Chapter 1
Sylvia
Sylvia set her mark within five minutes of walking into the building.
That’s how good she was. She had been in the game for so long that she could saunter in, find her man for the evening, and make her money before the streetcar home stopped running for the night. Took her a good few years to reach that point, too. She liked to think that’s what separated her from the… well, she wasn’t sure what. There wasn’t much room to brag about her lot in her life when said lot was constantly being down to her last dollar. For a girl who appreciated the finer things in life? Tragic.
This guy is going to make sure I’m fed for the next week. Sylvia slipped onto the barstool next to him, pushing her chest out, and let out a flirty trill that damn well made sure this guy knew she existed in his vicinity.
For a city as sizable as Portland, it was a miracle she could ever find men who were her type. Handsome. Stylish. Rich. Oh, Portland was teeming with rich fucks, but she had never lived in a city where those same rich fucks dumpster dived for their clothes and showed up to business meetings in dirty flannel and hair messily tied on top of their heads. And the beards! Good God, the beards! Where were the clean-shaven guys, or at least the men who knew how to style their facial hair so they looked rugged, yet still expensive? Sadly, such men were not a dime a dozen, even in a hotel bar.
Which made this guy special.
His suit wasn’t the most expensive around – Sylvia certainly knew her Brionis from her Valentinos – but it was still miles above what came waltzing out of most of the downtown offices at five in the afternoon. His cologne, though? Nice. Sylvia couldn’t place it, which surprised even her. Then again, she was usually too busy charming her boyfriend of the hour to notice what designer he was wearing wearing.
Damn, he was cute. Clipped black hair, no facial hair, opal cufflinks, an air that said he knew what he was about and that he was passing through Portland on business. Good. That meant a nice hotel room for Sylvia to stay the night in. No sense letting something like that go to waste. Why let Uber eat into my profits?
“Hey,” she said, her mid-range voice as silky as the black dress on her body. Classical was always the way to go. If Sylvia didn’t make men think of Aubrey Hepburn or CoCo Chanel the moment she walked into a room, then she hadn’t done her job getting ready that day. “You all by yourself tonight?”
The man spared her a small but heart-fluttering smile. Ah, she did love a confident man in a suit. How soon would she be undressing it for him? Surely there was something good underneath there. “Hi. And yes, unfortunately. Afraid I’m alone here on business.” He turned his head toward her. “You are apparently alone as well.”
“The name’s Sylvia.” She let some of her Boston accent slip out. “What’s yours? I love making new friends.”
Her hand grazed his arm. On accident, of course. Or was it? “Tom,” the man said, his voice still steady. “Well, Thomas, but that’s such a stuffy name, don’t you think?”
Damn, this guy was easy.
Sylvia had perfected her technique since her days strutting around Boston hotel bars like this one, chatting guys up for the sole purpose of getting into their pants and wallets. Sometimes she worked with a company. Dating agencies, of course! Sometimes the people in charge were worse than the pimp horror stories she heard over the years.
Then there was that one paradisiacal year she worked for the most sophisticated pleasure house in the nation. Before she totally botched it up and had to move all the way to Portland to recover from the embarrassment, that was.
Ah, Tom. He was different from most of the guys in Portland. He made Sylvia think of those good ol’ days. This was the kind of guy who would show up at the pleasure house and make use of her many services. For a premium, too! Sylvia couldn’t get away with those rates anymore. Not in Portland. Too bad. She lived like a damn princess during those days.
She chatted Tom up until there was nothing else to talk about. He bought her a drink, and they toasted to whatever they felt like. Sylvia giggled. Tom sighed. Their eyes met more than once, and by the fifth time Sylvia blushed. Was it genuine? Why not?
She didn’t hate her job. Not all the time. There were many perks besides the money. Like… going to bed with handsome men. It beat her two part time jobs. Italian restaurant by day… one of Portland’s many strip clubs by night. On the nights she didn’t work at the club, she often scouted the lounges for bigger scores that would let her save a little money.
Speaking of score…
“Now I’m not going to assume you’re chatting me up because you think I’m cute, Sylvia,” Tom said. “There’s something we can give each other, isn’t there?”
“Why, Tom, I like that you get straight to the point.”
“How much?”
“How much for what?”
His smirk should’ve been illegal. “For a night with you, Sylvia. I have an early flight tomorrow, but I’ve got some time tonight.”
She batted her eyelashes. “Five hundred. Half upfront.”
“I’m assuming that’s the standard package.”
“Oh, Tom, you’re such a smart aleck.” Sylvia gazed right at his crotch. “There are many packages to open.”
He pulled out his wallet. Yes, Tom, give me the two-fiddy upfront and let’s head up to your room. Standard package. Ha! He got her spending the night, some frottage, and a finale somewhere on her body for that. He wanted more invasive stuff? Pay up, buddy. Tom looked ready to pay.
“I’ve got a present for you, Sylvia.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tom flipped his wallet open.
A badge. A police badge.
“Fuck!”
Sylvia shot off her stool only to be cutoff by a larger man in a cheaper suit. His mustache belonged to 1985, and his stature? Way too smarmy for what he was about to do.
“Aw, come on, Jake!”
“Sylvia Rogers.” Officer Jake Lawson took way too much pleasure in busting her ass every other month. “You’re under arrest for solicitation. You know the drill.”
“You set me up, Jake!” This was his most blatant attempt yet. Was he waiting specifically for her? Or was he waiting for any ol’ gal to waltz up to Tom and attempt to sleep with him for cash? Was this hotel a known pick-up zone? Fuck! How had Sylvia not heard they were running stings in this area? Wasn’t the Pearl sacred against such things or something? Seemed sacred from everything else! How many drug deals had she seen go down while waiting for street lights to change? Wasn’t that much more important than her having a little fun in exchange for money? “This is entrapment!”
“Spare me, Rogers. Come on.”
Tom already had his handcuffs out. They weren’t for some BDSM hanky-panky. Too bad! Sylvia was one of the best submissives around! You’re missing out, Tom! Is your name even Tom? I bet it’s not!
The handcuffs were on her before she could protest again.
“Do you want a resisting arrest charge on top of everything else?”
Sylvia gave Jake Lawson the hardest look she could muster. So much for her relaxing night making some honest money.
***
The station was rowdy for a typical Thursday night. As Sylvia was marched to booking, hands behind her back and super handsome Thomas Mills leading her through the busy station, she counted no fewer than a dozen sex workers chained to this bench and stuck in that desk chair. Some of them were her good acquaintances, even. They shared knowing looks that said “Fuck this shit. It’s bust night, isn’t it?” Knowing Jake Lawson, he got off on arresting women for solicitation. Most of these women probably didn’t even technically do anything wrong. At least Sylvia could admit money was about to change hands.
“Have a seat here, Rogers. Your turn will come up soon.” Jake pushed her down onto an empty bench along a long, drab gray wall. Thomas had the honors of handcuffing her to the armrest. “As you can see, there are a lot of ladies to process tonight.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s the spirit. Hang tight.” Both officers wandered off with smug looks on their faces. Fuck. Them. I can’t believe I thought Tom was hot. He was still kinda hot. He had that police officer’s butt, after all.
This was ridiculous. How many times had she been arrested now? She managed to get out of three marks on her record so far, but there were still the other two. Was this going to be her third strike since moving to Oregon? Oh, no. Sylvia was fucked. And not the fun, moneymaking kind. Does Oregon have a three-strike law? I don’t think so? Didn’t matter.
Most of the women in the station had the same looks on their faces. Most were tired. Others fretted about their children and pets. Who was looking after them? Should they use their phone call on a lawyer or the mother-in-law? How had they even been arrested? “I was standing on a street corner!” one woman barked to another. “Fucker walked up and arrested me. That can’t be right! This city hates sex workers.”
Sylvia wouldn’t argue with that.
She should alert her roommate when her phone call came up. Let her know that the dame wasn’t coming home anytime soon. Sylvia would undoubtedly be held overnight. What was her bail going to be? Last time she could barely afford it. Almost wasn’t worth it, except then she’d lose her jobs. In a place like Portland, those jobs were gold. They didn’t pay much, and they made her want to tear out her hair, but it was better than nothing. Life wasn’t cheap in Portland.
I miss the days where I had all my own money and my man to pay for the extra stuff.
No. Now was not a good time to think of Maxwell. Or Sebastian, for that matter.
“Ms. Rogers.”
Sylvia opened her groggy eyes to see a female officer looming over her. Was it time for her booking already? “Yeah?”
“Come with me. You’re wanted in Interview Room 1.”
Well, that was different. Also not a super great sign that things were going to continue going her way that night.
Sylvia was led through the station. Most of the other people, whether sex worker or officer, glanced at her on her way by. Did they know what was up? What she was being marched toward? The last time Sylvia was in an interrogation room… no, not the time to think about that.
It was never the time to think about that.
She was left uncuffed in the room. Alone, but uncuffed. Sylvia sat in a folding chair. The red light of a camera steadily throbbed in the top left corner. A two-way mirror reflected her image back at her. God, I look like shit. Aubrey Hepburn? More like Awfuckit Heartburn.
Before she could contemplate the invigorating silence, the interview room door opened.
That wasn’t Jake Lawson or Thomas Mills. But it was someone who was almost as cute as the latter.
Almost.
Because there was nothing really cute about Agent Joseph Montoya, the man she had slept with right before they became a part of one of the biggest FBI raids in Portland’s history. Which he tried to take credit for, of course.