Page 4 of Cruel Debts
Although what the fuck an artist of that caliber was doing whittling away her time in a sex club was a mystery.
“Alright, folks, it’s time to draw the number of the next lucky band holder!” A woman in front in kitten heels and a sexy lingerie set held out a basket for her twin to reach into, shaking the little pieces of paper inside for added effect. It was then that I realized our bands had digits emblazoned on them—002, 006, and 010. I handed off two to Hawke and Liam and slipped the remaining one on my wrist with a sigh.
It wasn’t like I ever got picked for these things, anyhow. With any luck, Hawke would get bored, find some rando to shack up with, and we’d all get to go back to the Guild and get some much-needed sleep before we had to return to work.
Things were never dull at the Guild. Not with St. Clair in charge, at least.
“And our lucky winner is number zero-zero six!”
I glanced down at my wristband and swore.
Shit.
006.
TWO
TRINITY
If one more asshole came inhere expecting me to paint his dick into a masterpiece, I was going to lose my shit.
I’d painted six women and two dudes tonight, and out of all of them, the guys were the worst. Pushy, demanding, and always leering at my ass, they never missed an opportunity to proposition me as I bent over their dick to paint them whatever they asked for.
It wasn’t like I could quit, though. Body paint night was my biggest money night. And I needed the cash.
Rent was due; I’d blown through the last of my savings after my fucking roommate trashed the place and ditched me. She and her garbage boyfriend stuck me with not only double the rent but also several holes and busted windows that I was either on the hook to replace and repair or face eviction.
The choice was an easy one. So I’d drained my cash savings to hire a guy to come in and patch the holes, replace the glass, and oh, of course, he didn’t leave without snooping through my closet. Hell, he even propositioned me for lunch on his way out.
Dude was old enough to be my dad. I was into older guys, but notthatmuch older.
I had a sort of thing for the older men in uniform that my brother ran with during his military days. Three specific men in uniform that I’d likely never see again.
Not unless I found my brother. And knowing Keehn, there would be a snowball’s chance in hell if he were around that I’d ever get to shoot my shot with his ex-army buddies.
Keehn was overprotective of me, even more so than our father.
“Alright, time’s up, sir,” the room attendant said politely, extending her hand to the freshly painted sea-monster man. “We have another patron waiting for the lovely artist’s time.”
He shot me another look, and I swear he waved his dick at me with a little twitch. “Boo. Well, thanks for the paint, sugartits. If you’re ever looking to paint someone exclusively, let me know.”
“No, thanks, buddy,” I muttered under my breath as he slipped a twenty into my tip jar. The privilege of being painted was free, but tips were encouraged. And of course, the men were always cheapskates.
We all wore uniform black masks across our faces, hiding our identities for the night, so it was no shock to me that the man approaching—no, he was being pushed by two others, who wore mischievous grins—was unfamiliar. Still, something about his gait and the way he tensed up the second he locked eyes with me felt almost like I’d seen him before.
Maybe he was a regular that I hadn’t noticed until now.
“Come on, man, just loosen up already,” the man to his left insisted, all but shoving him into my arms. “You won the draw, just fucking do it. Don’t be such a pussy.”
It wasn’t hard to see that the man in question was more than reluctant to be painted by a stranger in the nude. I offered him a hand silently, with a soft, disarming smile on my face, one I usually reserved for the ladies, and waited for him to take it.
He eyed it with hesitation, but slowly, almost like a skittish stray cat, he took my hand and smiled back, albeit a bit shyly.
I just quirked a brow and led him up the dias to the center, my mind slipping into work mode.
Undress the client. Most of them like that, so make it sexy.
I slipped my hands over his shoulders, whispering instructions to him as I moved, my tone even, my accent a mockery of the city’s local accent that I’d adopted to blend in better.
