* * *
“Did you know that Raul wanted me to find him a whore?” He enunciates the words clearly, the slur masked by his precise pronunciation. I stiffen slightly under his arm, narrowing my eyes at him as I blush appropriately, slapping his knee.
* * *
“Nathan!”
* * *
“It’s true,” he murmurs, bending his head to plant a soft kiss on my neck. “But I told him there is no need to waste money on a whore. Not when my wife is such an excellent fuck.”
* * *
My world closes in around his words, my eyes catching his, the look in his eyes unmistakable. I beg him with my own, my mouth moving, light-hearted words coming out. “What? Nathan—stop. You’re embarrassing me in front of our guest!”
* * *
We fight while smiling, his eyes demanding while mine beg. I won’t do it. Fucking me in front of the staff is one thing. Offering me to a stranger something else. He tilts his head, amusement mixing with the authority in his eyes. His mouth curls, a grin stretching over it before he speaks. “Come on, honey. Show him what an amazing blow job you give.”
* * *
I gasp, laughing a bit as I turn back to the window. “Next time, I’m cutting you off at the third tequila shot.” I pray for solace, for him to laugh and move on, silence coming from Raul’s side of the car.
* * *
“You’re being rude, Candy. We’ve had a long night and he needs a release. Show him how an American woman can take a cock.” There is an edge to his words, a warning in them, and I close my eyes at his voice.
* * *
I can’t do it. I just can’t. Of everything I have sold at this point in time—my dignity, my life, my past—this is one step I can’t take. I feel Drew’s eyes, piercing into me, pulling into my soul and judging me. I want to meet his eyes. I want to tell him that I won’t do this; he doesn’t need to worry. I will refuse and leave this car untainted.
* * *
Then I feel the seat shift, feel my husband’s lips against my ear. “Do it, Candy. I’m not going to ask again. We have an arrangement, not a romance. Refuse and I will stop supporting your father.”
* * *
My father. Nathan, in this despicable situation, brings up my father, brings his clean soul into this dirty world. Nathan knows my weakness. Knows which button to push to bring me to my knees. In this situation, literally. I turn with a coy smile, facing Raul and moving to the floor, my hands reaching out, my eyes catching Drew’s and begging him to understand.
CHAPTER 31
My hand hesitates on the receiver. Making this call is a direct violation of The Agreement. The consequence: my father’s well-being, the destruction of this life, however fake it is. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He won’t know. No one will ever know. I dial the number and start the call, lifting the cell phone to my ear.
* * *
“Sammy’s.”
* * *
Rick was always a smirker. It is something I grew to despise—that smirk. He would smirk at us when delivering bad news, smirk at patrons who had drank too much and had gotten sloppy, and smirk as his hand would travel over our bodies like we were his personal property. I can hear it through the phone, in just the one word greeting.
* * *
I grip the cell tightly, reminding myself that I am no longer Candace Tapers, the pawn of this man, dependent on him for floor placement and wages. “Hi Rick.”
* * *
Silence. He’s probably twisting the skin on his fat face as he tries to place the voice.
* * *
“Candy?” His tone catches me off guard, one I've never heard from him, one of fear.
* * *
I lean against the side of the gas station and hold up a finger to the high school bitch, who rolls her eyes at me. For twenty bucks, you’d think she’d be a little more accommodating.
* * *
I tuck a hand in my front pocket. “Yeah, Rick, it’s me. It’s been a long time.” Not that long. Just over two months—but two months that have changed me in so many ways. I feel a swell of nostalgia at his voice, which is ridiculous, considering I spent the majority of my nights cursing the man’s existence.
* * *
“Candy, I … it’s good to hear your voice. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.” I called him the day I signed the agreement, giving him my ten-minute notice. He hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t put any of the girls on, had cut the conversation short—with a brevity that had, outlandishly enough, hurt my feelings. I hadn’t expected a gold watch or a tearful response, just enough time to complete a sentence without being cut off.