Chapter Thirty Two
“There’s a room at the top, Charlie. Number eight. You’ll remember where you’re going, won’t you?” the woman asked, pulling her nightgown around her as she stood up.
Her voice was fucking annoying me. All fake sultry, covering up that Smoggie accent that was hidden underneath.
And the way she looked at him. And called him Charlie.
I didn’t know that was his name. I’d never asked.
And now I was mad I’d never fucking asked, and I had to learn from her.
Madam fucking Gina. Because that’s where we were. And that was what she was.
The air smelled faintly of perfume and money.
A rich, heady mix of alcohol, polished wood, and something decadent enough to make you feel out of place just breathing it in.
Incense or some sort of oil burning somewhere.
Probably to hide the smell of stale sex, smoke and cannabis.
Not that I could smell any weed, not like in Baz’s house, but it would be here. I was sure of it.
Chase guided me out of the lounge, past the closed doors.
At first there were no numbers, but as we moved further back, to where the next set of stairs led to the next floor up, I could see the little brass digits nailed into the wood.
One, two. It was like a hotel, and we were staying in room eight. I really hoped the bedding was clean.
And now I knew where I was, I couldn’t not notice. The bumps and bangs. The grunts and groans. And it seemed to get louder the higher up we got. Room eight was on the third floor. Right at the back in the attic. And up here, it was noisy. Someone shouted, a man’s voice.
“Fucking bitch! Dirty. Fucking. Bitch.”
“She ok?”
Chase glanced up at the door and then back at me.
“Yeah. She’s good.”
“How’d you know?”
“Up there,” he pointed, and my eyes followed. “There’s a light, and a panic button. The girls get in bother; they hit the panic button from the inside. The light goes off and an alarm downstairs.”
“And you know that how?”
“Because I installed them.”
The adjacent room echoed with grunts. Deep voices. More than one. I paused at the door, my eyes scanning up to the brass number seven. The hand in the small of my back made me jolt, the gasp slipping out before I had time to stop it.
“Sorry, Jazz,” he mumbled in that low voice, the noise vibrating through me, mixing with the lust filled grunts and noises from the room I stood at the front of.
All of it confusing my body. My flight senses were on edge, heightened, unsure what sort of fresh hell I’d just walked into.
“Come on, Tiger. Ours is the next room; let’s get away from this lot. ”
I didn’t know what I expected number eight to look like.
But it wasn’t like that. Padded red velvet swallowed the walls, thick and soft-looking, like a really cosy cell.
A four-poster bed sat in the centre, black wood polished to a mirror sheen, the sheets a mess of satin and silk in blood-red and shadow.
Pillows everywhere. Velvet. Satin. Shiny sequins.
Too many of them, like they were trying to disguise what the bed was really for.
The blackout blinds at the windows were already drawn, and I didn’t think it was because Gina had been expecting us; another set of velvet and satin roman blinds sat in the inset, pulling up to complete the seductive dark look.
Mirrors filled the corners. On the ceiling, the wardrobe, even the side of the dresser, catching the low amber light and throwing it back in fractured glints.
An empty wine bucket sat next to the bed, a tray of neat provisions beside it: wipes, tissues, lube, condoms. I picked one up and inspected it. Sensitive Feel.
The air was thick with perfume and something muskier beneath it, oil or an infuser hiding the smell of sex and sweat.
But the hint of it was still there, ingrained in the scatter cushions, in the soft padded walls and the thick plush carpet under my feet.
The place was a contradiction of opulence and filth.
“Jazz…” Chase started.
“You’ve brought me to a brothel. A fucking brothel.”
“The Rats…”
“I don’t care about the Rats. This isn’t just any brothel. This is a brothel with a history.”
Chase tipped his head, watching me with interest.
“And everyone’s fucking. I mean…was she in the middle of it when we arrived?”
“Gina?”
“Yes, fucking Gina!”
“Probably. She still works. Has a handful of clients. Rich ones, by the look of it.”
Chase glanced around the room.
“And were you one of them? Are you still one of them?”
His face changed, his brows furrowing, a shadow creeping across his eyes.
“Why do you care, Jazz? Why are you bothered what Gina is?”
I opened my mouth to retort. To say something. To explain why I felt so angry. How she’d eyed me up. How she’d made it clear she knew Chase better than me. Because she did, didn’t she?
“Come on, Jazz. Why do you care?”
I shook my head, fighting myself over the answer. “Because…”
“Because we’ve fucked?”
“Aye, because we’ve fucked. Because you rescued me. Saved my life and ruined yours in the process. And we fucked.”
Venom boiled in my veins.
Chase ran his hands through his hair, through the thick tufts, a chunk at the front falling back over his forehead, defiantly.
“And she rescued me, Jazz.” I stared at him, watching the darkness settle in his eyes. Then, he reached towards me, his fingers circling my bicep, firm, gentle, commanding. All at once, pulling me towards him. “Sit.”
“No, I won’t fucking sit down.”
“Sit, or I’ll make you sit, Tiger,” his voice rumbled, louder in this room, trapped by all the padding, deeper than I’d ever heard it before.
I tipped my chin. “You fucking sit.”
Fingers released my arm, moving swiftly, too quickly for me to realise what he was doing, until the hand wrapped round my throat.
He squeezed, his eyes on mine, angry, deep, dark, pulling me towards him by my throat.
I should have kicked off. Kicked him in the balls.
Swung for him. But for some reason, with the pressure on my neck, the look in his eyes like he might just eat my whole head, I did nothing.
Deep inside me, the pulsing started. A rich warm ache, spreading outwards, dragging me into a dark hole, common sense disappearing.
Chase pulled again, so I had no choice but to stand up on to the tips of my toes, his hand squeezing harder, the ability to fight him gone, the pressure against my neck making me lose control of my senses. Nearly all my senses.
His lips crashed against me, rough and punishing, his tongue forcing into my mouth before I was ready, his other hand diving under the hoody I wore, hot rough fingers against my stomach, then wrapping round my back, no way to get away from him, even if there was a tiny spark in my brain telling me to run.
His lips and tongue continued. Fierce. Fast. Hard.
Fuck if that wasn’t killing me, the pulsing low in my stomach changing rhythm, a mad dance of pressure, and need, and ruin hammering inside me.
And then he let go. Of my neck, of my back, spinning me so fast the room wobbled, and I fell forward, the soft satin of the bed covers under my hands.
Chase moved behind me, his hand wrapping my neck again, pulling me upright.
I could see him in the mirror, his hand tightening, his face even tighter. Dark, frightening.
“I rescued you because I couldn’t let those fuckers hurt you.
It ripped my guts out letting them do what they did to you.
” His voice growled in my ear. “I’ve killed people, Jazz.
That was my fucking job. Gina taught me how to when I was just a fucking kid, and the Rats wanted those skills too.
But I couldn’t kill you. I couldn’t be a part of that anymore. ”
“You could have walked away. Cut me loose. Pretended I’d got the upper hand.” I rasped, watching myself in the mirror. Watching Chase’s face get tighter and harder.
He moved behind me, a sudden kick at my legs, knocking one to the right, the other to the left, stepping into the gap he’d just made, pushing against me so that I could feel his cock straining through jeans that threatened to submit me, the bulge pushing against my arse.
“You couldn’t overpower me, Tiger.” He squeezed those fingers around my neck again, reminding me of the position he now had me in.
His other hand slid round to the front of the jeans that were way too big for me, popping the button, dipping inside where the material sagged from around me. Fingers brushed over the top of my mound, sliding through my slit and the wetness that I knew he’d find there.
“You could have just walked away, Chase? Run. Left. Gone away. Started afresh. Then you wouldn’t have seen what they did to me. You just left. The Rats could have forgiven you for that.”
“And left you to the Hand? To what Grim would have done with you? I would have killed you rather than let him take you.”
I shuddered. And he felt it too, and he pushed his fingers inside of me, slowly dragging them out again. Twisting them, pushing them back in. Slowly. Way too fucking slowly. I could feel the tip of another now, teasing at my entrance. Fucking torture. That was what he was doing.
“No one was having you, Tiger,” his voice was hoarse against my ear, the rumble from his words vibrating against my back. “You were mine the minute I hung you on that fucking hook.”
Mine?
He rammed his fingers back inside, the third joining on that thrust, forcing me full of him. My hips bucked back against him, uncontrolled, a strangled cry ripping from me.
“Fucking scream, Jazz. The padding in this room is soundproofing. The fucking best room in the house. No one can hear what I do to you in here, Tiger. No one.”