Page 61 of House of Payne
What is the matter with me?
He’s a fucking mobster.
Getting involved with a man like that won’t end well, no matter the primal attraction between us.
I have no intention of ending up like one of the women in this establishment. I feel bad that some of them were coerced into this life, but it doesn’t mean I have to be one of them.
If the rumors are true, I need to put as much space as possible between myself and this establishment as soon as I can. Being here goes against every survival instinct, and each day I hear a dark truth about the place makes it harder to stay.
Knowing what I was getting into wouldn’t have changed anything.
Not unless a miracle could’ve gotten my dad out of this mess.
Nothing has changed in the weeks since my arrival, and the less I pay attention to the gossip about the place, the better.
You’re going to leave, anyway. You made a deal, and unless you can find a way to come up with that money, you don’t have a choice. Just stop overthinking it, and get the job done.
As I finish a final cursory inspection of the room, I tell myself it’s for the best.
Especially when I step back into the hallway and see a woman being fondled by two men. Her dress is up around her waist. One of them has his head between her legs, the other one has his lips on her neck, and a look of ecstasy is etched onto her features.
Her moans of pleasure follow me as I skirt past them and spill out into the main part of the room.
Miss Deveroux is standing behind the bar in her usual pressed shirt and skirt, talking to a man with tousled brown hair, bulging arms, and a tattoo on his neck. She glances up, and a look passes between us before I look away. A heavy feeling settles in my stomach as I lower my head and review the mental list of things I have to do.
My feet are killing me by the time things ramp up for the night, and the headache in the back of my head has spread to the rest of my body. I change into a pair of jeans and a sweater in the locker room, avoiding looking at myself in the full-length mirror. Then, I let my hair fall around my face and use it as a curtain as I step back out into the pulsing music that surrounds me.
Mason is thankfully nowhere to be found, and I sprint to the housing complex with only my thoughts for company.
In the comfort of my room, I perch on the bed and press two fingers to my temples.
When the silence feels like too much, I strip out of my clothes and step into the bathroom. While I wait for the shower to warm, I lean againstthe wall and dial Noah’s number. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. After leaving him a message, I hang up and dial my dad. He sounds distracted and breathless, and I end the call after two minutes.
Part of me appreciates that their lives are going on without me, but another part wishes they’d realize something is wrong.
You kept the truth from them to spare them. You know it was for the best. What good would it do to have them worried about you all the time?
In the shower, I scrub every inch of my skin until it’s red and raw.
As soon as I draw back the curtain, I blink at my reflection in the mirror and pause. Then, I touch two fingers to the glass and see Mason looking back at me. I run a hand over my side and down to my thighs and pause. With a shake of my head, I stop and turn away from the mirror. After I finish drying off, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and wrap a towel around my hair.
There’s a knock outside my door a few seconds later.
I cross over, fling it open, and peer outside.
Then I see the wrapped package at my feet and pause.
My fingers are trembling as I take it inside and set it on the dresser.
I’m not sure I want to know what’s inside, but after minutes of wrestling with myself, I slide off the ribbon and hold my breath.
Inside is a fuzzy, plush maroon robe and a few skincare products that smell like vanilla and honey.
Frowning, I reach for the note inside.
This is just a taste of what I can offer you. Use them well.
–M
