Page 32 of Stutter

“What? No. I didn’t even know her entire story until a few nights ago – I… Christ, T.” I groan. “It’s all coincidental. She’s my student and there’s… there’s something going on here. I can’t explain it. I just have this feeling.”

“A feeling, huh?”

“You never had issues with my instincts before.”

“Is it true what the tabloids and the media said? She can’t talk? Violent? I mean I guess I suppose you wouldn’t have known anything about it. What happened to her happened around the same time as the Ackles- as yourhiatus.”

Whoosh whoosh

I decide to lie this time. I decide to lie wholeheartedly to the woman I used to stay up all night with planning and plotting, hunting and catching predators and sickos. “It’s true. Hasn’t spoken a word in over four years. But she’s not violent.”

“That may be her only saving grace. Keeping her mouth shut.”

I – again – pull the phone away from my ear and stare at Tasha's picture in disbelief. “So, the Four Seasons, Huh?” I put the phone back to my ear.

She giggles. “Yeah. Big fancy pants professor, you can afford it now. We’ll see you then. I’ll text when Tom has the info you need. Good night Mav.”

“Night Tasha. Night Tom.”

“Night!” Tom's overly cheery voice and the concern in Tasha's soothes something in me. Like I’ve been missed.

“Friends? We were yourfamily,and you threw us away!”

I groan, throwing my phone on my bed, and then flopping down on it. Fucking Jonas.

He had every right to not believe me, but as much as I wanted to deny it or stay away from it all, I want to help Raven or at least try to help her in any way that I can.

“Turn us inaftershe finds the answers. She deserves that, at least.”

He was right. She does.

________

I don’t know what I’m doing here. That’s a lie – I knowexactlywhat I’m doing here.

I could lie again and say I’m just here to make sure she’s okay. That she’s good. That Stephen doesn’t touch her inappropriately. That nobody drugs her drinks or takes her to a VIP room and she can’t shout “Stop!” loud enough for the bouncers to hear.

That’s a lie because I already know she’d never let anyone other than us fuck her. Something about that gets me ready when I step through the steel door of the old seven story red brick building that houses Inferno.

But I’ve been doing that a lot lately – lying to myself. I don’t know if I’ve gotten better or worse at lying to myself.

The lights flash, her body wrapped again in a sheer, glimmering bodysuit that barely covers her pretty cunt. Make up and small holed fishnet stocking up her legs, once again hiding her thigh tattoo, those glorious black and gold wings of hers, eyes hidden behind the black mesh of her mask, her movements fluid and in time with the music behind her large cage.

They’ve moved her. She’s no longer in the smaller one closest to the tables. She’s front and center. An upgrade, I suppose.

From across the room Stephen fucking Prescott sits back, captivated, clenching a fist on his wide-spread thighs, the other holds a cigar and a glass tumbler filled with amber liquid. I know the look in his pale blue eyes from across the room. Hunger. But because of the rules set in place by the owners of Inferno, he can’t do shit about it. I wonder if he would? If this were a seedy club where you could touch the dancers however you want, pay an extra five hundred and fuck her then discard her, would he do it?

Or would he treasure every moment of being in her lush body that was tailor-made for me like I did?

He takes her in like I am, every movement she makes, he’s watching. Calculating.

How many weekends had he paid the X amount of thousands of dollars for her to merely sit on his lap and almost flash him her gorgeous slit? But I’ve been watching her closely. She’s never let him take her into a room. Never let him touch more than is allowed, and when she’s in his lap, she keeps her hands above his chest.

Of course he’s calculating. He’s trying to figure out what to say, what to do to convince her to go into a VIP room with him. He’s trying to see how much more she wants for her time. He looks frustrated. Annoyed that he could have anyone he wants, say his name, and they fall on their backs, spreading their legs and yet this one… the one that won’t even talk to him… takes his money and walks away, every. Single. Time. Without a backwards glance.

I walk over to the cage keeper as soon as I see Prescott get up from his seat, but I’m closer to the keeper. I look at his name tag that saysJake. Gold hair and golden eyes, most likely contacts, are lined with kohl, his vest fits his chiseled body perfectly, and the smile he gives me is kind.

“Her.” I point to Raven, who’s rounding her hips side to side with the music, holding onto the bars as she squats down. I see Stephen with her, talking to her and she flashes him a wide smile. I grip my wallet and pull out a card.

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