Huck

When I felt a shooting pain in the back of my throat, like the tip of a knife was slicing through my Adam’s apple, I tossed my cell on the desk. I couldn’t look at Jack’s text anymore. Because it still filled the screen, I pressed the side button to make the phone black.

I should have deleted our history of texts or at least stopped reading them. But, for weeks, I hadn’t been able to do either. And, each time, I’d felt the knife. And, each time, I’d thrown my phone as though the damn thing were on fire.

What I should be doing tonight was counting the tips the girls had earned the previous evening and putting all the cash in envelopes for them to take at the end of their shift. I also should be ordering supplies—new sheets and blankets for the private rooms and massage oil, lube, and condoms for the girls to use on their clients.

Serviced—the high-end rub-and-tug I’d opened five years ago—needed my full attention. It wasn’t even getting half of my concentration, and that had to change. No one cared about this place like I did. No one would step in during my mental absence and make sure things were running how they should be.

No one, except for Jack.

He’d given me the money to start the business, and he’d helped me oversee things from across the ocean in Grenada, the same place I’d grown up.

And, now, I had no one but myself.

Shaking my head, trying to get Jack out of it, I reached for the office line to order some dinner. That was when the top monitor caught my attention. There were twenty-eight of them on the wall—one for each of the private rooms, the front desk, the lounge, and the museum. The museum was like a display window where the girls waited behind a thick panel of glass, dressed in costumes or panties and bras, enticing the clients with their mouths and fingers, so the men would choose them.

And it was fucking empty.

I heard the chair slam on the ground after I pushed myself out of it and the pounding of the wooden door as I smashed it into the wall. My feet slapped on the tiles as I rushed down the two flights of stairs and toward the backside of the reception desk.

“Lawan,” I hissed from behind her.

She turned around in her chair, and I fingered her into the hallway.

I waited for her to walk to me before I said, “Why the hell is the museum empty?”

She pressed her hands together, holding them just under her chin, like she was praying. “I’m sorry, sir. So, so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I snapped, trying to keep my voice down, so none of the men out front heard me. “Just get me more girls.”

“I can’t, sir. All the girls are with customers.”

“Your job is to keep a minimum of forty women here at all times. Running out of girls isn’t an option. Ever.” My teeth ground together. “You know that.”

And I knew this wasn’t the only reason I was angry.

But this, I could control.

Jack, I couldn’t.

“I know, sir, but a few called in sick. No time to—”

“Lawan, all you’re doing is giving me excuses. I don’t want to hear them. I want to hear how you’re going to fix this.”

Her neck was so thin, I could see her pulse hammering away.

“In the morning, after my shift, I’ll go to the village and hire new ones. I won’t disappoint you again, sir.”

That wouldn’t solve the issue we were faced with now—an empty fucking museum and over ten men sitting in my brothel who wanted to spend money and choose which girl would fulfill their fantasy, and they couldn’t do either.

We were better than this.

“Lawan…” I repeatedly banged my fist against the wall, feeling it bend with each hit.

“Please don’t worry, sir.”

Don’t worry?

Every night, almost a hundred American and British tourists walked through my door, and none of them spoke Thai. Lawan was the only female here who was fluent in English, so I needed her at the front desk. The few times I’d worked it, the clients hadn’t responded well. It seemed they didn’t like being greeted by a tatted-up heavyweight who was far more intimidating than welcoming, so I stayed upstairs as much as possible and managed things behind the scenes. But the village, at this hour, just wasn’t safe, and that was why I couldn’t send her there now.

“By tomorrow afternoon, I expect a handful of new girls sitting in that museum. I want them to give the best blow jobs in Bangkok, their cunts to be tight, and their asses to be primed and ready. I want the best whores you can find. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir. Won’t let you down.”

“When you go back out there, you talk to the ten men who are waiting, and you make this right.”

“Yes—”

I held up my hand to cut her off, not wanting to hear another sir come out of her mouth. Then, I turned around and headed back to my office, cursing Lawan the whole goddamn way.

She’d been working at Serviced since the day I opened. She knew the rules and the reputation I wanted to uphold.

An empty museum?

I might as well close the goddamn doors.

These sluts weren’t sick. They just had tough lives, and sometimes, their situation at home prevented them from coming into work. I didn’t accept that as an excuse. I needed women who would fight to be here. Who appreciated the insane amount of money I paid them, a sum they wouldn’t find within three hundred kilometers of here.

That was because Serviced was different. It wasn’t like the other rub-and-tugs nearby. It was high-end, and it was fucking expensive.

When the guys from the offshore oil rigs came inland, they expected two things—good booze and clean, pliant women.

They got that here.

And those men made up half of our clientele. A majority of the other half were tourists, and the last percent were rich locals.

Lawan’s oversight could make tonight’s clients walk out the door and never come back. It could cause them to talk to their friends and turn away more business. I wouldn’t let that happen. That was why all ten guys waiting in the lounge were going to get their dicks sucked for free tonight.

As I reached the top of the second flight of stairs, my phone began to ring. Rada appeared on the screen, and I cursed again.

“You can’t keep calling me.”

“I know. I just missed hearing your voice and…”

And she missed me.

I knew because I felt the same way.

Goddamn it.

“Tell me things are good,” I said. “That you’re doing well in school.” I glanced at the monitors. “That no one is hurting you.”

I heard her take a breath, which she didn’t exhale for several seconds.

“Nothing has changed since the last time I called.”

That meant, she was still in the same apartment, taking three classes and waitressing at night—things she could have done here.

Out of all the women I’d been with, Rada was the only one I’d asked to move into my apartment on the third floor of the brothel. I’d told her up front that the only thing I needed from her was trust. To trust that I wasn’t fucking any of the girls downstairs, to trust that I cared about her enough to want to sleep next to her every night.

She’d lasted six months.

Jealousy had destroyed our relationship. And, when she’d left, she hadn’t moved back into her village. She had taken off to fucking London.

I sat at my desk, fingers on my forehead, massaging my scalp before my headache gnawed straight through my skull. “I need you to say good-bye,” I said. “For good this time.”

“I want to. It just hurts.”

There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by, “Sir? Can I come in?”

“Hang on,” I said to Rada. “Yeah, Lawan, come in.”

“I see nothing has changed. You’re still making everyone else a priority,” Rada barked.

I ignored Rada and watched Lawan crack open the door, showing just a sliver of her face.

“Sir, there’s a girl downstairs, asking for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Don’t know, sir. She wouldn’t give me a name.”

I suddenly felt hopeful. “Is she looking for a job?”

“I…” Her hesitation told me something wasn’t right. “I don’t think so.”

“Then, what the fuck does she want?” I pushed myself to the end of the chair, searching the monitors. There were now seven men waiting in the lounge along with the bartender. I checked the other feeds to see if there were any women I didn’t recognize. “Where is she?”

“Out back, sir, behind the building.”

Her face changed, and I knew that look. She wore the same expression whenever she had to deliver uncomfortable news. Lawan might work at a whorehouse, but this place hadn’t hardened her one bit.

“What does she want, Lawan?”

“I found her on the ground. Near the trash cans. She was crying and bloody, whispering your name. She wouldn’t say anything else.”

I closed my eyes and remembered some of the others who had come here in the past. The lice, the bruises. The shaking. The fucking toe-curling cries.

“I have to go,” I said to Rada.

“Of course you do,” she snarled, reminding me of the side of her that I didn’t miss at all. “It’s always something with those girls and—”

“I don’t have to listen to your bullshit anymore, and I’m not going to. Don’t call me again.”

I slid my phone into my pocket and said to Lawan, “Bring me to her.”

I followed Lawan down the stairs and through the hallway, moving in the opposite direction of the lounge. Once she opened the rear door, I saw a nest of dark hair on top of the gravel and a body lying in a tucked fetal position, trembling.

“Hold it open,” I told Lawan, pointing at the door.

The wider she held it, the more light shone on the girl.

I walked around her frame until I found where her head was folded into her chest and said, “You asked for me. I’m here.”

Whimpers came through a hidden set of lips. “Huck?”

“Yes.”

“Is it really you? You’re here?”

Her accent told me she was American.

“Yes.” I knelt on the ground, waiting for her to show me her face. “Why are you looking for me?”

This wasn’t the way it ever went down. I always got a call first that gave me as many details as the seller had. Then, if I was interested, I’d give one of the bouncers enough cash to cover the transaction, and he’d go to the docks. When he returned, he’d have the girl with him.

“Huck,” she cried softly. “Huck.”

Still, no face, no words besides my name, which she continued to cry out with every breath.

“If you don’t start talking, I’m going to leave you out here,” I warned.

Curiosity had brought me to her, but it wouldn’t keep me here. I wasn’t going to get fooled by some girl who was just looking for a handout. There were plenty of those in this city, and I wasn’t a fucking soup kitchen.

“You made your choice,” I said after several seconds passed.

When I took a step, a small hand shot out and cuffed my ankle. “Don’t go. Please. I’m scared. And I’m in pain.” The more she talked, the worse her weeping got. “It hurts so much.”

The light from the doorway wasn’t enough, so I took out my phone, turned on the flashlight, and held it over her. “Show me your face.”

Gradually, she bent her neck back and groaned from the brightness in her eyes. The movement revealed cheeks that were so severely beaten, it was like she had bathed in coal. Each cut oozed with puss. Blood was caked across the corners of her eyes and her forehead, and more had seeped into her hair. Her lips looked like they had been chewed. By the sound of her breathing, I suspected her body was in the same kind of shape.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

Her hands lowered, and carefully, she pushed herself up. I could tell how much energy it took, and her noises were an indication of the amount of pain she was in. When she eventually caught her breath, blood dripped onto her front teeth.

“He said…”

Her eyes met mine. In that second, the amount of time it took her to blink, I felt the knife again. This time, the stabbing was on the back of my tongue.

“He said you’d help me.”