Chapter Twenty-Three
Phoebe
Tucker never made it back to the bakery, and I have to admit, my curiosity about what he’s doing at a brothel borders on jealousy. I want to see the woman who had him before I did.
And I need to hear her tell me she understands that whatever it is they had before is over. That she’s not in love with him like I am. Because I’m not certain I can compete with a professional lover.
I walk into Velvet Desire, and it’s nothing like I expect.
For some reason, I imagined it as some type of seedy motel where grungy looking guys walk in, their white wifebeaters stained from sweat and beer, reeking of body odor as they take scantily clad women into rooms with sticky floors. This is nothing like that.
In fact, it’s elegant. Red velvet draperies and couches with deep mahogany leather chairs adorn the lobby where a desk and a busty redhead stand. The lights are dimmed with an overall essence of sensuality. And the air smells citrusy. Not cleaning-product citrus, but seductive.
I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse.
“Sorry, Sunshine, we’re not hiring right now, but I do know of a biker in the office who would give his left arm to devour you,” the woman says.
My eyes follow her as she walks around the desk, and I have to remind myself not to gape.
She wears a strapless dress that ends barely below her butt—a very large, luscious butt—and it has to be made of some sort of spandex considering how tight it is.
She has large breasts, a small waist, wide hips, and shapely legs as she walks in heels I would break my neck in.
“Queenie?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d be seeing you in here or not, Phoebe, but I’m glad you stopped by.”
This is the woman Tucker spent time with? We look… nothing alike. Her chocolate brown eyes are warm and inviting, but the cat-eye makeup gives a come-hither vibe I couldn’t pull off if I tried. She looks sexy. I’d look like a drag queen.
Yeah, this was a big mistake.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Clutching my purse, I remind myself that I’m here for a reason. “Can we talk?”
“Sure. Let me turn off the camera in the room, otherwise Pacino will burst in to throw a fit,” she says, moving back to the computer and tapping long, fake nails on the keyboard.
“This room,” Queenie says, leading me down a short hallway to an open room.
Even the way she walks is sexy. She glides. If I had on those shoes, I’d be clomping and stumbling.
How am I supposed to compete with her?
The door shuts, and she turns to me with a smile. “What do you want to know?”
A large massage table sits in the center of the room, and I frown. “I thought this was a brothel.”
“It is. We have themed rooms for the experience our clients want. This is the Happy Ending Room.”
Happy Ending Room. Okay, then. “Oh.”
“It’s a lot to take in for someone like you, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
She holds her hands up. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. This is just… normal for me. I come from this world. It’s not often I’m reminded that it’s not normal for everyone else.”
“I’m not as sheltered as everyone thinks.”
“Oh, I believe that.”
All I can do is stare at her. Plump lips that look like they were filled, covered in gloss catch in the dim light. I know she’s had work done, and I just pray her chest falls into that category. Considering I’m barely an A cup, if she’s natural, it’s just proof God isn’t fair.
“Phoebe?”
“You and me… We’re so different.”
“Which is why he’s never wanted more than a quick fuck with me,” she says.
The thought of them together—now that I know how hot she is—makes me want to crawl into a hole and just die there. “I see.”
“He wants something real with you, Phoebe. And if you’re here, it means you want that, too. You’re scoping out what you think is your competition, but you have none. That man is crazy for you.”
That makes me feel a little better. “Does this make me a crazy girlfriend?” I ask with an uneasy chuckle. “Coming to my boyfriend’s work and talking to the woman he used to sleep with?”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “We fucked, sweetheart. That’s it.”
Not really making things better there. “Is it… He said… But I need to ask—”
“We have nothing going on,” she assures me with a shake of her head. “The last time he fucked me was the morning after you moved in. And he was thinking about you while we did it.”
My eyes widen. “How do you know that?”
“Because reading men is my job. And he told me the nickname he gave you. You’ve been on his mind since the day he met you. I never thought he’d find someone, but then you came along.”
Am I flattered or insulted that Tucker thought about me while he was with Queenie? “What did you guys… do? How did he… like it? Is that the right term?”
She giggles and leans against the table. “He’d only take me from behind. Doesn’t like being looked at. The moment our clothes came off, my eyes never reached his face. It was the rule.”
He took her the same way he took me those first nights. “Did he tell you why?” I ask, hating how my voice trembles.
Shaking her head, she shrugs. “That’s a secret only he knows.”
Ha! He told me! He didn’t tell you! I win!
I’m not sure I should be happy, but it makes me feel like I’m the victor in a competition neither of us knew we were in.
“And you don’t… love him, right?”
Her giggle becomes a laugh, and I hate how even that sounds sexy. “Honey, we don’t fall in love here. It’s kind of the first rule of being an escort.”
“But you’re not technically an escort. That’s why he and the other two could have you.”
I can’t believe I’m having a conversation about sexual logistics with the woman who used to give Tucker what he needed. This is bordering on psychotic.
“When I’m here, that’s my mentality. Work and home are very different versions of Queenie. My man knows the difference, too.”
Different versions of Queenie. I guess that makes sense. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“How did I get into this line of work?”
“No,” I say. “Not that I’m not interested, but you seem like you might kind of enjoy it.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Guess I’m not the only one who can read people.”
Blushing, I look down. “How do you do it?”
“Do… what?”
“Spend time with Tucker and Capone and… I don’t know the other guy, actually, but I know there’s three. How do you come here, have sex with them, and then go home to your boyfriend?”
She ponders my question for a moment, and I continue studying her. I hate how much I wish I could have half her sexuality. She owns it. Knows it. Loves it.
This is kind of new to me.
“I’d like to say it’s just part of the job, but the truth is, I could have said no when Johnny asked me.
I like these guys. They treat me better than any other man has in this business.
And I’m able to protect the girls the way I never really was,” she says.
“So stepping back into my old role for three men who have been incredible really isn’t difficult. ”
“But what about your boyfriend?”
“He knew who I was when we got together. And he understands this is just… sex. There’s no real intimacy. That’s saved for him.”
Sighing, I lean against the wall. “I’d like to say that I don’t think there’s a way to have sex without intimacy, but that’s what I had before Tucker.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t really… Because of my past, sex was just a transaction. Something I did for the guys who tolerated me enough to date me because they expected it. But I didn’t really know what it felt like to want it before.”
Queenie beams. “And Pacino has you soaking through your panties, doesn’t he?”
“I honestly thought something was wrong,” I admit with a laugh. “My exes—the few I’ve had—would always get so angry because I was never ready enough. They felt unwanted, but I thought it was normal. Because it was. Until Tucker…”
Purring like a cat, she curls her fingers like a claw and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Exactly.”
“Do you feel better having met me?”
Do I? “It’s intimidating because… you’re hot. And nothing like me.”
“Men lust after women like me. Men love women like you.”
Except Tucker. He can’t love.
The front door chimes. “Be right back. Looks like we have a walk-in. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Pacino might need to take you right here when he sees you.”
That’s not a bad idea. This place starts to affect me. Moving into the corner, I take in the room, thinking it might be fun to experiment here. Until I notice the basket of condoms next to the bottle of lube on the shelf. I’m not sure I want to have sex in a room so many other people have.
Then I see it. The hole in the massage table, just beyond the halfway mark. Frowning, I study it. This place would never have something broken or torn up. And it looks intentionally placed.
My eyes widen, and I cover my mouth as I giggle.
It’s for the men!
“You’re going to suck me off, and I might not blow your brains out,” a familiar voice booms.
Queenie backs into the room, her hands in the air, and my eyes shake as Jake walks in holding a revolver. It’s aimed at her face, and she looks terrified.
He twitches slightly, and I know he’s high. Either by choice or a contact high from making the drugs for the Black Venom. It makes him even more dangerous.
Phone, Queenie mouths when Jake rotates his head.
“What did you just say?” he asks, the gun shaking.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
He shakes his head. “No, I saw your mouth move.” Turning, he spots me and gapes. “Phoebe?”
“She said phone,” I say. “But I don’t… I don’t have one. It was smashed when I was attacked in my bakery.”
“You were attacked?” he asks. “By whom? That boyfriend of yours?”
My eyes widen. “What? No. He saved me.”
“You’re with the fucking pussy ass bitch club, you know that? Now, which one of you is going to suck my cock?”
“I’ll do it,” Queenie says, getting on her knees. “Let her go.”
“No, she can’t go. She’ll call her boyfriend, and he’ll come and beat my ass. But she can watch. Then she can watch me shoot you and fuck the hole the bullet leaves in your body.”
I frown as I try to imagine that. “Isn’t the bullet hole going to be too small to do that?”
“What?”
“Phoebe, stop talking,” Queenie says. “He’s not exactly stable at the moment.”
“What if… what if I gave you money, Jake? You could just leave like nothing happened. Right, Queenie? He was never here.”
She nods. “Right. Never here. Never saw you.”
“Sorry, babe, but that’s not gonna happen. But you can give me your money. Get it out. Now!”
Fumbling, I dig through my purse. I don’t actually have any money, but I thought it might distract him enough for Tucker to realize he’s here.
But Queenie shut the cameras off.
“Come on, Phoebe!” Jake shouts.
“Sorry, I have a lot of stuff in here,” I say, scrambling for something. Anything.
“I remember you always had the entire fucking house in your purse,” he says, turning to Queenie. “Open your mouth, bitch.”
My hand wraps around something I’d forgotten I had. Something I bought back in college when there was a rapist on the loose.
A knife.
Jake’s fumbling with his jeans as he holds the gun, and he’s not looking at me. There’s no other way out of this, and he’s too out of his mind to be rational. He’s going to kill Queenie.
As much as I think of her as competition, I don’t want her dead. In fact, I kind of like her. Except for the fact that my boyfriend used to come here to get what he needed.
Refusing to think too much about it, I pull the knife out and run toward him, shoving it into his back right above his shoulder blade. The gun falls to the ground, and Queenie grabs it while Jake cries out and falls to his knees.
The blade went in like butter, and I have blood on my hands. Red, warm blood, and I stare at them, dumbfounded.
“Go down the hallway and get Pacino and Capone. They’re in the office,” Queenie says. “Go, Phoebe!”