Page 47 of Love Bleeds Red
She nods and takes up her place at the side of the room again. I want to vomit right here on the expensive carpeting. How could these people not react? Is everyone in the world a monster?
Sweeper walks to the door and as his palm reaches the handle, he stops. “I’m going to warn you again. You step out of line and I’ve given the guards permission to deal with you. These guests will get what they’ve paid for. I’ll be back shortly. And Catalina, freshen up. You look like hell.”
He’s out the door as Cat lunges for the nearest object, the jar of nuts. She tries to throw it but her drugged limbs don’t obey. It drops out of her hand, scattering nuts all over the floor. “Fuck,” she slurs. “You freshen up, you piece of shit.”
I’m at her side before the nuts stop rolling, guiding her toward the couch. “It’s okay. Just rest.”
“Fuck him! Fuck them all!” She gives the guards watching us the finger and then slumps back against the cushion. “Give you what I paid for,” she mimics, her voice barely audible.
I smooth my hand over her hair, telling her it’ll be okay all while bile rises in my throat from Sweeper’s threat. Maybe I should have taken the drugs.
There’ssix of them in total. Six pairs of leering eyes. Six raucous voices. Six reasons my hands won’t stop shaking. Six reminders that this night will be endless.
But so far, no one has touched me. I’ve served drinks, listened to long-winded stories about people I don’t know, flinching every time one of them shifts in their seat. Right now, I’m perched on the edge of the sofa where one of the men told me to sit after asking if I’d turn around so he could “get a proper look at me.”
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the moment when they decide to abandon their pretense of civility and become the monsters I know they are. At least the other girls seem okay for now. Lydia’s still passed out on the bed and Cat’s halfway there on the couch next to a man who looks so ancient, I’d bet he has grandchildren older than me.
The man next to me, the one who looks like he’s too sophisticated to be involved with this kind of thing, places his hand gently on my thigh. I go rigid. He notices immediately and gives me what seems like a genuinely concerned look. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says softly. “What’s your name, darling?”
I know he’s not a nice man. Logically, he’s a monster like the rest of them. But his voice is kind, his smile friendly. And when I look closely into his eyes, there’s something familiar about them.
“Bailey.” I drop my gaze down to the floor and hope that he’ll get sucked back into conversation. His hand reaches out to cup my chin, tilting it so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. Here itis, the moment his fingers will slide down to my neck, squeezing, as harsh words leave his lips. I brace myself for it as best as I can.
One heartbeat passes, then two, and he releases a hum from low in his throat. A sound that makes me cringe. I knew it, he’s no different.
His thumb brushes against my trembling lip, once, twice, before he drops his hand. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.” He stands from the couch and finishes the last sip of whiskey in his glass. I notice how tall he is, how strong looking. His eyes meet mine again. “Do be a good girl until I see you again, yeah?”
I don’t know how to respond. He doesn’t wait for one anyway. He adjusts his cuffs and buttons his jacket before walking over to the huge male guard. They glance at me and go back to their hushed conversation. What are they saying? I know it’s about me, it must be.
In my periphery I notice one of the men, tall and rail-thin, leave his chair and go into the bedroom, shutting the double doors behind him.Lydia.
I bring my attention back to the corner where the man pats the scarred guard on the shoulder, then turns and walks out. That can’t be it. His attention was on me all night. He must be planning something. He’ll come back, drag me out of here into another room, separate me from Cat and the others.
Before the door fully closes, I feel the couch dip beside me. I don’t want to look him in the eye, but I catch a glimpse of his meaty hands with gold rings on every finger. Maybe if I keep my head down, he’ll lose interest. “How old are you, pretty girl?”
My stomach lurches.
When I don’t respond immediately he asks me again, this time dropping the sickly sweet tone. “I asked you a question.”
“Nineteen,” I whisper.
He snickers and reaches for his glass. Those rings clink as he wraps his fist around it. “And your friends?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
The scarred guard crosses the room and places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Not her.”
The man slams his glass down, sloshing amber liquid across the table. “She’s too old anyway.”
It takes everything in me not to lunge for him, to spit in his bloated face. Whatever made that guard intervene, I’m grateful. Until he points across the room to Katie, who’s sitting uncomfortably in the lap of a middle-aged man in an expensive suit.
“That’s the one you want,” the guard says.
He huffs. “I’ll have to settle for Fairfax’s sloppy seconds then.”
I flash the guard a pleading look, silently begging him to help us, but his gaze slides past me like I’m a ghost.
The next hour crawls by in a haze of careful movements and averted eyes. I serve more drinks, dodge wandering hands from the two unoccupied men, and try not to think about the closed bedroom door or Katie’s terrified eyes. Cat fell asleep hours ago, and blessedly, they’ve left her alone. For now.
