Chapter 11 #2
He turns sharply as he slides the white t-shirt over his body, a pair of loose-fitted gray sweats riding low on his hips. His abs are traceable even through the cotton.
My God, the man looks good all casual and domestic, just as much as he looks good wearing a suit.
He doesn’t miss my gawking, giving me a tight smirk.
And when I dare to look into his eyes, really look at them, I’m suddenly caught in them, unable to look anywhere else but at him.
His gaze overcasts with a stormy haze as he slowly slides those eyes down to my legs, as though I’m a meal he’d enjoy taking a bite of.
My heart pounds in my chest, breaths caught in my lungs.
“The shirt fits you well,” he finally says, the words slipping out with a strain.
I run my hands down my sides, unable to handle another second of the way he inspects me.
My skin warms, as though his big, strong hands are on me, on the naked flesh beneath the clothes.
My nipples harden, and I practically rush for the bed, not wanting him to see me that way, to know how he makes me feel.
“Mm-hmm.” I attempt to keep the confidence in every step.
Discreetly, I lower to one side of the bed while sliding under the softest comforter I have ever felt. The white fluff is like a cloud.
He huffs out a quick breath, sliding in beside me, turning off the lamp on the nightstand, and transforming my world into darkness. But I know the dark quite well.
“Goodnight, little dove,” he whispers, and I can hear the heavy roll of his breaths, while I match them.
How can I sleep this way, knowing his big, strong arms are right beside me?
I shuffle to my side, pressing my inner thighs together, trying to drown my desire for him. But it’s useless. My craving is too intense.
I will my eyes to close, concentrating on the comfort of this bed, appreciating that I actually have a bed to sleep in.
In that house, us girls all slept on dirty mattresses.
The coils within them would practically pierce into your back.
But that was not close to the horrors we endured.
There was always something worse happening to us. Something new we couldn’t escape.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Which one of you should go?”
He stands before our naked bodies as we huddle with a cry. Some are already dead on the floor, their heads with a bullet between their eyes.
Chad is one of the ones who takes out the trash—us being the trash. He’s one of their cleaners. Or killers would be a better word. When he steps foot into the house, I go into a state of panic, because I know—we all do—some of us will die today.
It’s not enough to kill us, but they scrape away every ounce of our dignity on the way out. They make us strip, show them everything, while we beg to stay alive.
Just one more day. Isn’t it funny to beg for life when you’ve thought about dying so many other times?
“So, Bree, I’ll ask again. Where is the tip money you stole from the boss?”
“P-p-please.” She shudders, blonde hair now tangled at her shoulders, her entire body shivering, her cheek bleeding from the cut he gave her with his knife. “I didn’t take any money. I w-would never.”
“Wrong answer.”
Pop.
Anna falls instead, her body dropping to the floor with a thud as the others scream and wail. Bree sobs, her quivering arms around her breasts.
“Please, I didn’t. I wouldn’t!” she cries, her once bright blue eyes now dull.
Kayla wails beside me, one hand covering her mouth, the other whatever she can of her body.
“Tony says you did. He saw you take it from the club. We just don’t know where you hid it.”
“I don’t know w-what he’s talking about. I don’t steal. I—I gave it all to Tony the s-same day.”
Tony marches up to her, grabbing her jaw roughly and spitting in her face. “You calling me a fucking liar, whore?”
His hand whips out and he slaps her so hard she falls to her knees.
“Get the fuck on your feet, you ugly bitch.” He snatches her arm and yanks her up. “Just kill her, Chad. We’re wasting good bodies here because of her.”
“I don’t take orders from you.” He fits Tony with a sinister glare, green eyes filled with vitriol.
Tony raises his hands in the air, shutting up.
Chad may be young, a few years younger than my twenty-five, but he’s as dangerous as the Bianchis.
He has no conscience. He kills like it means nothing.
He practically smiles as he watches the blood seep through the bodies on the floor.
And Tony is nothing but the driver who takes us to and from the club. He’s one of many.
“Come on, Bree. You’re going to die anyway.” Chad chuckles wryly. “Why don’t you save the rest of the girls and tell me where the money is?”
But all she does is wail, because she didn’t take it.
I would bet every dime I don’t have on that.
Bree is the sweetest girl. Scared shitless of them.
If anyone stole anything, my money would be on Jordan.
But I wouldn’t want this for her either.
Not for any of them. If only someone would find us and save us.
I try to catch my breath, my tears flowing like a rainstorm down my cheeks.
Tony paces in front of Vito and Giuseppe, who quietly observe. They don’t care. We aren’t human beings to them. We’re toys for their amusement. Mere objects to throw away when we’re broken.
I observe Tony while everyone else keeps their eyes on Chad, and something eerie hits me.
What if he took it? What if he’s blaming her to keep himself from being killed?
My mouth starts to move, but no words come out. Because if I’m wrong, I will die right on the spot. Seconds trickle by, and he levels his weapon on another girl.
“She—”
With one word, Chad turns his attention to me, brows popping up.
“What did you just say?” He approaches, the pistol in his hand tracing from the juncture of my thighs up to my throat. “Speak. Now.”
“She didn’t…sh-she couldn’t have taken the money.” I shudder. “She wouldn’t do that. I—”
My eyes go to Tony, right behind Chad.
“Don’t fucking look at him.” Chad tilts my face toward him with the muzzle of his gun. “Look at me and finish that sentence.”
“He took the money. Tony. I would bet anything on it.”
“You fucking bit—” Tony roars.
Chad holds out a hand, and Tony instantly shuts up, a snarl on his face as he glares my way. I focus on Chad instead.
“Check his entire car. His house. If I’m wrong, kill me. But I’m not wrong.” There’s renewed confidence in my voice, even as Kayla whispers for me to stop.
“Oh, if you’re wrong about this, I will absolutely kill you. Don’t worry about that. But if she’s not wrong…” He reverts to Tony, pointing the weapon at his chest. “You will die. And it will be painful. The boss will want your head for this. Literally.” He grins.
“Yo, man, I wouldn’t do that shit. I ain’t stupid.”
“We’ll see.” He waves at Vito and Giuseppe, and they go out the door to Tony’s car.
Long stretches of time slip past as the girls continue to cry, seeing the three others on the floor. I stare at my feet instead, the pink polish my only focus.
We have a woman come once a week to do our nails.
They make sure we look good for the customers who pay top dollar for us.
We’re not just any whores. We’re the best they’ll ever get, or at least that’s the image the Bianchis deliver.
But if the men took a look at how we live, they’d discover there’s nothing high-end about this.
Vito and Giuseppe come back inside, their expressions unreadable.
“Anything?”
At first they don’t say a word, and I realize this is it. Fear slams into my gut, like that feeling you get when you drop down a roller coaster, like all the blood from your body rushes out.
I feel Kayla’s hand slip into mine, and she holds it so tight, I think it’ll break. She knows it too. This is the last time I’ll see her. Tears swell behind my eyes, and I let them fall.
But suddenly, Giuseppe’s hand slips into his pocket, and out comes a black envelope with a gold emblem. That’s where all the tips from the sex club are placed into. It’s a rule. The men place the money inside and seal it before they’re done.
Chad chuckles, grabbing it from Giuseppe as Tony’s eyes bulge like they’re about to fall out.
“That’s not mine.” He shakes his head, choking on the words. “I—ahhh!”
A bullet pierces the flesh of his upper thigh, and he falls to the ground screaming.
Chad walks up to me casually. “You were lucky this time.”
He winks, then slips his gun into the holster at his waistband.
“Pick him up,” he orders Vito and Giuseppe, who do as commanded.
Together, they drag Tony out the door, while we’re left with the bodies of those no longer with us.
“Elsie,” a deep voice rumbles through my drowsiness.
His voice. Michael. The man I’m about to marry.
I hear a groan, and it sounds like me, but I can’t be sure. I’m too tired to make sense of anything.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you, little dove. You’re safe now.”
His words slip around me just as tenderly as his strong arms do, holding me tight. I can feel them, his warmth at my back.
With a heavy sigh, I let myself fall back asleep, claimed by the exhaustion still flitting through me.