Page 3 of Wild (Chicago Underground 4)
I really was bad to imagine it, but my skin was still raw and his admiration was a balm. What would it feel like to be that girl even for an afternoon? “I’ll be fine. I’ve got to run.”
“Okay.”
He drew the word out, stalling. Maybe he sensed how close he had come to rapture. It wasn’t worth the price. I wished I could tell him. Even for free.
“But if you need anything…”
“I’ll call you,” I lied.
I leaned against the satin-covered wall as the elevator took me up. The glass bubbles that held the security cameras reflected my progress down the hallway. I keyed the combination into the keypad and pushed open the heavy door, pretending not to mind that this felt more like a gilded prison than a home—at least it was safe.
Once inside, I breathed out a sigh of relief and threw my keys on the kitchen bar.
A flash of black caught my eye. I turned, but a large body already held me in its bruising grip. The second asshole flanked me from the other side, though it would only have taken one to subdue me. None, really, considering who else would be in the room.
“How have you been, sweetheart?” came the voice from my nightmares.
I had mastered this. For years, I had trained for this moment, to respond coolly, act casually. But not now, not so soon after the humiliation at the bookstore. Henri’s gravelly voice rubbed salt into my wounds. At one time he’d been my savior. Now he was just a pimp.
He strolled out of the shadows, his pale, strong face impassive. High cheekbones and white-blond hair spoke of a Nordic ancestry, though his accent was slight. As usual, he wore a three-piece suit, all in black except the vest and tie in matching teal.
How did he get in? How did he know where I lived? He shouldn’t even have been searching for me. I had quit the life, and he had agreed at the time, but that had been a lie. The question of how was superfluous, because here he was. The question of why was too obvious to bear; I made him an awful lot of money. Now I saw. His return was inevitable, like trying to keep the ocean off the beach. Maybe for a time it would leave, but it would always come back.
Thick fingers cut into my arms, but I flipped my hair out of my face in a charade of unconcern. “I went shopping.”
Henri gave me a detached perusal, inspecting his wares. “You look like a secretary.”
“I’m a professional,” I managed drily. And it was true, just not of the business variety. A hundred men in Chicago’s upper echelon could attest to what a pro I was. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet me?” His voice was too mild. “And here I’ve missed you.”
My blood began to pound. He wouldn’t beat me in my fancy apartment in the middle of the day. It would make too much noise, and someone would call the cops. Unless he had them on his payroll. Unless the fancy security I paid for, that had served me so well until now, also included soundproofed walls. No one would hear. No one ever cared.
He set the glass he was holding down on a side table with a quiet thud. “I blame myself. I should have known better than to let you go with him.”
He never should have let me stay with Philip, he meant, even though he had gotten a placement fee and a monthly stipend the entire time I’d been Philip’s mistress. Hardly anything to complain about, but he was right. Philip had given me the financial means to leave. He’d also given me the confidence. Though now it seemed more like
hubris. Leave it to Philip to confuse the two.
Henri gripped my chin with his fingers and grunted. “Such a pretty face.”
I slid my gaze away from his flat eyes to stare straight ahead. My pretty face, my beautiful, hated face and matching body that made me want to puke just to think of them. Let him look. Didn’t he know he burned us both? Like trapping a butterfly, the only way to catch one was to kill it.
“You’re wondering if I’m going to hurt you. Probably.” He ran his thumb over my lips, his fingernail catching on the tender skin. “Can’t dirty you up now, though. Tomorrow you have a party.”
My gaze met his. I hated parties. All the girls did. Decent money, but not enough to compensate for too many men getting drunk and nasty. An escort was never more than an object to get off in, but a hooker at a party was a piñata.
But I would do it because I had no choice. I would do it because I needed more money to afford this fancy apartment with all the security that clearly did not work. And most of all, I would do it because I could do nothing else. I’d known it all along, from when I was young, too damned young, and this afternoon underscored that.
“A party,” I repeated dully.
“Good girl.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I’ll send you the details.”
Then they were gone, and I crumpled to the floor. Belated, terror swept over me, drenching me and then leaving me chilled in its absence.
Stupid, thinking I could work at a bookstore as a clerk. Stupid that I’d want to. I would make more money in fifteen minutes at this party than Dawn would make all day. And she, confined to her feet. I would earn mine on my back, on my hands and knees, any which way they pleased.
Hooking had been the only thing I could do, once upon a time. Seemed it still was.
