The salty taste he left behind on my tongue turns bitter at the realization of what I’ve just done. No matter how much I need this money, and no matter the reason, I still became a prostitute tonight.
Lost in thought, I flinch when he reaches out for me. Grabbing me under my arms, he lifts me up like an adult would a child. My legs are stiff as he comes to a stand and makes me stand in front of him. I’m still completely naked while he is completely clothed.
“Here.” He shoves something at me, and when I lower my eyes, I realize it’s a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. “Take it,” he urges.
My hand moves on its own, and I grab the wad of cash without a word.
“I’ll see you around.” And with that, he turns and leaves. I don’t watch him walk out, but I hear the door open and shut. The air shifts with the absence of his body. The room suddenly feels larger, emptier, and colder. The only sounds that remain are the soft music in the background and the heavy beating of my heart.
I stand there for another moment, wearing nothing but a pair of heels with who knows how many thousands of dollars in my hand. Shame threatens to swallow me whole, and I know if I don’t move soon, I will be here all night.
Shaking my head, I snap out of it. Putting the cash on the side table next to his half-finished drink, I gather my clothes from the floor and dress in a hurry. I quickly count the cash, which adds up to be eight thousand dollars.
Who carries that kind of cash on them?
A guy who came to a club to buy sex. The question is, why did he give me so much and ask for so little in return? Dumbfounded, I look around the room that holds a large selection of sex toys and furniture.
All thoughts leave my mind momentarily when I catch my reflection in the mirror over the bar. Black mascara streaks down my cheek, my hair is unruly, and my dress is rumpled. I look like the way I feel.Used.
Using some napkins and water, I remove the smeared mascara as best as I can before running my fingers through my hair like a comb. Only when I look somewhat presentable do I dare to leave the room and make my way downstairs. I somehow hold on to the belief that no one will know what I just did. But as I step into the staircase, Toni and Bruno—two of our bouncers— both look at me with an unmistakable comprehension in their eyes.
Making my legs move faster, I hurry down the stairs just to come to a sudden halt when Lucian steps into my way.
“Were you with a guy up there?” He points at the top of the stairs like he doesn't already know the answer.
“You don’t have to rub it in my face, okay? You were right. I fucking did it.”
“I don’t give a shit about that, Monroe. Were you with a guy who had a red ribbon tied around his wrist?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Shit, did he hurt you?” I’m surprised by the genuine concern in his voice.
“No, why?”
Lucian looks around, making sure no one is listening to our conversation. “He killed someone in the side alley before going up with you.”
All air wooshes from my lungs. My head spins, and my stomach churns as I try to process Lucian’s words.
“You must be mistaken. It’s not true.”
“Monroe, the red ribbon means he works for the Lombardis. Do you know who they are?” He pauses, probably waiting for me to answer, but when I don’t, he continues. “They are bad news. They are the mob, Monroe. You can be glad you made it out of that room unharmed.”
The stack of money in my bra suddenly feels like a thousand-pound weight. Fuck, what did I do? I let a guy pay me for a blow job.
A guy who works for the mob. A killer. I almost gave my virginity to him.
And I don’t even know his fucking name.