Page 26 of Secret (Chicago Underground 6)
Though an unwelcomed power, I could always detect when another had undergone the same denial, the same internal negotiations: it doesn’t mean anything, they can’t touch you on the inside, they can’t even see you. It was a repellant. I had enough sick deals in my own head without shouldering someone else’s. But Luke… No.
He was too straitlaced. He fought prostitution because it went against his lofty morals, and that was the way I damn well liked it. We were opposites that way, light and dark, the sky and the earth, touching along the horizon but never to mix. Attached for eternity but always separate. If we were the same after all… No no no.
“I don’t believe you,” I said with conviction now. I wouldn’t, couldn’t.
“I hope you didn’t suck his dick,” he said. “No telling where it’s been.”
I whirled, catching him on the cheek with my nails. The odds were stacked so high against us, too high, but I wouldn’t make it easy. Let him try to touch Luke again with me nearby. I swung, slamming my fist in the side of his neck. He wouldn’t even have been the one to kill us. One of his men, as he delegated everything except for this.
He pinned me, and I panted against the wall.
“Bitch,” he spat into my face. “I should kill you for that.”
“So do it,” I panted. “Why don’t you fucking do it already?”
I realized my question had been sincere. Why was I still alive? Why was Luke? I couldn’t have much gratitude for it, considering the pain he must be in, considering the way this would have to end, a tragedy after all.
An icy fire raged in Henri’s eyes, matched by the frosted blue of his vest. It wasn’t any desire to whore me out that kept him from putting a bullet in my brain. He must know by now I wouldn’t cooperate, and even without that, I had disrespected him enough that retribution would be death. The only reason I should still be alive was if he wanted to hurt me…except he had hurt me so very little. Yes, the emotional hurt of Luke lanced me worse than a whip, but that seemed too nuanced even for a consummate asshole like Henri.
Still leaning against the wall, I murmured, “What is it? What hold do I have over you that I don’t even know I have?”
“Don’t try my patience. There isn’t much left.”
“Then kill me. Why waste time?”
He turned back. “You’re not the one in control here.”
“Then who?” I whispered.
After a pause he said, “I am,” but neither of us believed that anymore. “You’ll find what you’re looking for soon enough, but I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much.” He stalked from the room. His men followed, locking us in behind them.
I considered briefly falling at Luke’s feet, just falling apart. That approach had its appeal, but I had an advantage here. For once, I wasn’t the remains of what my father had done to me. Not even the punishment I had inflicted on myself with my choice of profession for the years after. I’d had a friend who’d helped me, and so I knew what kindness looked like. In the clumsy way of a child copying his elders, I tugged at the knots at his wrists until they gave. I pulled him down to the floor, where I cradled his head in the nook of my arm, not shying away from his body, not using any hollow quip to buffer the bond between us. He radiated heat and pain, and so I took it into myself, not a sacrifice this time but a comfort. A tear fell from my cheek onto his. I touched it, washing the dirt and blood away from his skin.
Was it true, what Henri had said? It was an idle question, something to ponder. Do you think it will rain tomorrow? Doesn’t matter, worry about it then.
He stirred, groaning. It was an animal sound, an agony sound.
“Shh,” I soothed, but the tears came faster, and the sounds did not stop. “I’ll sing to you,” I offered, “but you’ll probably wish I hadn’t.”
I sang him songs that I’d sung to my goddaughter in a different lifetime. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Morbid for a children’s song, I had always thought. And of course I’d been perversely attracted to it. Now it seemed appropriate in the almost-underground area we found ourselves in, with no light and little air.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
Chapter Twelve
When he settled, I left him and explored the room, feeling around the hinges of the door, just in case, and along the walls. On the far wall, I ran my hip into a table. Some sort of workstation, judging by its height and breadth. I caught a few splinters in my palm and a few loose rocks at the bottom of the crumbling concrete wall, the occasional screw.
“Aha.” My fingers clasped on cool metal, and I released a puff of satisfied breath. Some sort of tool, maybe a wrench. Hardly a fair fight against too many men armed with guns I barely knew how to hold. Still better than waiting to die.
“Shelly?” Luke’s voice was hoarse, a little disoriented.
“Here.” I swallowed my guilt and worry and returned to his side. “I’m here.”
“Why?” A pained pause. “How?”
“I came to save you,” I said with a small laugh. “It hasn’t gone so great so far, but don’t worry. I like to save some of my tricks for the big finish.”
He groaned, whether in pain or annoyance at my joke, I wasn’t sure—probably both.
