Chapter 41
Genevieve
Blood trickles from my nose, the taste of metallic and iron coating my tongue, my black hair matted to my face as I slump onto the floor of Leo’s office. So much for him avoiding my face.
“Worthless fucking whore,” he grumbles before spitting a glob of saliva on my face. It lands on my chin and dribbles onto my collarbone. I’m going to need at least fifty showers to feel clean after that.
“I’d have sold you to someone else if Grady wasn’t so addicted to your worn-out pussy.” With those lovely parting words, Leo stomps from the room, the door rattling against the frame.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m into a little degradation—especially the kind that Grady doles out—but this is textbook abuse, and I’m growing fed up with it.
The day started with the most perfect morning, @livingh3ll’s deep voice filling my bedroom like a serene safety blanket, even if the connection was more than a little spotty. I was hoping that meant that today might be different, better.
Talking to @livingh3ll is more amazing than anything I could’ve dreamed up. I was content messaging back and forth, but now that we’ve progressed to talking on the phone, I find my stomach twisted with a foreign feeling that I’ve never once experienced when meeting with clients.
I like him, more than I ever expected to. I was halfway prepared for him to be an elderly-sounding man, and if he had, I was going to admit to myself that I’m into silver foxes. Instead, he sounds about my age, which only fed this delightful fantasy I have of being with him.
You can’t message someone nearly every day for almost a year and not come to like or care for them.
I don’t know what he does for the military or if his job is dangerous, but it’s at the point where I worry about him.
Outside of Corinne and Marcus, he’s the only one I have in my life who might care if Leo unscrewed my head from my shoulders.
Sex work makes dating difficult. Men become insecure the moment you mention that you sleep with people for a living, then they come to resent you for it.
It’s why I’ve mostly opted out of the dating scene.
My clients keep me busy enough anyway, and when I’m not engaging with them, I’m attempting to stay off Leo’s radar.
I want to know @livingh3ll, want to come home to him at night and spend my Saturdays curled up having movie marathons together.
I’m dying to learn how he takes his coffee, and to teach myself how to cook a steak just to watch his face light up when he takes a bite.
I want to laugh with him, slide my hand in his and rest my head on his chest. The prospect of being together makes my heart flutter and my stomach flip, and I’m tired of ignoring that feeling.
Clutching my likely broken wrist to my chest, I try to get to my feet as tears blur my vision.
“Hey, Gen, take it easy. Let me help you,” Marcus offers, reaching down to assist me.
When I’m on shaky feet, he leads me over to the couch and drags me close to him. He smells spicy and warm, safe, and I nestle closer as he runs a hand gently down my back.
I sniff. “You shouldn’t be doing this. If he catches you soothing me, he’ll—”
“You let me worry about Leo. I’ll wipe the security footage just in case, and he won’t be back for another few hours, and you’ll be home by then. Let me look at your wrist.”
Pulling back, I offer my left hand, and he winces. “That’s definitely fractured. You need to see someone, Genevieve.” He’s quiet for a minute and brushes a kiss on the top of my head.
I close my eyes, tears spilling down my cheeks, and nod.
Four hours later, Marcus helps me into the apartment, and Corinne grabs my purse from him as he helps me to the couch.
Marcus never left my side once while I was in the emergency room, even forcing his way into the radiology room when they took x-rays. I’m sure the staff thought he was my abuser, but he’s only ever been my friend.
When I’m curled up with a blanket covering my lower half, I stare out the window at the dark horizon lit by buildings and apartments as I listen to my friends mutter together in the kitchen.
“God, this is getting to be too much. What was the reason for the beating this time?”
“Leo thinks she’s shorting him,” Marcus replies.
“She is. But almost all of us do that, yet she gets his fists twice as often as anyone else.” Corinne sounds both gravely concerned and exasperated. I don’t blame her.
I wince as I shift, glancing down at my broken wrist wrapped in a cast. This is going to be a problem for the next six to eight weeks, and I can’t afford not to work.
I suppose I’m going to be pretending I fell down the stairs.
It’s not the first time I’ve used that excuse. Apparently, I’m quite clumsy.
Marcus’s voice drops, though I can still hear him. “Leo is going to kill her one of these times. She’s in danger, Corinne.”
“We’re all in danger.” She huffs. “From Leo, from the police, from our clients. There’s danger everywhere. We’re powerless.”
We’re powerless.
Corinne’s statement still swirls in my mind long after Marcus leaves, and I tuck myself into bed.
Thoughts of power and supreme authority drill holes into my mind as I stare at the ceiling.
What if it’s possible to harness control of things?
What if there’s a way to hold the power in these situations, to control those that control us, to shield ourselves from the dangers that lurk in the grass?
What if I could own those who seek to own me?
“What happened to you, sugar?” Henry asks, jumping up from the edge of the hotel bed and scurrying over to me now that the door is closed.
I smile at him, though I know I look like hell. Corinne and I spent nearly an hour attempting to cover the dark bruises with makeup, but that only helped a little. There was no chance I was cancelling on Henry tonight, though, and not just because Leo would surely kill me.
I have a soft spot for the newly elected senator. He’s easily my kindest client, and I wish I knew him in another life, in another version of my story.
“I’m fine, I promise. I just…fell down the stairs.” I grimace internally at the lie, and it must not have been convincing since Henry narrows his eyes, pursing his lips.
After a moment, he opens his mouth, but I shake my head, cutting him off. I only have one client who might be able to offer their assistance, and it’s not him. Still, I suspect that help is solely up to me.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” I ask, removing my black coat to reveal the lace bustier and garter belt. With my coat finally off, Henry’s eyes widen as he takes in my sling.
“I can help you, sugar,” he offers and steps toward me. While I’m touched that he’s extending this kindness, he can’t help me.
When I shake my head, he sighs and tries a different tactic. “We could do something different. I can…make you feel good.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I resist the urge to reach for him, to ask him for a hug. “Remove your clothes and kneel on the bed for me,” I order in my Domme voice, dropping an octave and taking on a stern edge.
Spreading my legs marginally, in an authoritative stance, I arch an eyebrow at him expectantly in an expression that dares him to cross me. He hesitates, but dips his chin, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
When he’s naked, his palms face up on his thighs, eyes downcast, I approach the side of the bed, my fingernails thrusting into his hair softly.
He mewls, like I knew he would, and I tell him, “Are you going to be a good boy for me tonight?”
“Yes, Madam,” he responds breathlessly, and I smile, making the cut in my lip stretch painfully.
“My perfect little pet.”
Exhaustion claws at my insides as I all but fall through the door of the apartment, locking it tightly behind me.
I’m worn the fuck out and need a day off, but Leo has kept me booked for several weeks straight, without a break.
I’m sore, emotionally and physically bruised, and bitterly numb.
I don’t know how long I can keep going like this. Corinne was right. We’re powerless.
I crave the taste of dictating control of my life, no longer beholden to the schedule Leo demands of me, choosing and vetting clients myself, and establishing myself on my own terms. I don’t want this life Leo has carved up, placed on a platter, and force fed to me.
Corinne isn’t home yet, so I quickly change into sweats and grab my computer, plopping down on the couch in the living room to wait up for her. Turning on the laptop, nerves swirl to life in my stomach like moths emerging amid the darkness as I navigate to my messages.
I want to talk to @livingh3ll, want him to make me forget, want him to make my problems and dangers disappear. It’s strange, trusting someone you only know online, but I do. I trust him with my secrets—well, most of them. I trust him with my dreams and past. I trust him with my heart.
Sure enough, I find a message waiting for me.
@livingh3ll: Logan Circle. September twenty-first, seven p.m.
That’s only three and a half weeks away.
Am I ready for this? What if he decides he’s not interested once we meet? What if he doesn’t accept my profession and tries to make me quit?
Honestly, I’m fucking terrified of meeting up with him, but what kind of excuse is that?
I’ll always be scared of something: of Leo, my clients, my own fucking life.
I shouldn’t let fear stop me from actually living.
After all, if I can survive Leo, I can survive meeting someone in person for the first time.
Holding my breath, my trembling fingers type a response.
@dc_d0ll: I’ll wear red.