shit.
Stopping her caress, she pushed up the sleeve, baring the underside of his arm. Zigzagging scars scored his lower arm, leading up to under his elbow. Some were deeper than others. Discoloration and small circular bruises like burns were imbedded in his skin.
“What did you do to yourself?” She lifted her gaze to his.
“After my mom died, I was very…unhappy. I had a lot of anger and grief inside me. I released it by cutting and burning my arms. My left arm isn’t as bad as my right because I’m left handed. I don’t do it as much as I used to, but sometimes I can’t stop myself.” His voice shook. “Ah, shit. You must think I’m really disturbed now.”
“So you came here for what, salvation? I can’t help you there.” Giving his hand a pat, she stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I can change your mind.” He finished his drink. His hand didn’t shake as she expected.
“I can find one of the ladies here who can help you—”
“No. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
She’d gotten many requests based on word of mouth, but nothing like his offer. “Why me?”
“When I walked in here two Thursdays ago at midnight on my twenty-first birthday, you were the first woman I saw. You looked like an angel. I felt it deep in here.” He hit his chest with his fist. “Still do. I can’t explain the whys or hows, but I know you’re the one who can save me, help me get rid of my pesky virginity.”
He seemed like such a nice guy, but like most of the men who came to The Gate, he had a screw loose. The word “fuck” kept repeating in her mind, and she rubbed her forehead. “I’m no angel. I’m more of a devil if anything.”
“I’m not choosy. I’ll take you either way.” Puffing his chest out, he smiled as if he’d won.
“God help me,” she muttered, peering up at the ceiling where the lights flared.
“When’s your next break? We can talk more about our arrangement then.”
“There’s not going to be any arrangement.” She swiped his glass away. “You’re cut off. Go get your ass paddled or something.”
“I’ll stay right here. The view is better. Unless you’re throwing me out?”
She dug her nails into her palms, her temper simmering. “Now listen here, you stuck up, mental dip—”
Her cell vibrated in her pocket to the soft strains of Vivaldi’s Storm —Raymond’s ringtone. She swallowed. Giving Bryan her back, she took out her phone and flipped it open.
Come to me. Now.
She sighed. He just won’t quit.
“Catherine, are you okay?”
She stared at the text as she faced a worried sounding Bryan. “How do you know my name? I never gave it to you.”
“I found out pretty easily.” He shrugged. “I was afraid I went too far. I don’t want you to be too angry with me.”
“Why not? Don’t you want me not to be angry at you at all?” Should she answer Raymond, or wait to see if he texted again? If she didn’t, there was a good chance he would make good on his promise, seek her out here, and make her obey him in front of everyone at The Gate.
He would humiliate her like he did the first time she’d left him. She shuddered over the memory. Her ass throbbed again, but she grew damp. Damn him!
“I, uh, have to go. You can stay and drink. You won’t get thrown out.” She turned to walk away.
“Cathy, please don’t—”
Stopping in her tracks, she twisted around, pointing a finger. “Do not call me that. Understand?” Only one man ever had, and he was dead.
Before she ended up apologizing for her outburst, she added a healthy dose of vanilla flavored rum to her drink, downing it in a single gulp. She saluted him with her empty glass. His face turned petulant, huffy. Not in the mood to deal with the young man who should be at some therapist’s office instead of at The Gate, she walked up the stairs where the more serious games were played, hoping she would be asked to join in. Then she could avoid Raymond if he texted her
Stopping her caress, she pushed up the sleeve, baring the underside of his arm. Zigzagging scars scored his lower arm, leading up to under his elbow. Some were deeper than others. Discoloration and small circular bruises like burns were imbedded in his skin.
“What did you do to yourself?” She lifted her gaze to his.
“After my mom died, I was very…unhappy. I had a lot of anger and grief inside me. I released it by cutting and burning my arms. My left arm isn’t as bad as my right because I’m left handed. I don’t do it as much as I used to, but sometimes I can’t stop myself.” His voice shook. “Ah, shit. You must think I’m really disturbed now.”
“So you came here for what, salvation? I can’t help you there.” Giving his hand a pat, she stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I can change your mind.” He finished his drink. His hand didn’t shake as she expected.
“I can find one of the ladies here who can help you—”
“No. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
She’d gotten many requests based on word of mouth, but nothing like his offer. “Why me?”
“When I walked in here two Thursdays ago at midnight on my twenty-first birthday, you were the first woman I saw. You looked like an angel. I felt it deep in here.” He hit his chest with his fist. “Still do. I can’t explain the whys or hows, but I know you’re the one who can save me, help me get rid of my pesky virginity.”
He seemed like such a nice guy, but like most of the men who came to The Gate, he had a screw loose. The word “fuck” kept repeating in her mind, and she rubbed her forehead. “I’m no angel. I’m more of a devil if anything.”
“I’m not choosy. I’ll take you either way.” Puffing his chest out, he smiled as if he’d won.
“God help me,” she muttered, peering up at the ceiling where the lights flared.
“When’s your next break? We can talk more about our arrangement then.”
“There’s not going to be any arrangement.” She swiped his glass away. “You’re cut off. Go get your ass paddled or something.”
“I’ll stay right here. The view is better. Unless you’re throwing me out?”
She dug her nails into her palms, her temper simmering. “Now listen here, you stuck up, mental dip—”
Her cell vibrated in her pocket to the soft strains of Vivaldi’s Storm —Raymond’s ringtone. She swallowed. Giving Bryan her back, she took out her phone and flipped it open.
Come to me. Now.
She sighed. He just won’t quit.
“Catherine, are you okay?”
She stared at the text as she faced a worried sounding Bryan. “How do you know my name? I never gave it to you.”
“I found out pretty easily.” He shrugged. “I was afraid I went too far. I don’t want you to be too angry with me.”
“Why not? Don’t you want me not to be angry at you at all?” Should she answer Raymond, or wait to see if he texted again? If she didn’t, there was a good chance he would make good on his promise, seek her out here, and make her obey him in front of everyone at The Gate.
He would humiliate her like he did the first time she’d left him. She shuddered over the memory. Her ass throbbed again, but she grew damp. Damn him!
“I, uh, have to go. You can stay and drink. You won’t get thrown out.” She turned to walk away.
“Cathy, please don’t—”
Stopping in her tracks, she twisted around, pointing a finger. “Do not call me that. Understand?” Only one man ever had, and he was dead.
Before she ended up apologizing for her outburst, she added a healthy dose of vanilla flavored rum to her drink, downing it in a single gulp. She saluted him with her empty glass. His face turned petulant, huffy. Not in the mood to deal with the young man who should be at some therapist’s office instead of at The Gate, she walked up the stairs where the more serious games were played, hoping she would be asked to join in. Then she could avoid Raymond if he texted her
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