Page 178 of The Liar's Reckoning

“That’s not…” I lose some steam. It would take hours to explain how the legislation came about, and the truth is, Iamcomplicit. It was a conversation between the senate majority leader, my father, and me where one thing led to another and we went from human traffickers to homeless youth to drugs and prostitution and the next day, the entire committee had been looped in—hence the felonization of sex work.

More unnerving is the fact that my father has been in discussions with other prominent Catholic businessmen in New York about opening a network of non-profit rehabilitation centers and halfway houses to help former sex workers or victims integrate back into society. I’m not sure how serious he is about it, but it’s keeping him occupied when I’m not around, so I don’t mind it. As long as he doesn’t try to profit off the new law, I’ll still be able to sleep at night. Figuratively speaking. I rarely get a good night’s sleep anymore.

Sighing, I shut up and look at Silas. “There are other ways to make money.”

“Spoken like a true rich kid.”

I fucking give up. “How much money do you need?”

“Fuck you.”

“How much?”

“Ten million.”

I roll my eyes. “If you won’t take this seriously…”

“This is mylife,asshole.Myfamily.Myrent.Myresponsibilities. I fucked you for two years. She fucked you for two months. Why am I worth less? Because you already paid me once?”

“She lost a baby?—”

“I lostyou.”

Silas looks as stunned at those words as I feel. For one excruciating second, I feel every ounce of my pain and his flaring between us like two lit matches coming together. I’ve only just registered it on a gut level when he shoves me in the shoulders, knocking me off balance and shouts, “Get the fuck out! I can’t look at you. I don’t want to listen to you. I will never fucking forgive you, and I will take what I can from whoever the fuck?—”

Whatever he was about to say gets lost in my mouth. In my scramble not to fall, I grabbed his arms. He stepped in to back me up and yell at me some more, and I covered his lips with mine. Now our tongues slam together, and I shove my hands into his still damp hair, using every ounce of physical strength I have left to keep him with me.

His cock stiffens against my hip as his ass hits his dresser. He puts his hand on my throat, but he doesn’t stop kissing me. I lick into every corner of his mouth, in search of all the tastes and textures I miss and dream about every time I’m lucky enough to sleep. I never want to stop, and it doesn’t feel like he does either.

So I don’t. I slow down, moving deeper. His hand on my throat clenches tighter in warning, but he accepts my lips and tongue, the gentle tug of my teeth. He even gives me a soft moan, and it’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in so long, I wish I could put it in a box to keep it with me always.

I never should have let myself have him. Not that I could haveever predicted how it would end, but I think deep down I knew it would have to. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. Or I don’t. Or I won’t always.

I willalwayslove him.

When he hates me. When he hurts me. None of it matters.

His hand clamps around my throat, cutting off my airway. He turns his head, a rough, jagged sob choking out of him. He lets go of me, and I back away, catching the briefest glimpse of his tear-stained face before he covers it with his hand and wipes all the evidence away.

The sight turns my stomach, twisting it into sickening knots. “Baby…” I whisper.

He slides off the dresser and walks around me, going into the bathroom and closing the door. The water turns on, but it does nothing to smother the sound of his ragged sobs. I stumble back to the bed and land on the mattress just as my knees give out. I cry out as my ass hits the bed, my guts still reeling from their earlier trauma. One I welcomed as some sick sort of penance.

I know I should go. He told me to. Demanded it. But I swear to God this is worse than leaving him the first time. Still, I need to leave. But I should tell him, shouldn’t I? That I love him as much as I ever have? That I’ll never stop.

Something tells me I won’t like what he has to say in response. That it might send me deeper into this unending spiral of misery and masochism.

After several minutes of indecision and silence from the other side of the door, I work my way back to my feet and walk over to rest my hand on the latch. “I wish I could have loved you better, Silas. But I’ll always love you the best I can. I understand you’ll do what you need to do. I’ll stay out of your way.”

In the wake of his deafening silence, I leave.

55

SILAS

Iwake up next to Gil who’s still sleeping quietly, his back to me. I spent the majority of last night preparing for my mediation with the Capshaws, and Gil must have felt sorry for me. He invited me to stay over, as a friend.

The rejection stung at first, but he explained as I spooned him, stroking his bare arm. His online friend—Z whatever—has a name now. Zach. A sommelier, supposedly, who lives in Brooklyn. Gil is even considering going out with me and Lilah to casually meet up with him. For Gil, it feels like something—he has fantasies about him. Their conversations have taken on a new intimacy. So it’s got nothing to do with me not being a legit escort anymore.

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