Page 51 of Shattered
“But I know you, Mel.” Garrett folded his hands, giving me that stupid grin with his shining teeth. There was something else going on behind Garrett’s eyes, something I would never figure out. And I didn’t have it in me to fight right then. Not with him. Not now.
“I have a proposition to make,” he said. “A close friend of my father’s is getting married. I’d like to take you as my guest. It will ease my father’s mind if I seem to be doing well. One of the traditional expectations of society: dating.” He scoffed, then spread his arms along the back of the couch. “I’ll pay you double. Cash.”
Double in cash meant that I could keep every cent. I wasn’t the kind of server that was opposed to negotiating a meeting with a club member off property if it meant a more lucrative arrangement.
“When is it?” I asked.
“Next week,” he said, his voice cool as whiskey. There was calculation going on behind his eyes. He was playing with me. Screwing with my head. Then planting a simple business arrangement as if it were nothing. As if he wasn’t asking me to break the club’s rules.
I didn’t care about the rules, but I did care about my debts. “I can’t miss any more shifts.”
“I’ll pay whatever you owe for the missed shifts.” His tongue ran across his teeth, then he added: “It’s a private island. A tropical getaway, if you will. A slice of paradise. Nothing is required of you. Only that you pretend to be my date in public.”
I highly doubted that. Any sort of outside date with a club memberalwaysinvolved sex, even if the club member swore up and down that it didn’t. It was another tactic to persuade us to break the rules; if we got this money and we didn’t even have to have sex, why wouldn’t we agree?
I had no reason not to go. Not really.
But Rourke popped into my mind, those bulbous flat eyes staring into me, seeing my soul, the metal mouth gleaming, those soft lips underneath that I had once touched. Kissing me. Biting into me.
When a cock gets shoved down into this your throat, do you think of me?
I held my stomach, the warmth of desire surging through me.
“A weekend,” Garrett said. “That’s all I ask. Then you’ll be back here.”
What was wrong with me? Why didn’t I want to go on a weekend getaway with a rich man who would treat me like a respectable queen when we were in public, and like a filthy fuck doll once we were behind closed doors? Garrett had shown me that he could screw me like I wanted, and though we had only had oral sex, I knew he was capable of showing me how badly I needed to come. But I couldn’t even fathom it. I wouldn’t let myself. What was it about Rourke that made me want to be loyal to him? To be ready and willing and available, just in case he happened to show up? I couldn’t even call him!
All I knew was that I couldn’t go with Garrett to a wedding, and still give myself to Rourke.
Protection. To please him. To do right by him. A man who murdered predators for pleasure and control, because the statistics of those who were easily forgotten, mattered to him.
Unconditional commitment.
“I have an art showing,” I whispered, my mind glazing over. “I have to get ready for it. I’m not sure I can go. I’ll have to think about it.”
But it was a lie. The art showing was soon, but I was ready. I didn’t need any more time to prepare.
“Your art comes first, then,” Garrett said.
I couldn’t even tell a club member that I was seeing someone. That I didn’t want him. That I was saving myself for someone else. I was full of it. Another lie. Another chip in my authenticity. “Yeah. My art,” I muttered.
From the cool tone of his voice, I could tell that he knew it was a lie too. “I respect that,” he said.
