, thank you,” I said, immediately launching into my explanation. “I’m not going to answer any questions where I could incriminate myself, don’t worry. And should I feel the need for representation, I have an entire black book on my short list, as you very well know.”
