Excerpt from ‘To Die for Truth…’

 

He shrugged. “Could be.” Danny took another mouthful of beer before frowning. “What’s H again?”

Putting down the notebook, she pushed out of the dinette. “The writer of the letters. He’s the guy who wrote the letters.”

“How do you know he’s a guy?”

“He talks about his dick.”

“Good clue,” Danny said, setting his beer on the dinette table.

Tess raised her arms when he gathered her top to take it off over her head. “Doesn’t help me with who C is,” she said, her mind working. Danny opened the snap of her jeans and lowered the zipper. “Can’t help me with Pandora either. And the numbers are still a mystery. He mentioned Miami once… that was in the first letter I read.” Pushing her jeans and underwear from her hips, Danny crouched to guide her feet out of the fabric one at a time. “But what would I do? Just show up in Miami?”

When he stood, he took her hips to pick her up and sit her on the counter between the stove and sink. “Miami’s hot,” he said, moving in close between her thighs.

In her pondering, she glanced up. “I’m going back to see Figgs tomorrow. I should’ve asked more questions. Like when my mom was there and if she said anything.” Stinging pain joined the sudden pressure on her pussy, tensing her muscles. That’s what he was doing? She hadn’t been paying attention, but there he was, cock in hand, condom on, trying to push himself into her. “Geez, Danny, foreplay, baby.”

“Right,” he said and muttered, “foreplay.”

Danny disappeared in a crouch again. This time, he wound his arms around her thighs and yanked her to the edge of the counter.

“It’s fine,” Tess said. “I don’t even want sex right now, I—oh…”

His tongue slid through her, warming her clit with the heat of his breath and the slick, moist movement of his teasing.

Tess ran her fingers into his hair, holding it in her fist. “Right there, baby,” she said, closing her eyes.

His lips caught her clit, holding it firm as his tongue flickered over her. Drawing in a long breath, she let it go in a moan and planted her other hand on the counter behind her to raise her hips closer to his intimate kiss.

It didn’t take him long to get her going, not when he was so thorough in his skill. Lapping at her opening, he lubricated his route with the tip of his tongue, circling and pushing it into her, moving at the pace of her hips.

Close to the edge, Tess could feel the shimmers of climax quaking through her, ready to explode. Just before they did, he stood up and twined an arm around her to guide her body onto his waiting cock.

“Better,” she said, relaxing her eyelids. His weren’t much more open than hers. “You’re so damn good at everything, Danny Boy.”

One of his dimples appeared slowly, the same pace as the undulation of his body. In typical Danny style, he was in no rush, no hurry to get to the finish line. Pushing as far into her as he could, he paused there for a few seconds, then pulled back, leaving only half of himself inside her. He swayed in and out, playing with her, moving an inch back and forth.

Digging her teeth into her lip, the promise of orgasm was too close for her to ignore. “Faster, Danny.”

“I’ve been thinking ‘bout this all day,” he said, skimming his hands around to unhook her bra.

It fell away and his rough hands closed around her breasts, fondling her, enjoying her, using her for his pleasure. He didn’t want to go faster because he wanted that moment. That was what he’d been thinking about. The sex, sure, but she could read it in the way he drank her in. It wasn’t just the orgasm; he wanted to savor her.

Tess had never been savored. The moment. She’d never lived in the now. Her life was running, always being aware, planning for what was next, suspecting every coincidence.

“Danny,” she whispered, pushing off her hand to press her body to his.

“Not so bad havin’ a willing woman waiting in my trailer at the end of the day.”

Brushing her lips across his chest, she peeked up at him, squeezing her inner muscles to tease him a little. “I cooked for you too.”

His brows went up; she side-nodded at the stove. Tess held his ribs as he leaned to the side and took the lid from the pot to dip his finger into the sauce. As he sucked the digit into his mouth, his brow descended.

“No good?” she asked, worried his expression couldn’t mean anything positive.

It took another couple of seconds for his finger to slide free of his lips. His brow relaxed again, and he smiled down at her. “Don’t taste as good as you.”

On a laugh, she wrapped both arms around him. “That’s a good line.”

 

~

 

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ONE

Until that week, Shyla Bellamy had never been to a single job interview.

At that moment, she was on her way to her third. Her baptism of fire would continue until she acquired a job. Tough as it was to be optimistic, she had to keep going. Without work, she wouldn’t be able to secure an apartment or pay her bills. She’d be homeless and destitute. She had to keep going.

As pep talks went, that wasn’t the most inspiring. Every interview had been a bust, so believing the next would be any different wasn’t easy. But there was no alternative. Anyone who’d agree to see her was a potential employer. All it took was one person willing to take a chance. Just one.

Shyla didn’t make the best first impression. Knowing that didn’t do much for her anxiety. If anything, that made it worse. At that moment, relaxing was all the more difficult because she was on her way to interview for the role she wanted most.

Walking through the entrance into the glass lobby and seeing the valet parking intimidated the hell out of her. While travelling up in the elevator, she reminded herself not to be nervous. Nerves meant rambling and that was unprofessional. She would nail this. Nothing but potential. Nobody rewarded a quitter.

With few vocational skills, and no formal education beyond high school, Shyla wasn’t a catch for any employer. But time was of the essence, she needed a job and had to believe that it would happen. Succeeding in the next interview would put an end to her problems. That was easier to focus on than the opposite.

Losing her job and home had happened almost overnight. Caring for the elderly could be that way. Three years ago, her grandfather’s sudden death hit her hard. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Adjusting to being without him took time, she’d been caring for him since her teen years.

The person responsible for getting her through that loss was her grandfather’s best friend, Stanley Sedgwick. Caring for him and her grandfather, Bernard, had given her purpose. The three of them had lived together in Stanley’s home. If it wasn’t for Stanley, Shyla wouldn’t have known what to do with herself after her grandfather died. In the years since, Stanley had been her crutch. They’d leaned on each other.

Five days ago, Stanley passed in his sleep. Life as she’d known it was over. Shyla was out in the world on her own, really for the first time.

While in the midst of grief over losing the only person she could count as a friend, Shyla was also coping with being evicted. Stanley’s good-for-nothing son wasted no time in storming into the house to announce that he was selling. Being a generous type, he’d given her a week to vacate.

There were three days left on the clock.

The elevator didn’t ding, it just came to a stop. After a moment of anticipatory silence, which Shyla speculated may have been programmed in for maximum suspense, the gleaming silver doors opened.

As the view was revealed, it took her breath away.

On the opposite side of the room, a glorious vision of the gleaming blue ocean was laid out before her. It wasn’t like she’d never seen the ocean before, but at this elevation, she got a real sense of its vastness.

She stood there dumbfounded for so long that the elevator doors began to close. Inhaling her panic, Shyla grabbed one to hold it in place while bounding out onto the grey ash floor that spread through the sleek modern space. One wall, to the right, was smoked mirror. The wall on the left was a warmer brown color. A low marble shelf, around knee height, ran along that wall and around the corner.

Between her and the view that had first captured her eye was a large square lobby area with a dining table beyond and a terrace on the other side of the full height windows.

The residence was incredible. The ad for a housekeeper said the job included room and board. It said nothing about the room being in an amazing condo. Jumping to conclusions could lead to disappointment. Maybe she was wrong and wouldn’t be living there at all. Shyla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could just be a business premises used for interviews. They might be miles from the location of the job.

She tiptoed forward to take in more of the open plan space. The living space opened out to stretch far to the left. The terrace wrapped all the way around, as far as the eye could see.

Her mouth dried.

The gleaming white marble kitchen next to the dining table was separated from a hallway by a wall. Contemplating where that hallway might lead, she peeked at the light glowing from the end and wondered if the terrace wrapped around that side of the apartment too.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Caught in her pondering, she whipped around, her anxiety cresting again. Someone appeared at the other end of the apartment. Figuring there had to be another hallway or room down there, she was sure no one had been sitting in either of the two separate seating areas of the living space.

“Yes,” she said to the well-groomed, if somewhat frantic, suited man hurrying toward her. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure where to wait.”

It was a sad state of affairs. At twenty-nine, she was less experienced than most nineteen year olds in how to conduct herself at interviews.

“No, my fault; I was using the restroom. It’s been an insane day, I have to apologize,” he said, coming toward her, his hand outstretched.

Hoping that he hadn’t been too rushed to forget washing his hands, Shyla shook his hand because it was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect him to tug her toward the closest seating area, guiding her in his haste. More than once, she almost lost her footing. Face-planting hadn’t featured in her interview experience… yet. That would be a brand new low.

Winding around the end of the couch that had its back to the dining table, he let her go and spun around. “Will you sit down,” the businessman said, gesturing to one end of the couch as he sat at the other. “Please.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch with her knees tight together, Shyla clutched her purse in her lap. The heavy chess board in the middle of the central glass coffee table snagged her attention. The pieces appeared to be hand-carved wood. Shyla was impressed. Bernard, her grandfather would be elated to see such craftsmanship.

Frantic Man shifted an inch closer and opened his hand. “Do you have your resume?”

This was the part of the interview process that she hated. Not that she’d found an enjoyable part yet. Most online vacancies required her to attach a copy of her resume. So far, not one of those employers had got back to her.

Opening the front pocket of her purse, Shyla slid out a folded document that she handed over. “Uh… sort of.”

He unfolded it and began to read. Just as she expected, his optimism began to fade fast. “This is…” He turned it around to show her what she’d given him. “Your birth certificate.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to make her smile seem genuine. No matter how hard she tried, her anxiety must have been obvious. She pushed her interlinked fingers together and raised her hands, pulling and twisting at her fingers as she did. “It is… I… I did try to make up a resume, but after I got past name and date of birth, well… things get a little… sparse.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

Shyla grinned. “Yes!” Nodding, she squeezed her twined fingers around each other. “Yes, I did that. I did graduate high school.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding too like they were making progress. “That’s good, that’s… something. College?” Wincing, Shyla kept working her fingers and shook her head. He sort of cringed, but was polite enough to try to hide his reaction by glancing down at her birth certificate. “According to this you’re… twenty-nine.”

“Yes,” she said, showing her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. “I am twenty-nine. I did graduate high school. I didn’t go to college… and I’ve never had a real job.”

“Let me guess,” he said, folding her birth certificate and handing it back to her. “Knocked up by your high school boyfriend, married young, pushed out a couple of kids, and now he’s split… probably dumped you for another teenager.”

“No!” she exclaimed, pointing her index fingers to the ceiling in firm disagreement. “No, I have never been married. I don’t have any kids.”

The businessman frowned at her. “So what the hell have you been doing for the past decade?”

Inhaling, Shyla held her breath for a minute. She shouldn’t be disappointed, it wasn’t like the interview had ever been on course to go well.

“Caring for my grandfather and his best friend,” she said. “He just died last week.”

“Your grandfather?”

“His best friend… My grandfather died three years ago. He raised me,” she said, twisting and squeezing her digits again. “And my brother…” Her next admission had a tendency to cause her to hyperventilate. “Who’s in prison…” Taking a shot at laughing it off was her go-to maneuver. As always, she got nothing from the blank person seated in front of her. No one ever reacted well to that part. Her desperate, last-ditch effort was begging. “I can cook, and clean, and sew… I know how to get red wine out of soft furnishings and blood out of bedsheets…” Rubbing her lips together, Shyla kept working her fingers and raised her shoulders. “I work hard. I work long. I can do anything that’s required of me. Anything… All I need is a safe place to sleep, that’s it… and maybe an allowance for food and medical. I can take care of everything. I live frugally. I don’t drive, so there’s no expenses there. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I don’t have any addictions… I…” The guy hadn’t stirred, even his expression was static. “I’m not getting through, am I?”

She sighed, coming to terms with the truth. The interview was another waste of everyone’s time. All she needed was for someone to give her a chance, but she didn’t blame anyone for being hesitant. Anxiety was not her friend. When she was fidgety and rambling, she might not give herself one.

“Hire her.”

The deep voice came suddenly from the recesses of the apartment.

It was so unexpected that even the man opposite her jumped. “Jesus, Score, do you have to loiter like that?”

Twisting around, Shyla didn’t see anyone. Only a slight movement in the mouth of the hall she’d been peering down earlier proved there was someone there. The wall between the kitchen and that passage created an angle of shadow. This Score had used that cover to his advantage.

With his arms still folded, he moved into the light at the end of the hall, and propped a shoulder on the wall. Shyla was stunned by the picture he presented. Her wide eyes couldn’t remember how to blink. The view of him didn’t even compare to that of the ocean. She forgot about the watery dullness in a flash.

At least six foot four or five inches tall, the broad man was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt that didn’t seem to know how to contain his biceps. His hair was thicker on top than at the sides, and he had stubble across his jaw. Nothing about him appeared forced; nothing about his look or manner gave the impression he’d made any effort at all.

Shyla kept her lips clamped shut to ensure her tongue didn’t roll from her mouth. How could a guy look so mean and dangerous just standing there, leaning on a wall?

“Where’s your brother at?” Score asked, his expression registering nothing.

He was talking to her; he’d asked a direct question. His eyes weren’t wide like hers, but Shyla guessed he was looking at her too.

After a couple of false starts, Shyla got her tongue to respond and forced her reluctant mouth to open. “Raiford,” she inhaled the word in a desperate breath.

“Florida State.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, have you, Score?” the businessman opposite her asked.

Staring was rude, but Shyla couldn’t tear her attention away from the man at the end of the hallway. So tall and dominating, so powerful and so… unlike any man she’d ever seen in real life. Though real life for more than a decade had featured men enjoying their retirement.

“No,” Score said, though she didn’t see his lips move.

His response was more like a sound than a word.

Amusement bled into the businessman’s words. “Of all the things she said, how come the only word you heard was prison? Her brother could be a rapist, you know? A kiddie fiddler. Don’t other inmates pound on guys like that? You want to cut some slack to the sister of a pedophile?”

“Oh no,” Shyla gasped, turning back around to address the businessman. “It’s nothing like that. He would never… It was just burglary, he got a seven year sentence and…”

Twisting to ensure Score could hear her too, she stopped talking when she discovered he’d vanished.

The businessman sighed. “Okay, well, I guess you’re in…” Suffering whiplash, Shyla was still trying to orient herself and barely registered his false smile. “I’m Amos Beeks, Score’s lawyer…” He continued by muttering, “Among other things.” Before Shyla could react, he returned to his smile. “Everyone just calls me Beeks, so Beeks will do… What do we call you?”

“My… my name is Shyla Bellamy.”

“Well, I suppose, that’s, uh… what we’ll call you then.”

Which he would know because he’d read her birth certificate; Shyla wanted to kick herself. He was asking about nicknames and preferences. She’d done what she always did and said a stupid thing by opening her mouth without thinking first.

With Bernard and Stan, it hadn’t mattered if she’d spoken without thinking. Even if she said something shocking or ridiculous, the pair laughed it off. Shyla had lived quite a closeted life; she knew that. Being on call required her to be at home night and day in case either of the elderly men needed her. They came first. Shyla’s primary responsibility was to them.

That meant no social life. No nightclubs. No boyfriends or lunches with friends. Shyla had dedicated herself to caring for the men who’d always been there for her. Stan had been like an uncle, and had been there as often as her grandfather for school shows or life events. Losing him was going to be a difficult thing to get over.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Beeks leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his cologne.

Only then did Shyla realize she’d lost herself in her thoughts. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Already he’d be regretting the decision to hire her. After promising to be a hard worker, she’d zoned out only seconds into the job.

“I asked if you have many things to move in? We have a storage area on one of the lower floors if you have larger items. All of your bedroom furniture and linens will be provided… unless you have special requirements.”

“No, I don’t have any special requirements or large items,” she said, shaking her head, almost unable to believe this was actually happening. “Is this where I’ll be living?”

Beeks retrieved a phone from his pocket. “Yes. You’ll be on call twenty-four seven for whatever is required. You will have to do the cooking and cleaning. All of the errands, including grocery shopping, etc. We’ll give you a credit card… Just keep your receipts for anything household related, I’ll collect them whenever I’m around.” He was typing into his phone. “There won’t be anything too strenuous, the building has maintenance for household repairs. You can dial the concierge from any phone or intercom.”

“Concierge?” she asked.

Beeks looked up from his typing. “Yes,” he said, lowering his phone to his knee. “There are ten units in the building, one on each floor. We’ll have your fingerprint added to the system so you can use the elevators, and access the apartment from either of the two stairwells. There’s a pool and lounge area downstairs, as well as a bar and a restaurant too. We have valet—”

“Oh, I don’t drive.”

“Okay, well, there’s a gym. You’ll have full access to that… Everything you need is right here.”

“Laundry?”

He pointed to where Score had been. “Laundry room’s second right in the hall. This place has all the mod cons, built in coffee machine in the kitchen, everything you could need. We can control all of it from the smart panels dotted around.”

Standing up, he seemed more at ease when he put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

*
*
*

The apartment was breathtaking.

Shyla learned there was a second hallway at the far end of the living space. From there, they had access to one stairwell, a powder room, and a third bedroom. Oh, and it turned out that the terrace did sweep around every side of the apartment.

The trash chute was first on the right of the longer hallway. A small offshoot after that led to the second stairwell as well as their full-stocked laundry room. Beeks took it all in his stride, but she was overwhelmed.

At the end of the longer hallway, two doors faced each other. Two bedroom doors. To the left, the master suite. Beeks didn’t take her in there; she supposed because Score was home. If she was going to be looking after the whole place, she’d have to go in there sometime. Stripping the beds and cleaning the bathroom would be tough if she wasn’t allowed in the master’s bedroom.

Beeks took her through the door opposite Score’s and revealed that bedroom was hers. The view from everywhere in the apartment was amazing and her bedroom didn’t disappoint. It had the same full height windows that she’d seen everywhere else. They even slid open to allow her access to the terrace.

The bed was huge with a black padded headboard taller than her. It contrasted to the crisp, sumptuous white linens. Amazed, it was almost unbelievable, shocking even, that she was going to live in such a gorgeous place.

Shyla stood at the window for the longest time, gaping at the view and wondering if she should be thanking karma for placing her so gently on her feet.

When she didn’t return to the living area, Beeks came back to usher her through. He sat her at the dining table and they started to go through paperwork and contracts. The man’s ability to multitask was impressive. Without missing a beat, he asked her to fill in various details and sign dotted lines all while he typed furiously on his phone.

Once they were done with documents, Beeks gave her instructions for the following day. Shyla was to pack whatever she needed and be ready for noon. He took down her current address and told her that someone called Russell Tench, who everyone apparently called “Fish” would come to pick her up. He asserted that all her moving in should be done that weekend. Obviously, he didn’t understand that she didn’t own much.

Beeks gave her a cellphone and added her fingerprint to the system at the smart panel in the kitchen. It was official. She had a job. She had a home. She was going to be okay.

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(C) Scarlett Finn

ONE

Another city. Another shitty room.

The conditions didn’t bother Tulsi as much as the fact that she was starting over. Again.

Vegas had been a bust. For about three weeks, Tulsi did her best to belong in the city that never slept. Getting a job there had been a major stumbling block. Turned out that learning fast was necessary for a life in hiding. Employment had come easier when she went off-strip and started to wear revealing clothes. Finding work had been only one hurdle; it wasn’t the last she’d faced either.

Two weeks into her job at Heaven, a strip club where she worked as a server, her boss’s advances became impossible to ignore any longer. Darnell, her employer, cornered her in his office and reminded her that all of the girls had to sleep with him at least once if they wanted to keep their jobs. He’d put his hands on her; men who did that didn’t tend to live very long. So, Tulsi defended herself against the letch and then split in a hurry.

Going to the bus station with her meager earnings, she’d caught the first bus that was headed out of state. That was how she’d ended up in Florida.

Her short time in Vegas taught her a lot, so she wasn’t beginning at zero. Starting over in a new city was frustrating, no doubt about that; but she had a better idea of how to take care of herself.

Departing the room she’d been staying in for two days, Tulsi was careful to lock the door. One of the things she’d learned in Vegas was that regular motels were more expensive than the back street flophouses. A colleague in Heaven clued her in on how to locate the cheaper places.

Tracking down a similar flophouse in Florida hadn’t taken long. All she had to do was seek out the roughest area of town and look for a building with open doors and a bunch of down-and-outs hanging around.

Making money was her primary goal. Slipping her key into her pocket, Tulsi’s mission that night was to find a job. She didn’t need to find a man, except that was exactly what faced her when she turned intending to walk down the hallway.

“You’re new,” he said to her, a smile on his face.

Though he appeared amiable and his warm smile genuine, Tulsi was suspicious. “Maybe you’re new,” she said and tried to sidestep.

He mirrored the move to stay in her way. “Amsterdam,” he said, offering a hand.

She had no intention of shaking it or making friends. “That’s not really your name.”

“It’s what they call me,” he said, tucking his hand into his pocket. “Dam really, for short.”

“That’s nice,” she said and tried to get around him again. When he persisted in blocking her route, she growled in frustration. “What do you want?”

“We’re neighbors. We should get to know each other.”

“If you want to get laid, I’m sure there are plenty of willing women down the block who’d take your money.”

His smile grew. “You’ve got spunk.”

“I’ve been told that before. Now get the hell out of my way…”

“A bunch of us hang out at a club downtown. It’s called Fox Den… I can show you.”

“Why would I want to go to a club with you?”

He shrugged. “Because everyone needs someone watching their back. I’ll introduce you around.”

Knowing a wider range of people could make it easier for her to get a job. If Tulsi didn’t start earning soon, she wouldn’t be able to afford the flophouse for long, which was a testament to her pathetic state. The place was the cheapest of the cheap. Tulsi wasn’t accustomed to living under the radar. Even though she was willing to do practically anything, not having a social security number or employment history made legitimate employers suspicious.

Any of the less reputable places she’d entered were wary straight off the bat because that was their norm. Any new face could lead to trouble or be connected to a government agency, so they were hesitant to trust newcomers who had no one to vouch for them.

“What do you do?” she asked this Dam.

“I connect people.”

He said it like he’d said it a thousand times and like it was a valid answer. But it didn’t really tell her anything. Dam’s statement reminded her of someone else’s response when she’d asked a similar question. The occupation of the man in her memory wasn’t really an occupation either. As soon as the thought of him entered her mind, she pushed it back down into the box where she’d locked all memories of him.

“What does that mean?”

“If you let me buy you a drink,” he said, “I’ll tell you.”

It was around ten PM, a good time to go job hunting. Everywhere was open and managers didn’t have time to ask too many questions. Even though Tulsi had tried places during the day too, so far she hadn’t come across any stores or coffee bars that offered discreet, i.e. cash in hand, employment.

“Just so we’re clear, the last three men who touched me without permission ended up with a blade in them,” she said, almost groaning at the sight of his interest brightening.

Hillam had been dead before she stabbed him and Darnell had only got an icepick in his arm, but they were mere details.

He tipped his head in a side nod. “Good to know.”

“Lead the way.”

Dam, as apparently people called him, seemed happy to have succeeded. But he wasn’t home-free yet. In her experience, no one did anything for nothing. Having only been in town for two days, Tulsi didn’t think anyone could have been spying on her. Not for long enough to learn anything valuable anyway.

Taller than her and built strong, it didn’t take a genius to figure out Dam would be able to pin her down if that was his plan. But Tulsi was not as naïve as she’d once been. In the past, she’d managed to defend herself and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

In a way, Dam having a sexual interest would put her at ease. Men did stupid things for sex; they went out of their way to get laid. Tulsi was practiced at resisting sexual interest. Fending off unwanted advances was part of her repertoire. Anything more sinister would be harder to handle.

Despite her history, she’d also learned not to judge someone based on appearances. Yes, Dam was capable and he had an ominous snake tattoo sticking out of his shirt that curved up the side of his neck. But the men that a woman had to be truly careful of were the ones who did everything they could to appear gracious and respectable.

“What’s your name?”

“Sienna,” she said, following him down the stairs to head for the wide entrance just beyond the front desk.

That was where Betsy spent her days smoking cigarettes and watching TV while waiting for tenants and potential tenants to come hand her money.

“You’re not from around here?” Dam asked.

Tulsi didn’t plan to be an open book. “Are you from around here?”

“Don’t like answering questions about yourself?”

“Has it been your experience that people do?” she asked. “Whether I answer or not, you’d have no way to know if I was telling the truth.”

They continued to the corner. Dam put an arm around her to guide her across the street. Tulsi chose to assume that the maneuver was absent, just a kind way to communicate. While they were outside at least. If he’d tried that when they were alone, she’d have a different reaction.

Until she knew more about his motives, she couldn’t put up too many barriers. But that didn’t mean she’d let him take liberties. Being suspicious was becoming a way of life. It wasn’t easy being out on her own. Dam had been right that having someone watching her back would make life easier, except she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to trust anyone to do the job for the right reasons.

“I bet you have a story to tell,” Dam said as they carried on walking.

“Not one I’ll be telling you any time soon,” she said. “But I’m a great listener, if you want to talk.”

Tulsi wasn’t offering an ear to be kind. If he talked about himself, she would learn more about him, and it would put a stop to him asking questions. Answering questions was her biggest pet peeve. It never used to be that way. In the past, she hadn’t been suspicious and careful when telling people about herself. But then, no one asked her questions that could lead to her being dragged to her death.

Not being herself anymore was the most difficult thing to wrap her head around. Who she was couldn’t ever exist again. Although Tulsi sometimes felt like her ex-self on the inside, she had to live a double life, never telling anyone the truth.

It was exhausting and meant she had to be aware and switched on all the time, ready to bolt at any second.

“I’m going to guess you’re running from something,” Dam said, apparently not paying attention to her offer.

Stepping away, Tulsi moved out from under his arm. “Why do you say that?”

“Most people are running from something. Sometimes it’s just themselves. Other times, something more serious is on their tail.” He left a silence that he probably expected her to fill. She didn’t. “You gonna give me a hint?”

“Maybe I came for the weather,” she said.

He bobbed his head in agreement. “Possible. Some people do. But those people don’t stay somewhere like Betsy’s. And if you’re looking for a rich sugar daddy, you’re not dressing right at all.”

Her dress was skintight and cheap, in that regard, Dam was right. If she wanted some rich guy to take over her life and pay for everything, she should go for a more sophisticated look. Some rich guys liked the skanky look, but not usually for more than a night.

“There are better towns for that,” she said. “Actually, I came because I heard you had good coffee.”

He laughed. “We do. Yep, good coffee.”

“You must have been here a while if you’re saying ‘we.’ How long have you been here?”

“On and off for years,” he said. “I head south in winter.”

“A lot of people do. You still haven’t told me what you meant by connecting people. You’re a headhunter?”

Any headhunting he did wouldn’t be for a reputable organization. Even she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that.

“You could say that,” he said. “People need something, they come to me. I get it for them.”

“Right. Just offering a public service.”

“For a price,” he said. “I travel a lot. Visit different cities. Learn what people have. What people want… Means I have access to a network that a lot of people have use for.”

“Someone needs something and you know someone else who’ll get it for them. For a price, no doubt.”

“It’s like a finder’s fee, that’s all.”

“So that’s why you walk up to random people and introduce yourself.”

“Good way to expand my network,” he said.

That he wasn’t trying to sell his approach as altruism actually made her feel better. Dam wanted to know if she could be of use to him. If he could hook her up with steady employment that would be great, but she wasn’t sure what she could offer in return.

On the bus into Vegas after fleeing Merchant’s, Tulsi spent a lot of time thinking about the future, about what it would take to survive. It was at that point she’d decided that sex was off the table. Her decision was about protecting herself, sure. But it was also a reflection on her feelings about the act. Nothing good came from sex. It brought out the worst in people.

It drove men to act out their primitive desire. Women weren’t always any better. Knowing the power it gave them over men, some females used it to take advantage of others. Even if there wasn’t something underhanded about the exchange, it was still a negative experience, leaving those who engaged in it either heartbroken or violated. There was no reason for Tulsi to put herself in that position ever again.

Someday, if she ever managed to get settled somewhere, she might change her mind. But she doubted it. Living in hiding, disguising herself as someone else, wouldn’t lead to honest and truthful relationships. Knowing that at any time someone could jump out to take her down, Tulsi couldn’t risk trusting anyone with the truth. So, if a man didn’t know who she was, how could she be intimate with him in anything other than body?

“You’ve gone quiet,” Dam said. “It’s just up the block.”

A dozen yards further on, he slowed to direct them through a covered double entrance. From beyond, she could hear music. To the left were booths where payment was supposed to be made. To the right was a coat-check place. Dam waltzed straight on past both, putting an arm around her again as he opened the internal double doors in front of them.

The music coming from a DJ booth to the far left was almost deafening. A dance floor was down a few steps and laid out in front of where the lights were flashing around the DJ. Her companion took them the opposite way, along a raised walkway that led to an area filled with booths and tables.

Dam waved at some folks as they passed, but didn’t slow in his journey to guide her to a booth in the far corner, next to the bar. That the booth was empty seemed odd, but ten was still early in a lot of circles. Except the rest of the club was busy, which led her to wonder if Dam frequented this place so much that the booth was reserved for him.

“What do you want to drink?”

He’d suggested a drink when they met, but she wasn’t ready to trust anything that he put down for her to consume. Still, she was intrigued and wanted to know more about why Dam had picked her out.

“Why don’t we share a bottle of something,” she said so as not to insult him with a flat refusal.

Their eyes met. He knew exactly what her offer implied, this guy was perceptive. “I don’t drink wine,” he said. “But I’ll get you something still in the bottle if you want.” She nodded. “Smart.”

He left the booth to cross to the end of the bar a few feet away. The whole corner was quieter than the rest of the space. A curtain hung on the wall running between the end of their booth and the short part of the bar where Dam stood. The bartender came straight over to Dam and the pair began to talk.

The curtain interested her. It didn’t seem to conceal powder rooms and didn’t fit with the more industrial feel of the rest of the decor. The sign on the lintel above the curtain said “private” in white letters that glowed under a black light, making them pop. Someone wanted to keep drunk patrons out of there.

It could just be a storeroom or an employee area. Tulsi was still thinking about it when Dam came back with their drinks. Her bottle was sealed, as promised, and he put a bottle opener down beside it.

“Least I know for sure you didn’t agree to drink with me because you wanted sex,” he said as she opened the bottle.

“If I wanted to have sex with you, there would’ve been no point leaving Betsy’s,” she said, tasting the wine cooler. “We both have beds there.”

“I have a bed here too,” he said, tipping his head up to indicate above them. “Few folks I know stay in the rooms upstairs… So, if you change your mind…”

He put a hand over hers, which she immediately pulled away. “And we were getting along so well,” she said without disguising her judgement.

He laughed. “No sex, okay, I get it. I’ll make sure to tell the guys… I might know a couple of women who’d be interested, if that’s what floats your boat.”

“I can float my own boat,” she said. “I don’t need any help from you.”

Settling back in the corner of the padded seat, he considered her. Tulsi glanced his way at his narrow assessing gaze. If he was trying to be intimidating, he was failing. The lack of answers was growing tiresome. If this guy wasn’t going to help her, she could better spend her time trawling bars and clubs for work.

“Either you’ve got a guy or you’re running from one.”

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” she asked. “You going to spend the whole night tossing guesses at me?”

“If you’d just tell me—”

“The point is, I’m here,” she said, twisting to face him. “And if you want me to help you, you have to help me.”

He crooked a brow. “Ah, that’s why you came along. You need something.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“And that’s what makes my life so much easier. What do you need?”

“Work,” she said because it was no big secret. “I need an income.”

“That is something I can help with. What are your skills?”

“I’m dynamite in bed,” she said, keeping her tone and expression flat.

He laughed again. It was a nice sound. For almost a month, Tulsi had been alone. Even before that, she hadn’t had a chance to relax and just have fun not since… Thoughts of him made her eyes close. She couldn’t keep doing it to herself. Tulsi couldn’t let herself live in the past. Even just thinking of him distracted her from the present. Given that she never knew who could be watching her or attempting to track her down, Tulsi couldn’t take the risk of being oblivious.

That was his word. He’d said she had a nasty habit of being oblivious. It was a habit she was trying to break. While he’d been around to be aware for her, she hadn’t needed to be. But he wasn’t around. Not anymore. He never would be again.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of broad who needs a pimp,” he said, leaning forward to lay a forearm on the table, scrutinizing her again. “I can set you up if you do, but I can’t say I recommend it… Pimps don’t usually like women who think for themselves.”

“Good to know you’re not a complete idiot.”

Lifting her bottle to her lips, Tulsi tipped some alcohol into her mouth before drawing her eyes around to find he was smiling again. A friend. It was sad that she was so tempted by the idea. In Vegas, the other girls at Heaven had been nice. Most of them anyway. Some were more vocal than others and some weren’t fans of anyone they saw as a threat.

But being a server, Tulsi didn’t spend much time backstage, which was where the women really bonded. Then Darnell had put his hands on her and she’d been running… without a friend in sight.

A friend would be great. But she couldn’t trust Dam, not yet.

“I’d be happy to serve drinks,” she said. “I have some experience with that.”

“There’s no table service in here, but I know a few places that might be interested in someone of your… figure.”

“I don’t do topless.”

“Course not,” he said, smirking. “I can get you into a job that will pay your way in Betsy’s and leave you with some money at the end of the month… Places with the best tippers.”

As much as that sounded like a dream, she knew better than to accept anything that was too easy or seemed too good to be true. “In exchange for?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Usual price would be something in the corporate dating world.”

“What does that mean?”

“Business men come into town, they want company… someone to show them around…”

“Didn’t we just clear that up? I’m not interested in being any kind of escort. Corporate or otherwise.”

“There are a bunch of jobs in that arena. Some women just date, some offer company for other women, some—”

“Put me down for a no,” Tulsi said, taking another drink from her bottle before putting it on the table. “If that’s all you’ve got…”

He put a hand on her leg to prevent her from sliding out of the booth. “Wait now,” he said. “Never leave after the opening offer. We’ll always be able to work something out.”

Tulsi thought of another man from her past. One who preferred to use implication than to be frank. Even though Dam hadn’t used any kind of sleazy tone, she was still suspicious.

It was on the tip of her tongue to call him out. Perhaps the sales pitch was all just some ruse, or maybe he gave women hope only to snatch it away as some kind of sick fetish. Before she could open her mouth, a shadow darkened their table. Both of them turned toward the huge guy who blocked her end of the booth.

The stranger tossed something down onto the table. “This is a piece of shit. I want my money back!”

Dam raised a flat hand. “Calm down, Bogey. Geez, can’t you see there’s a woman present?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” the giant guy snapped. “I want my damn money! You vouched for this piece of crap. Now I have a whole fucking box of this shit that’s not worth dick.”

Impressive, it seemed the guy was trying to squeeze in as many curse words as possible. While Dam tried to calm the infuriated guy down, Tulsi turned her attention to the thing he’d thrown onto the table.

Picking it up, she examined the leather and metal cuff. It didn’t appear expensive. Turning it over, she discovered a mechanism on the underside, attached to a piece of sheared metal. That meant there should be another piece. Sure enough, on the table there was a blade, only about an inch and a half wide. With both pieces in front of her, Tulsi realized what she was looking at. The cuff concealed a weapon… or it was supposed to. Apparently the blade had snapped right off. It wasn’t difficult to see why when she inspected it more closely.

“The solder was weak,” she said, still examining the piece. “Looks like they used a soldering iron, which isn’t right for something of this size… You’d be better with a torch… or a laser weld.”

Silence fell over the men, which brought her attention upward. Dam’s smile was slow to rise, but it glowed with appreciation.

“There you go,” Dam said, turning back to the looming guy. “My new associate here will fix them up for you.”

Tulsi shook her head and pushed the pieces back onto the table. “Oh, no… No, I—”

“She’s modest,” Dam said, sliding along the seat to put an arm around her. “Bring them back, we’ll get them fixed for you… Free of charge.”

Bogey eyed them both, probably unsure if he could trust her or Dam, who’d provided the substandard product in the first place.

“I’ll bring them back tomorrow… I want them back fast,” Bogey said and stomped off.

She was still watching him when Dam smacked a kiss to her temple. “Think we found your calling.”

“No,” she said, pushing away from him to slide down the booth. “No, I can’t—”

“Sounds like you can.”

Doing anything that was remotely related to her previous business could spell disaster. But her skill for jewelry making was really the only one that she had. It would be more lucrative than serving drinks. Another plus? It could be done in private, so she wouldn’t have to worry about being recognized. Especially if Dam was doing all the face to face work.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll get you all the kit you need,” he said. “Make me a list… Do you know how high demand is for discreet weaponry? Talk to me about this and we’ll work up a pricelist.”

“And how much of that do you pocket?”

“Twenty-five percent,” he said. She lowered her chin to set her disapproval on him. Dam laughed. “Okay, twenty.”

“Ten.”

“Let’s split the difference and call it fifteen.”

She thought about haggling more, but Dam was going to be a valuable ally. Tulsi didn’t want to risk pushing him too far.

“Fine.”

He raised his bottle. “To the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Finally allowing herself to smile, she picked up her bottle too. She’d come out on the hunt for a job and had found one. Tulsi just hoped it wasn’t one that was going to reveal too much of her former self. If it did, termination would mean a lot more than starting over in another new city.

(C) Scarlett Finn

Available on Amazon April 7th 2020!