Chapter One #2
“No payment. Got it.” I considered his words for a moment, disliking the unease which immediately settled in my gut. “And you don’t think this is an incredibly weird request?”
There was a long pause before Tom answered. “As I said, it’s unusual. But, if all the conditions are met to his satisfaction, he said he’ll pay double.”
“Double?” My heart sank. How was I meant to turn down an offer like that?
No wonder Tom was so keen to find someone he trusted.
He was due forty percent of that double payment.
“And he asked for me?” The escort agency insisted on current photos on their website.
I dreaded the day I lost an acting job because my photo had been spotted online.
It didn’t matter that the website was for a reputable escort agency.
Everyone would suspect the extras that went on and they’d be right.
“Not exactly.”
I frowned. “He didn’t ask for me?” I felt slightly affronted at the knowledge. “Who did he ask for?”
“He didn’t ask for anyone specific. I told him to have a look at the pictures on the website, but he didn’t seem interested.
Just told me to send someone attractive with a good body, who would follow the instructions.
That’s why I said I needed someone I can trust. Zach would last all of three seconds before going for the light switch. So, what do you say?”
I thought for a moment, trying to think through various possible scenarios. “What did he sound like? Did he sound…fat?”
Tom’s snort was audible. “You didn’t just ask that.
Is that even possible—for someone to sound fat?
I’m not even going to try and answer that one, Dean.
Listen, I’m giving you first refusal. It’s tonight.
So, I’m going to need an answer pretty quickly.
If you’re too freaked out by the idea, I’ve got a couple of other guys who’ll definitely be up for it, especially with it being double money.
I’d prefer it to be you, but…” His words trailed off, leaving the decision open.
I let out a slow exhale. “I’d have to have a screw loose not to be a bit weirded out.
” I scanned the restaurant again, meeting the annoyed frown of Grahame, the restaurant manager.
He tapped his watch, a clear signal that my break should have been over a few minutes earlier.
I nodded and made the universal gesture for one more second.
“Fine, I’ll do it. I can always leave, right? If things get too bizarre?”
Tom didn’t even pause. “Of course, you can. I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Dean. Let me know how it goes.”
So, there I was, a few hours later, staring at a door—trying to convince myself to turn the handle and let myself in, just like the instructions had stated.
I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers around the metal handle.
Maybe it would be locked, then I could leave.
Knowing I’d tried rather than simply chickening out.
I pulled the handle down and pushed. It opened with an ominous creak and I stepped inside, replaying the instructions I’d been given earlier over and over in my head.
Tom had insisted on texting them, evidently worried I’d forget and screw up the double money offer.
The money will be on a table opposite the door.
Sure enough, there was a small table opposite, lit by a lamp.
On it, lay a single brown envelope. There was no writing on the envelope.
I jumped, my heart rate going into overdrive, as the door behind me clicked shut.
The only other object on the table, besides the lamp and the envelope, was a phone.
I resisted the temptation to pick up the receiver and check for a dial tone.
Of course, there would be one. It wasn’t a bloody horror film.
It was just my overactive imagination. And why would I need to use the phone anyway when my mobile was securely in my pocket with perfect reception.
I’d already checked at the gate before walking up the path.
I’d checked again during my long contemplation of the door.
I pulled my phone out again, shaking my head ruefully when it again revealed there was no issue.
I took a moment to look around, noting the stairs to my left.
In the dim light of the lamp, I could make out three doors to the downstairs rooms—all firmly closed.
I gave brief consideration to opening one and carrying out a bit of detective work.
I quickly dismissed the thought. I could only imagine the fallout if I was caught snooping around a client’s house.
I snatched the envelope from the table, opening it to find the agreed amount inside; the extra amount only to be paid after all the conditions had been met satisfactorily.
I folded it and stuffed it inside my pocket, before eyeing the stairs warily.
You’re to go up the stairs on the left and into the bedroom straight ahead.
I had three options open to me: leave the money and get the hell out of there, take the money and do the same—which I reminded myself would basically equate to stealing and would effectively terminate any future escorting jobs.
Option three was to stop being such a wuss, get my ass up the stairs, and earn double the amount that currently sat in my pocket.
I put one foot on the first stair. It creaked—loudly, I would have been more surprised if it hadn’t.
I stopped and listened, trying to hear if there was any noise coming from the rooms at the top of the stairs.
There was nothing. No voices. No comforting background hum of a television or radio.
Nothing. The instructions hadn’t mentioned having to approach the bedroom in silence, so I called out an exploratory “hello.” No response.
Not a surprise, given the whole, weird scenario.
I went up a few more stairs. The area at the top of the stairs lay in complete darkness.
From my position, I couldn’t even see a door.
Heart threatening to jump out of my chest. I took another step, and then another.
The vague outline of a door finally coming into view.
It will be dark in there. Right. Like it wasn’t already dark enough out here.
Before I could change my mind, I gave the door an exploratory push.
It easily gave way beneath my hand, swinging open.
I stepped inside. To say it would be dark was an understatement; there was literally no light in the room.
I stared ahead, trying to make out something, anything at all.
Even in a dark room you could normally make out shapes, even if you couldn’t work out what they were. But there was nothing.
“Close the door.”
The voice came from the other side of the room and was spoken no louder than a whisper.
I immediately turned, my eyes straining through the darkness.
But it was useless. Even with the knowledge that there must be a human being there, I still couldn’t make out so much as an outline.
Fighting the overwhelming urge to run, I let go of the door.
It clicked shut and I leaned back against it, needing to feel its solid outline against my back. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, I waited.
The whisper came from the same place. “What’s your name?”
“It’s D—” Christ! I’d nearly slipped up and given my real name.
“Danny. It’s Danny.” I’d deliberately kept the name I used for escorting similar to my real one.
It made it easier to remember—usually. Unless I found myself in some weird pitch-black situation where my brain apparently became scrambled.
“Pleased to meet you, Danny. Take your clothes off.”