My head is spinning.

I noticed him when he came in from the cold. God, I noticed him right away. How could I not have? He brought the cold with him, but he also brought something else, too. I don’t think anyone else noticed him, or if they did, they pretended not to. But I heard the pounding of the ice pellets on the asphalt outside when the door opened. I heard the chime of the bells over the door, heralding his arrival.

Dark leather, deep whiskey. Tobacco leaves and spearmint. His scent was more intoxicating and intense than his appearance.

His energy is as intense now, standing before me, as it was when I first saw him. Not quite menacing, but it could be. Not quite frightening, but almost.

But I’m not scared.

I don’t think I’m scared.

Not of him, at least.

“I’m not a slave,” I say, “so while I understand your position - that you are looking to purchase my freedom, not purchase me per se - my freedom isn’t for sale. It’s mine. I possess it. I’m already free.”

“You might think so,” the man towering over me says, “but the way I see it, if you leave this room without me, the man who owns this place will have recourse to force you to repay what you owe. And how are you going to do that, sweetheart?”

His voice now darkens, tempting me toward it. Toward the edge, where darkness and light collide. That line of difference where light bleeds into the darkness and darkness infiltrates the light.

“Are you threatening me?” I toe the line. I allow myself to go right up to the edge.

I don’t know if this man wants to rescue me or ruin me.

Either way, he happens to be correct about the money. How would I repay my advance? It is a lot of money.

It was either a gift or a loan, depending on how long I remain here.

If you complete your contract, it is retroactively a gift, and you are free to leave without repaying it. Of course, I know that many of the girls working here have been here for quite a few years, much longer than the one year that’s required. Other girls, though, leave abruptly, suddenly. I’ve only been here a few months and I’ve already seen a score of us leave.

If you do not complete your contract, the advance is retroactively a loan.

The contract is not vague. It is crystal-clear, and iron-clad, and contained within it is an NDA that we are required to sign upon our hiring.

What the contract doesn’t mention is the exact requirements of the job. It doesn’t go into any level of detail about the expectations. What the clients want. What we are assumed to provide.

The whispers and the rumors - they don’t seem like rumors anymore. Not if they’re true. Then they’re just facts that are shared among the girls.

“I am not threatening you,” he says. “I’m asking you a serious question. How do you think you’re going to repay what you owe if you don’t allow me to buy you out?”

His brows knit and his forehead contracts and his lips purse. I can feel his energy inside me.

God, he is sexy.

Heat rises through my body, through my core, flipping over inside my stomach. Deep inside...lower. Heat swims through me. Somewhere I can’t name.

Do I have any other choice than to go with him?

But I can’t. I don’t know what going with him would mean. And that - that is what terrifies me the most.

“I’ll figure it out.”

I shove the last of my personal items into my duffel bag and slam the locker closed behind me, shouldering past the man and my boss.

No one follows me, or at least I don’t think anyone follows me. I can’t feel anyone behind me, or hear anyone behind me.

I will figure it out. I’ll get another job. Even if I have to sign all my paychecks over to my boss - my former boss - I’ll figure it out.

It won’t be easy. It will be beyond not easy. I have bills - serious bills. Bills that remind me of things I don’t want to think of. Things that I’m reminded me of every single day, things that I wouldn’t be able to put out of my mind even if I didn’t have these bills.

The bills are just the knife in my gut. The fact that they’re late and I have debt collectors calling me every day asking me to remit payment is the turning of the blade.

But I will figure this out. I have no other choice.

I leave the parlor, but there’s a pull inside my stomach, like this might not be the last time I walk through that door. I’m quitting, yes, but I’ve heard of other girls trying to quit before. Sometimes, the first time, it doesn’t stick. The money, the clothes, the attention. I’ve heard all of it compared to an addiction. Sometimes, despite the strongest of resolve, you can’t quit on the first try.

Sometimes, no matter how strong your will is, you can’t quit. Sometimes the illness is too strong.

The sickness goes too deep.

But I can’t do it. I cannot let that man buy my freedom.

I don’t want to think about what that would mean.

The man at the appointment thought he’d bought me, and he was wrong. I couldn’t let him…

But this man...he was different. But I can’t.

I have to get away.

I get outside and hesitate for a moment, huddling beneath the old, rusted metal awning over the front door. The afternoon’s snow turned into freezing rain and has now transitioned back into ice. My hot breath is all around me, hanging in the air.

It’s how I know I’m still breathing.

I don’t want to walk up these stairs. There are only three of them, but they feel like a mountain. It doesn’t matter that I can see the top. It doesn’t matter that I am almost there already. I haven’t started yet, and the first step is always the hardest.

I close my eyes and look up. I’m shielded from the snow, but I’m so close to it. It falls all around me, and it’s almost touching me, but it doesn’t.

So I start up the stairs. One step at a time.

The cold wind rips through the air. It threatens to tear into my skin. I’m raw and exposed.

Taking a few crunching steps toward the corner, I can see Canal Street in the distance. Cars are moving slowly, cabs weave left and right through them, aggressively finding their way, groping along the wide thoroughfare.

Then the lights in the distance slip up through my field of vision. The snowy ground rises to meet me as I slide and fall, landing, somehow, on an ankle and a knee.

“Shit,” I mutter. Nothing hurts. It’s too cold to hurt. Maybe my pride is wounded, but no one saw me at least.

“Avery!”

In my large puffy coat, and with the inch of flaky snow and inch of ice beneath me, it’s hard to get myself up, though I try to regain a standing position quickly. I can only get to my knees before I look over my shoulder and see that man from the shop jogging up beside me quickly.

“Don’t run,” I say, “you’re liable to fall yourself.”

He comes up next to me, slipping one arm under mine, raising me to my feet easily.

He picks me up so easily.

“You’re okay, Avery,” he says, brushing the snow off my coat. I look up at him, realizing I’m still holding onto him tight.

His lips perk up into a smile and a small dimple forms in the cleft of his chin.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thanks.”

“The pleasure is mine alone,” he says. I feel my heart flutter as my teeth come down on my bottom lip, and I bite down a little harder than I probably should. But I can’t help myself.

“My car is back there,” he says, pointing over his shoulder.

“Oh, I...I wasn’t looking for a cab,” I reply, pulling my hat down over my ears. The idea of being alone in a dark, enclosed space with him is tempting. It’s so tempting. I imagine sitting next to him, his scent filling my nose, my lungs, my brain. His fingers gliding across the steering wheel. My mouth waters at the thought and I feel my pussy clench up,empty and...strangely wanting. “I was heading for the subway. I can’t afford a cab. You broke down in detail back there how screwed I am, remember?”

“That’s why you’re coming with me.”

“I really don’t need a ride from you,” I say, though my body is betraying my true desires. I won’t let him see, though. I won’t let on that I’m aching for him. Burning. My skin feels cold from the air around it, but inside, I am filled with desire. Heat. It’s almost like pain. I can feel my clit beginning to become engorged, and part of me wants him to know. But I won’t let him.

“It wasn’t a question,” he says, taking me gently, putting his strong fingers around my upper arm and walking me back down the street. “He won’t come looking for anything else from you, or at least he shouldn’t. If he tries anything, he knows what will happen to him.”

“What…what the hell are you talking about?”

My feet feel light as I follow him. I’m not walking as much as I’m gliding, being moved by the strong, magnetic pull of him.

“Just get inside,” he says.

He commands.

I look at the car he’s brought me to. I almost didn’t realize it at first, but it’s actually a limo, all black, with tinted windows.

I almost want to protest. It feels dangerous, but I don’t feel threatened. It’s like danger is all around me, but I’m insulated from it, somehow. Protected, in some way.

He opens the back door of the car and I slide in, the supple black leather gliding along my coat, inviting me in warmly. Inside, the car smells like him and a dark sandalwood cologne. It is panty-droppingly sexy in here, and I begin to feel a slight trickle between my legs as I swallow hard. He slides into the seat beside me and shuts the door.

He is sin and sex, and it’s swirling all around me.

“Drive.”