Page 20 of Save Me
For those few minutes, nothing else matters – not the danger lurking on my phone, not the offers of power, not the haunting past. It’s just skin on skin, breath on breath, the most honest conversation our bodies could have.
Harry presses his forehead to mine as we come down from the high, panting against each other. “Good?” he asks, voice husky with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
“I want more.”
“Soon,” I promise. “I need to try to sleep after this day.”
Reluctantly, he agrees and turns the shower off, helping me out and drying me off. He settles me in bed and kisses me, flicking the light off before he leaves. I stare at the dark ceiling for a few moments before I snatch up my phone and play the last video again, trying to figure out when, where and by whom it was taken. But all it is, is me, topless, my breasts bouncing around with my skirt up my hips, as I service a client so I can pay my landlord and buy food.
“Fuck,” I mutter as tears prick my eyes. “Fuck!”
7
VOGUE
After five hoursof trying to sleep, I’ve come to the conclusion there is only one recourse. To dial the number to find out who the fuck this is that is, I assume, trying to blackmail me. But for what? I don’thaveanything.
Staring at the breaking dawn from my bedroom window, I dial the number, holding my breath as it rings, not caring what hour it is. If you’re going to threaten me, you’ll get what you get.
It rings.
Once, twice, then a click.
“Who the fuck is this?” The voice is rough, like gravel in a blender.
I’m guessing this asshole was flat-out asleep if he didn’t register my number flashing up.
“It’s Vogue Jameson.” I keep my tone steady, fighting the twitch in my fingers to hang up.
A pause and then a chuckle.
“Vogue. Figured you ring before now. Been a while.”
Frowning, I try to place his voice, but I’m coming up blank.
“Listen, we need to talk. In person.”
“Sure thing, sweetie. You know where to find me.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Same place as always.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” I spit out.
“Oh, ouch, baby. That stings. But I guess I wasn’t your only client, so there’s that. Tell you what. Meet me behind Al’s at eight. For old time’s sake.”
I grimace. That was where I picked up the guys I sold myself to.
“Fine.” I hang up, my hands shaking.
I get dressed quietly in joggers, trainers and a long-sleeved tee, pulling my jacket on and pocketing my phone and purse. Picking up the still-bloodied knife, I rinse it off under the bathroom tap and then shove it on the back of my joggers. Then I stop and wonder how in the fuck I’m going to make my great escape. I can’t have the guys tagging along for this meeting, and I sure as fuck know that as soon as I set foot outside this door, Quen will be on me. He’s been keeping his distance for the last couple of days, but he isn’t about to stick to the sidelines for a second longer. I could see it on his face last night when I went off with Thayer.
Opening the window, I peer down to the ground. We are three floors up. I can’t jump, but I can climb down something. A sheet? Fucking hell. This is ridiculous. But necessary.
I strip the sheet off the bed, twist it up like I’ve seen in the movies, and then tie one end to the handle on the window. Shoving the other end through, I climb out, perched on the windowsill as I hold the sheet in a death grip.
