3. Myla
CHAPTER THREE
“Is any of this legal?” I ask, impressed by the amount of information they can pull from a driver’s license.
“None of it.” Satyr’s intelligent eyes narrow on me. “That gonna be an issue for you?”
This entire training session has felt like a test. I get it, though. They’re bringing an outsider into an illegal side of the business and are skeptical. Other brothels just have to trust they’re not sending their courtesans into a private space with a psychopath, but not the Honey Pot. The Sons run an extensive background check on anyone who wants the privilege of being with their girls. It’s why I felt comfortable working here. Sure, there’s no way to guarantee something bad won’t happen, and there have been a few incidents, but the Sons are always quick to respond and take care of any issue.
I huff. “Not even a little bit.”
“Good. Now you try.” Satyr hands me his ID.
“Ian Morgan?”
He smirks. “You didn’t think my parents named me Satyr, did you?”
“At least Ian is a normal name. My real name is Dirk.” Dutch winces.
I look between the two men flanking me. “So what’s the story behind your road names?”
“Mine’s a really good one.” Dutch chuckles, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out.
“Tell me.”
“Well, you see, I’m Dutch.”
“As in, from the Netherlands?” I ask.
“Yep. The guys got real creative with that one.”
I laugh, turning to Satyr. “And you?”
He mumbles something incoherent that has Dutch rolling with laughter.
“What was that?” I ask.
He sighs loudly. “Fine, but I’m giving you the backstory too.”
“There is no back story, bro. Just tell her you have chick?—”
“Shut the fuck up and let me say it my own way.”
“Is ‘your way’ the way that makes you sound like less of a pussy?” Dutch wipes his watery eyes as he recovers from his hysterics.
I smile, realizing that today has been the best day I’ve had in a long time. Even if it didn’t start out that way, Dutch and Satyr have turned everything around for me. Regardless of my motives behind wanting this job, I think it’s the best place for me right now.
Satyr ignores him and grips the arms of my office chair, turning me to face him. “I was a scrawny kid when I was in high school. Got made fun of and all that shit. Well, one day, I woke up and decided I was gonna change that. I got a gym membership and started lifting.”
“I can tell,” I say, checking out his muscular arms. He smirks and flexes, making the black T-shirt he’s wearing stretch across his bulging biceps. Add in the black and gray sleeves he has, and he looks the part of a scary biker.
“Anyway, no one told me I had to put time into my legs to keep things even,” he says defensively. “My dad split when I was young, so I didn’t have a mentor or nothing.”
“The idiot looked like an actual satyr! All big and bulky up top, but skinny little goat legs down below,” Dutch chimes in.
“Oh no.” I cringe.
“Not anymore,” Satyr defends, standing and moving to unbuckle his belt. “I’m all evened out. If you don’t believe me?—”
“No, no. You don’t have to show me. I believe you.” I burst into a fit of giggles.
“You sure? Because I can squat three hundred now. My thighs are thick.”
“I can tell through your jeans.”
He reclaims his seat. “Maybe I’ll show you some other time. When we don’t have an audience.”
Dutch cracks up again. “As if you have a chance with her.”
My smile falls. A couple months ago, I would’ve been flattered. I might’ve even taken him up on that offer. Being a sex worker did amazing things for my sexuality. Growing up in what I consider to be a cult, I was taught that my body was shameful. I didn’t even feel right looking at myself in the mirror when I got out of the shower. It was quite a shock to go from that to pole dancing, but I’m grateful for that experience because it forced me to challenge everything I’d been taught.
I went right from pole dancing to prostitution, and after a week at the Honey Pot, I had no inhibitions left. Shame wasn’t allowed in my vocabulary anymore because I did so much more than fucking men, women, and couples. Sex is a form of therapy. It builds confidence, lets you experience intimacy, lowers psychological stress, and provides a world of other health benefits. So yes, I considered myself a type of sex therapist.
Until I was taken, beaten, and degraded without my consent, and it all fell apart.
“We were just kidding,” Satyr says, seeing my distress. “We didn’t mean to imply?—”
“It’s fine.” I clear my throat and wiggle the mouse to wake the computer screen that went black while we goofed around.
Dutch rests a hand on the back of my chair. “Myla, I’m?—”
“It’s fine, Dutch. I swear it.” I type in Satyr’s real name, his birthday, and his driver’s license number, then watch the screen bring up his information. I scan the information until my eyes catch on a few keywords. “You have a master’s degree in computer science?”
“It also says I’m a felon, but you choose to ask about my education?” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re an optimist.”
My jaw clenches tight. He doesn’t know it, but I was an optimist up until a few months ago. I saw the good in everyone and every situation. For as awful as my parents were to Tinleigh and me, I knew they were doing their best. It’s crazy how you can spend twenty-one years of your life being hopeful and happy, and all it takes is four hours to change everything. Just four hours to undo it all.
“I expected the felonies. Didn’t expect the degree,” I say.
“Felony,” he corrects with a waggle of his brows. “I only got caught once.”
“Do me next.” Dutch hands me his ID.
I’m midway through typing his information in when the door opens to reveal Judge and Mary. What the hell is he doing here? Is he just going to pop up everywhere I go now? His steady gaze lands on me, but I can’t read his expression. Maybe he should play poker with as stoic as he is.
“Judge!” Satyr says, standing up and walking over to my stalker to give him a back-slapping hug. “How you been, brother?”
“It’s good to see you, man.” Dutch takes Satyr’s place and greets him in the same way. It’s how the Sons always greet each other. For a bunch of men who really lean into the whole alpha-male stereotype, they sure do embrace a lot. It’s actually one of the things I admire about the club. They have genuine respect and love for their brothers, not to mention undying loyalty.
“Figured it was time to come by and check the place out.” Judge’s hands go to his hips.
“It’s pretty cool, huh?” I take in the impressive room—and it is quite impressive—even if I don’t understand half of it. The wall-length desk and all the monitors make sense because they have to keep an eye on every inch of the property, but then there’s the adjacent wall covered in computer-looking things with blinking lights and a million labeled cables. I guess that’s where Satyr has put his degree to good use.
Judge ignores the question, his attention focused on me. “You settling in okay?”
“Just fine,” I quip.
“Good to hear.”
“So this is obviously the security room. The guys all have radios, and if someone sees something, they’ll alert whoever’s closest. Staff is always within thirty seconds of reaching any of my girls should they need help. This is also where we run background checks on our clients. That’s something I’ve never had at any of the properties I’ve worked for before, but thanks to Satyr, we can weed out anyone with a violent history.”
“Don’t background checks take a lot of time?” Judge asks.
“Not with the program I wrote.” Satyr grins proudly. “I’ll spare you the intricacies, but let’s just say the FBI has nothing on me. It’s not legal, of course, but we can get in and out of state and national systems before we’re even detected.”
“Cuts down on incidents, I’ll bet.”
“It does. That’s not to say there aren’t situations here and there, but my boys handle those.” Mary smiles down at Satyr and Dutch, who preen at the compliment. They’re adorable.
“This place is incredible,” Judge says.
“Can’t imagine you agree with what goes on here,” I mutter.
“I try not to quote the Bible because how cliché is that? But in this situation, ‘For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged’ is most fitting.”
“Amen.” Mary lifts her hands up in praise.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You’re right. That is so cliché.”
Judge falters at my sass before recovering and holding up a hand. “Anyway, I’m heading out now. See you guys later.”
“Hold up,” Satyr says. “We’ve been at this for a while and I have some actual work to do. Think you could take Myla to lunch? I just need an hour to update a few things. I installed so much technology into this place, it’s practically smarter than Dutch.”
“No, that’s okay,” I say at the same time Judge says, “Sure.”
Satyr looks between us, trying to read the tension but not caring enough to back down. “The restaurant here is excellent. Go relax for a little, and by the time you get back, I’ll be ready to show you what else you need to know before you start for real tomorrow.”
Not seeing a way out, I push back from the desk. “Okay.”
“Wish I could tag along, but Navy doesn’t get in for another hour, and I’ve been gone from the front long enough.” Mary holds out a hand to Judge, who takes it respectfully. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
Mary takes her leave as I make my way out the door. “I guess I’ll be back in an hour then.”
Satyr and Dutch wave me off, and then I’m walking alongside Judge, my arms folded across my chest. It appears the universe is continuing to work against me but soon, I’ll get things back on track. It feels like each step of my plan is taking ages. I’m not a patient woman, but this can’t be rushed. I have to do it the right way.
“Have Dutch and Satyr been on their best behavior?” Judge asks.
I’m so lost in my own head that it takes me a second to register his words. “Um, yeah. They’re good guys.”
“Good. And you’re enjoying what you’ve learned so far?”
“I am.”
We have to walk through the lobby to get to the restaurant from the inside, but I see that there’s a lineup going on, so I grab Judge’s arm to stop him from interrupting. At some point, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows so my hand makes contact with his bare forearm. Static electricity flows through me, like a sudden awareness I didn’t have before.
Am I attracted to Judge? I mean, yes, he’s attractive—extremely so. He has a tortured artist vibe that screams passion. My secret talent is predicting the type of lover someone will be, and Judge is a man who can go for hours and probably has some kinks, but not something strange, like sounding. My clit pulses just thinking about it. I quickly release my hold on him, but I can tell by the look he gives me that he felt something too.
No, no, no. Not happening. He isn’t part of my plan, and out of all the Sons, he’s the one who could derail it the most. Judge isn’t a one-night stand man; he’s a forever man.
“We shouldn’t interrupt the lineup,” I whisper.
He tucks his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”
It doesn’t take long for some of the women who weren’t chosen to walk past us toward their rooms. Judge shifts his gaze to the ground, backing up against the wall as if to make himself disappear. A few former co-workers recognize me, like Dieanna and Lacy, and they stop to give me a hug and tell me how much they miss me. Still, I don’t recognize a lot of them, and it makes me sad. I’ve been replaced, and life has gone on without me.
“Ready?” Judge asks me once the line of women ends.
I motion for him to continue and we walk through the lobby and bar. Judge picks up his pace and keeps his gaze averted, ignoring the mostly naked women and their clients. It grates on my nerves. Does he think he’s too good to be here? Or does he think the naked human form is too sinful?
“It’s just sex,” I say as we walk into the rustic restaurant.
“What?” he chokes out.
“Just the two of you today?” the hostess interrupts, and Judge nods. “Right this way.”
“All you religious people like to make sex something dirty when it isn’t,” I whisper, following her to a booth next to a window that showcases the beautiful desert surrounding the ranch.
“You’re putting words in my mouth.” He slides into the booth.
“Drinks?” the hostess asks.
“Water for me,” I say as I slide into the other side.
“Same.”
“Someone will be by to take your order soon.” The hostess fills two glasses already on the table with water and takes her leave.
“Those women were my friends, and you all but ran through the bar like what was going on there was offensive to your sensibilities.”
He takes a sip of his water. “I didn’t know what the protocol was.”
“Protocol?” I huff.
“I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”
“You think it’s disrespectful to look someone in the eye and say ‘hi’?”
“They could’ve taken it wrong, like I was checking them out or something. They have to deal with people leering at them all day, every day, so I just thought I’d give them a break.”
“Leering and acknowledging that someone exists are two different things.”
“Give me a break, all right? I’ve never been in a brothel before.” He shifts in his seat, looking everywhere but at me, and I know I’ve pushed him too far. I just wish I cared.
We’re interrupted by the waitress, who takes our orders. A burger and fries for me, a grilled chicken with steamed vegetables and rice for him, which doesn’t surprise me. I’d put him somewhere in his early forties, but he’s as sensible as a grandpa.
“Why did you come here today?” I ask pointedly.
“I told you, it was time for me to come see what the club has built.”
“But why today of all days?”
“I didn’t have anything else to do.”
“I don’t believe you.” I lean over the table. “Did my sister put you up to this? Are you spying on me?”
“Shit, Myla,” he barks out a little too loudly, gaining the attention of the other diners. He sighs and leans in, lowering his tone. “Your sister has nothing to do with me being here. I just like being around you, okay?”
My brows bunch. “What? Why?”
“Your sunshiney personality,” he quips.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Judge.”
His nostrils flare, and his hands tense around his water glass. “Believe it or not, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t even fuckin’ know anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a humorless laugh. “One of these days, you’re going to need me. All of this pent-up anger and hostility will reach a breaking point, and you’ll need a friend. Your sister’s busy with her own shit, and from what I can tell, you don’t have anyone else.”
“So you’re taking it upon yourself to be there when I inevitably fall apart?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Well, you can stop waiting because I’m not going to blow. What you see is who I am now, and that won’t change. There’ll never be that moment when I burst into tears, talk through all my trauma, and then return to the girl I used to be.”
“Okay,” he says, but the look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“I mean it. Stop following me around.”
“Whatever you say.”
There’s not a chance in hell he’ll stop.