Page 14 of Penny
The kitchen was cold, and the room was eerily quiet as I pulled the coffee pot out with a clink. My eyes were heavy from the lack of sleep, and I dragged my feet through my morning routine. The rich smell of coffee filled my nose, making me moan in appreciation. Coffee was best served black, and the small sip that hit my lips relaxed the tension coiling in my neck, preparing me to begin another tedious day.
Last night, I’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, worrying about Connor. His actions had always consumed my thoughts, making me worry about him more than I should. He needed to let me help him when he put together new plans. The haunting memories of our father tormenting him made me protective, and I wish he would see that. Arthur, our dad, saw being free-spirited and impulsive as a weakness. If I had to describe my brother, those would be the words I would use.
I moved across my single-story apartment, careful not to spill my full mug and pulled my phone from my pocket. Some of our high-class escorts were texting to ask to work in the studio more, trying to move to the more legitimate line of work we offered. My father had initially wanted me to get rid of this deal, but once I’d shown him how we could use this to register a lot of our extra income and for it to be our front, he’d come around. The lucrative porn industry helped hide our trafficked girls under the guise of a legal business. Which wasn’t a bad thing, especially when the G-Men were cranking up their hunt to dismantle the sex trafficking industry.
This was why being the pedestal child wasn’t a cakewalk. Expectations ran high, and I had multiple people breathing down my neck.Fucking vultures.
I stepped into the bathroom, sat my coffee on the vanity, and flipped the shower on. My morning routine was my favorite time of the day. It was the only time I had full control of my surroundings. Slowly, I undressed, folded my sweats neatly, and stepped into the shower. Scorching water poured down on me. It helped to release the tightly coiled tension from the pressures of my father’s favoritism. I scrubbed my hands through my hair, pulling harder than I should. The loofah rubbing roughly against my skin turned it red, and I glared at my only visible tattoo. The one I was forced to get. Matching the men in our family, a crest was inked on my right hand. It wasn’t that I didn’t like tattoos. My entire backside was covered in permanent ink, but that was easily hidden.
My chest tightened as my mind continued to race. The shower failed to give me the relaxation I needed. All I could think about was what would happen if my brother took Penny to our father’s house. He would be under a microscope, judged by everything he said and didn’t say for wanting to present her for sale. He was on a tightrope, and it was thinning, preparing to snap. It was my job to help balance him. It always had been since we were kids, even if he boasted about being ten minutes older than me.
I cracked the glass door open and pulled the towel through the small gap, not wanting to get my floor wet. I rubbed the fabric over my skin, massaging the cotton over my face and temples.
We didn’t have a family where you took a girl over and your parents lovingly made sure she was “The One”. No, we weren’t that type of family. When our father interrogated women, he would ask if they had their own family or a job. It wasn't to eliminate the heartbreak of someone waiting for her to return. He didn’t care about sparing a woman who had people who never gave up hope. That would be showing empathy, which he didn’t possess. It was to avoid the news and police breathing down our necks. The list of questions he would have waiting for Connor would be long, and my best guess was that my brother knew nothing. He tended to forget about the legal ramifications of this lifestyle.
Careless would be another word I would use to describe my twin. Connor needed my help, and I didn’t care how much he didn’t want to take it.
The carpet was soft beneath my feet as I pulled on dark blue jeans, a light blue shirt, and a thick gray pea coat. It was my casual attire to trick men into believing I wasn’t a killer. I raced out of my room, knowing something would go wrong if I didn't get to Connor’s soon. My phone chimed, and I let out a small grunt, not wanting to get sidetracked.
Claire: Hey babe, you coming to the studio?
My studio manager had an unhealthy attachment to me. I would think a woman who knew my involvement in sex trafficking would fear me. Well, not her. She had an annoying habit of pushing her tits out and begging for attention from me. I didn’t sleep with the women we took or employed. Sometimes I would lie with them at night or flirtatiously seduce them to gain their trust, but nothing more.
Me: No
I quickly replied, locked my front door, then raced down to the parking garage. The elevator felt stale, and the fingerprints on the door were making my eye twitch. Letting out a huff of air, I turned away from the metal, not wanting to dwell on the greasy smudges. The elevator's ding signaled the bottom floor and made a rush of exhaust fill the small space. My 2021 Kawasaki Ninja H2R was parked close, and I rushed toward it, needing to have the wind strip the anxiety from me.
As I turned on the bike, the roar of the motor echoed through the garage, and I swung my leg over, impatiently waiting for it to warm up. The moment the thermostat read a decent level, I took off toward my brother's penthouse.
***
I rapped on the front door with my knuckles repeatedly until it was flung open. Connor stood in the entryway scowling, wearing only sweatpants. I looked over his shoulder, ignoring his smug attitude and saw Penny, sitting at the counter, fork frozen in air. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders and back. The curls made small ringlets and loose waves. They were stunning, even with the frizz. It made me wish she wouldn’t ever put her hair up again.
"What are you doing here?" Connor growled, his face turning a light shade of red.How cute.
"Good to see you too, brother." I smirked, trying to hold back my eye twitch. "We need to talk."
He stepped aside, begrudgingly waving me in. Penny took the bite of food she had on her fork, watching me. Her stare was focused, telling me she wasn't in detox like I’d assumed. Most of the girls we took in were strung out from the moment we got them. I figured yesterday she just hadn’t come down off her high yet, which was why she’d been so calm.
Her long legs swung back and forth under the chair, and my eyes traveled up to find she was only wearing a long shirt. The way the white shirt clung to her golden beige skin and her hair haloed her face made her appear innocent. How had a girl like this gotten mixed up with my brother? I bet it was that dating app—Tinder. That would add another layer ofsuckto online dating.
Connor made his way toward Penny and ran his palm over her shoulders, staring at me while he marked his prize. Whether he was doing it subconsciously or consciously, it didn't matter. He could act primal and pound on his chest to prove his worth. I wasn't here for her; she could die choking on his cock, and it would happily solve my problem.
I narrowed my eyes at her, examining her subtle shift as she leaned into Connor’s touch. It's been less than twenty-four hours, and this girl was already eating out of his palm. She was either batshit crazy, or my brother had changed his tactics. The latter was impossible. No one could groom a girl to do that in such a short timeframe. Not even me, and I specialized in convincing girls to feel like they’d chosen this lifestyle.
"What did you need to talk about?" my brother grunted, shoving a forkful of hash browns into his mouth.
I shifted my focus back to Penny. Her head hung low as she gazed at her almost empty plate.
"We should talk about it in private," I answered, walking over to make myself a cup of coffee. Seeing his expansive coffee set up made my eyes widen and roll. He had always been extra, but this contraption was difficult, and coffee shouldn't be hard in a world of complexities.
Cursing under my breath, I messed with the coffee machine until I got it to start pouring a single cup into one of my brother's black mugs. Connor had an obsession for black. Everything in his house was various shades or textures of it, with a sprinkle of gray and white. The fixation had started when we were teens, and he’d entered his emo stage of his life, playing guitar in secret. I’d dabbled in the trend, but I’d grown out of it, while he’d kept remnants of it in his life.
"Are you still hungry?" Connor whispered behind me, and I continued to pretend I was too preoccupied with the eccentric machine to hear them.
"Uhm, a little," she replied hesitantly.
"Here, you can have the rest of mine," he whispered in response, making it harder for me to hear him.
