Though she wasn’t enough to get me out of my head. I’m no closer to forgetting that girl in the basement than I was before. She’s like an itch deep under my skin, one I could scratch until I draw blood but be no closer to satisfying.
At this rate, I’d bleed to death, but I wouldn’t be rid of her. The way she stood here, frank and brave. I’m no pushover, and I lost count a long time ago of the number of girls I’ve reduced to tears in this very office.
Not her. Not Rowan.
Goddammit.
You know you can’t do this. I’ve been a hard-ass all these years, insisting on strict adherence to the rules. I’ve been merciless when it comes to firing employees for even the slightest offense.
Years ago, I heard an anecdote relating to human psychology. It had to do with the decline of a neighborhood stemming from a single broken window. That’s all it takes to get the ball rolling. If that window goes unfixed, eventually, there’ll be another. A neighbor will neglect to mow their lawn, another will stop picking up after their dog.
I took it to heart. It’s how I run my business. If one person gets away with an infraction, that will only encourage others to be lax, show up late, step over the line,and become too deeply intimate with their customers. I might be an asshole about the rules, but this isn’t a business that tolerates the undisciplined.
Well, it does, but not in establishments like mine. More than once, I’ve advised an employee to find some backwoods stripper bar if she wants to act like a sloppy slut.
Here, we practice discretion, which requires discipline. It takes discipline to properly serve customers, as well. Taking them to their breaking point and beyond without actually breaking them.
No one can ever say I don’t treat my employees well. I’m not that much of an asshole. All things considered. I’ve even practiced generosity with Rowan. I’ll barely make a profit once her debt’s clear.
Instead, I want her to stop working. I don’t want him to put his hands on her, though I’m sure that’s already happened. He’s probably marring her unblemished skin as I’m sitting here. The thought makes me sick.
What sort of hypocrite would I be if I turned my back on the rules I’ve driven into the skulls of everyone who’s ever stepped through my door?
Do I care?
I’m out of my chair and in the hall before there’s time to convince myself what a completely fucked-up idea this is. Maybe the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Unfortunately, that’s not enough to stop me from taking the back stairs straight to Hell.
The bouncers waiting in front of the doors lining both sides of the long hallway stand a little straighter when they see me coming. This is hardly my first visit, but I don’t make a point of visiting Hell often. Special occasions come up every now and then, but for the most part, I don’t mix with the fucked-up kinks we indulge down here.
Even I have limits when it comes to what I can stomach.
Glen’s room sits at the end of the hall, furthest from the stairs. I eyeball the pair guarding the room, both of whom stand with hands folded in front of them, their backs to the wall. “I’m going in there.”
Poor bastards don’t know what to do. They know as well as I do what a massive breach of protocol I’m describing. One of the conditions of the job entails staying out of the room no matter what they hear. These aren’t your typical guys off the street who only think they’re hard-asses because they’ve been breaking legs since dropping out of high school.
“Boss, are you sure?” They exchange a look. “He’s not gonna like it.”
“Are you more concerned with what he likes or what I like?” My unblinking eyes move from one of them to the other. “Because you’re welcome to work for him starting tomorrow if that’s how you feel about it. Now open the fucking door.”
One of them opens his mouth instead of the door, but it’s not his voice I hear.
It’s Rowan’s. And she’s screaming.
“Now.” When neither of the useless bastards moves fast enough, I push past them and throw the door open.
What I see on the other side turns my stomach. She’s under him, spread-eagle, tied down and bleeding.
It’s not the blood that disturbs me. It’s the terror on her face, in her eyes when her head swings my way. Her face is slick with tears, eye makeup running down her cheeks and temples. She’s been weeping and screaming, and the sick fuck on top of her is the reason.
I adjust my cuffs, focusing my gaze on them rather than looking at what’s in front of me. I might do something I can’t undo otherwise. “There’s been a change in plans.”
He’s straddling her with the knife in his hand. “What?”
I make it a point not to look at the erection jutting out from his open fly. “We’ve had to change plans.” I gesture to the pair behind me. “Escort our guest to room four. He’ll find a new companion there.”
“But I want this one.”
“I understand, and I ask your forgiveness for this mix-up.” I hold his gaze, unflinching. “Naturally, we’ll refund you for the inconvenience. Your next companion is on the house.”
