proper.”
“I’m sure you did. Is that your little cock’s nickname? Fat boy?”
“Go fuck yourself, lady.” He laughed, shook his head, and turned away.
“I’d rather fuck myself than your little limp dick.” Again, I heard my voice echo back to me.
Freddie stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry. Did that hurt your feelings?” I asked.
“I don’t think you could handle me.”
“Why not? Too fragile?” Burning Freddie was strangely satisfying.
“Once I was through with ya, ya wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.” He walked up to me, still wearing his arrogant grin.
I return the grin, though mine is much more sinister. “I’ve heard regret can do that to a person.”
“The only thin’ you’d regret is lettin’ me go after.” He stopped inches from my face. I could smell his cheap cologne and the musky body odour it was poorly covering.
I laughed. “There would have to be something to hold onto, first.”
“There’s always the sheets.” He winked.
Before I could laugh again, his lips muffled mine. Before I could pull away, his fingers were wrapped around my head. And it didn’t take him more than five seconds before his tongue penetrated my mouth. One of his hands gripped firmly on my ass.
A wave a nausea rolled over me. So you’re actually going through with this? My plan worked, but was it worth it? The night shift at the hotel isn’t so bad.
One of my hands found itself clenching his bicep. The other ran down his side, over the firm ridges and deep dips of his muscles, stopping as the leather bag rubbed against the back of my hand.
I did need the money…
“Where’s that motel?” he asked.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINAL SALE, FINAL STRAW
I wish I could forget the rest of that night. I have to forget it for now—I have a sale I need to finish.
Terri and her friend are waiting, and probably starting to wonder why I’m still in the bathroom. Wiping the water from my face, I turn to leave. The cold, damp bar air makes the hair on my neck stand up straight. Something is off.
Terri and Erica are still swooning over the clothes.
Time freezes. There’s a ringing in my ears. The moment becomes a blur.
A couple sits at a table across the bar. The bartender walks up, drops off a pint of beer and a cocktail, and the woman’s head tilts up. She sees me. Her eyes narrow. It’s Carmine Pesconi’s wife. Eyes wide, she says something to her partner, but I’m well out of earshot. The man begins to turn and I look away. I don’t need to see him to know who he is.
He’s Carmine Pesconi.
Terri waves me over. “Olivia!” she calls out. “Come sit down. Let’s make a deal.” I can barely hear her over the deafening gong in my chest and the high-pitched squeal in my ears.
I start towards the door.
“Olivia? Where are you going? What about the clothes?” she asks, standing up.
“Keep them.” My voice is raspy, broken. I don’t look back—I can’t look back. I know he can see me. I know it’s too late, he’s already recognized me, and it’s just a matter of time before he realizes that his wife’s clothes are on that table.
“What? Seriously?” Terri says. I wish she would shut up and take the hint. I wish she would run, too. Should I warn her? It would take two second, but I can’t bare the though of turning back and facing Pesconi.
Instead, I say nothing as I leave the secret underground bar. Not until I’m three streets down from the Holiday Inn do I make sure I’m not being followed. I’m not—unless you count the crippling nausea that resonates in my gut.
The never-ending Ilium downpour has very few benefits—one of which is, no one can tell when you’re crying. On the Ilium streets, no one knows if you’re a perfectly happy person or a miserable wreck.
If there are perfectly happy people in Ilium, it’s news to
“I’m sure you did. Is that your little cock’s nickname? Fat boy?”
“Go fuck yourself, lady.” He laughed, shook his head, and turned away.
“I’d rather fuck myself than your little limp dick.” Again, I heard my voice echo back to me.
Freddie stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry. Did that hurt your feelings?” I asked.
“I don’t think you could handle me.”
“Why not? Too fragile?” Burning Freddie was strangely satisfying.
“Once I was through with ya, ya wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.” He walked up to me, still wearing his arrogant grin.
I return the grin, though mine is much more sinister. “I’ve heard regret can do that to a person.”
“The only thin’ you’d regret is lettin’ me go after.” He stopped inches from my face. I could smell his cheap cologne and the musky body odour it was poorly covering.
I laughed. “There would have to be something to hold onto, first.”
“There’s always the sheets.” He winked.
Before I could laugh again, his lips muffled mine. Before I could pull away, his fingers were wrapped around my head. And it didn’t take him more than five seconds before his tongue penetrated my mouth. One of his hands gripped firmly on my ass.
A wave a nausea rolled over me. So you’re actually going through with this? My plan worked, but was it worth it? The night shift at the hotel isn’t so bad.
One of my hands found itself clenching his bicep. The other ran down his side, over the firm ridges and deep dips of his muscles, stopping as the leather bag rubbed against the back of my hand.
I did need the money…
“Where’s that motel?” he asked.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINAL SALE, FINAL STRAW
I wish I could forget the rest of that night. I have to forget it for now—I have a sale I need to finish.
Terri and her friend are waiting, and probably starting to wonder why I’m still in the bathroom. Wiping the water from my face, I turn to leave. The cold, damp bar air makes the hair on my neck stand up straight. Something is off.
Terri and Erica are still swooning over the clothes.
Time freezes. There’s a ringing in my ears. The moment becomes a blur.
A couple sits at a table across the bar. The bartender walks up, drops off a pint of beer and a cocktail, and the woman’s head tilts up. She sees me. Her eyes narrow. It’s Carmine Pesconi’s wife. Eyes wide, she says something to her partner, but I’m well out of earshot. The man begins to turn and I look away. I don’t need to see him to know who he is.
He’s Carmine Pesconi.
Terri waves me over. “Olivia!” she calls out. “Come sit down. Let’s make a deal.” I can barely hear her over the deafening gong in my chest and the high-pitched squeal in my ears.
I start towards the door.
“Olivia? Where are you going? What about the clothes?” she asks, standing up.
“Keep them.” My voice is raspy, broken. I don’t look back—I can’t look back. I know he can see me. I know it’s too late, he’s already recognized me, and it’s just a matter of time before he realizes that his wife’s clothes are on that table.
“What? Seriously?” Terri says. I wish she would shut up and take the hint. I wish she would run, too. Should I warn her? It would take two second, but I can’t bare the though of turning back and facing Pesconi.
Instead, I say nothing as I leave the secret underground bar. Not until I’m three streets down from the Holiday Inn do I make sure I’m not being followed. I’m not—unless you count the crippling nausea that resonates in my gut.
The never-ending Ilium downpour has very few benefits—one of which is, no one can tell when you’re crying. On the Ilium streets, no one knows if you’re a perfectly happy person or a miserable wreck.
If there are perfectly happy people in Ilium, it’s news to
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