Page 3 of Angel

With my spine straightened, and a good flick of my hair over my shoulders, I head for room 202. Each click of my heels brings me closer to my demise… and the thing I despise most of all. Second only to myself.

As I stand outside the door, I tug on my leather jacket—my non-patched one—because I will never reveal who I am. And no one can find out about my side gig, especially not my brothers.

My knuckles don’t even have a chance to hit the paint-peeled motel door, before the hinges fly open, and I mentally roll my eyes back into my skull. He’s impatient, and it doesn’t sit well with me. Then again, nothing about this job does.

The man standing before me is of average height with average looks. He’s nothing to write home about. His receding hairline is one I try to imagine having once been dark, thick, and styled perfectly… back in his prime. But I’m guessing when you’re unhappy, unsatisfied with your life, you tend to let yourself go.

I never really understood that one.

His sneering grin makes my skin crawl, and he doesn’t know how badly I want to jab my thumbs into his eye sockets. I don’t want to do this. I never wanted to do this. But it seems to be my fate. I’m doomed. With no other choice than to let it, this, and him consume every part of me.

Mentally and physically.

“Damn, sweet thing, I didn’t expect this. You, I mean.” This Steve guy steps forward, arms out, like he’s going to take me right here and now.

I smile and quickly sneak past him into the horrid-smelling motel room, dodging his unwelcomed gesture. “Let’s get a few things straight,” I say, tossing my jacket off and onto the bed. “One, I get paid before anything else—not my rule. Two, there will be no kissing, no cuddling, no pet names given—I’m not a fucking cat. There will be condom usage at all times, which I hope you provided because I’m not a pharmacy.” His eyes are hungry. “And last but not least, you can’t fall in love with me.” He snorts. Like something I said was funny. Oh, no, Steve, I fail to find the humor in any of it. My rules, they’re set for a good reason. I feel in charge, and I need to feel in charge. It’s important to me, an obsession eating away at what little’s left of my psyche. Like a parasite.

“You’re feisty and bossy. I like it. It’s sexy… Yeah, I want you to use that in bed.” His thick saliva coats his lips, ready to devour every part of me, and I have to swallow the bit of bile rising in the back of my throat. “I want you to be bossy with me.” He’s eager, like a kid in a candy store. Or like a man whose only recent sexual encounter was jacking off to the porn he keeps stashed away from his wife.

He’s wearing a wedding band. So, I was right. He is married. And the cheating bastard couldn’t even bother to take off his ring. He’s going to fuck me tonight while he wears the symbol of his commitment, love, honor, and faithfulness.

What a joke.

I bet he used the excuse he’s working late. Lying through his ugly yellow teeth, knowing that he would eventually be inches deep in another woman’s lady parts. Women are so naive. But here I am, judging them, when I’m the one who should be judged. Aren’t I what they like to call a homewrecker? But if it wasn’t me, it would probably be someone else.

He eyes me up and down, panting like a rabid dog, and I’m waiting for him to start foaming at the mouth. I know I’m attractive, but it took me a long time to embrace that. Back in high school, when I started to sprout breasts and my curves became more visible, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house in anything but baggy clothes.

Now? Now, I cling to it, use my body as my own personal power tool. A crutch, per se.

I’m disgusting.

He slowly approaches me, getting ready to lock his lips with mine, but I stop him. “What are you doing?” My hand presses on his soft chest, stopping him from inching any further. “Do I need to go over my rules again?”

“Oh, baby, I like it when you scold me. Do it again.”

Baby is a term of endearment, and in my book, that means pet name. Clearly, he doesn’t give a fuck about my rules. This guy is irritating me and I don’t like to be irritated. My other clients are never this eager. They’re usually nervous, but not Steve here. This little sex-deprived asshat is more confident than he should be.

I tuck the cash away in my boot as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. Small swirls of dark hair are showcased on his chest as he tosses the sweat-stained fabric aside. He’s excited—too excited—but maybe this will work in my favor. The faster we do this, the faster it’s over. And I can make my appearance at Charger’s celebratory party at the club.

If Chain or the others ever find out, they’ll probably take my patch, and they’re the only family I have. The only family I’ve ever had. Being twenty-eight and finally being accepted into a platonic band of brothers is a gift to me.

I let him run his grotesque hands down my waist, until he grips my ass cheeks like they’re stress balls. I’m fully aware that I have an ass, tits, and curves. And that I’m more toned now than when I was younger. I love the gym and I work hard to keep this body.

“You are every man’s fantasy and so fucking sexy. I want you to ride my dick until I come so hard.”

How romantic. The horrific image of me on top of this man makes me nauseas. The discomfort in my stomach is strong, and the tightness in my chest emerges, but I mentally push it away… as much as I can.

“Just remember who calls the shots here, got it?” I tell him.

He nods with enthusiasm, his chest hair prickling under my palm as I push him to the bed. He falls onto his back, licking his lips, as if I’m dangling millions of dollars in front of his face. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, flashing with lust. Lust that does absolutely nothing for me. Thank God for the condom providing some type of lube, because I’ll be as dry as the Sahara Desert down there.

I begin to undress, slowly, trying my best to be seductive, because I am getting paid after all. Always put in one hundred percent of the effort, no matter the work. That’s what Daddy Dearest taught me anyway.

The frigid air feels like ice on my bare skin, as I’m left there standing in only my lace G-string. His eyes widen with arousal, and the only part of him that’s hard is the three-inch pole looking to penetrate me. The rest is loose skin and weak muscle.

My torturous screams are silent, yet detrimental to my soul. Loud enough to destroy a small piece of me each and every time. I’m waiting for the day there’s nothing left to strip away. Nothing left for me to prove. Hoping I will be set free from all… this. But, until that day, I’ll just continue taking a deep breath before the plunge. In the end, that’s all I can really do.

Shame enters me like an unwelcomed visitor as I straddle the balding man. I mask any hint of regret—anything that lets him know I hate every second of this—hiding away the cringe as he slides his disgusting length inside me, shattering any spirit I have left.

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