Jagged Edge

Walking away from Jesse, a vise around my chest, I struggle to get my mind back into the game. I shrug off my jacket, tie it around my waist and run a hand through my hair, wishing I had remembered to refresh the black eyeliner.

But hey, it’s a toss-up anyway. Some guys like me looking pretty, others rugged. I’m pretty tall and although I’m skinnier than my height implies—and not by choice—I’m not a pretty twink.

Most guys seem to dig that, lucky for me. Especially the shorter, weaker ones. They like to break me, make me submit. Gives them a kick, I guess.

Whatever it takes.

Christ.

Cars roll by. Sometimes a window rolls down, a guy checks me out. Some women, too, but when they take in my nail polish and gayliner, they usually do a double take and drive away.

Fact is, I go with women, too. I don’t discriminate. Money is money, and I fake it anyway, so why not? I may be into guys, but not the guys who usually pick me up.

Predictably, though, women rarely stop. They have a good instinct for these things, as it turns out, even on nights when I’m not wearing any makeup or even earrings or nail polish, like I am tonight.

In fact, tonight nobody seems inclined to stop, and my thoughts wander back to Raine, how he appeared in the alley like an avenging angel, saving me. How he took me to his home, how his rough voice commanded me to strip. The sounds he made as I sucked him off.

The anger in his gaze as I left.

Curling my hands into fists, I bow my head and wish time would crawl by faster.

I wish someone would pick me up and stop this vicious circle in my mind.

Finally a car slows in front of me, a shiny new sedan, a brick-red Chevrolet Impala.

I know my cars. If you stand on street corners as long as I do, cars are practically all you see, and you have to somehow pass the time.

The window rolls down and the driver appears, a clean-shaved guy in a suit and tie, giving me a once-over. He’s okay-looking, maybe even handsome, th

ough he doesn’t hold a candle to Raine.

Focus on the work, Jason.

The guy is still looking, so I smile, push off the wall where I’ve been leaning, and saunter over to him. “Evening.” I put my hand on the roof of the car and lean in. “Wanna go for a ride?”

As it turns out, he does.

Shocker.

“Climb in,” he says, and I don’t need to be told twice.

“Sure thing.” I walk around the car as he unlocks the door for me. I slip inside. Smell of leather and air-freshener and the heater blasting warm air on my skin.

Nice.

At least I’ll be out of the fucking cold for a while, and the more I give Simon, the less likely he is to lose his shit again this week.

Fingers crossed this john isn’t into pain games, and I’m set.

Chapter Nine

Raine

“…and then I fucked a bunny with three tits dressed in a pink tutu,” Shane finishes and jabs a finger into my chest, hard. “What do you think, was that a good idea?”

“What?” I rub at my chest. I’m sure that jab will leave a bruise. “What are you talking about?”

“You tell me.” He glares daggers at me, and I’m glad the reception desk is between us. Shane is pretty scary when he’s pissed. “You’ve been,” he twirls a finger by his ear, “totally out of it for the past ten fucking minutes.”