The Blood That Bonds (4 page)

She’d give him five more minutes, and then
she was going to her normal corner, to try to pick up some work.
Coming home to Darren empty-handed was beyond unacceptable; it was
nearly suicide. This would not be a problem tonight; she looked
good in what she was wearing. Two dragged at her cigarette, tasted
flame hitting filter, threw the butt into the street.

It was at this moment that she became aware
of the presence behind her. Before she could move, before even she
could process this feeling, a hand gripped her shoulder.

“
Hello Two,” said a voice,
and behind it Two seemed to hear everything and nothing, now and
forever, love and lust and hate. She drew in a gasp without meaning
to, a surge of adrenaline bursting through her body. The touch of
the hand scared her, and called to her, like driving by the scene
of an accident.

Then it was over. The hand was a hand. The
voice was a voice. She turned and looked at the man who stood
behind her, wondering how he knew her name. In the momentary
confusion that had swept over her, this was the question she’d
clutched at to maintain her grip on reality. Darren never gave out
his girls’ real names, nor allowed them to do so. It was forbidden.
Clients had called her Ashley for the entire time she had been in
his service. How did he know her name?

He towered over her. Maybe six feet, maybe
more. Handsome face, tightened with what might be cruelty, what
might simply be intensity. Jet black hair cropped close to his
head, pale skin, oddly luminescent eyes that seemed tinged with
yellow, the color of dust in a shaft of sunlight. He wore a black
T-shirt, black jeans, black trench coat. His thin, lanky body
seemed unaffected by the gusting wind, like he could not even feel
it. He did not flinch as their eyes met, only stared calmly. Two
couldn’t look away.

“
I am Theroen.” It was a
proclamation. It was the quiet whisper of a lover.

“
Theroen.” Two was
breathless, unable to proceed.
Oh, I’m
drowning
, she thought,
I can’t breathe
.

She grasped again at her question. “Theroen.
How did you know my name?”

Theroen smiled, looked away from her for the
first time, glancing down the street to their left. Two followed
his gaze, and felt again that surge of adrenaline, this time from
excitement, and pleasure.

Not twenty yards away was a piece of art in
chrome and fiberglass, black like his clothes, black like hers.
Two’s father was an auto mechanic, and she knew her cars, but this
was not a vehicle with which she was familiar. The lines of the car
seemed Italian.

Without meaning to, without even thinking
about it, she moved forward, looking over the car. Classic styling
wrapped around a modern dash with air conditioning, an
eight-speaker stereo, and scooped bucket seats. The prancing horse
gave it away: Ferrari. It was immaculate. The convertible top was
open, and she could smell the leather from six feet away.

“
What kind is it?” Her
voice was a whisper, and she realized that he couldn’t possibly
hear her. She had moved away from him, and had not heard him
follow.

Yet when she turned, he was behind her, and
he smiled again, a predator’s smile, beautiful and dangerous like
his car.

“
It’s a Ferrari Five-Fifty
Barchetta, or it was when I purchased it. I’ve made some upgrades.”
Theroen said. Two was again taken aback by the quality of his
voice. She did not know the words tone or inflection, and might not
have used them if she did. There was something inexplicably aged
about the way he spoke, yet the man who stood before her could be
no more than five or six years her senior.

“
Barchetta,” she echoed,
peering at the tires, the lights, the smooth curves of the wheel
wells and powerful side scoops of the doors, the reflection of the
city lights in its flawless shine. She wanted to ride in it. Oh,
yes. She thought at that moment she wanted this more than anything
before in her life.

Theroen took her hand now, and again that
flash of fear and desire. He led her around to the passenger side,
opened the door, gestured for her to sit down. Two let out some
sound of disbelief. Surely this was not right. She was a whore. A
junkie. A thing to be used and discarded. This car was beyond her,
above her, in some other world.

Theroen only pressed gently on her shoulder,
still smiling his dark grin. Two sat down. The leather enveloped
her like a second skin. Theroen shut her door, and Two took the
seat belt in a daze, buckled herself in. Theroen sat down next to
her, turned the key, glanced over at her as the engine roared to
life.

“
Are you ready to
leave
?” He asked. The
finality in his voice caught Two’s attention, the stress on this
final word unmistakable. The words she had been about to say caught
in her throat. She swallowed hard, unable to speak, an
indescribable emotion welling up inside of her. Looking up at him,
grinning, laughing though tears had sprung to her eyes. She nodded
her head, emphatic. Yes, she was ready to leave. Yes, she wanted to
leave. Yes.

Theroen’s smile became a wide-toothed grin
for one brief moment, and there was something strange about it, but
it flashed and was gone too quickly for inspection. He put the car
in gear and gently reversed, pulling out of his parking space and
aligning the car. He revved the engine once.

Two glanced down the street and to the left,
and saw that Molly had come outside to sit on the stoop and smoke a
cigarette. The younger girl was watching Two and her client with
interest.

Look at me, Molly,
Two thought,
I’m ready to
leave.
Molly seemed to sense this. She
grinned and waved.

Theroen stomped on the gas pedal. Two was
thrown back in her seat, unable to contain a laughing cry of fear
and pleasure and joy, joy like she hadn’t felt in years.

* * *

Theroen took her through Brooklyn.

He drove as if anticipating not only every
traffic light, but every possible interaction with anything at all.
Never braking, never needing to swerve, he cut through traffic,
making every green light, changing lanes before it even became
apparent that he needed to. He guided the car with preternatural
ability, at speeds well above what should have been safe. Two
enjoyed every moment of it.

“
Where are we going?” she
asked at last, unable to sit quietly. She was too excited, nervous,
full of something approaching manic glee.

“
Food.” Theroen glanced at
her. “Nice place. You’ll like it.”

“
Food?” Two asked, bemused.
At its core, she knew well that evening represented a business
arrangement. Never before had a client taken her out for food
first. Never before had a client done much of anything other than
what was expected.

“
Food.” Theroen nodded, and
smiled his strange smile.

Pulling away from East New
York now, moving west. Four miles, maybe five, the neighborhood
began to change. Brownstones replaced chop shops, the streets grew
tree-lined. High-end restaurants, Italian and Japanese and Turkish,
packed with young men and women, sprung up. Two watched them,
jealous of these people out eating and drinking, going on dates,
living their normal lives. Theroen made a left turn and continued
down the street, the car drawing stares from everyone they
passed.
They don’t know who I am!
Two thought.
They don’t
know who I am! They just know I’m in this car.

Not herself, not the whore, not the slave.
Not the girl who fucked for money and to earn the drug she could no
longer live without. Just an anonymous girl in an amazing car with
a handsome young man. Was this who she was supposed to be? Was this
what life was supposed to be like?

Sudden emotion, so strong it was nearly
pain: here only a few miles from where she lived was a world just
beyond her grasp, a world that she would never have. This night
would end. This pleasure would not last. Two took a shuddery
breath, fighting back the onslaught of depression, the coming of
tears. Theroen slowed the car, looked over at her.

“
Don’t.” Not a request, not
a command. Almost a piece of advice. Two looked up at
him.

“
I can’t help it,” she
said. “I’m not used to this.”

“
Then you should focus on
enjoying it.” There was no sense of emotion behind Theroen’s words.
He continued to look at her with his casual, nearly disinterested
smile.

“
I can’t think like
that.”

“
No?”

“
I’m just a–”

“
Stop.” He cut her off,
suddenly intense, the first time she’d seen his face animate, his
expression change. He pulled the car over the side of the road and
turned again to her. When she met his eyes, they seemed to pull at
her, draw her in, command her entire attention. She felt her heart
speed, her breathing deepen. Fear? Lust? She couldn’t be sure; she
knew only that she could not look away.

“
Who you were yesterday,
this morning, two hours ago is immaterial. Understand that. Believe
it. I do not choose to measure your worth by past actions. Of all
of the women in this city that I could be with tonight, I am with
you.”

Two considered this. “Why am I here,
Theroen? You don’t need me. There’s no way you need to pay for what
I’m selling.”

“
Does it matter? Is it
worth worrying about? Will it change what is?”

“
No.” Two said, and was
somewhat surprised to find she meant it. She felt the grip of
despair loosen.

“
Good. We’re here.” Theroen
gestured to the right of the car. Two saw that they had stopped in
front of a small Italian restaurant. There was a raised terrace in
front, where people were dining under heaters, their tables covered
with long white cloths, silverware resting beside china plates.
Most of them had turned to stare in amazement at the
Ferrari.

“
Does it bother you that
everyone is constantly staring at your car?” Two asked, stepping
out onto the curb. Theroen grinned.

“
No,” he said. “It keeps
them from looking at me.”

* * *

The restaurant was dim, lit by small sconces
on the wall and by candles flickering on each table. It was warm,
and smelled like herbs, garlic, and oil. The woman at the door
raised an eyebrow at Two’s appearance, but another woman behind her
recognized Theroen and quickly ushered them to a table near the
back. Theroen requested a bottle of wine with an Italian name and
watched Two as she studied her menu, seemingly uninterested in his
own.

The waiter returned with their wine, and Two
regarded it for a moment with a small amount of trepidation. Beer
she knew, and hard liquor, but wine was a new experience, and she
wasn’t sure what to expect.

The drink, a Chianti, bit gently at her
tongue and spread warmly over it. Two smiled, relaxed. Theroen
nodded slightly at this, as if to himself.

“
Good?” he questioned. Two
nodded. He smiled, sipped at his own glass, watched her with his
preternatural calm.

“
You look lovely,” he said
at last. Two felt herself blushing, a reaction she would not
normally have expected from herself. Compliments from clients were
common, nothing to be surprised at. This, though, felt heartfelt.
More to the point, it seemed as if Theroen was truly enjoying her
as a person rather than an object. She smiled, lowered her eyes,
took another sip of wine, unsure how to respond.

A waiter arrived, asking if they were ready
to order. Theroen waved him away, saying he didn’t want anything,
directing the attention toward Two.

“
Whatever you want,” he
replied to her questioning look. “Don’t concern yourself with me,
I’m not hungry.”

Normally, Two would have demurred, insisted
that she couldn’t eat if he wasn’t going to, that she would feel
odd. Normally, that would be the truth. Tonight she was hungry, and
felt at ease, as if she could do or say anything with Theroen.
Around him, she felt both as odd and as completely natural as
possible.

She ordered chicken with angel-hair pasta in
a red-wine sauce. The waiter took their menus and left them alone.
Theroen sipped again at his wine, his eyes glinting above the
glass, never leaving Two.

They were quiet for nearly fifteen minutes.
Looking, drinking, enjoying the air, the wine, each other’s
presence. Theroen did not prompt her for conversation, and Two did
not volunteer. The silence was oddly comfortable, nearly intimate.
She seemed to fall into Theroen’s eyes, as if they need not talk,
as if he knew what she would have said. Finally, Theroen broke the
silence.

“
Where are your
parents?”

The question should have upset her, sudden
and personal as it was, but Theroen had delivered it in a tone
which belied any judgment. It was nothing but a simple question,
and Two answered it as such.

“
One’s dead. The other
might as well be.”

“
And this man who … employs
you? What of him?” a slight sneer, not directed at her. Two laughed
slightly, turned her eyes down momentarily, not from embarrassment
so much as because it seemed she should.

“
I hate him.”

“
Have you any
friends?”

At this, Two looked momentarily pained. “A
few. They’re … We’re …”