Chapter Thirty-Two
Wes
“You don’t need to walk me inside,” I tell Troy on the way into work the next week. “Wasn’t the point of you putting the tracking app on my phone so that you wouldn’t need to be glued to me all the time?”
It’s been a few weeks now since we were kidnapped. Aside from Gina continuing to give us worried looks, everything’s been surprisingly good. Even Max seems to have backed off of his micromanaging and threats.
Yes, I’m still questioning my sanity. But every day it’s a little less. When I leave work exhausted at six in the morning and go home to crawl in between two men who give me the best orgasms of my life, it’s difficult to care.
When Troy gives me a flirty grin and says “You know you love it” I can’t help but smile. I don’t argue. I’ve been feeling an awful lot of strong feelings for the both of them lately. Love feelings.
Still, I have lingering doubts. Is this really falling in love, or are we trauma bonded? Both?
Even considering the question makes my chest tight. Whatever this is, it feels too important and too real to pass it off as something other than love.
“I think you’ve got better things to do with your time, that’s all,” I say instead.
Sure, I’m the one who insisted on total honesty. Really, though, if I’m going to come out with something as intense as telling them I’m falling in love with them, shouldn’t I wait until I’m one hundred percent sure before I say it out loud?
Lately I’ve questioned a lot of things, especially whether I ever loved Gina the way I should have. Unfortunately, I think the answer might be no. Did I care for her? Absolutely. Part of me still does. Mostly, though, it was obligation.
None of that is what I feel when Adam makes me a to-go cup of coffee to bring to work, or when Troy’s hoarse whisper in my ear asks me how much I want him to destroy me while he fucks my ass.
It is overwhelming to comprehend when I have an entire night shift looming ahead. Or anytime. I’m constantly thinking about it and also trying not to.
Troy squeezes my hand. “Nothing more important than making sure you’re safe, Kitten.”
Last night he and Adam fucked me in front of their open living room window. Even two floors up, someone could’ve seen. I came so hard I almost collapsed and chipped my tooth on the windowsill.
It’s a good fucking thing I’m a runner. I’m conditioned for endurance. Otherwise, the two of them might be the death of me.
The thing is, I never thought I could feel this cared for, even if the way they go about it is slightly unhinged. They make me feel wanted, and not simply for what I can give to them.
I think they might actually want me for me. Just as I am.
As we reach the door, I turn to say goodbye. “I’ll see you when I get off.”
“You better not be getting off without us there.”
“Walked into that, didn’t I?” But I laugh anyway. Only a little, because there’s a question I’ve been dying to ask. “Are the two of you really thinking about quitting the business?”
“We basically already have.” Troy’s hand twitches and his gaze cuts away. I’m coming to realize he has trouble with eye contact when he’s feeling vulnerable. “Brennan said he’d handle the gig with Rigby, and the other two we had scheduled, he’s already reassigned to other guys.”
“What about, you know, income?”
“Told you, Kitten. We’ve got savings. We’ve got time.
Christmas is around the corner. New Year’s.
We’ll all be able to spend time together for real and see if this thing will last when we’re not all swimming in drama.
” Then he takes me off guard by breaking into laughter.
“What am I talking about? Of course it will.”
“How can you be so sure?” It’s one of my worries. What happens when there’s no hate-fucking and no kidnappings to fuel the fire between us?
Then he reaches for my tie to pull me forward, kissing me right there in the parking lot. He presses his cheek against mine to whisper, “How can we get bored when we’ve got you asking us to jump scare you and fuck you in the middle of the night?”
Okay, it’s forty-five degrees out here, but I’m absolutely boiling right now. It still makes me squirmy when he kisses me in public, but I let him anyway. Ignoring the click of heels passing on their way out of the building, I kiss him back.
Softly. Sweetly. It’s not the frenzied hunger we kiss each other with when we’re in bed, but it’s satisfying.
“Go,” I tell him when I pull away. “I’ve got work, and you said you wanted to call Adam to make sure he got to his meeting okay.”
Adam’s meeting with this friend of Brennan’s who wanted to talk to one of them for some reason. We don’t know what about, but it hasn’t stopped me from manufacturing a long list of what-ifs in my head.
At the top of that list: What if this person wants to hire them? What if they want a boyfriend experience? A long one?
My stomach hurts.
The address Brennan gave is at a beach house on the far end of Belle Argo. Not a “modest” beach house like where my brother and PJ live, but one of the big ones that cost tens of millions of dollars and have more square footage than a big box store.
It means a lot to me that they’re willing to put the escorting on pause while we work out the ins and outs of being together. It also makes me nervous. It’s a lot of pressure. Am I enough to justify the change to their lucrative income stream?
I’m afraid they’ll come to resent me. Like Gina did. Like I came to resent my mother. What if one day they look at me and regret that they stayed?
It’s too much to discuss for now, so I say goodbye and head inside.
After I make my way down the carpeted hall of the employee wing and out to the shiny marble lobby, I stop at the concierge stand. Roy, who’s been with the hotel forever, is holding himself stiffly as he packs for home. “Evening, buddy. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, not awful. Still swollen. A little sore.” Roy took a spill off a curb and did a number on himself recently.
“You know, there used to be a stool up here. Would it help if you could sit during your shift?”
“Oh, absolutely. I thought of that, actually, but I haven’t had time to look for one.”
“Let me put my stuff down, and I’ll go see what I can find.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want you to go to any trouble?—”
“It’s no trouble. Let me go now, so I don’t get pulled into something and forget.”
He looks relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe. That’s kind of you.”
“My pleasure.”
Speaking of pleasure, I take note of the tender ache in my ass as I deposit my things in the management office.
It’s been a challenge getting Troy and Adam to be willing to fuck me as much as I want them to.
We all like it when they get rough, when they hold me down and “make” me take them both, but they seem unwilling to risk really hurting me, no matter how much I beg.
And believe me, I’ve begged.
I smile to myself as I make my way back down to the service wing, where the storage area is. The hotel bar was redone a few years ago, and I’m pretty sure some of the old bar stools are still here.
At least, I hope so. Gina asked me to bring a few home for our kitchen, now her kitchen. Some other employees probably nabbed some too.
As I search, I experience yet another strange feeling—would it be dissociation? That thing where you feel like you’re standing outside your own body?
It’s surreal how much change I’ve seen in the last year. My marriage ending, getting too involved in my brother’s shit and fighting with him. Getting kidnapped. Strangest of all, having that last experience result in somehow being both happier and more out of control than I’ve ever been.
All the way in the back of the storage room, partially hidden behind some rolled-up area rugs, are a couple of the last remaining stools from the old bar. I give myself a mental high five and drag one out and down the hall to the main lobby.
This will be good. It’ll allow Roy to take the weight off his feet without bending his injured knee too much. When I arrive at the stand Roy’s already gone for the day, but I place the stool there for when he returns.
“Mr. Monroe. Nice to see you.” I look up, and to my horror, Mr. Rigby is standing in front of me, smiling.
Usually I’m great at putting on a game face with the VIPs, but it’s different coming face-to-face with the man who’s fucked your… Wait.
Are they my boyfriends?
Whatever they are, they’ve got a history with him. I trust what Adam said to me about it being transactional. I still don’t like it. I don’t like picturing him with his hands all over them. Or knowing he’s probably helped pay for the apartment I’m currently living in.
“Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”
His face is neutral. Pleasant. “Oh, I don’t know that I need anything really. Thought I’d swing by and say hello.”
“Oh. Well, hello.” Something tells me this man doesn’t simply stop by for pleasantries, and I’m unnerved by what he might say next. I take a step back, ready to take myself literally anywhere else. Maybe someone needs help with a toilet clog or changing some bloody sheets.
“It’s interesting, Mr. Monroe.”
Dammit. His voice stops me in my tracks. “Interesting, sir?”
“I’ve been a regular of your two young men—” I don’t like the way he puts emphasis on the word “young,” especially when I’d possibly put this guy in his early-fifties.
“—for a couple of years. Now, seemingly out of nowhere, I find they’ve decided to quit escorting entirely.
Since I haven’t seen them around here lately, perhaps you can let them know how much they’ll be missed. ”
“Mr. Rigby. I don’t discuss my personal life with guests?—”
“Oh, of course not. I understand.” He nudges my shoulder as if we’re buddies. “I’m not simply a guest, though. I’m the new owner. Technically, I’m your boss.”
Fuck. This guy can’t be serious.
For one thing, I thought I’d met the owner, and this isn’t him. For another… “Why are you staying here all the time if you’re not a guest?”
“Perk of the job.” He laces his fingers behind his back. “Max keeps a suite open for me. I can see you trying to do the mental math. The previous owner ran into some legal trouble, you see.”
“Right. He sold to his business partner. I’ve met them both.”
“Well.” Rigby leans in and gives me a wink.
I’m about to risk my job again by telling the guy we are not buddies.
“Between you and me, the business partner stretched himself too thin when he took on this property. Truly, it was an excellent opportunity. Great profit margins on luxury hotels.” He laughs and slaps my shoulder with the back of his hand.
“What am I saying? Of course you know. Don’t you teach an entire course on this stuff? ”
“How do you?—”
“You know, there might be money involved, but I genuinely care about those boys. And this…situation…between the three of you seemed to come out of nowhere. Felt like a good idea to look into you. My condolences on your divorce, by the way. I hope you’re not too overextended financially to be a good partner to them.
They’re good boys, and they deserve the best. They work very hard . ”
Let me add how much I hate the way he puts emphasis on the words “very” and “hard.” Don’t get me started on him calling them good boys. Bile rises in my throat.
There are plenty of things I want to say. I’ve got enough experience dealing with men like Rigby to restrain myself. I’m tired of it, though. I’m tired as hell of men who look down on people who don’t have the kind of money they do.
“Kind of you to be concerned, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere. Please don’t hesitate to let one of the staff know if we can do anything to make your stay a pleasant one.”
I’ve nearly managed a graceful exit when he wraps his hand around my wrist. Rigby’s surprisingly strong.
“Actually, there is one thing you can do, Mr. Monroe. Those two owe me a night, and I’ve been informed by their—” He clears his throat. “coordinator?—”
“Their pimp. Might as well speak plainly, shouldn’t we, sir?”
He glances around but his smile only widens. “At any rate, I’ve been informed that they are no longer open for business. They still owe a night.”
“They’re willing to pay the money back.”
“I don’t want the money back. I want the service I paid for.”
The service he paid for. Acid burns my throat.
“Mr. Rigby.” I pull myself out of his grasp. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t my decision to make. It’s theirs.”
When I walk away, I don’t look back. For a change I spend the majority of my shift in my office, uninterested in socializing or helping customers.
The strange, possessive way Rigby talked about Troy and Adam has left me with a pit of snakes writhing in my belly. I’ve never wanted to pummel somebody’s face more.
I hope you’re not too overextended financially to be a good partner to them.
Worse, I’m wondering if he’s right.