Some nights, it’s my shoulder that wakes me, burning and throbbing from the bullet that wounded me there. I wake from hot, feverish dreams of the bed in the Boston hotel on those nights, of a well-meaning former priest leaning over me, taking my confession, telling me that there’s redemption still to be had. That even after everything I’ve done, there’s still a future for me where I’m a good man.
The beginning of that was my leaving Anastasia behind with Liam, the man she loved. The man she deserved. But since I’ve come back to Paris, I can’t remember the words the priest said to me any longer. I can’t feel anything but the regret and grief and self-hatred creeping through my veins like poison.
The injury didn’t heal well. I need a doctor, I know that much, but I ignore it instead. It’s another part of my torment, nothing more or less than what I deserve for everything I’ve done. When it’s the worst, I dream feverish dreams of all of them, every girl I tried to save, surrounding me as they shred me to pieces with their nails, tearing me apart as they scream at me, cursing me, hating me.
I tried to save you. I tried to save every broken thing. I wanted to save you all.
In the end, it’s become clear. Never more so than this moment, as I stare out at the rising crescent moon, tearing a piece of bread to pieces in my fingers over the dish-filled sink.
The only broken thing I couldn’t save was myself.
3
NOELLE
Ifollow the man in the newsboy cap down the stairs, trying not to panic at the feeling of the encroaching darkness. I hear sounds trailing up to meet us, laughter and cursing, feminine squeals and masculine groans, the sounds of the men, at least, having a good time. When we reach the door, I can smell the cigar smoke curling from beneath it, and when it opens, the hot, heavy scent of alcohol and too many men.
I blink through the fugue of smoke, taking in my surroundings as I step inside. A bunch of men is crowded around a circular poker table, and the sight of it makes me sick, thinking about my father’s gambling debts. They’re the reason I’m here, the reason I’m about to become one of the women I see scattered about the room, too, all scantily dressed or half-undressed, clearly here to service the men. I see some in lingerie or short dresses walking about serving drinks, and others are sitting in men’s laps, being fondled by those not actively betting or examining their cards. My face flushes as I look closer and see that a few are beneath the table, heads bent in laps, and I catch glimpses of hard straining cocks between the women’s lips, sucking them off while the men play.
As I stand there, half-stunned by a display of debauchery that I’ve never been exposed to before, one man loses his round. He stands up, scattering his chips in his fury, and heaves the woman sitting in his lap off. She tumbles to the floor only for him to drag her up by her hair, red-faced and cursing. I watch in horror as he turns her, bending her over a stack of crates and flinging up her skirt. He yanks his hard cock out, short and thick, and drives it into her as he grunts angrily, fucking her in full view of everyone in the room.
Horror spreads through me, sinuous and thorny, as it hits me fully that this is what I’m offering to do. I’m going to be one of these women bending down to have my breasts fondled as I set down a drink, fingers up my skirt as I sit in a lap, cocks in my mouth and pussy as I service men—lustful men, victorious men, angry men, all of them. As many as the faceless man that I’m being taken to decides I need to in order to pay off this debt that isn’t even mine.
I want to turn tail and run, if it’s not too late already. But I think of Georgie in our cold flat, bruised and beaten and hungry. I think of the fearful days ahead, of the possibility of him coming home beaten again or worse, finding him dead in a snowbank, an officer at my door asking me to identify a body. I think of men like these showing up on my doorstep to collect their payment anyway, forcing me in my own bed, my own home, and I steel myself.
Here, at least, it’s my choice. My decision. I’ve come here of my own free will, and I’ll stay here too if it means freeing myself and my brother from the specter of my father’s misdeeds.
The man smirks at me as I glance over at him. “Well, little lady? Miss Noelle? What do you think of all this?”
I press my lips together, squaring my shoulders. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to that, sir. But I said I was here to pay my father’s debts, and I meant it. Whatever that takes, I’m here to do it. You tell me what you want from me, so that my brother doesn’t come home with any more bruises from your goons.”
The man grins toothily. “Notmygoons, luv. But I’ll introduce you to the man who runs things around here. I think he’ll be quite interested in your thoughts about his little establishment–for a minute or two, anyway.” He jerks his head at a short, curvy woman with fine black hair dressed in a bustier. “Go get Harry. He’s gonna want to meet this one.”
The woman scurries away without a word. I stand there, trying not to be sick, trying not to look more closely at what’s happening around me. I’m terrified, but there’s no going back now.
A few minutes later, a tall, heavyset man in a black suit comes out of the door at the back of the room, moving through the room more smoothly than I might have expected–except that everyone leaps and scurries out of the way when he walks by. The players, the women, and anyone in his vicinity flinches back, as if they don’t want to draw his attention.
Attention that, at the moment he stops in front of me and the tall man in the newsboy cap, is entirely settled on me.
The tall man clears his throat. “Sorry to bother you, Harry. But I thought you’d want to talk to this one yourself. Says she’s Noelle Giles, George’s girl. Has some ideas about how to pay off his debts, so we leave her little brother alone.”
The man rakes his eyes over me. “Well, miss Noelle. I’m Harry.” He gestures at himself. “Your father’s debtor, as I think you’ve guessed. He had a real penchant for the cards, your father. Shame what happened to him. Your brother is the man of the house now, so as far as I’m concerned, he ought to step up—and pay up. But I’m willing to entertain your offer, if you’re really willing. We don’t force women here. You do this, and it’s of your own free will, little lady.”
I bite back a scathing retort. The blank-faced woman moaning hollowly as she’s fucked over the crates doesn’t look all that willing. None of the women look like they’re happy to be here. But I’m sure they’re all technically ‘willing,’ by Harry’s definition of the word.
My heart is in my throat, beating wildly, and I feel sick, but I nod. “Yes,” I say flatly, hearing the echo of desperation in my voice. “I’m here of my own free will. I want to pay off my father’s debt, so you’ll leave my family alone. I don’t have money, so I’m well aware of what that means.”
“And what do you have to offer, exactly, Noelle? As you see, we have plenty of women here already. Why do you deserve a spot enough to make that worth what your father owed me? It was a lot,” he adds, leaning forward as if confiding something in me, as if I didn’t see the IOUs with my own two eyes.
“I’m a virgin,” I tell him baldly. No sense in beating around the bush now, not here, with smoke in my lungs and the smell and taste of other men’s sweat in my nose and on my tongue, the sounds of sucking and fucking echoing in my ears, when before today I’d never even seen a porn video. “I’ve never been touched. Never done any touching, other than a few clumsy kisses. How many women likethatdo you have here?”
Harry narrows his eyes. “A virgin, eh? Well, then. Get on your knees, love, and let me see how a virgin sucks a cock for the first time, if you really mean what you’re saying.”
I fight back a wave of nausea. The last thing in the fucking world that I want is to get down on the sticky floor, unzip this man’s trousers, and put his cock in my mouth. I’m afraid I might vomit as soon as it touches my lips, and I fight back the urge, knowing this is an audition of sorts. He might not even follow through with it, but he’s testing me. If I fail now, it’s all over.
I can feel the tall man’s eyes on me as I start to sink to my knees,feelhis jealousy, how much he wants it to be him that I’m kneeling for instead of his boss. It’s a strange sort of power, but it’s not one I ever wanted. It doesn’t make me feel better as I go down, licking my lips nervously as my hands drop to Harry’s hips, my gaze frozen on the thickening ridge in his pants. I’ve never seen a cock before, other than the glimpses I’ve had tonight, and a sickening wave of fear washes over me.
My knees haven’t even touched the floor yet when he laughs, grabbing my upper arm and hauling me back up to my feet. “Get up, little lady,” he says between chortling gasps of laughter, grinning toothily down at me. “With your beauty and that kind of obedience, I have better uses for you than sucking me off in front of a bunch of sweaty brutes. Come on, love.”