Heart Over Heels (Sinful Nights & Neon Lights #2)

Prologue

Chicago, IL

DARBY

It was a series of unforgivable offenses.

First, the laudanum that I bought then slipped into John Hooper’s tea. He always fancied a drink after fucking, reliable man. Who was I to deny him?

Second, packing a bag with all my favorite things. Well, most of them. My best corset had been ruined by the memory of the foul-smelling fellow who liked to untie it with his teeth, so I left it behind.

But I brought the ivory dress that reminded me of a wedding gown, hoping it might finally become one.

Third, the note I left for my mother, explaining everything and nothing.

If I had told her where I was going, she’d be sure to inform Madam, who would doubtless send for me.

Madam knew men in power all over Chicago, and many of them knew me, intimately.

They wouldn’t abide me fleeing at dusk and leaving John Hooper unconscious in my bed.

They wouldn’t understand.

With my bag on my hip and my savings in my pocket, I clambered out my bedroom window and into the early night then made my way across town.

We’d set a rendezvous point. My beloved Micah was to meet me at the docks, where a steamer would take us down the river. We’d reach Milwaukee by morning, and there, we’d begin our forever.

I found a quiet place to wait, tucked out of sight with an easy vantage over the dock.

I’d see Micah before he saw me, and my heart would sing like it always did.

I’d think of the ivory dress packed neatly away and imagine us clasping hands and exchanging vows.

I would finally belong to someone. No longer parceled out to any man able to buy me.

That was what I’d told Mama in my note. With Micah, I would be loved, the way she loved me.

Since I was born, she’d fought to keep me at the parlor house, claiming that was better than turning me out onto the streets. She was never more relieved than after I’d come of age and stayed small, so petite for a man, so appealing to our clients.

My body had guaranteed my place at the parlor house for as long as I wanted it.

But I didn’t want it anymore.

I wanted Micah and the future he promised.

So I waited.

Darkness settled while the steamer boat tarried at the water’s edge. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the first stars emerged. Night brought a chill while I huddled in my hiding place, still waiting. It wasn’t too late.

I should have brought a watch or some way to note the passing time because it felt as though I hunkered there for hours.

When the boat prepared to depart, my growing worry reached full bloom.

I poked my head out and glanced around. I’d observed plenty of passengers coming and going, but not the one I wanted to see. Not the one I expected.

Slowly, I peeked over the stack of crates I’d taken shelter behind, scanning the waterfront and the sailors pulling in the gangplank.

Would I let the steamer leave without me?

Would I leave without Micah?

“Hey, little lady.”

A stranger’s voice made me jump. I flinched back into a crate and collided with a hard knock.

“Whoa!” The man raised his hands then glanced around before fixing me with a slanted grin. “No need to fret. What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?”

He had predator’s eyes.

I knew how a patron would treat me based on that singular trait. It was a glint. A hint of menace. Those were the ones who fucked me like they hated me. Or like they hated themselves for wanting me. They filled me with their contempt then left me to wallow in it.

I wondered if it was because of my color or my cock.

I wondered if they treated my mother the same way.

We didn’t discuss it.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I sputtered while casting about for Micah once more.

The man’s smile widened as he closed in. “Mind if we keep you company?”

“We?” The question escaped as a squeak.

Behind him, three other men fanned out. Dockworkers at the end of their shift, left with nothing to do but sniff out trouble now that the steamer was ready to set sail.

I shook my head, curls whipping across my cheeks. “That’s not necessary. My fiancé will arrive any moment…”

Even as I said it, doubt soured the words.

None of them answered as they closed in, herding me backward until the stacked crates dug into my spine.

My gut twisted with dread at what they would discover once they laid hands on me—what they would feel and know.

At the parlor house, it was different. Patrons there considered me a curiosity. A novelty, not an aberration. Not an abomination.

But not every man was so merciful.

When the first one reached me, a plea for mercy died in my throat. I’d already seen his intention, and men like him didn’t yield.

While the others crowded in, I closed my eyes and wished I could do the same with my body, mind, and heart.

But my heart betrayed me. It struggled, and thrashed, and sang a broken song.

For Micah, who swore he loved me. For our plans to run away to Milwaukee, or farther. To a place where I could be whole.

But he never came.

And the last thing I felt was being torn apart.