Infiltrating Your Heart (2 page)

“You’re gorgeous, dear.”

As we’re almost at the top, Mr.
Osgood starts stroking my pussy in a fast rhythm. It doesn’t take long for me
to climax. Waves of ecstasy overtake my body, making my legs almost give out.
Mr. Osgood keeps me on my feet.

“We’re there,” he says. As soon as I
recover, I notice that he’s fixing my dress. I look over at the indicator and
see that we’re only two floors from the top.

“That was…wow,” I say. Mr. Osgood
smiles.

“I know.”

You
should know this: sex in an elevator is
not
overrated. There’s just
something hot about it.

After the meeting is over, the
limousine that brought me gives me a ride back. The meeting itself was a little
boring, but I tried to look interested. It wasn’t hard. The restaurant at the
top of the hotel had a window with a
spectacular
view of the city. It almost
made me stare open-mouthed the first time I saw it. From that moment, I fell in
love with that restaurant. When the love of my life proposes to me, I want him
to do it there.

Mr. Osgood was great company, as I
already said. He did his best to make me feel good during the meeting. It was
there that I learned that he’s been a widower for two years. I wonder how a
charming man like him hasn’t found another love. For a moment there, I almost
wished I could give him a magic potion that’d shave at least ten years off his
age. I don’t date old men, rich or not. If I’ve given you the impression that
I’d do anything for money, you’re wrong. My dignity is priceless.

I open my purse and take the envelope
out. I count the money inside. Fourteen hundred bucks. Nice. I like how far
I’ve come. Back in the day, I used to make four hundred a night, at most.

The limo arrives at the place where
it picked me up earlier. The privacy partition lowers, and I see the driver
looking at me.

“We’re here.”

“Thank you so much,” I tell the
driver. “Good night.”

 “You, too” the driver says. I close
the door, and the limo takes off. I watch it go, sighing. Nights like this are
rare for escorts. Even the highest paid ones seldom have dates as memorable as
this one. I never remember the names of my clients (I’m required to forget),
but I’ll be remembering Mr. Osgood for a long time.

I start walking to my apartment. It’s
only about a mile away. Privacy is something I take seriously. I don’t want a
client to find out where I live. I go to great lengths to keep my personal and
professional lives separate.

As I walk, I become aware that it’s pretty
dark out. I check the time on my phone and see that it’s past eleven. I should
have at least thought of bringing my car here.

There’s almost no one out at this
late time. Some lights are still on in a few houses. I continue walking. At
least the exercise will benefit me.

I’m glad there are no more cold
fronts coming our way. May is almost here. The weather will be great to hang
out at the beach. It’s one of the things I like most about living in San
Francisco.

When I walk past a dark alley, strong
arms grab me. I yell in fear before a hand comes up to my mouth. My captor
drags me into the darkness. I can’t see him. All I know is that I have to
escape.

Whoever got hold of me turns me
around. I face the person, seeing that it’s a man. I’d guessed that. He’s
wearing dark clothes and a hood over his head. I can’t make out his face.

“Hey, sweetie. We’re going to have a
good night right now,” he tells me. His breath smells of alcohol. I wrinkle my
nose. He has my arms in a tight hold. I try to free myself, but to no avail.

“Let go of me!”

The man clasps his hand over my mouth
again.

“Shh,” he says, glaring at me. Great,
I pissed him off. “Do what I say…”

The man’s free hand moves down to
grab my breast. He squeezes it too hard for my liking. I try to hit him with my
knee. He pins me to the wall.

“Cooperate, you bitch!”

It’s like a fire ignites within me. I
look at the man in fury, baring my teeth. He appears to dismiss my warning. I
watch him move to kiss me in the lips.

Oh, HELL no!

Being unable to use my limbs, I
strike with my head. I manage to hit the bridge of his nose. The man takes a
couple of steps back. His expression contorts in pain.

“You’ll pay for this!” he says.
Before I can react, he lashes out with his arm. I catch the blow to the side of
my face. It sends me collapsing to the floor. Stars cloud my vision. My purse
falls in front of me. I make sure to grab it.

“Come here, you whore!” the man says.
I feel his arms grab me around my torso. He lifts me up, holding me against his
body with suffocating force.

“Let me go!”

The man releases me, but then quickly
grabs my arm. He spins me to face him again. I don’t know which of us is more
pissed off right now.

“You will do what I tell you to!”

Without warning, he punches me in the
abdomen. I fall to my knees. Tears escape from my eyes.

The man lifts me up. He pins me
against the wall. With one hand, he lifts my skirt up. His fingers touch me in
my private area.

“You and I are going to have fun.”

I look down to see him pull a knife
from inside his jacket. My eyes meet his in fear.

One of my hands reaches inside my
purse. I grab a hard object inside.

As I move, the guy slashes the front
of my dress with his knife. That leaves my chest exposed.

“Lookie what we have here!” he says in
a mocking tone. I narrow my eyes.

God, please forgive me for this.

Knowing that my life is on the line,
I fire my Smith & Wesson. The man shudders, looking at me in disbelief.
Then he looks down. I watch as he staggers back, clutching his wound. He
collapses on the floor.

I fall down, too. The air escapes my
lungs. My anger starts to dissipate, fear taking its place.

Shit! What have I done?

I look at the man in front of me in
horror. He’s just stopped moving.

Mercedes

I lie against the wall, helpless. The
man in front of me is still bleeding. I don’t have the courage to look around.
Someone must have heard the shot. The cops could be coming at any moment.

Think, Mercedes. You must get out of
here!

I snap back into my senses. Using all
my willpower, I grab my gun and stand up. I have much to lose. That’s the only
reason I’m not staying here waiting for the cops to arrest me.

As the man lies unmoving, I approach
him. I kneel down next to him and put my fingers to his neck. After counting
ten seconds, I feel that there’s no pulse.

Footsteps sound behind me. I stand up
and spin, my hands bringing up my gun for protection. In the darkness, I see
the outline of a man. He’s taller than my assailant, and has lighter-colored
clothes.

The newcomer looks at the man
bleeding on the floor. His eyes then dart to meet mine. He takes in my battered
appearance, seeming to understand what happened. I realize my chest is still bare.
Gasping, I cover myself with my free arm.

“Calm down. I’m here to help you.”

I see the newcomer bring his hands
up, palms facing my way. He starts walking toward me. His expression is
reassuring. I relax a little, and my gun hand starts to drop.

“There,” the man says, reaching me.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Will you be all right?”

I nod, looking into his green eyes.
The man smiles, and then takes off his T-shirt to give to me. That leaves him
with only a white undershirt.

“Thanks,” I croak. Gosh, my voice
sounds awful.

“No problem,” he replies, taking the
gun from me. He makes sure it’s not loaded before tucking it into the back of
his pants. His arms then come around me in an embrace. It’s not until that
moment that I realize how cold I was getting. And it’s the end of April. Yeah,
fear will do that.

“We must go now,” the man says,
trying to make me walk forward. “My car is just around the street.”

“Thank you,” I say. “My apartment is
only a few blocks from here.”

Alarm crosses the man’s eyes, but it
fades quickly.

“Under the circumstances, I wish you
lived across the city,” he says. I can’t help but give a soft laugh.

“Are you too hurt to run?”

I look down, feeling my ribs. None of
them feel broken, which I’m glad for. What I’m more concerned about is bruises.
My clients won’t like that.

“Then let’s go.”

The man walks forward, guiding me. I
resist looking backward, or looking around. If anyone sees us, I don’t want to
show my face.

We get to the man’s car sooner than I
hoped. The man opens the passenger door and helps me in. After that, he walks
around and gets behind the wheel. He revs the engine, but doesn’t turn the
headlights on.

“By the way, my name’s Patrick
O’Hara,” the man tells me. The car drives forward just as the sound of sirens
reaches my ears.

I debate which of my names I should
use. I decide to use my real name.

“I’m Mercedes. Mercedes Roberts.”

Patrick
doesn’t reply. He floors the pedal to get us far from the crime scene as fast
as possible. In my stupor, I fail to tell him where I live.

I don’t know how long Patrick drives.
He finally pulls into a parking lot outside an apartment complex. After killing
the engine, he walks around and opens my door. I accept his hand as I walk out.

“This way,” he says. Patrick locks
the car and then leads me forward. Curiosity has me look around. I’m not
familiar with this area of the city.

Moments later, we stop outside a
door. Patrick unlocks and then opens it, standing aside.

“Come in.”

I do as he says, walking into the
room. I stop, and Patrick walks after me, closing the door. He switches the
light on. When my eyes take in the furniture and décor, I raise my eyebrows.
This place is a bit of a far cry from where I live. The furniture appears to
already have had a life at another home before turning up here.

“What do you think?” Patrick asks. He
moves to stand in front of me, taking in my expression.

“Nothing. This is just…what I’m used
to.” What I
was
used to, before I became wealthy.

Patrick frowns, looking confused.

“I was about to say that it’s not
much, my place, but you don’t seem to mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm,” Patrick says. He takes my arm.

“Come. You need a shower. I’ll show
you where the bathroom is.”

Patrick leads me past the living room
and to a hallway at the far end. He opens one of the doors and flicks the light
switch.

“I’ll go and, um, see what I can get
you to wear,” Patrick says, walking away. I frown as I look down. My dress got
ruined. To top it off, I have no clean underwear. This night is just getting
better.

Patrick walks back, carrying a plain
lilac shirt and blue jeans with him. I inwardly cringe.
Denim sans undies?
I don’t think so.

“Um…don’t you have pants? Or
something softer?”

Patrick’s eyebrows furrow, and then
he seems to get it. His eyes look at my crotch area and then back up.

“Right. Sorry,” he says, handing me
the shirt. I wait for him to come back. He returns with a pair of black yoga
pants and gray briefs. My face turns red.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. We both must look
embarrassed. I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

Yep. This is definitely a night I
won’t ever forget.

I take my clothes off, being careful
to hang Patrick’s T-shirt on one of the hooks next to the door. I then look at
myself in the mirror. My eyes widen when I see my face.

Shit!