“It’s just a kiss,” I tell him calmly. “No big deal. I have a lot of other talents.” I reach for his cock again, although this time it’s not as easy at the first, my irritation getting to me.

He swats me hand away and suddenly I’m being flipped over onto the bed on my belly. He pushes down on me, pressing my face into the mattress. “It’s just a kiss for now, but the next thing I know you’ll be stealing my wallet and taking off before I even get laid.”

I don’t squirm. Don’t scream. Barely breathe. I’m not afraid. Not yet anyway. “Whoever did that to you didn’t work for Nyjah. We have rules there. Now just tell me what you want.”

He shoves on me harder, his hand on my back, his weight hovering over me and he leans down and breathes in my ear, “I want you to scream.” I feel his weight come down on me, his hand hitting me in the back of the head. It feels like my skull cracks and my ears start to ring.

“Mother fucker,” I curse, blinking my vision back into focus. That went downhill really fast. I try to slam my head back against but he dodges my advances. Fighting against his weight, I wiggle my arm out from under me and lean to the side, reaching down to my boot. I can feel the tip of his hard on pressing against me, one hand grabbing my hair, the other pushing me down and I know that at any moment he’s going to slip inside me. It shouldn’t be different, but it is. It feels twister and makes me feel sick to my stomach so mustering up every ounce of strength I have, I push upward, forcing his weight off me. My hand slides into my boot and as I roll over I withdraw my gun.

He’s about to lunge at me, but catches sight of the gun and stops in his tracks, kneeling on the edge of the bed near my legs and putting his hands up. “What the hell is this shit? This wasn’t part of the deal.”

Sitting up, I keep the gun aimed at him, hating that my hand is a little unsteady. “What deal?”

His eyes are wide and full of alarm. “My deal with Reagan. He said if I paid an extra five hundred I could get rough with you. He’s done it for me before with another woman.”

Fucking Reagan. His morals have always questionable at best and I’m starting to wonder if maybe this is why Nyjah pushed so hard for me to stop escorting—perhaps he knew this shit was coming. Maybe that’s where the date offer was coming from. Perhaps he knew this is what I’d be facing tonight.

“Well, Reagan never told me this, nor did I get any extra money to let some fucking pervert live out his rape fantasy.” With the gun still out, I move off the bed and reach for my dress. Tenner starts to move for me again, but I shove the gun against his chest. “You touch me and you’re fucking dead.”

He backs away, looking angry, yet terrified at the same time. “Stupid cunt.”

I tell him to sit down on the bed then I hurry and get dressed, keeping the gun pointed at him, getting more and more irritated every second. I should just leave but the bad part of me seeks revenge, wants to teach him a lesson, so instead I move toward him. “Hand me your wallet.”

He shakes his head. “No way. I’m not getting ripped off more.”

Rolling my eyes, I bend down and pick up his pants, searching his pockets until I find his wallet. I open it up and find a picture of his family. No shocker there.

“A wife and two kids, huh?” I ask, taking a thin stack of tens and twenties out of his wallet and tucking them into my bra.

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re going to pay for this you bitch.”

“No, I’m not,” I start to say, but then he’s springing from the bed and running at me. I move to shoot but choke up. The image of the tattooed guy I killed to years ago flashing through my head.

Kill him.

Protect yourself.

I can’t.

I start to run for the door, but he tackles me from behind and wrestles the gun from my hand. I open my mouth and scream, hating that that’s what he wants, that it’s probably turning him on. But I’m clocked over the head with the handle of the gun.

I see spots.

Hear Tenner laugh.

I fight to stay conscious, crawling across the floor toward the door, digging my fingernails into the carpet. But I start to slip away from reality. The last thing I see is the door swing open and a pair of boots appear followed by the sound of a voice I swear I’ve heard before.

Then I black out.

Lola

When I come back to consciousness, I’m still in the hotel room only I’m on the bed, lying on my side, a wet washcloth on my forehead. I slowly sit up, the room spinning, my head throbbing, feeling like I’m about to vomit. There’s a lamp on but other than that the room seems untouched. I even seem untouched, fully dressed, the gun tucked back in its spot beneath my boot, and I’m not aching anywhere between my legs. The only thing that lets me know I didn’t dream the attack is the bump on my head with a bit of blood caked in my hair, the red marks on my wrists where he gripped me roughly, and the pain erupting through my body.

Where’s Tenner? There’s not a signal sign that he was here, which makes me wonder if he ran or if boots did this to him. I don’t waste time thinking about it though, since the last thing I want to do is be here in case he comes back from wherever the hell he went. I get up and hurry out of the room, taking the stairway out to avoid running into people, trying to put together what happened. Someone came into the room, but who? Who the hell could possibly know what was going on? Were they there to save me? Be part of the situation? I doubt it.

It’s a cold night, the night sky clear enough that I can see the starts shining bright. As I make my way across the parking lot toward the corner where I can hopefully find a taxi, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to get myself to stop shivering. But as I move my arm around, I notice there’s something written on the palm of my hand in what looks like my red lipstick

“Don’t trust anyone.” I look around the area and over my shoulder, with the strangest feeling that I’m being watched. I’d seen boots before I passed out. Who did they belong too? And did they write this on my hand—did they write me the notes too?

Confused beyond imaginable, I find a cab and then dial Nyjah’s private number once I’m in the backseat and the driver is heading toward my apartment.

He answers after three rings. “Hey, I was just thinking about you. Look, I know things got a little intense this afternoon and I just wanted to say I’m sorry and that hopefully you’ll forgive me.”

“Am I also supposed to forgive you for sending me on a date with a sick pervert who likes to rape women.” I don’t mean to sound so bitter, but what if Nyjah knew what Reagan was doing.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He sounds shocked and kind offended. “What happened? And where are you?”

“In the back of a cab.” I slump back in the seat, glancing up at the cab driver who seems to be engulfed in driving. “Tell me you didn’t know about it. Tell me you had no idea your father set this all up.”

“Didn’t know what exactly? Lola, I’m going to need more to go on here.”

“That guy you sent me with. Tenner. He tried to rape me tonight and ended up knocking me unconscious.” I bite down on my tongue as emotions start to erupt through me. I won’t go there. Won’t feel the fear. “Said Reagan had something do to with it—that he told him it was okay. He even paid extra for it.”

He lets out a sequences of curses than I hear what sounds like glass shattering. “God dammit, I’m going to kill him for doing this.”

“You can’t kill your father,” I say dryly, pressing my hand to my hand as it starts to pound. “It’d be unethical.”

“Yeah well he’d deserve it.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t deserve the pain and guilt that came after.”