For the next few days, I keep on dodging Allan’s calls and texts, finally just deleting his number. On Wednesday, when I go to work to confront Geno about the attack, he’s not there. In fact, no one’s seen him in days, while the restaurant itself is in chaos. It’s Helena who hurries up to ask me, when I’m halfway out the door.

“Could you... would you mind... acting as manager?”

At my questioning look, she launches into an explanation.

“I’m not supposed to—no one’s supposed to say anything. But the cooks are screwing up, and the customers are pissed. Some waitresses didn’t even come in today. No one knows what to do.”

And I look at her, at her sad tired eyes, the same eyes I had weeks ago, probably still have, and I say, “Yes.”

So, the next few days are picking up what Geno left to crash and burn. I school the cooks on the recipes they’re having trouble with, apologize to irate customers about our temporary dip in service, hand out as many deal coupons as we have on premises, call up the waitresses who didn’t show. I take over the teaching, even dealing with question-laden customers far past dinnertime. And, after a few days and a lot of running around like a headless chicken, things are almost back to normal. Until, one day, at the end of the night as I’m rushing to the back to deal with our latest culinary disaster (chicken fried to a blackened crisp), I see her.

Walking in the restaurant, looking straight at me. I pause, we gape at each other. I stride up to her, my angry answer all ready on my lips: that we’re closed, that she has to leave, and she says, “I’m sorry.”

The words are so shocking they stop me in my tracks. She’s the one who closes the gap, who walks right up to me, says it again. “I’m sorry.”

Then, as I gape at her, she asks me, “Can we talk?”

Dumbly I nod, waving away the latest waitress to tell me that Dimitri couldn’t cook the chicken right if we held a gun to his head. The blonde woman and I sit in the booth in the far corner, out of earshot of just about everyone. Up close like this, I want to smack her. She’s even more ridiculously beautiful, like some kind of real-life Barbie, with eyes so big they don’t look real and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Even her voice is melodious, gorgeous.

“I came here to explain. Allan doesn’t know I’m here. He’s all broken up about what happened, was going to come himself, but I stopped him.”

“And you were right to.”

The woman’s eyes lower. She nods, but I’m not having any of it. It’s really nice that she’s sad that her boyfriend slash whatever slept with me for the kicks and an app, really big of her.

“I’m Lisa,” she says, and just as I’m about to say, “So what?” she’s adding, “Allan is my half-brother.”

If I had any water in my mouth to spit out, I would.

“So, what you saw, it wasn’t what it looked like. Allan and I are crazy close, sure. We were best friends before... well, before I was taken.”

Her features darken, her eyes fill. She wipes them away impatiently, as if she’s tired of this reaction by now.

“Yes, he was the best brother I could’ve asked for. Always there for me and caring, so sweet. And when I was... taken, he didn’t give up looking for me for a second, even after my parents had. Yes, Allan spent hours and thousands of dollars searching for me. But he had no idea where to look, no idea that I was kidnapped and forced into prostitution by a gang of human traffickers. They’d even sent him a picture of what looked like my dead body so he’d lay off. That’s when my brother started doing the drugs; he couldn’t take the thought of me being dead, couldn’t accept it. He felt, he knew, somehow, that I was alive, you see. And so, it nearly killed him, but he didn’t give up. He spiraled a bit, sure—Allan’s told me everything—but that’s it. I don’t remember much. These past few years are one horrible drugged-out blur, but I do remember this—”

She clasps my hand, and her hand is cool yet firm.

“That my brother, Allan, he’s a good man. A bit wild, a bit of a goof.” She smiles slightly to herself. “But he’s honest and loyal to a fault.”

Her eyes flick to me, and she takes my other hand in hers.

“And not one to fall in love easily. In fact, I’ve never heard him talk about any woman the way he’s been talking about you.”

When she falls silent, I’m momentarily stunned, my head pounding with all the craziness I’ve just been told. Lisa’s hands are still clasping mine, those beautiful blue eyes gazing kindly at me.

“So, now you understand. This has all just been a crazy situation, and I’m truly sorry for giving you the wrong impression.”

Now I find I’m the one patting her, consoling her.

“No, it’s fine, completely fine. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be sorry—and I am. I’m sorry for how I reacted. I had no idea of the situation, of what you went through.”

Lisa nods, rises, then droops back down.

“I’m sorry, I’m...” She takes a deep breath, her whole body shuddering. “Still weak from all they did to me, the drugs, the malnutrition.”

She shakes her head, tries to rise again, then droops back down. Her sad gaze slides to me.

“Do you have anywhere in the back I could lie down for a bit? Would it be too much of a hassle?”

I shake my head.

“No, no, of course not, not at all. Here.”

I go over beside her in the booth and help her up. Together we make our way to the back, into Geno’s office. I help her down onto his black leather couch. Lisa settles into it with obvious pleasure, spreading her limbs and letting out a sigh of relief. Her eyes have only been closed for a second, however, before one’s peeping back open.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much of a hassle, though?”

I nod, shut off the light.

“You can stay here as long as you need. I’ll let Allan know and make sure that no one disturbs you.”

I shut the door and return upstairs. It doesn’t take long for me to send everyone home. Really, they’re so eager to leave, the chefs and waitresses only half hear my explanation that something came up and my assurance that we would deal with the chicken fiasco tomorrow. Once the last chef has ambled out the door, I call Allan.

“Lisa came to Picklebucket. I know everything. Meet me here.”

Silence, then, “Oh, thank God. I’ll be right over.”

And, he is. Only minutes later am I taking him to Geno’s office, peeping open the door to show him his sleeping sister. Tears come to his eyes at the sight of her. He nods, then gently closes the door himself.

“I almost thought I lost her, my best friend in the world. Before her and after her, I never felt as genuine and free with anyone. No, not until... you.”

Our gazes lock and I can’t help the smile creeping on my face.

“Really?”

He nods, his hands locking around my wrists.

“Really.”

He wraps me in his arms, pressing me to him. After a few minutes, he starts to sway me back and forth. Then, his deep voice breathes in my ear. “On to better things.”

Next thing I know, he’s shoving me into our back room, the one we reserve for VIP guests. It’s lit by candles, smells like musk and hunger. Allan’s ripping off my dress, growling into my neck.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

It flops to the floor, and he gets to work on my bra.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you since that night, your body.”

My bra joins the dress in a heap on the floor. Next goes my panties, and then I’m naked and he’s looking at me like he never has before, his whole body seemingly alive.

“Our conversations, just you, Eva.”

For my part, I’m undoing his belt, pulling down his briefs, shoving him to the booth. Straddling him, I press a finger to his lips, hiss my answer into them.

“Shut up and let me fuck you.”

And then I’m rolling on the condom and lowering myself onto him, and it’s back into the rhythm of wordless words, movements, urges, needs. He’s deep in me, his dick, his tongue, both pulsing, with a pulse, pulse, pulse that I just can’t get enough of. His hands are snaking all over me, squeezing my breasts, batting them like a cat. Me, I’m moaning as loud as one. The seats below are creaking with our movement, our frenzied need. My pussy is so wet it’s dripping, while his cock is so hard, every pound hurts and pleasures me at the same time. At my latest half-incoherent moan, Allan pauses to run his fingers across my cheek.

“What’s that?”

I shake my head, throw my head back, and close my eyes. I need more, can’t think, can only move, on and on and on. But Allan takes my chin and turns my face to him.

“What’s that?”

And, eyes still closed, lips parted, I tell him, I moan it out.

“It hurts, but I like it. It hurts, but I need it.”

Allan pauses, runs his finger over my lips, in between them.

“Oh yeah?”

And then, he flips me around, presses me to the wall, and fucks me senseless on it, on and on, again and again, the whole room groaning with our movement, and us too, my whole body vibrating with animalistic noises and this cock, this hard rod that’s delivering me, that’s jackhammering me closer and closer to the edge. Until I’m there, on it, and he’s pulling my hair and the scream in my throat isn’t even mine and I can’t take it, can’t fucking take it, it feels too good, and we’re one final pulse, one release, one yell, one “OH FUCK, YES!”

And then it’s done, and we’re on the floor, curled up, breathing together.

And yet, we’re done but not finished. The rhythm isn’t finished with us just yet. Yes, it’s not Allan’s fault that his lips find mine once again, just how it isn’t my fault that my hands find his balls. It’s only natural that we start kissing again, that his tongue slips between my lips. Next thing I know he’s flipping me around and tracing my ass crack with his forefinger.

“Fuck are you something.”

His other finger is playing with my pussy lips, tapping my clit, slipping inside me, torturing me, tormenting me with how slow each movement is, how intentional. I’m groaning between gritted teeth, begging for more. While his one finger pulses in my one hole, his other finger nudges the other.

“More, eh?”

And then, finally, he picks up the pace, and at the same time he presses his finger into my other hole, farther. It feels weird. I tense up, and yet he picks up the pace of his finger in my pussy even more. On the floor, I’m twisting back and forth, hardly able to take it, and while his one finger jackhammers my pussy, the other burrows farther in my ass, until it’s almost all the way in and I’m tensing up, freezing. Allan stops too.

“What’s that, you don’t want to be dp’d?”

My whole body is throbbing with what it wants, with the urge that must be satisfied. And so, as Allan picks up where he left off, starts pulsing in my front hole and then the back, I can’t help the moans gurgling out of my lips. Back there, it feels weird, wrong and yet... if it doesn’t feel really fucking good too. And so, faster and farther Allan goes, while my body twists with this new kind of pleasure, this irresistible new rhythm. Until he’s jackhammering me and I’m wailing and his finger in the back is all the way in and then, as I’m nearing the edge, suddenly, he stops.

I gasp out, just as I hear the sound of something squeezing out, something liquid behind me. I turn to see lube a bottle of lube being tossed to the floor and then Allan shoves what I really wanted all along inside me. His dick slips in, and I gasp, tense up.

Allan pats my head, eases himself in a little more, then out.

“Want me to stop? You don’t, do you?”

His words are mocking, infuriating and yet, as I lie here, my whole body shakes with this new feeling, undeniably right. It hurts, but I like it. Need it. So, I shove my ass out farther, and he noses his dick in farther too. And now, there’s more pain, more pleasure, and I’m gasping for even more, begging for it. And so, he gives it to me, shoves his dick in more—until he’s all the way, and I am too, on the edge and howling for deliverance. With a few more thrusts, in and out, he gives it to me. A final ass slap, a final shove all the way releases me, has me crying out for Allan or God or the Universe or whatever thing gave me this release. I die and am born again. Allan’s not finished yet. Sliding himself out, he jerks himself for a minute, before he empties all over me, raining his hot cum all over my still-shaking ass. And then it’s after, and it’s dark, and we say nothing because it’s all been said already.