CHAPTER ONE
ESSEX
LIFE IS FILLED WITH FLEETING moments. Just flashes of time that go by in the blink of an eye. Some of them—like the day I graduated as the valedictorian of my high school—make you feel like you’re on top of the world, happy, free, and flying high. Conversely, some moments have the power to make you wish that you were six feet under, much like when I realized my husband was eventually going to kill me in one of his violent rages. And still, some moments are completely different. They’re introspective. They make you wonder if this thing called life is really worth all the trouble that comes from living it.
See? Those are some deep thoughts to have, aren’t they?
I’ve been having lots of those kind of moments lately.
So many that I was beginning to scare even myself with the dark direction my thoughts had taken over the last few months. Not to mention the crazy number I was doing on the only friend I had in Chicago. Hell, the only friend I had anywhere.
That was what had led me to this very place, sitting on a weather-worn park bench outside one of the city’s busiest meat markets with the only person, outside of my immediate family, who really knew me and all my secrets.
“I mean it, Essex Landry! You’ve gotta do this. It’s the only thing you haven’t tried yet, and like I told you, you don’t have to fuck him if you don’t want to. Just spend some time with him. Learn that not all men are the bastards that your late husband was.” That was the emphatic urging from the girl that I’d shared every single one of my secrets with for the last fifteen years, her youthful voice firm and unwavering.
Looking toward the butcher shop’s window at the trio working behind the counter, I worked hard to suppress a shudder of revulsion at the well-built men. Sure, those guys were good-looking, but they were also huge. All three were tall and muscled, their legs like tree trunks and their arms powerful as they wielded cleavers and knives against the meats. I knew the center one…he was the head butcher. With his bright blue eyes and friendly smile, he was hard to miss. He was also the one we were here to meet since he was also the guy that took women’s “orders.”
“You’ve got to at least try this, Essie,” my best friend insisted again, this time adding a sharp poke to my ribs with her bony elbow to emphasize the level of her seriousness. “You start your new job at the hospital next week, and I doubt as an emergency room nurse you’ll be able to avoid having male patients in varying levels of undress cross your path. You need to get used to being around guys again. Especially since men make up at least half the population. I understand why you hid for so long, babe. But now that the fucker you married is dead, you’re safe. It’s time to get back out there and deal with your fears. You don’t wanna freak out on one of your patients, do you? You can’t avoid men forever.”
I knew that not only did she have a really good point, but she was right, too. After all, Lennon Fairchild was rarely wrong about anything related to me, but still…I just wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that I had put the length of half the United States between me and the quaint Cape Cod house I’d once shared with my ex-husband Foster Nelson. It didn’t matter that Foster had died of a self-inflicted gunshot to the head because—as he’d stated in his scrawled suicide note—he’d rather be dead than live without his beloved wife, or his interactive punching bag as I’d come to think of myself during those dark days. It didn’t matter that the vile beast I had married was currently rotting away inside the cheapest coffin I could find for him deep beneath the Texas soil that he’d once called home. It didn’t matter that he could no longer use his fists against me, beating me black and blue just because his food wasn’t cooked to his exact standards or I hadn’t gotten the grass stains on his jeans out in the wash. It didn’t matter that my living nightmare had, according to the police, my family, my minister and my best friend, supposedly come to a close.
It just didn’t matter!
Foster’s dark presence lingered, his ghost both haunting and taunting me even from his grave. The fact was his reign of terror seemed to be unending. I still felt as trapped today as I had every single day of our four-year marriage
At twenty-two-years old, I felt positively ancient. The idea of beginning my life again—sans my abusive asshole ex—seemed both incomprehensible and impossible.
“This is a big step for me, Lennie,” I tried to argue, even though I knew I was going to lose as I met her probing gaze. “I mean…an escort? Am I really that desperate?”
“What do you think?” she snorted. “Look, we’ve talked about this. These men aren’t just escorts. It doesn’t have to be about sex unless you want it to be about sex. What it is about is companionship. You need to know that you can be in a guy’s company without having a panic attack that sends you under a dining room table.”
“That happened once,” I hissed indignantly as I recalled that embarrassing incident at the local dinner by my apartment. “And that waiter could have been Foster’s clone and you know it! When I called the manager last week, she said the guy’s nose was healing nicely,” I continued defensively even as I remembered the pain my hand had felt when I’d punched the poor server in the nose before diving under the table for cover. Honestly, I was hugely lucky the guy had listened to Lennie quietly explain my history and agreed not to press charges against me. It had been a close call and had been the catalyst Lennie had been looking for to get me to try her version of “therapy”. “I’m making progress, though. I was able to go to the gym every day for the past week.”
“It’s an all-female gym, Essex,” Lennon informed me dryly. “That is not progress.”
“It’s managed by a freaking man,” I informed her snottily.
“Yeah, it is. A man that is a hundred and three years old if he’s a single day,” she retorted. “Face it, babe, that guy hasn’t used his dick since Reagan was in office!”
Huffing out a frustrated breath as I cringed at her crude, but accurate accusation, I threw my hand in the air. “I don’t know how you and I have remained friends all these years. You’re a bully,” I pouted, crossing my arms over my pink My Little Pony t-shirt.
“No, I’m not. I’m ballsy. There’s a difference. And we’re friends, my little buttercup, because you, a sweet kid from Upper Middle-Class America, kept a poor foster kid rolling in Little Debbie snack cakes and juice boxes during my most formative years. I owe you and your family, Essie.”
Smiling faintly at our shared past, I shook my head. “You really don’t, but I love you anyway and I’m not giving you up.”
“Great. Then can I go across the street, have a conversation with the butcher, and finalize your weekend with Italian Sausage yet?”
Eyes widening at her question, I shook my head dumbly. “Do you even hear yourself right now?” I asked her in a low voice. “Are you actually telling me that this place is actually a cover for a ring of escorts?” I lifted my hand to point at the glass fronted butcher shop called The Meat Market.
Smacking my hand, Lennon glared at me. “Will you please keep your voice down?” she hissed. “Part of why this operation thrives is that we all keep it on the down low. And yes,” she bit out. “That is exactly what I’m telling you. Jason Somers runs the shop, and they call him the butcher. He makes all the hook-up arrangements for the guys that work at the Meat Market. Each of the guys have a different code name. Currently, you are looking at the butcher. He’s the guy in the white apron.”
“They all have white aprons,” I grumbled, pursing my lips as I stared at the men.
“Fine, he’s the one with the piercing blue eyes, buns of steel and white apron. The other two guys are known as Tenderloin and KC Strip. They generally man the counter,” she shared as she nodded at the three men who stood behind the glass meat case.
“How did you even hear about this, Lennie?” I whispered as my eyes followed the movement.
“The butcher is Lilly’s brother-in-law. She’s one of my clients,” she explained.
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “Are you talking about Lilly Knight?”
“Yeah.” Lennon frowned. “You know her?”
I nodded. “Remember me talking about that lady I met the night Foster found me? Lil? She’s the one that has a son named Kasey that I babysit from time to time to make a little extra money. She recently reconciled with…”
“Her son’s dad,” Lennon supplied with a small laugh. “It’s a small world. I had no idea that we knew the same person. When I was going through a lonely spell a few months back, Lilly gave me the number to the Meat Market and got me hooked up with the guy they call Pork.”
I couldn’t help but gawk at my friend. Lennon was a successful hair stylist who could perform minor miracles armed with a brush and a curling iron. I knew that she had clients coming out her yin yang, but I never imagined that one of them might be related to a clandestine prostitution ring or that she might indulge in an affair with one of them. “Okay, so now who’s paying for dates?” I muttered, unable to wrap my mind around this newest development.
“Hey, don’t judge. Sometimes, a girl gets lonely in the big city. For one long weekend, I decided I didn’t want to feel quite so alone. Besides, we didn’t fuck, Essie. I told you that it didn’t have to be about sex, remember. For me, all I needed was a good cuddle. You set the terms, girl,” she informed me with a careless shrug. Lennon had never been afraid to face the seedier side of life. Of course, who was I to judge her? I’d married my high school sweetheart right after graduation and had somehow missed the warning signs that he was a bona fide psychopath.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m in no position to judge anybody,” I quickly apologized. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the woman who’d stood by me during the darkest moments in my life. Lennon had helped me escape Foster. She’d hidden me in her apartment in Chicago after Foster found me in my tiny one-bedroom studio apartment along the river. He’d nearly beaten me to death. Lennon had helped me when I got out of the hospital and taken me back to her place. Then, she’d lied to Foster when he’d come banging on her door, threatening to kill her if she didn’t tell him where I was as I’d cowered in her bathtub with my hands over my head. Somehow, she’d gotten rid of him that night and I’d stayed with her until the day my mom called to tell me Foster had finally offed himself on our anniversary. At the end of every day, Lennon was my savior, and I had no right to question whatever choices she’d made for herself. But that didn’t mean I was ready for a weekend with this guy she kept calling Italian Sausage, either. “But how do we know this Italian Sausage guy is safe for me?” I asked huskily, my voice holding a fine tremor of fear that I’d never quite managed to get rid of since leaving Foster.
“Because, my love, I vetted the shit out of him,” Lennon replied evenly, reaching out to give my cold hand a reassuring squeeze.
“You did?” I asked weakly, relieved to hear that I wasn’t just being thrown into the deep end of the pool without a life vest.
“Of course, I did, babe. You’re my girl. I did some digging about Codename: Italian Sausage. His real name is Lucca Falconi, he’s thirty-eight, and he’s, predictably, of Italian descent. When he’s not helping his longtime friend, the butcher, keep his business above water, he works as a very successful real estate broker. Although, the guy could sit on his ass counting his millions if he wanted to since he comes from old money.”
“Then why is he doing…this?” I asked, nodding slightly toward the butcher shop. I knew who Lucca Falconi was. I read the society pages. I’d seen the pictures. The man was sin on a stick. With thick dark hair, toned olive skin, and muscles that would make a normal woman cream her panties, he was a CATCH…even if you were only catching him for one night. Of course, there was nothing normal about me. The idea of being with that kind of man…so virile and larger than life…scared the snot out of me.
“He started out at the Meat Market when Jason inherited the shop after his grandfather died. He found it was failing. They were in college together. At first, he offered Jason a loan, but according to my sources, the butcher is a total alpha and wouldn’t accept a handout. He had this idea for an escort ring and started contacting his college buddies. They were all young, strappin’, packin’ guys and none of them ever turned down easy pussy. The word was that the butcher and Italian Sausage were the biggest pussy hounds in Chi-town. They just parlayed that into a successful side business. The last few years as The Meat Market has grown more successful and the shop can stand on its own financially, your guy, Italian Sausage, has been pulling back from the business, taking fewer and fewer engagements. When I set your appointment with the butcher last week, he actually told me that you were a lucky girl since you were going to be the Sausage’s very last meal, if you know what I’m saying.”
Lennon winked at me and my stomach sank. Whether she realized it or not, this felt like a lot of pressure on me. “The last one? You mean, after me, Lucca Falconi is…”
“Taking his meat off the market,” Lennon supplied eagerly with an enthusiastic nod. “Evidently, he wants to settle down. Find a woman, have some kids, and make a home. With forty looming in the not-so-distant future, I guess he wants to start stoking the fires in his own home rather than lighting them for whoever contracts for him.”
“I…I don’t know what to say. What you’ve described…Lennie, he’s way far out of my league, hon. I wouldn’t even know what to say to him,” I worried out loud as my heart pounded in my chest. I knew I wasn’t ugly. In fact, I’d been told I was pretty my whole life, though personally, I didn’t see it. I had thick blonde hair the color of golden wheat, midnight blue eyes and a perky upturned nose. If there was a feature that I despised on my face, it would have been my thick lips. I knew men liked that plump look, but to me it seemed like I was carrying around two water balloons on my face. As for my body, I had a slender frame with a narrow waist and smallish breasts. Foster had always griped that they were too small, but I’d always secretly liked the fact that I didn’t bounce too badly when I went jogging. I guess if I had to describe myself I’d have said I was passable, but not pretty. At least not the kind of pretty a man like Lucca Falconi would have hanging off his arm. I don’t care if I was paying for his services. The idea that he could want a girl like me? It was flipping insane.
“Essex, from everything I know, this guy is the real deal. Honest. Handsome. Kind. Approachable. He’s a throwback to a different time. He thinks women should be treasured and cherished. Protected and respected. He’s an Old-World man caught in the wrong generation, you know? This is exactly the type of guy you need to guide both you and your body back to the land of the living. Spend the weekend with him. Let him show you that not all men are scum.”
“D-does he know about my past?” I questioned hesitantly, my eyes filling with tears of humiliation as Lennon shifted uncomfortably on the bench beside me.
“Yeah,” she acknowledged softly. “I imagine so. I told the butcher your story. I had to in order to make him understand the type of weekend you needed. The butcher is actually the one that suggested Lucca…ahem…I mean, Italian Sausage for you. After I showed the butcher your picture and shared just a bit about your past, he thought that the Sausage would be the best fit for you. All I need to do now is walk across the street and confirm it for you. Then, you can spend the rest of today getting ready for the weekend. All you need to do is tell me that you want this.”
Swallowing hard, I stared across the street into the window of the butcher shop as a tall, dark-haired man strode toward the meat counter from the back. Squinting at the familiar looking stranger, my breath caught as I realized who I was looking at.
Lucca Falconi.
In. The. Flesh.
Licking my lips as I eyed his body from tip to toe, I felt an unfamiliar rush of excitement flood me. He looked good enough to eat. Even dressed in a tight black t-shirt and faded jeans, the man was enough to feed my spank bank fantasies for years to come. Just because I’d been abused did not mean I was dead from the neck down.
Quite the opposite.
I yearned to be touched. Caressed. Petted.
I was simply terrified that those touches would turn cruel when I least expected it.
But eyeing the incredibly sexy man inside the shop, I knew my desires were going to outweigh my doubts.
“Okay, Lennon. Do it. Make the arrangements,” I directed my friend before I allowed my worries to win out. Sweet mercy, was that my voice coming out of my mouth right then?
“You’re sure?” she asked me as she rose to stand beside where I still sat perched on the edge of the wooden bench, my eyes still glued to where Lucca stood behind the counter, towering over the other men.
I wanted him. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was going to try and grab what I wanted even if I wasn’t sure how much I could take from him. “Yes. I’m sure. Go get me that Italian Sausage.”