Page 16 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Chem–” Roulette warned, pushing me forward.

She read me like a book, though it was rather complicated other times.

“Who is she?”

My spine stiffened, straightening, and I planted my feet on the tiled floor. I made it very clear I wasn’t moving, no matter how hard she pushed.

“She’s promising, Chem, and it is her first night. She’s going to bring us a good penny. They love her already. She aced the trial.”

“This… this is her last night, baby.”

I wished I was sorry, but I wasn’t. Not even a little.

“She’ll make me good money!” she reiterated.

“And me, pretty babies,” I reminded her of what was more important.

She said nothing more. Regardless of what she had, one foot was already in front of the other and my body was headed toward the stage.

“Is she clean?” I tossed over my shoulder.

With a nod, Roulette answered, “Royce checked.”

Royce always checked. Everyone was screened thoroughly. Anyone that we’d come into contact with regularly was vetted and approved after extensive digging. If Royce had given her the green light, then there was no reason I couldn’t.

Everything around me blurred, including the sounds of the loudspeakers. She was the only clear object in my tunneled vision. Muffled sounds played in the background. Fixtures moved about, all around me as I avoided the steps and hopped on stage.

Smoothly, free from anxious thoughts or movements, I approached the lengthy vixen who rolled her body to a beat I didn’t recognize. Not because I didn’t know the song but because I couldn’t hear that shit.

My presence alarmed her none. Seductively, she turned, placing her back against the pole as she waited for the inevitable. Waited for me to state my business or drop some bread.

No amount of money tossed in a night’s time would amount to what I had waiting for her if she followed instructions well, sucked good dick, and could spit out healthy babies.

“You’re obstructing everyone’s view. There are men willing to pay.”

“I’m willing to pay more.”

Her bottom lip disappeared in her mouth. I imagined my dick next. Flared nostrils revealed the anxiety I’d considered myself free of.

“Giselle,” she introduced herself using her stage name.

“Don’t insult me.”

“Eden.”

“Pack your shit and meet me out front.”

“I’m no damsel in distress.”

“Do I look like a motherfucking knight in shining armor?” I asked, already feeling as though I’d used too many words and felt too many things in the few seconds I’d been standing in front of her.

I’m a fucking monster.

“Better,” she challenged, making my dick press harder against my jeans.

“Don’t touch shit on the floor on your way out. It’s beneath you, now,” I demanded, referring to the money scattered on the stage.

“I didn’t get your name. My mother needs to know who to come looking for if anything happens to me.”

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