7
Penny
Maybe it’s the month solid being kept inside the King's clubhouse. Maybe it’s just my growing irritation with their beefcake leader that finally spurs my flight. Whatever it is, I rocket out of the front doors of the clubhouse the following morning as though hell itself is on my heels.
I'm as annoyed with myself as I am with Calamity. Annoyed that the kiss and small sexual liberty I was afforded had meant something to me when it so clearly hadn't to him. He'd been long gone when I woke in the morning, reaching over to find a warm body that wasn't there. I doubt he even heard my dumbass plea for him to stay with me.
I need to get out and clear my head if I'm feeling disappointed in him. He's my jailer, for Christ's sake, not my boyfriend. I try to picture him doing regular domestic things with me, and it just turns out laughable. Forget cooking together, I doubt he's ever held a knife except to stab someone with it. He'll stand out like a sore thumb at a movie showing, towering head and shoulders above all the regular joes with their dates. Maybe it's for the best that he's never going to be dating anyone because it's really not nice to let the average joes know they're severely outclassed.
I'm not allowed out without an escort. Nor am I allowed my bike. Kylie, the curvy prostitute who gave me my new duds the first day after my capture, flanks me on my right, while the tall black man, Malick, stays glued to my left side. They're so close I half expect them to link arms with me. What a nightmare that would be.
I'm not even sure where we're going, if I'm honest. I just know that if I don't leave the clubhouse, I will do something I regret. Like trying my hand at beating Calamity Gardel. Or maybe I'll just end up fucking him like I almost begged him to last night.
I'm ashamed of that moment of weakness, cursing myself for getting so overwrought that I cried. I've only done that twice in the last few years, and both times it involved my brothers. Cruz had tried to up and die on me after being injured in a shootout. And it had forced Kase to disappear with Gardel's daughter Brooklyn to keep the violence from escalating further. The fact that I lost it because Calamity keeps working me up and then leaving is just absurd. This has been part of my plan all along. Keep denying him until he gets bored and moves on.
The memory of his kiss burns like a brand against my lips. For years I envied other girls their magical first kisses because mine had been thoroughly underwhelming. Sex has always been a take it or leave it situation for me because it's always been something to get out of the way. An obligation I endure for the men I'm seeing. Because while I liked them, sex was always the stumbling block. I've never been able to get off with a man inside of me.
Until Calamity Gardel. How fucked up is it he can make me cum with just his fingers and tongue, when other men couldn't even do that much with their entire body? Even his kiss is phenomenal. The tug of his fingers in my hair sent desire throbbing straight to my pussy, as if I could almost feel what it would be like to have him inside me. He's a big, broad caveman, and I find it unfairly hot. I have only one defense to throw up every time my mind tries to wheedle me into capitulation.
He killed your father.
I let my hand fall away from my mouth. It always works. It's like a slap from my father himself for forgetting that he was murdered, even for an instant. And it fills me with shame to know that I'm enjoying being touched by his murderer.
I thankfully don't have time to think about it for long. My attention is almost immediately drawn to the deplorable state the King's side of town is in. The buildings seem dingier, and most keep bars on their windows. Unsurprising, as the Kings let their worst elements roam free to terrorize the populous. As we walk, I spy a drug deal going down in broad daylight, as if the threat of police action is laughable.
I know the Spades own a few cops, sliding them cash from the Casino to overlook some of our shadier dealings. But we don't sell drugs to kids. And there's no doubt in my mind that most are kids. The young man buying barely looks older than sixteen.
"Disgusting," I mutter.
Kylie gives me an unpleasant grin. I'm thinking her only settings are bitch and uber bitch.
"You think you're fucking better than us, huh?"
"IknowI'm better than you. The Spades don't get a kick out of selling drugs to kids."
That little smile drops from her face, and she regards me like I've just said the stupidest thing in the world.
"Must be nice to hand edicts down from that high horse, huh? Just because you had the means to start a legit business and skim money off the top that way. The rest of us have to contend with the real world, sweetheart. And drugs are the best way to make money fast when you've got nothing, hon."
"You can't, you know, get a job like the rest of us?" I drawl.
"Sugar, I've been a whore since I was twelve. It wasn't no pimp that dragged me into the trade. My daddy sold me to his friends first, and then to complete strangers. And most of the girls on this side of the line have worse stories than mine. It ain't one thing that makes us this way. So you might want to think about that before you run your ignorant mouth."
I want to haul off and slap her. I know the sex trade isn't so simple. I've helped dozens of girls get out of it. The best way to make sure that stories like hers didn't happen was to shut men like them down when they were found. Then make an example of them, so no one knew to fuck with the rules.
"Drugs ruin lives. And those kids are young. They'll never shake those cravings for the rest of their lives."
I know that from experience, too. I spent over a year abusing a prescription for Oxy after tearing my ACL in school. Even now, about a decade later, I still crave that feeling of utter peace that comes with snorting the drug. It sounds damn good right now when everything is so damn confusing.
Kylie snorts and rolls her eyes like it's just too much effort to argue with me. I don't pick at it, satisfied I've made my point. She can take it or leave it.
I finally decide that if I will be here, I might as well affect change for good. I could try to give some of the working girls on this side of the line options. So Malick and Kylie escorted me to the squat, depressing one-story building that passes as a library. It has two working computers, a few woebegone bookshelves, and not much else. I'm relieved to see they do at least have a reference section.
I make a note to see if there's a rehab center here. I'll have to make a hard sell to Gardel, but even he's getting sick of having me lying around the clubhouse all day. It's not like he's there most of the time, and even when he is, he's not spending the time fucking me, as he originally planned. I tug my lip between my teeth, considering if the favor is worth the price I'm likely to pay.
Would I fuck Calamity for a chance to put things right around here? Maybe. But I can't trust that he will give after he's taken. So I must start slowly with the bartering process.
My train of thought is derailed when I hear a sharp crack of sound and a pained cry. I rush ahead of my two bodyguards, leaving them both feet behind me. Malick lets out a surprised cry and barrels after me. I find the source of the commotion quickly, tucked into a little back alley. That arrogant biker that grabbed my ass almost a month ago—Liam, I think his name was—has a scantily clad blonde pressed to the brick of a little pawn shop.
