The King and the Courtesan (12 page)

The fire theme had all but vanished, but the red velvet stayed, and the walls were covered in red paint. There were black and silver accents around the bar and the windows, along with a checkerboard floor. We stood on a raised platform that descended a few steps to a main sitting area.

“Ezekiel, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Is it possible to get a bit of time to—” I hung my head, but gestured vaguely toward the crook of my elbow.

“Ah yes. Roger, the suitcase if you please.”

Roger came forward with one of the three bags he’d carried up. I accepted the least conspicuous one. I suppose the nice thing about your own private jet was that you didn’t have to worry about security screenings.

“Go to your private room and take some time to do what you must,” Ezekiel said, then pulled out his phone, punched a few numbers in, and held it to his ear.

“Rosa? We’ve landed and arrived at the hotel. Tonight I’ll need your assistance with Melissa.”

“You brought Rosa?” I asked.

“I flew her over this morning, business class,” he replied curtly. “I didn’t want you going to the fight with a fifteen-minute cleanup job.”

“The fight?”

“Yes.” Ezekiel turned to me, as if struck with an afterthought. “The Red Velvet has an excellent casino, of course, but its true claim to fame is the fight club below ground. That’s where most fortunes are made and lost. I came here because a few men have borrowed loans they’ve been unable to pay back. They’re investing all they have in these fights, and they’re all hoping they bet right.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if they don’t bet right?”

Ezekiel shrugged. “For their sake, let’s hope they do.”

Ezekiel strode down the few steps toward the couch and TV. “Rosa should be up for you in a few hours. In the meantime, I have a few calls to make. Go to the room over there.” Ezekiel pointed to the black double doors near the bar. “Wait for Rosa.”

* * *

Rosa was quiet, and it was unnerving.

She looked very glamorous and beautiful in her ruffled red dress. But her behavior toward me had gone a total one-eighty. Where she had once been joyous and full of laughter, she was now reserved and business-like. I expected this from her coworkers, but not her. I wanted to ask her what the problem was.

Once or twice she cupped my face in her palm and simply
looked
at me, far longer than was needed to assess the state of my eye shadow. I met her eyes, and tried telling her all I could without a word. Maybe she didn’t understand me, because she’d often sigh and turn away to fiddle in her makeup case.

She brought out a beautiful black dress trimmed with red. The neckline hung lower than my breasts. The front of the skirt bared my legs from my upper thighs down but then dropped sharply in the back and dragged along the floor behind me. It was another ridiculously expensive brand name dress, though Rosa didn’t look happy giving it to me.

I was sick of her strange behavior. I confronted her at last.

“Why are you acting like this?” I demanded. I wanted my smiling, laughing Rosa back, the one who had defended me from the haughty sneers of her coworkers.

“Acting like what?” she asked.

“Like
this
,” I hissed. “Like I’m a stranger you’ve never met. You were totally different last time.”

“Melissa…”

“Tell me,” I ordered.

Rosa sighed and ran her fingers over the back of my chair delicately. Then she raised her hand to her face with a sudden sob.

“Rosa?” I stepped forward and reached toward her. She snapped back away from me, rubbing her hand over her face and then inhaling sharply.

“Don’t,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to wipe at her eyes inconspicuously, but I was facing her dead center and couldn’t have missed it.

“Do you think I’m an idiot or something? Why do you hate me all of a sudden?”

“I don’t hate you,” Rosa replied, looking genuinely shocked.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Oh, Melissa…” She shook her head. “Last time—last time I didn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I’ve always known who Ezekiel was. I’ve always known what he does. You can’t live in Metro without knowing. But I didn’t think—I didn’t think he had anything more than a date planned with you.”

I laughed humorlessly. “You honestly believed he was that innocent?”

“I didn’t know
what
to believe. I’ve never heard about him taking on any women, and I assumed he was either asexual or gay. So I thought he asked you on a date to—I don’t know, keep up an image. But now you’re here, with him, and I know—I know what’s going on.”

“What is going on?”

Rosa’s eyes grew wet again. “Are you having sex with him?”

I looked away. “Only once, so far.”

“Oh, Melissa,” she whispered.

“News flash, Rosa. I’m a prostitute. Sorry if you didn’t know that before. But I am. I sleep with men for a living, and it’s one of the few things I’m good at.”

“Please don’t say that—”

“Everyone is treating this like a fucking tragedy!” I shouted, throwing out my arms. “Like I should be ashamed of this. Like I should be scared. But what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how many guys have pulled a gun on me? Have asked me to do horrible, degrading things for a couple extra bucks? And now Ezekiel is treating me like a goddamn queen, and all I gotta do is fuck him. I know Ezekiel has killed people, and I know he’s not a nice guy. But damnit, he treats me better than half of Metro, and that’s all it’s about, right? Me. Goddamn
me
! All my life, I’ve been getting on my knees to suck off ignorant assholes who beat me, yell at me, convince me I’m worth nothing. Ezekiel has called me
utterly radiant
. Do you know how that feels? Do you know how it feels to have a man like Ezekiel—a man with money, smarts, power, charisma—compliment me? For the first time, I feel like I’m getting ahead and people are still tearing me down. Where was all this sympathy when my eighth grade teacher asked me to suck him off? Where was all this sympathy when that forty-five-year-old father of four put me in the hospital with a broken arm, three broken ribs, and a concussion? Where was all this goddamn fucking sympathy when my mom’s boyfriend first told me touch his penis when I was seven, huh?
Huh
?”

“Melissa—”

“I’m sick of people telling me what I should do! This is my life. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it since Mom died. If Ezekiel shoots me in the face, why do you give a flying fuck, huh? You already got out of Metro. Don’t worry about me. Worry about your husband and your kid.”

Rosa was crying now, shaking her head. “Don’t say that, Melissa. Please don’t say that.”

I grabbed the dress she held and tossed it over my head. I whirled around to look in the mirror. I looked like a whore. A classy whore, but a whore. Hell, I could be wearing a T-shirt and jeans and I’d still look like a whore. Good. That was what I was. I wasn’t ashamed of who I was and what I did. It was my problem. Not anyone else’s.

I turned on Rosa. She was hiding her face in her hands, probably trying not to cry more than she already was. I felt a tinge of guilt for what I’d said. But in the end, I was telling the truth. If she couldn’t handle it, then she and I couldn’t be close. I didn’t waste my time on people I had to impress with lies.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she whispered, finally removing her hands and staring at me with bloodshot eyes.

“I’m always careful. That’s why Ezekiel likes me. I think before I do things.”

“Is that it?” Rosa asked.

I shrugged. “I’ve got nice legs.”

Rosa knew she was supposed to laugh, but she didn’t. She sighed and looked away.

A part of me wanted to hug her and assure her that I’d do my best to stay out of trouble. But I was feeling mean. People always yelled at me. It was my chance to yell at someone else. It was selfish and it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Thank you for your help,” I told her. Glancing in the mirror, I knew she’d done an excellent job. My curly hair was straightened, my imperfect complexion perfected, my eyelashes lengthened, and my lips emphasized. I wanted to believe I could fit in with Ezekiel’s people, but no matter what fresh paint I slapped on, I could still see the rough texture beneath. I was still a nobody from Metro. I didn’t think I could be anybody else.

“Call me later,” Rosa insisted. “Tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you more.”

I grabbed my new phone and gave it to Rosa so she could put her number in.

“Thanks,” I muttered, then slid my feet into the shoes Rosa had brought with her. After I walked out, I regretted not saying good-bye, but I figured there would be another time.

I imagined myself with my own theme music. Each click of my heels against the floor was a rhythm to which my hips swayed. I was sick of playing the victim. Tonight was a show. I was the lead, and goddamn, I was going to act my heart out.

The fight club was more glamorous than I expected. Even though it was in the casino/hotel’s basement, there was nothing “basement” about it. There was an arched ceiling, a chandelier, and tables staggered on different levels around the room. They all looked down at the pen in the center, which was barren right now. A cage hung above it, waiting to be lowered. So that was what all these men had gathered to watch—two men fighting in a cage like dogs.

Waitresses circled the area, carrying drinks and dressed in tight bandage dresses. I imagined the clientele here skewed male, though I did spot the occasional trophy wife getting drunk on champagne. I thought that maybe Ezekiel would appreciate the eye candy, but he was more interested in snagging the champagne. He turned back to me when he’d procured two glasses.

“Enjoy,” he said with a smile. “This fight is business, but it would be nice to have fun at the same time.”

I had no interest in fights. I’d seen my share of real ones. Yet I put on a smile for Ezekiel. He didn’t seem to notice that it was fake, at least from what I could see.

Ezekiel sat at a table with Bruce, Garrett, and Roger. I wondered if he went anywhere without his trusted bodyguards, or if I was allowed to go anywhere without mine. The only time they weren’t at his side was when he was in his own house, and even then he only really sent them away when he wanted to be alone with me. I would have liked to believe that Bruce and Garrett were brainless cronies, but whenever they lifted their sunglasses, I saw a cruel intelligence flicker in their dark eyes. I should have known. Ezekiel didn’t trust his life to morons.

Roger sat beside me, fidgeting. I wanted to pat his leg comfortingly, but Ezekiel would probably see it, and it could come off as an inappropriate gesture. Where as Bruce and Garrett were used to excursions such as this, Roger used to be a butler. His job had been to take care of Ezekiel’s house, not fly around in his private jet and go to fight clubs. He was out of his element.

Which was great, because that meant I wasn’t alone.

“Ezekiel! I haven’t seen you in at least a year!”

Ezekiel stood when an older, gray-haired man approached. They shook hands and began talking in an affable manner characteristic of wealthy acquaintances. When the man asked who I was, Ezekiel motioned for me to stand.

“This is my friend and companion, Melissa Thatcher. Melissa, this is Jerry Broderick. He…works in the oil industry.”

“It’s about time Ezekiel found himself a good woman. I can see that while his tastes are expensive, they are no less than exquisite. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jerry took my hand and kissed it, nearly moving me to blush.
Ha
,
I can have sex with a man without shame, but when one kisses my hand, I’m embarrassed.

I had to hand it to Rosa. No one would have thought me “expensive” until she got her hands on me. While I had little trouble spotting people made of real money, perhaps the skills of those born into wealth weren’t as honed.

Ezekiel and Mr. Broderick talked a bit. They weren’t indulging in small talk like what Ezekiel had suffered during our date on the yacht. No, I very much believed that Mr. Broderick knew Ezekiel’s true occupation. The two men were cautious of each other, inspecting each other beneath their shallow smiles. Apparently, Ezekiel saw Mr. Broderick as a threat, and that meant he was a dangerous man indeed.

“Ladies and gentleman, the show will start in five minutes. Please take your seats,” came a sultry female voice over the intercom. Men found their tables, ending their conversation with the flirtatious waitresses.

Ezekiel leaned over to Garrett and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Garrett nodded solemnly, then touched his headset and muttered into it. I tried not to pay attention to their scheming as I settled deeper into my chair.

“Ever been to one of these?” I asked Roger nervously.

Roger shook his head. “I’m not into mixed martial arts much.”

“Me neither.” I took a sip of my champagne.

A woman in a bikini took the center of the stage, tossing her hair at the men who watched her. I glanced over at Ezekiel, who took a nonchalant sip of his champagne as he stared down at her. As some of the older men leaned forward with obvious interest, Ezekiel had no blatant reaction. A moment later, I felt his hand fall lightly on my thigh. I scooted closer to give him easier access. He didn’t move the hand, though, which relieved me. I’d rather not get felt up as two men in a ring pummeled each other into exhaustion.

“I introduce to you our first two fighters: Felix Thomas and JoJo Jackson!”

“They have such ridiculous names,” Roger mumbled under his breath. He glanced away quickly when Ezekiel shot him a look.

Felix Thomas was a big man with a shaved head and purple silk shorts. He danced in his corner, punching the air as he bounced back and forth. JoJo was shorter, but bulkier, with a trimmed beard and spiky blond hair. His face was hideous, probably disfigured by past hits. One side of his mouth was larger than the other, and his jaw wasn’t set right. He was still, the only flicker of life in his deformed figure the glare he sent across the stage to his opponent.