Selling Out (5 page)

She snorted. “Yeah, helping me whore myself. No, thanks.”

Her words jolted me. It was one thing to accept the life for
myself, but why would I ever have tried to ease her into it? Ah, right. Because
we were both dead if we didn’t.

“Jail won’t be any better for you, sweetheart. Not if
Henri’s pissed, and he will be once he hears you bailed on the VIPs.” A
sideways glance showed her pouting profile. “Are you at least going to tell me
your name now?”

“I’m Polly-fucking-Anna. Pleased to meet you.”

Oh good, because more sarcasm was exactly what my life
needed. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m calling you Ella.”

She yanked her arm out of my hold. “Whatever you want.”

“Sweetheart, if you’d said that twenty minutes ago, I
wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What’s keeping you?” She crossed her arms. “Leave already.
I don’t give a shit.” Her youthful hurt and depression were all too real now,
like she knew better than to expect people to stick around and was pissed at
herself for hoping it would be different.

“Come on. We need to get you out of here before Henri shows
up.”

She winced at the mention of his name. “I’m not going with
you.”

Her wide, slanted eyes shimmered with fierce anger and
glassy hope. What a curious mixture of courage and vulnerability. She was a
flower disguised as a weed, but Henri was a bulldozer; he wouldn’t care at all.

“We don’t have time for this.” Running out on the party like
that would have been bad enough, but stealing from a client? We were both a
lesson waiting to be taught. “Let’s go.”

“Why, so you can take me to him?”

Christ, was that what she thought? Here I was trying to save
her scrawny behind. But she wouldn’t know that. Like she said, I was just a
dirty prostitute. Another person who’d tried to convince her to spread her
legs. Hell.

“The truth is,” I said, “I’ve been thinking of getting out
myself. Well, now I’m out. Maybe you did me a favor, kid.”

“I’m not a kid. And isn’t he going to be angry at you too?”

“
Favor
may have
been too strong a word.” More like pain in the ass, but I doubted she’d
appreciate that, and I didn’t feel up to chasing her in my heels again. “I’m going
to try to keep you safe.”

“Try?” she asked.

“I can promise you this: you’ll be as safe as I am.” I hoped
that would be enough. “Now, how the hell do we get out of here?” I didn’t want
to risk going back out into the lobby, where the men from the party or even
Henri’s men could be waiting, but the doors all had the hotel card locks on
them.

Ella produced a plastic card attached to a cord. “Got it
covered.”

She’d picked the security guard’s pocket. Lovely.

“Come on.” I grabbed the master key from her and used it to
get us into a stairwell. From there we’d go to the basement and then out onto
the street. And then I’d make the call I had been avoiding for so long.

* * * *

Luke handed me a couple of pills and a glass of water.

I swallowed the plain white tablets, clearly prescription
stuff. “You poisoning me?”

“Depends. You gonna tell me who did that?”

His tone was casual, but beneath the sweatpants and T-shirt,
his lean body was taut with tension. At least he’d finished cursing, which had
gone on for a few minutes after seeing my bruise.

I handed back the glass, and he set it on the bedside table.
I watched him pace from my perch on his bed. His face had a light layer of
scruff and bloodshot green eyes, courtesy of a long day at work. And it was
even longer now, thanks to me.

I turned away, unable to see the worry in his eyes. Instead
I watched Ella through the crack in the doorway. She sulked in the living room,
poking at the pile of papers and takeout containers on the coffee table. “I
don’t suppose you’ll believe me when I say it was her who hit me.”

“Oh, sure. She just lifted the cash from my jacket in there,
so assault’s not a stretch.”

My mouth firmed. Luke knew exactly why I’d brought her here,
but he was going to make me say it. “She’s just a kid.”

His look was dark, hinting at a deeper turmoil. “Only a few
years younger than you.”

“Look, can you keep her safe or not?”

He laughed softly. I loved his laugh, but this one was ugly
and sad, like a sneer had deflated.

“What an interesting question. But perhaps you can define
the parameters for me.”

Something hurt in the vicinity of my chest. Probably my
wound acting up at the reminder. He was mocking himself, making a joke of his
inability to protect a girl under his care.

Eight months ago, I had been shot during an undercover
operation led by Luke. He blamed himself, although the department considered
the whole operation a success. They’d been trying to expose Luke’s partner as a
dirty cop, but they had managed to shake out an arms deal in the process.

Luke was a decent guy and a good cop, so of course he’d feel
guilty for an injury sustained by his informant on his watch. But the truth
was, he didn’t have a claim on me. As much as I might have stupidly hoped, he
never had.

He knelt in front of me and gently pressed an ice pack to my
face. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

He had no idea. I deserved so much worse. And I was going to
get it too if Henri had his way.

That was for later, tomorrow maybe. Right now I had a grungy
little apartment with a nice view: mournful emerald eyes and sensual lips. A
light sheen of facial hair in golden brown. I’d been scratched, scuffed a
thousand times—more. I had felt degraded, humiliated, or blissful nothing those
times. But then, I had never wanted those men.

“You’re staring at me,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the
side of my face where he pressed the ice to the bruise.

I faked a wince, just to see him flinch and soften the
pressure.

I felt the corner of my mouth turn up. “You’re an easy
mark.”

“Hmm.” He slanted me a look. “Does it hurt? Tell the truth.”

Of course it hurt; the side of my face looked like a
cantaloupe and… Oh. The wince had been intentional, but it hadn’t technically
been a lie.

The side of his lips quirked up. “See? You tell me the
truth, even when you fake it.”

“Baby, when I fake it—”

“Don’t.” His smile disappeared. “Don’t fake it with me, and
that includes the things you say. Save the smooth lines for someone else.”

My breath caught, but then he’d always been able to see
through me—a weakness I couldn’t afford. I had to pull it together; we were
here for a reason. “She’s in trouble.” I paused. “She’s not cut out for this
line of work.”

Luke finally turned away from me, disappointment and
frustration filling the air like smoke. His broad shoulders were tense, his
whole body strung out. “You said it was finished.”

I had promised him I’d go straight. No more hooking. But I
hadn’t really understood, hadn’t known. No one wanted a pretty girl with no
actual skills or work experience. Well, that wasn’t quite true. One guy had
offered me a job standing outside his nightclub in a wet T-shirt. Then he had
smirked while telling me about the opportunities for bonuses. “It’s
complicated.”

“I understand,” Luke said in a low voice.

But he couldn’t really. He could go to the zoo every day and
still not know how it felt to be caged. This was the only thing I could do. He
would see that; I would show him. I drew him down onto the bed. He sat on the
side of the bed, still but not passive—he vibrated like a tuning fork.

“Shh,” I murmured, stroking his back.

“Shelly, goddamn it.”

But his protests fell away as I pressed my breasts to his
arm and my tongue to his ear. His harsh inhalation sounded broken, shattered,
or maybe that was me.

I tasted salt and man, earth and spring. Slow licks
alongside his lobe and upward, more suggestive than sensation, but for a man
like this, anticipation would be everything. Or so I had imagined, all the
times I had dreamed of it.

A small sound escaped him, somewhere between a grunt and
groan. I took it as encouragement and smoothed my hands along the hard planes
of his shoulders, his chest. Not anywhere near the bulge in his jeans, because
this wasn’t about pleasure—it was about wanting.

Anything to get closer, I let my knees slide apart around
his side, the faint heat of his body a shock to my core. His hands clenched and
opened on his knees, and again, the muscles rippled beneath his darkly tanned
skin. Was he restraining himself from touching me or pushing me off?

“Baby, no,” he groaned, letting his head fall back onto my
shoulder.

No, I would never deserve to have him as more than a sex
partner. And he had never fucked me, though I knew he wanted to. Every time he
saw me, his eyes would darken and my stomach would bottom out, but we’d never
touch. But maybe for one brief, inconvenient moment, while the door was open
and the young woman beyond it needed help, we could pretend. Maybe it could be
enough.

I shut my eyes tightly and pressed a kiss to his temple.
Pretend, just pretend. I would give him the sex he had craved, and in return,
he’d give me memories. It would be a payment just the same.

“You want this,” I whispered.

He shuddered in my arms; it was like hugging a wild animal,
one who could just as easily maul me as cuddle.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered. “Please.”

It unraveled me, that plea. As if he understood that a
little bit of my soul slipped away every time someone touched me. As if he
would cherish the part I gave him.

I scrambled away from him as if burned, breathing hard. No.

No one understood, which was exactly the way I liked it. I
ran a shaking hand over my face to smooth away the panic.

Sure, he knew the score better than most people. He had
worked the beat as a patrol cop and then as a detective. Life as a high-priced
escort wasn’t glamorous; it was sweat and blood sprinkled with glitter. But he
didn’t know the full extent, and I prayed he never would. Henri didn’t sell
bodies; he gutted them.

I panted against the headboard, unable to walk away but
unwilling to beg. Luke remained carved in stone where I’d left him sitting on
the edge of the bed. The air pulsed with doubt and longing—with sex.

“I want it to be real between us.” He spoke low and hoarse.

A quiet sound escaped me. Every caress, every pinch. Every
slur ever spoken. “It’s always real. That’s the problem, Luke. It’s always too
damn real.”

He hung his head, and I thought for a moment I heard him say
“I know,” but the moment slipped away; the sweet intimacy sailed away like clouds
on the horizon—never really mine.

Without turning he asked, “Why not take her to your
shelter?”

My heart stuttered in shock, distracted at least from its
injuries. “Wh-what on earth are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I know about that.” He turned to me, his eyes dark
emerald—fathomless. “You told me about it when you were in the hospital.”

For days after I was shot, I had lain in the hospital bed.
He had been by my bedside every time I woke. What else had I said?

He continued. “You told me that girls don’t like outsiders
to interfere. What did you call me? ‘An interfering bastard who doesn’t know
when to quit.’”

“Well, you are a bastard,” I mumbled. “And I’m not an
outsider. Besides, she can’t go there. Even the security there won’t hold up
against Henri, and I can’t put all the other girls at risk—”

He swore. “Henri? As in Henri Denikin, who owns two whole
streets in the Fifth Ward? How the fuck did you get mixed up with him?”

I blinked with feigned innocence. “I work for him—from the
beginning. Didn’t I mention that?”

Of course I hadn’t. Even when I’d reluctantly agreed to leak
information about Philip, I had never let on that I knew Henri. I was
conflicted, not suicidal.

“You know you didn’t.” Luke stalked away only to come right
back. “He’s one crazy SOB. If I had known… Damn it, you should have told me.”

“So you see.” Relief swept through me. He understood what
kind of danger she was in. “You’ll help her?”

“Child Protective Services will help her,” he corrected.
“I’m betting she’s under eighteen, if barely. They’ll give her a place to
live.”

I gaped. “You mean a place to die, because no broken-down
group home is going to be safe from Henri.”

“No place is safe from him. That’s what makes him
terrifying.” But he didn’t sound terrified; he sounded angry.

“You can protect her. Someplace better than that, somewhere
safe.” Something illegal.

“I can’t,” he said, but it sounded like
I won’t
. “I can’t legally keep an underage girl when she has
parents somewhere worried about her. You want me to break the law for her.”

For me. He had off-the-books connections, he could pull
strings, but only if he wanted to. Disappointment churned like bile. He didn’t,
but I was desperate enough to keep trying. “What about changing her name?
Witness protection?”

“Sure, if she’s a witness. If she can nail an actual case
against him.” His look was pure disbelief. “Can she?”

Doubtful. She was brand-new here, whereas I’d worked with
Henri for years. I scrolled through everything I knew about Henri, every
illegal thing I’d ever seen him do. All of it incriminating, but none of it
would stick. A working girl, I’d never been in his inner circle. I never knew
much. And now that I’d been out of the life for months…not anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. His eyes pleading like the
guy at the goddamned bookstore, the backside of betrayal. “If I helped every
one of Henri’s girls—”

“I’m not asking you to help all of them, just one. Just me.”
I swallowed. “Do it for me.”

“Would you go away too—disappear?”

Change my name, fine. And there’d be no love lost for this
harsh city. But never to see Allie or Bailey again? There’d be no point to any
of it. No chance of seeing Luke again? Something inside me ached at the
thought.