I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t know what I was thinkin’ hitting her up through FaceTime. She’s still as beautiful as ever. Had our baby girl sleepin’ on her chest. Took all I had in me not to get on the next flight out.
But I can’t do that. All of this would be for nothing.
I’ve been working all day; it’s late as hell, but I’ve got one more stop to make before I head to the house.
I leave my bike at the shop, wanna lay low and not call any extra attention to myself than necessary. Pulling up to the club, I park in the back far corner so I can scope out the area before I go in, see what kind of scumbags we’re dealing with tonight.
At the door, security is no joke. I hesitate. This could ruin everything if Armillio’s guys catch wind of who I am. Not ready for that just yet. But fuck it, I’m feelin’ lucky.
When I walk inside, I’m not gonna lie, I’m impressed—for what it is. Armillio knows his shit. But what can I say, when you sell humans for fuckloads of money and have more than you can spend in this lifetime, you have nice establishments for the sick fucks just like you.
I take a left where I’m obviously not supposed to be, but no one notices. Every girl has their own room from the looks of it, containing a small bed with a connected bathroom, not many personal belongings. It’s not as nice as the main area back here, and it smells like a whorehouse.
“Excuse me? Can I help you find something?” A sad, used-up lookin’ woman, probably in her early twenties, steps out of a room down the hall. Her bleached-blonde hair and big fake tits tell me I can probably handle her without even causing a scene.
“Yeah, I think you can. What’s your name, babe?”
She twirls her hair on her stupid fuckin’ finger. “Meka. You?”
“Meka. Right. Can we go somewhere? I’ve never been here before, not sure how it all works. Maybe you could show me.”
She looks over her shoulder like she has somewhere else to be, but the risk doesn’t outweigh her need to get what she wants.
She takes hold of my hand and leads me back through the main room to a private one that looks much like a small hotel room. She lays out four lines of what looks like cocaine on the table. She snorts two of ’em and looks to me. I’m assuming I’m gonna be snortin’ the rest. I don’t wanna throw up any suspicions, so I do the same. There’s a tiny bit of residue left on the table where she made the first lines. She cleans it up and manages to make another line out of it.
She thinks she’s cute, but she has coke nose.
Fuckin’ nasty bitch.
There’s a small minibar full of liquor. Choosing my favorite man, Jack, I pour us both a shot. It burns goin’ down, following the burn in my nose from the drugs. It’s been so long since I’ve dabbled in this shit.
I put my poker face back on and have a seat on the leather couch. The room is bright, and it’s hot, makin’ me sweat. Or maybe that’s the cocaine. She hits a button on the wall and takes her top off. Nine Inch Nails blares through the speakers, and Meka starts pulling the rest of her clothes off. I don’t even care what’s there. My thoughts go straight to Leylah. Her round tits fit perfectly in my hands.
This bitch is climbing on my lap, pushin’ her tits in my face. “Turn around,” I bite out, not even trying to sound the least bit nice. But who am I kiddin’? These girls don’t care anything about nice. They just want their drugs and will happily do whatever it takes to get them.
She turns around and leans her back against my chest, feet propped up on the couch on both sides of me. Running her hand down her chest and stomach, she keeps going past her pussy straight to my cock below her. As soon as she touches me, I grab her wrist and push her off me. “You wanna get outta here? Make something of yourself? Instead of suckin’ dick the rest of your life? Only a matter of time before they’re done with you. Ship you off somewhere else. Kill you…” She stares at me wide-eyed, chest heaving up and down. The cocky little temptress act is long gone.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, not like these motherfuckers do every day,” I reassure, her, waving my hand around the room, motioning to this hellhole she calls home. She makes no move to get up. I hold my hand out, trying to earn some trust. Reluctantly, she takes it. She’s shaky on her feet, a combination of the drugs, alcohol, and adrenaline. Being scared shitless will do that to ya. “You like what you do here?” I ask.
She shakes her head no. “Who are you exactly?” she manages to whisper past her trembling lips.
“I’m gonna need a favor first.”