Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Zephyr
I’d wanted a few hours to mourn, but not like this.
Not in this horrible room where I was a prisoner.
Not while Maslow watched from the bank of TV monitors in his office.
Not so profoundly isolated.
At least upstairs, I would hear the other guys rustling around. Opening and closing doors, occasionally shouting or taunting one another, the sounds of life. Here, the ragged panting of my breath had become deafening, and it frightened me.
I didn’t mourn either, because that would be acceptance, and I couldn’t accept this. I’d bartered my way out of Hell in the hopes of finding something better, but everything that surrounded me now was more of the same.
In Hell, the demons had hurt me then mocked my pain. They’d demolished my sense of autonomy, diminished my worth, and left me alone in the dark. They’d tried to ruin me, and these past two months on Earth had almost finished the job.
My thoughts were scattered, but one jutted out with edges sharp enough to cut: I would have been better off if I’d never met Beck.
Our relationship, if I could call it that, had only delayed the inevitable. It gave me a glimpse of things I was not meant to have and lured me into a lengthy denial. It tricked me into believing I was something more, that I deserved better, and I had a purpose beyond Maslow’s whims.
Without Beck, I didn’t.
I curled up on my side, sucking on my fingers while my tears soaked the bedsheets. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring myself to change out of Beck’s pajamas. Couldn’t respond to the knock at the door that preceded Darby pushing it open and then peeking inside.
“Hey, Cherry.” He sounded cautious, and I wondered what he knew. “We’ve been looking for you.”
He entered the room noiselessly, and I missed the click-clack of his usual high heels.
His stage clothes were much more elaborate than what he wore the rest of the time.
During off-hours, he traded his corsets and gartered stockings for velour tracksuits and babydoll tees.
Today he wore white that matched his swooping curls and enhanced his umber-brown skin.
He made it only a few steps before stopping with a gasp. “What in the holy kink kingdom is this?”
I’d told him about it weeks ago, and I was surprised he hadn’t been down to investigate.
When the club was closed, we were often at loose ends for activities, though Darby stayed busier than most. Between coordinating routines and planning set lists, he handled the work part of our jobs.
Less mine since he didn’t know a thing about aerial arts, but he found the most beautiful scores I could choreograph, which I appreciated just as much.
He crossed the room with his head on a swivel. I couldn’t interpret his expression, but I sensed a low pulse of lust as his attention hesitated on the glass cabinets and rubber toys on display.
His flicker of desire faded by the time he reached the bedside where he peered down at me, orange eyes creased with concern.
“Honey, what are you doing in here?”
I rubbed my face, but the satin shirt sleeve felt rough against my chapped cheeks. When I mustered words, they came out in a croak. “Mazzy took my room.”
“The one upstairs?”
I nodded while sorrow swelled up around me. “Said he needed it f-for storage.”
Darby’s gaze flicked over my huddled form until he asked, “Mind if I sit?”
My shoulders bounced in a weak shrug, but otherwise, I didn’t budge. I felt frozen in place, bound by fear, and buried in misery.
Darby climbed onto the mattress. Compared to the beds upstairs, this one was massive—one of the only things in the club that could rival the scale of Beck’s suite. He scooted toward the headboard, casting a curious glance at the built-in restraints, more puzzled than disturbed.
I knew he had more experience than I did. Probably more than anyone here. It made sense that he’d take all of this in stride, the way he seemed to take everything. It was effortless. And enviable.
Putting his back to the headboard, he sat against it, cross-legged with his hands in his lap. It was a relief that he didn’t touch me. I was raw from Maslow’s assault and too fragile to handle.
A minute passed before he asked, “Where’d you go last night?”
I’d expected to answer that question from our boss, but the wraith hadn’t seemed to care where Beck and I had gone or what we’d done. He’d said as much. Didn’t mind if Beck prostituted me on a street corner as long as he paid for the privilege.
“Beck took me.” My voice scraped against the grit in my throat. “He… bought me. For a day.”
Darby gave a low whistle. “That must’ve set him back a pretty penny. Mazzy’s tight with his own money but loose with everyone else’s.”
He sounded proud, and that felt wrong. It gave credence to Beck’s suspicion that I had conspired with Maslow somehow. Taken advantage of him.
Tentative fingers brushed my hair, smoothing it like Colette had done. For how compelled everyone seemed to groom me, I must have looked a mess.
“But why are you sad?” Darby asked. “It’s a compliment, you know. People don’t shell out cash for things they don’t think are valuable.”
I hadn’t come to terms with it yet—first, the fact that I’d been assigned a price, and second, that Beck had been willing to pay it.
It was an exorbitant amount, but he’d barely flinched.
At first, it had felt like a gift, but after everything that followed, it seemed more like a debt. One I had no way of repaying.
“Do you miss him?” Darby’s question changed the course of my wandering thoughts.
“Yes,” I answered too readily, then shook myself. “But that’s not it. I…”
I was heartbroken, and I could have been angry, but I wasn’t. I was seized with sorrow and the slow, seeping assurance that the thing I’d lost was something I should never have had.
But maybe I could have had it a little bit longer. The fact that I didn’t was no one’s fault but my own.
“Darby, I ruined it,” I confessed, pushing up to face him at last.
“Ruined what?”
I struggled to sitting, and feeling returned to my limbs like a flurry of fire ant bites.
Upright and across from Darby, I couldn’t help but slouch as I explained.
“I poisoned him. Our first night together. He’s mad.
He should be. And he…” The stream of words crashed into a rock.
A hard truth in the middle of the current, something I could not avoid. “He said we’re through,” I whispered.
Darby’s marigold eyes grew intensely focused. “You made him enthralled with you?”
I cringed while finding myself unable to deny it. “I didn’t mean to,” I said. Then added, “Or maybe I did. But Darby…”
He tipped his head, and his tail swished slowly while he waited for me to drum up the courage to admit, “I wanted to keep him.”
Then it was tears all over again. A waterfall.
I pressed my palms to my face, knowing they would flood but still trying to staunch the flow as Darby cooed at me.
“Come here, Cherry.” He opened his arms, and I dove into them, letting him wrap his much smaller body around mine.
He tugged me to his chest, and I latched onto his waist. The fabric of his jacket was fuzzy against my skin as he dutifully wiped my tears and swept my hair back.
I was sweaty and snotty and probably as red as a beet, but he didn’t comment.
He didn’t shy away as I buried my face beneath his chin, getting a waft of the perfume that might have been overwhelming if my nose wasn’t so busy running.
Gradually, my eyes dried, but I stayed tucked in, finding a measure of peace inside the ring of Darby’s arms. I wasn’t sure if I’d had brothers or even sisters when I was alive, but I was certain I had one now.
The petite demon petted down the nape of my neck and onto my back in long, soothing strokes. It might have put me to sleep, which would be the only way I could hope to get any rest in this pornographic playroom.
My eyes fluttered closed as my strangled breaths eased, and above me, Darby mused.
“You know, I don’t get to do this much.”
“Do what?” I sniffled.
“Cuddle,” he replied while rubbing between my shoulder blades. “Be close. Sugar daddies don’t like their babies being too needy. You want new shoes or a pretty pair of panties? They’re on it. You want to just be held without a dick in your ass? Not so much.”
The mention of sex made my empty stomach churn, and I grimaced. “I would love to have a dick in my ass right now.”
Darby giggled, then adjusted to hold me tighter. “Well, you can’t have mine. I save that for special occasions like taking a piss, and…” He paused long enough that I glanced up to see him contemplating. Finally, he shrugged. “Actually, there’s nothing else. So you’re on your own.”
I sighed, amused by his banter but too exhausted to show it. I’d barely laid my head back down when he nudged me, directing my attention to one of the glass-fronted bookcases positioned against the wall.
“Luckily, you have a whole army of dildos at your disposal,” he said. “Give one a name. Take it for a ride.” He snickered, and I had half a mind to tell him to take every one of the fake, rubber things to the dumpster because the point remained…
“I’d still be hungry, though.”
He’d stopped petting me at some point, but at that, he trailed his fingers down my spine. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I guess so.”
“Was Beck my sugar daddy?” I wondered aloud.
“Maybe,” Darby replied. “His pockets are deep enough.”
“He has a limo,” I added by way of evidence. “And a chauffeur.”
Darby snorted a laugh, breath warm against the back of my neck. “And he’s old as fuck. You don’t live that long and not learn to accumulate.”
“His suite was nice too. He said it was my home.”
For the night.
I couldn’t bring myself to add the qualifier or admit I’d wanted to keep that too. The place. The feelings.
Darby was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had a sugar daddy take me home. That sounds more like a regular daddy thing to me.”