No answer.
What the hell happens now? I just stay here until someone finds me? Until someone else needs the room to fuck?
A knock sounds, and the hostess walks in. “Hello again, Talon.” She unbuckles my cuffs and checks my wrists, smiling. “Good time?”
“Best night of my life,” I say, and it’s not a line. It’s the truth.
Because for once, I didn’t have to be in control.
Chapter Three
TALON
I wake up slowly,like my body’s finally calm but my brain’s still running laps. The sunlight spilling through the blinds makes everything too bright. The room smells like leftover cologne, and when I stretch, something in my back pulls tight. My skin still feels warm in the places her hands touched.
For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself Saturday night didn’t mess me up the way it did. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A release. Nothing more.
But then I shift, and the faint sting where she swatted me with the crop reminds me it was real. Proof she existed. Proof someone finally saw me.
“Get it together,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
I roll out of bed and hit the shower, hoping the water will rinse her out of my head. It doesn’t. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there; the sharpness of her voice, the way she told me to breathe, the quiet smile when I actually listened.
When I step out, the mirror’s fogged over, but I swipe a hand down the glass and study myself.
My hair’s a mess, dark and still dripping. A day’s worth of stubble, a few faint marks across my collarbone—leftovers from a regular hookup back at boarding school. Graduation night, too much whiskey, too many goodbyes. Easy. Forgettable. The kind of thing that used to make me feel something. The ink on my chest catches the light, all black leaves and wings curling up my shoulders.
I grab my glasses from the counter and slide them on; the world snaps into focus.
I smirk at my reflection and mutter, “You look like trouble.”
Black jeans. Tank top. Silver ring. The same necklace I’ve worn since I was fourteen, when my dad gave it to me. No point in dressing up when all I’ve got to my name is a dorm room the size of a closet and a reputation that won’t die.
By breakfast, I’ve already checked my phone three times, like Velvet House might somehow text me to say she asked for me again.Stupid.
A ping breaks the silence.
Mom: Make sure you’re enrolled full-time this semester. Passing grades, Talon. Those were the rules if you wish to stay in town and see your sister when she’s home on breaks.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark. My chest tightens.
Right. The deal.
Behave. Study. Stay out of trouble.
I shove the phone in my pocket and grab my keys.
“I’m not going back,” I tell myself. “One night. That’s all.”
It sounds convincing until I catch my reflection in the window of my car—eyes shadowed, jaw tight—and I know I’m lying.
I try to shake it off and do something normal. Coffee. That always helps.
7 Brew is already packed when I pull in, cars lined up around the building, people hanging out their windows to flirt with the baristas. The speakers are blasting some overplayed pop song that makes me feel about a hundred years older than I am. I roll down the window when it’s my turn, give the girl working the drive thru my order.
“Medium Sweet and Salty,” I say. “Extra shot.” I pull up to the first window and get ready to pay.
She grins as she slides the window open. “Rough morning?”
