Not in this horrible room where I was a prisoner.
Not while Maslow watched from the bank of TV monitors in his office.
Not so profoundly isolated.
At least upstairs, I would hear the other guys rustling around. Opening and closing doors, occasionally shouting or taunting one another, the sounds of life. Here, the ragged panting of my breath had become deafening, and it frightened me.
I didn’t mourn either, because that would be acceptance, and I couldn’t accept this. I’d bartered my way out of Hell in the hopes of finding something better, but everything that surrounded me now was more of the same.
In Hell, the demons had hurt me then mocked my pain. They’d demolished my sense of autonomy, diminished my worth, and left me alone in the dark. They’d tried to ruinme, and these past two months on Earth had almost finished the job.
My thoughts were scattered, but one jutted out with edges sharp enough to cut: I would have been better off if I’d never met Beck.
Our relationship, if I could call it that, had only delayed the inevitable. It gave me a glimpse of things I was not meant to have and lured me into a lengthy denial. It tricked me into believing I was something more, that I deserved better, and I had a purpose beyond Maslow’s whims.
Without Beck, I didn’t.
I curled up on my side, sucking on my fingers while my tears soaked the bedsheets. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring myself to change out of Beck’s pajamas. Couldn’t respond to the knock at the door that preceded Darby pushing it open and then peeking inside.
“Hey, Cherry.” He sounded cautious, and I wondered what he knew. “We’ve been looking for you.”
He entered the room noiselessly, and I missed the click-clack of his usual high heels. His stage clothes were much more elaborate than what he wore the rest of the time. During off-hours, he traded his corsets and gartered stockings for velour tracksuits and babydoll tees. Today he wore white that matched his swooping curls and enhanced his umber-brown skin.
He made it only a few steps before stopping with a gasp. “What in the holy kink kingdom is this?”
I’d told him about it weeks ago, and I was surprised he hadn’t been down to investigate. When the club was closed, we were often at loose ends for activities, though Darby stayed busier than most. Between coordinating routines and planning set lists, he handled the work part of our jobs. Less mine since he didn’t know a thing about aerial arts, but hefound the most beautiful scores I could choreograph, which I appreciated just as much.
He crossed the room with his head on a swivel. I couldn’t interpret his expression, but I sensed a low pulse of lust as his attention hesitated on the glass cabinets and rubber toys on display.
His flicker of desire faded by the time he reached the bedside where he peered down at me, orange eyes creased with concern.
“Honey, what are you doing in here?”
I rubbed my face, but the satin shirt sleeve felt rough against my chapped cheeks. When I mustered words, they came out in a croak. “Mazzy took my room.”
“The one upstairs?”
I nodded while sorrow swelled up around me. “Said he needed it f-for storage.”
Darby’s gaze flicked over my huddled form until he asked, “Mind if I sit?”
My shoulders bounced in a weak shrug, but otherwise, I didn’t budge. I felt frozen in place, bound by fear, and buried in misery.
Darby climbed onto the mattress. Compared to the beds upstairs, this one was massive—one of the only things in the club that could rival the scale of Beck’s suite. He scooted toward the headboard, casting a curious glance at the built-in restraints, more puzzled than disturbed.
I knew he had more experience than I did. Probably more than anyone here. It made sense that he’d take all of this in stride, the way he seemed to take everything. It was effortless. And enviable.
Putting his back to the headboard, he sat against it, cross-legged with his hands in his lap. It was a relief that hedidn’t touch me. I was raw from Maslow’s assault and too fragile to handle.
A minute passed before he asked, “Where’d you go last night?”
I’d expected to answer that question from our boss, but the wraith hadn’t seemed to care where Beck and I had gone or what we’d done. He’d said as much. Didn’t mind if Beck prostituted me on a street corner as long as he paid for the privilege.
“Beck took me.” My voice scraped against the grit in my throat. “He… bought me. For a day.”
Darby gave a low whistle. “That must’ve set him back a pretty penny. Mazzy’s tight with his own money but loose with everyone else’s.”
He sounded proud, and that felt wrong. It gave credence to Beck’s suspicion that I had conspired with Maslow somehow. Taken advantage of him.
