Farrah

 

It took about twenty minutes after we successfully escaped the casino for the adrenaline to wear off. Throughout that time, I felt fucking fantastic. I felt clever. I felt brave. I felt sexy. Obviously, everyone in the room had been looking at me. But once the adrenaline high dissipated, I began to feel something else:

 

I was very, very scared.

 

The Minghellis were still looking for me. And what was worse, that brute Calvin had been able to recognize me. I looked nothing like Honi. Either they were suspicious of Honi’s claims and were trying to look for the real Farrah Michaels, or Calvin simply hadn’t been informed. I prayed it was the latter. If the Minghellis knew that Honi had lied, then it was only a matter of time before the Devil’s Wings found out as well. And what would they do then? I was sure President Montengo wouldn’t be pleased when he found out he’d been screwing a cheap whore when he thought he’d been screwing a princess.

 

Irony. Yup.

 

Connor and Joey had heard Calvin call me Farrah. Had they noticed? And if so, would they make anything of it? Connor was smart. He was sure to suspect something by now.

 

That waswhen it occurred to me just how strange Connor’s behavior really was. If he really did just think me a useless whore, why was he risking his life and doing all these crazy things to keep me safe? It wasn’t because he cared. I’d be stupid to even think so. And as much as he talked about valuing Devil’s Wing property, there was no way a useless whore was worth all the effort he was putting in.

 

Obviously, he knew something was going on. Why else would he have bothered to protect me? He had shown quite clearly, when he fucked me after the raid on the Minghelli estate, that his own needs were his top priority.

 

It made me angry. It would be so easy to allow myself to think he cared. To think of all those nice things he had done for me, and the times he had protected me with his own fists and wit. It would be so easy to slip into the assumption that he was doing it for me—this person he knew as Princess but who was really Farrah Michaels. Even now, on the back of his bike, wearing his a helmet, with the masculine scent of his leather outfit and aftershave wafting over me, it would have been the simplest thing in the world to bask in it and fall a little bit in love.

 

No, Farrah, I told myself. You need to be strong. To him, you are nothing but property. Either you are a useless whore, or you are Farrah Michaels, a ticket to money scams. Just because he fucks you good and makes you feel sexy doesn’t mean you can give in to him.

 

I made a promise to myself, right on the back of that bike, not to let Connor have any more emotional control over me. I would be Princess, the useless whore. No more of this confusing in-between.

 

As part of this promise, I released my grip around his waist and held on only with my fingertips, with as little of me as possible touching him. It was probably dangerous to ride this way, but I didn’t care. The last thing I needed was to wrap my body around him. I wondered if he noticed this change in position, and then was annoyed with myself for caring what he thought it all.

 

Be strong, Farrah. Be strong.

 

# # #

 

I expected Connor to take us back to the compound, but that apparently wasn’t the plan. Instead, he and Joey rode to Connor's apartment. Their spirits were apparently still up, because as we parked in his driveway and dismounted, both of them were laughing and joking around.

 

“Did you see Calvin’s face when he thought he had walked in on a stripper and her client?” Joey guffawed as he put his helmet away.

 

“Wasn’t as great as the lookd on all those people’s faces when we poured out of the fucking waterfall,” chuckled Connor, unlocking the door letting us inside. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do something like that. Jump in a fountain. Break that shit. You know?”

 

Joey apparently agreed, and told us all about it as Connor led us into the living room and told Joey and me to sit down. Then he went to his refrigerator and grabbed three beers. He tossed one to Joey, who grinned and opened it in a flash, and then made to hand one to me.

 

I just looked at him. He shrugged and put it down on the coffee table, where it remained unopened. Then he sat down beside me and opened his own.

 

“That was pretty exciting, huh, Princess?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” was all I said back. Hard. Blunt. Completely uninviting.

 

He scowled and tried again. “Making that jump was pretty brave of you. I know a lot of girls who would have been scared.”

 

“Uh-huh,” was my response. I looked and felt like a surly teenager, sitting low on the couch with my arms crossed, grunting my answers. The men apparently noticed, for he and Joey glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

 

“I … think I better go,” Joey sighed, chugging the last of his beer and standing up. “Thanks for the drink, man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Right,” said Connor, rising and walking him to the door. Even though I wasn’t looking at either of them, I could tell they were having a silent conversation. “What’s up with her?” I could practically hear Joey ask. Connor was still shaking his head in confusion as he returned.

 

“If you’re not gonna drink that, I will,” he said, downing his beer and then reaching for mine. I didn’t move or even look up, leaving him to sip at it a moment in silence. Outside, I heard Joey turn on his engine and ride away.

 

“So … what do you want to do tonight?” Connor asked tentatively.

 

“Whatever you want,” I replied, mechanically as a robot.

 

Connor sighed. “Princess,” he said at last. “Are you mad at me?”

 

Yes, was the real answer, but of course I didn’t say that.

 

“No,” I grunted, sinking lower into the couch.

 

“Are you sure? It seems like something’s wrong.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, I want to know if something’s bothering you. It matters what you think.”

 

This, at least, made me turn to look at him. I put all the disdain I could muster into my disbelieving stare.

 

“Really?” I said. “You know, I don’t think it’s typical for a biker to care what his whore thinks.”

 

Connor’s expression darkened.

 

“Is that at all you are, Princess? A whore?” There was a milky venom in his voice, and I sensed danger.

 

I also didn’t care.

 

“Well, would you expect me to be? I am your whore. And after the other night, you definitely treat me like one.”

 

He stood, anger surging through him. I wondered if he would get mad enough to hit me. It would probably make things easier. Easier to disconnect myself from him.

 

“Of course I treat you like one, because that’s what you fucking are. What the fuck else do you expect?”

 

“I expect things to make sense! All of these things you’re doing—fucking me like a whore, then taking me out with you—it doesn’t make any sense! You don’t make sense, you fucking Devil’s Wing!”

 

That’s it, I thought, Make him mad. Make him so mad he won’t be able to control himself, and then he’ll show me how he really feels. If he flips out and hurts me, or makes me have sex with him, then I’m just his whore. But if he does something else …

 

He stared at me in silence, dangerous as a hot coal buried beneath ash. I was just waiting for the fire to catch.

 

Perhaps it needed a little push.

 

I leaned forward, looked right into his eyes, and hissed, “Fuck you.”

 

Connor blinked. His expression was unreadable. Was he about to snap? Treat me like the whore I was?

 

He raised his hand. I winced, expecting to be struck. But instead he reached down and gathered the two beer bottles.

 

“Aw, fuck you, too, Princess,” he muttered, and then left the room. I heard the door to his bedroom open and slam shut.

 

Alone, I collapsed on the couch and broke out into sobs. They surprised me, because I wasn’t exactly sad. I was scared, of course. And exhausted. But mostly, I was so confused. I did not know what to do.

 

Curling up into a ball and pulling a blanket over my body, I cried myself to sleep.