Selling Out (4 page)

I rested my palms on the counter and stared at myself in the
mirror. Blonde hair that I’d straightened this afternoon, sleek and shiny.
Makeup—perfect, even though lover boy had slobbered down the side of it.
Waterproof stuff, cum-proof stuff—never let them see you sweat.

Even my eyes were steady. Clear. Empty.

I searched my appearance for something, any sign of
weakness—none. This was what strength looked like, then. Oh, I had confidence
aplenty. I strolled and drawled and acted my fucking heart out, but that was
the secret. For me, it had never been an act. I hadn’t been hiding what was
inside me. There was nothing inside me.

So what was one more empty promise? If he really cared, he
would be here right now. He would have protected me from this. What was one
more trick? If the life was all I had, I might as well live it.

I touched up my makeup, just because. My hand trembled only
a little, but my face came out flawless, like always. And then there was
nothing left to pretend, no way left to stall.

The hallway was still empty, and I started to head back to
the sitting area. I heard a sound over the pulse of the music: a muffled cry.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end; my heart began to race.

No big deal. Of course there would be those sounds at a
party like this, where women were paid to perform, to endure. Probably she had
faked it on purpose. But I knew she hadn’t.

Still, don’t get involved. That was the first rule of
staying alive. Even that pitiful kid from yesterday had instinctively
understood how it worked: look away, pretend you don’t see, don’t start
trouble.

But there it was again, that sound. It curled sharp nails
into my gut, signaling danger. Get away.

I was twenty-four, had stayed alive for six years by keeping
to myself. Those latent self-protective instincts were still there, still
honed, and yet I couldn’t walk away, couldn’t leave her there without knowing.

I crept down the empty hallway and paused at one closed
door. At first there was nothing. I almost turned away, left, but then I heard
a moan. A female moan of fake pleasure, and that was fine, just fine. Time to
go.

A thud sounded from the end of the hall and then echoed in
my chest. Inexorably I walked to the last door, knowing through instinct or
experience exactly what was happening here. It didn’t matter the men or the
woman; it was always the same. Too much, too fast, too hard.
I didn’t know, wasn’t expecting. Too late,
bitch.

A tear slid down my cheek. It was more than just my safety
at stake here.
Get away.

I twisted the knob and pushed the door open a crack,
exposing just a sliver of the scene. The face of a girl, her face contorted in
fury. The grin of a man. Hands holding down arms. The low sound of laughter. A
little slice of hell, and what was I supposed to do about it?

I could do nothing.

This wasn’t a young girl on an empty street corner who could
be cured with a fast-food burger and a lifetime of therapy. This was one of
Henri’s girls, off-limits for me and mother-fucking-hen Marguerite Faust. No
one could help her, just like no one could help me.

I saw her body jerk with purpose. Heard the crack as her
kick landed on someone’s skin. The laughter grew louder, more combative.

Shit. She was going to get herself killed that way. Beaten,
at the least. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she care?

But Henri didn’t do hand-holding. Had he recruited this girl
fresh out of high school? Given her money she desperately needed to get away,
to help her friend, only to indebt herself to him forever? Dumped her at this
party without any training or knowledge or a goddamned thing?

This wasn’t about me. I told myself that, but it didn’t
help.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Four guys, not
counting the ones out in the sitting area or my erstwhile boyfriend.

I smiled and set my hips to sway. “Hello, gentlemen. I see
you’ve started the party without me.”

Three of them shifted their attention to me, though one kept
struggling with the girl. And she kept fighting, clearly too panicked or just
stubborn to let me take the lead.

The one with an earring in his eyebrow grinned and patted
his knee. “There’s always room for one more girl.”

I trailed my finger across his jaw as I passed him. “Always,
honey, but not before the big show.”

“The show?” another one asked, his voice breaking. Jesus,
younger and younger.

“Didn’t you know about that?” I paused in my contemplative
pose, often applied to men who liked to kneel, to pretend submissiveness while
I spanked their behinds—at least until they turned the tables. “I wouldn’t want
you to be late.”

I stopped by the bed, where both the girl and the guy half
sitting on her were watching me with bemusement. They actually made a cute
couple if I ignored the whole sordid violence routine. It was always the
handsome ones.

With a wink for the good-looking asshole, I leaned over the
girl and skimmed a finger up the middle of her belly and between her breasts,
hoping it would cause her the least discomfort. Then I kissed her, soft,
gently, for show, not pleasure. Never that.

The tension prickled at my skin as the men in the room held
their breath. Without asking, the man eased up on her, more interested in
seeing where this would lead than expressing his dominance.

I frowned slightly, a little slow on the uptake. “We had it
all planned out. Practiced it just to show you. But I guess if you’ve already
started, we don’t have to do it.” I straightened and tugged at my dress, all
businesslike. “We can just get it over with, if you want.”

Before my words were even out, the girl was released and
practically thrown at me. They wanted to see it, they assured me.
Please
, they asked so nicely.
Yes, absolutely, whatever you wish. I’m at
your command, but give us a moment, just a moment
. The men obediently
trooped out to the sitting area, almost tripping over each other to nab a good
seat for the nonexistent show.

The girl yanked her shirt on, still shaking. “Who the hell
are you?”

My eyebrows rose. “Your fairy godmother. Who do you think?”

“I think you’re just a dirty prostitute. Like the other girl
out there.”

Her voice caught, but the unspoken words hovered in the air.
Like me.

I softened my tone. “Look, hon. It won’t be that bad. I’ll
take the rough ones for myself, and—”

“Fuck you. I’m not doing that.” Her words were angry, but
fear radiated from her.

This night was going from bad to worse. A sigh escaped me.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Go to hell!”

I took in her wide eyes, her flared nostrils. She looked
like a pixie—a pissed-off, belligerent, terrified pixie. Selling her body for
possibly the first time was a big drop, but she couldn’t get off the ride at
the top of the hill.

“You’ve at least had sex before, right?” I asked.

“Of course I have!” she squeaked.

Ah shit. There was definite glistening happening in her
ocular area. And that annoying snuffling sound. Apparently it was contagious,
because now my insides had gone all quivery as well. This was exactly why I
didn’t do people, why I didn’t do touching, at least not without the cold
accompaniment of currency.

I forced down my emotions, pushed back my own revulsion and
anger and fear, and patted her shoulder, proud of myself for managing it.
There.

She swung around, and before I could blink, her fist
connected with my face. Surprise and pain forced me back, and I fell against
the wall.

Goddamn, that skinny little body packed a punch.

By the time my vision had cleared, she was gone, with only
her footsteps giving away her run down the hall. I grabbed my purse from the
table where I’d dropped it and ran after her the best I could in my heels and slinky
dress.

The men in the sitting room hadn’t noticed her passing by,
but they sure saw me.

“Hey,” the handsome one called. “Where do you think you’re
going?”

“Change of plans,” I called out, but he’d already caught me by
the elbow. I winced, unable to smother the reaction when the right side of my
face ached, but he didn’t hit me. Instead, he towed me back to the group like a
recalcitrant child, and I stammered just like one. “It’s…her. She has a little
problem.”

The silver-ringed eyebrow of the other guy lifted. “What
kind of problem?”

Think, damn it
. I
could have come up with some sort of “show” on the fly, maybe a little
girl-on-girl action with Jenny. This wouldn’t have been a problem. But if I was
the fairy godmother, then my Cinderella had just fled the ball. The only thing
she would get up to with a torn, skimpy outfit and a bad attitude was trouble.

From the lap of a man old enough to be her father, Jenny
stared at me uncomprehendingly. Her pose was relaxed, her eyes glassy. Flying
high, probably.

“Drugs,” I said. “The girl, um…Ella—she’s having a bad
reaction.”

A round of curses filled the air.

“We don’t have any drugs,” said Prince Charming, sounding
disappointed.

“Right, well. Perk of the job, I guess.” I waved my hand,
ergo… “But the last thing we need is her passing out in the hotel, cops asking
questions. Then the reporters… They’re like vultures over sex stories. But hey,
I can round her up. Take care of it for you. Fair enough?”

They agreed and thanked me profusely. By the time I was
unceremoniously shoved out the door, they had already cranked the music back
up. Briefly I felt regret for leaving Jenny behind. But I couldn’t save all of
us. In fact, odds were high I couldn’t save any of us.

I leaned against the wall. What the hell had I done? There
hadn’t been any ambiguity or wiggle room in Henri’s instructions. Work the
party so I didn’t end up facedown in an alley. I had done this before, so how
had this gone wrong so quickly?

Ella, I’d named her. Oh, fabulous. Because of course all she
needed was a pet name and a muzzle for that right hook and I could bring her
home with me. I allowed myself a small smile and started down the hallway.

* * * *

It was too much to hope that she’d caught a cab and been
halfway across Chicago by now. Instead, the whispers between the front desk
staff pointed me to the back offices, and then the ruckus in the back kitchens
drew me like a homing beacon.

I found Ella in the back room, wrestling with a member of
security. He was armed only with a walkie-talkie, it appeared, but he used it
furiously, shouting into it as he gripped Ella’s arm with his other hand.

“There you are,” I accused.

She subsided in his grip, looking relieved. It was a sad
state of affairs if I had to play knight in shining armor.

The guard looked me up and down with a faint curl to his
lips, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to permit a sneer. Young woman
in a sexy dress with a fresh shiner—I could have been a rich bitch housewife
with an abusive sugar daddy. Sadly, no. My sugar daddy had cast me out, both
for my betrayal and for my own good.

“Ella, I’ve been looking all over you,” I chided.

She raised her eyebrows at the made-up name. Well, I could
hardly have called her Princess without him assuming we were strippers. And the
other names I called her in my head were even less flattering.

“You know Daddy doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” I added.

On that note, the guy released her. Anyone named Daddy who
had two girls like us answering to him was either scary or crazy, probably
both.

“She dropped this,” he said, holding up a sleek leather
wallet that she must have lifted from one of the men upstairs while grappling
with them.

A little impressive, actually.

“I assumed it wasn’t hers,” he added, seeming less certain
now.

I sighed. “Really, Ella? Wrecking the Mercedes wasn’t good
enough? Now you have to steal something? Where’d you pick that up—the hotel
restaurant?”

Ella crossed her arms, teenage angst at its finest. “Bet
Daddy didn’t even notice I was gone.”

She fell into the game so smoothly I almost cracked a smile
and ruined the whole thing.

“So…you know her?” the guard asked, clearly a bit confused
as to what he should do.

“Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “We’re family.”

“You’re not my real mom,” she said hotly.

“But you’re stuck with me, darling,” I said with saccharine
sweetness.

“Right, well,” the man stammered. “I don’t want to get
involved with a domestic dispute.”

“Oh no,” I said. “It’s too late for that. She stole something.
Isn’t that like, a felony?”

“I don’t know.” The guy flipped through the wallet, flashing
several hundred dollars. “It looks like it’s all here. No harm, no foul, I
say.”

Ella smirked. “Guess not every old guy falls for your fake
boobs.”

“They’re not—” I clasped a hand to my very real boobs. “You
can’t just let her go. Call the police. She needs to be locked up. She’s
horrible!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with glossy patience.

He seemed much more comfortable now, dealing with a bitchy
guest rather than the lowlifes that we were.

“It’s hotel policy not to involve the authorities unless
there’s been property damage, and since I’ve recovered the wallet, I’m afraid
I’m going to have to release her into your custody.”

I turned to her, dismissing the man. “I’m telling Daddy.
He’ll cut you off.”

“Bite me, mother.”

I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down a hallway. Who
knew where it went, didn’t matter. I chanced a look behind us. The guard was
shaking his head as he spoke into his walkie-talkie.
Never mind. Silly rich people.

“You little brat,” I said, partly to complete the charade
and partly because my face hurt like hell. “I can’t believe you hit me. I was
helping you.”