Page 14 of The Devil's Secret

“Put this on,”a man who was sent to pick me up the following day says, scratching his long gray beard specked with brown. “The boss wants you in this dress and those heels you wore last time.”

I nod, picking up a black mini dress that will barely cover my ass, the glistening silver high heels lying on the floor beside it. I pick that up too, taking both to the bathroom.

“Where the fuck you think you’re goin’?” His voice crawls with venom and my entire body breaks into hives, like it’s swarming with ants.

I turn, rapid heartbeats firing off in my chest. “I’m gonna go change.”

“Yeah…” A callous grin creeps up his face. “Right here.” I swallow against the bile slamming into my stomach, slithering up my throat.

“I prefer to change in the bathroom.”

He laughs, his shoulders rolling. “Youprefer.” He chuckles louder. “Bitch, take your fucking clothes off. I’ll get to see your cunt later anyway, but at least right now, it’s all mine.”

My pulse thrashes with hard spasms as I drop the clothes, and they tumble to the floor.

It’s just another job. He’s just another customer.

My fingers fall to my leggings, and I blink back the tears piercing into my eyes.

Don’t show him your pain.

I suck in an inaudible breath, sliding my pants down to my hips. He parks himself on my sofa, spreading his thighs wide, as wide as the grin he still wears.

He lifts a finger, pointing it in between his legs. I know what he wants. There’s no point in fighting it. He’ll get what he wants anyway.

Fighting has gotten me nothing but wounds, both the ones that go away and the ones that stay, scars I’ll carry for as long as I’m alive.

I move to stand in between him, dragging my underwear and pants all the way down my legs, trying hard not to bend my chest close to his. Disgust pools into my empty stomach, nausea swirling, battling to get out.

Fight it.

Be strong.

I inhale low, pulling a breath of healing. Of salvation. They can’t have my suffering. Not ever.

“Your shirt. Let’s go,” he chides, his eyes narrowing. He waits for me to bare myself fully, knowing I despise every moment. But I’m just a whore. That’s all he sees.

When the shirt is off my body, his eyes roam every inch of me, and unlike Enzo, he looks at me like I’m a shiny object made just for him to enjoy.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm. It’s no wonder the boss fetches top dollar for you.” His hand reaches for my hip, his fingers creeping up and down, my skin prickling with dread.

The back of my nose burns with tears I won’t shed, so heavy, it engulfs me. But I can’t. I don’t cry. Not for them.

“Turn around,” he demands. “I want to see your ass.”

I do what he says, and that’s when I feel his sweaty palm groping my ass cheek, twisting harshly like I’m not a person but a thing he can manipulate however he likes.

“Bend over.”

I choke on his words. “We’ll be late. Faro will be mad,” I try to convince him, hoping it scares him enough to leave me alone.

“You’re not here to have opinions, Joelle. Don’t worry about him. He told me I can test drive you for myself.”

No.

My heart pounds harder, faster, making me sick all over again. I tremble where I stand, feeling so alone.

He rises, his hand in my hair, yanking hard. “I said, bend the fuck over before I grow impatient.”

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