“Is that how you greet me?” His voice was too mild. “And here I’ve missed you.”
My blood began to pound. He wouldn’t beat me in my fancy apartment in the middle of the day. It would make too much noise, and someone would call the cops. Unless he had them on his payroll. Unless the fancy security I paid for, that had served me so well until now, also included soundproofed walls. No one would hear. No one ever cared.
He set the glass he was holding down on a side table with a quiet thud. “I blame myself. I should have known better than to let you go with him.”
He never should have let me stay with Philip, he meant, even though he had gotten a placement fee and a monthly stipend the entire time I’d been Philip’s mistress. Hardly anything to complain about, but he was right. Philip had given me the financial means to leave. He’d also given me the confidence. Though now it seemed more like hubris. Leave it to Philip to confuse the two.
Henri gripped my chin with his fingers and grunted. “Such a pretty face.”
I slid my gaze away from his flat eyes to stare straight ahead. My pretty face, my beautiful, hated face and matching body that made me want to puke just to think of them. Let him look. Didn’t he know he burned us both? Like trapping a butterfly, the only way to catch one was to kill it.
“You’re wondering if I’m going to hurt you. Probably.” He ran his thumb over my lips, his fingernail catching on the tender skin. “Can’t dirty you up now, though. Tomorrow you have a party.”
My gaze met his. I hated parties. All the girls did. Decent money, but not enough to compensate for too many men getting drunk and nasty. An escort was never more than an object to get off in, but a hooker at a party was a piñata.
But I would do it because I had no choice. I would do it because I needed more money to afford this fancy apartment with all the security that clearly did not work. And most of all, I would do it because I could do nothing else. I’d known it all along, from when I was young, too damned young, and this afternoon underscored that.
“A party,” I repeated dully.
“Good girl.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I’ll send you the details.”
Then they were gone, and I crumpled to the floor. Belated, terror swept over me, drenching me and then leaving me chilled in its absence.
Stupid, thinking I could work at a bookstore as a clerk. Stupid that I’d want to. I would make more money in fifteen minutes at this party than Dawn would make all day. And she, confined to her feet. I would earn mine on my back, on my hands and knees, any which way they pleased.
Hooking had been the only thing I could do, once upon a time. Seemed it still was.
In the interim since I’d quit, I had counted down the days until I wouldn’t stink of dirty money. Until I would be worthy of him. But yearning wasn’t enough to buy a new life. Pity was worth nothing, and self-pity even less. I, however, was worth a whole awful lot. My daddy had taught me early and taught me often. I may have been born a whore, but I’d always been high priced.
My fancy, high-rise condo was suddenly unbearable, the pictures of Allie and Bailey tainted, the extravagant knickknacks lining the mantel muddied. This had never been a home, but now it wasn’t even safe. My skin crawled, and with nothing on me but my keys and a crumpled gray suit, I left my apartment and hit the stairs.
Chapter Three
Parties were dangerous, but they were nothing compared to streetwalking. I didn’t look like a working girl tonight, just a poor sap whose car had broken down in the wrong part of town. Because even though I paid a ridiculous sum to live in my condo off the books, the streets were a different stratosphere.
Glossy buildings jutted from the concrete like shards of glass, untouchable from the smog-drenched alleyways. Bums gathered behind Dumpsters, burning pinches of weed in a bonfire to keep warm. Urgent sounds of cars squealing, slamming, speeding ricocheted off the concrete walls.
I saw a girl hovering against a building. Her clothes were tight and revealing, ordinary. As a whore, she looked downright virtuous, but I recognized that stillness.
Her too-young body and timid posture would attract only the worst kind of client—if she even found anyone. The sallow light of the streetlamps only lit cracks in the sidewalk tonight. If she was counting on a john to buy her dinner, her stomach would probably go empty.
Cautious, I approached her. No sudden movements. She froze when she noticed me but didn’t meet my eyes. Smart girl.
I stopped a few feet away and leaned back against the wall, looking out. “Hey.”
“Am I in your spot?” Her voice trembled.