tes until I met some pervert that couldn’t get a girl on his own but had to pay for it. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t let Frankie down. He’d raised me and been there for me my entire life.
Every part of this situation was messed up.
When I turned eighteen, something switched. The responsible brother who’d raised me got mixed up with the wrong crowd. He was a shadow of the loving brother he used to be, but I couldn’t leave him. Mom died giving birth to me. Dad died in a car accident when I was thirteen. If it hadn’t been for Frankie, I would have been absorbed into the system. But at eighteen, Frankie took on the responsibility of raising me and sacrificed a lot. He’d gone to work full-time and gave up his football scholarship.
Then, when I became a legal adult, Frankie digressed to being a juvenile. Now, I took care of him. In fact, I’d been taking care of him for the last nine years. My twenties being nearly squandered away as I was nearing twenty-eight.
I had three jobs to try and keep up with Frankie’s gambling addiction. But, two months ago, Frankie got into some serious debt with a different loan shark. Apparently, he felt lucky that night and knew it was his time to shine. He’d been wrong, so wrong, and lost everything. Since then, I’d sold my car and all my possessions of any value. It wasn’t enough to cover the fifty thousand Frankie needed by the end of the month to keep him alive.
If we paid back the fifty, he still owed two-hundred thousand more. I wasn’t sure how we’d come up with rest.
How could Frankie do this to us? To me?
Becoming one of Discrete Encounters’ harlots was the only way to save his life. Of course, it was one of his ideas that Frankie heard from one of his gambling buddies. The job provided a means to earn large amounts of money quickly, since I earned fifty percent of what I made. We were twenty grand short of meeting the fifty and if I could stay booked, we’d exceed it. A shudder ran through my body at the thought of what I had to do to accomplish getting the money.
Sweaty strange hands would touch me. I would become cheap. A whore. Nothing more than a shell of who I’d been. The untold damage would never leave me, haunting me forever. Any innocence that remained would be gone—forever. I wasn’t a whore. But if I went through with this … I would become one.
Frankie sacrificed for me for five years and I couldn’t let him die. After this time though, I was done bailing him out. Hopefully, after all this, enough of my soul remained intact to gain some semblance of life back.
I was wrecked inside. Torn. Not knowing if I would follow the path of self-preservation or sacrifice.
Click.
My head shot toward the door and I drew the robe tighter around me. The modest lingerie felt like I wore nothing. The door opened and I knew I couldn’t do this. My heart went to my throat and I wanted to throw up. There was no way I could do this. I’d have to figure out another way to get the money. There had to be another way.
Standing, I wrapped my arms around myself. Whoever came through those doors, I would let them know I changed my mind.
I couldn’t do this.
To my surprise, the gorgeous man from Discrete Encounters walked in. An involuntary shudder ran through my body like before. On a molecular level, my body was driven toward him, but I remained in place. He was gorgeous with the bad boy edge, his bald head and muscular body.
With the same dark and brooding attitude, the nameless man locked his dark eyes on me and a shiver ran up my spine, which was the same reaction I had yesterday. We’d been so close in the break room and I couldn’t help the flirty side that came out, never thinking he’d be the one paying for sex with me.
The man took a step farther in the room, letting the door shut behind him. Knots laid heavy in my stomach as I took a step back, intimidation filling me. What did this man want with me?
There was no doubt he could have his pick of women if he wanted, yet he used basically a prostitution business in disguise. Regardless, I still needed to leave. I couldn’t be paid for sex. If only we’d met outside of Discrete Encounters.
“Maren.” That deep voice had so much authority laced within it.
I took another step back, fighting my response to get closer. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I can’t perform the service you paid for. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“Talking?”
What? Talking? Is he serious?
I was stunned into silence. Under his intense gaze, I felt urged to begin speaking. “I-I-I thought you wanted sex?”
Taking a seat, he watched my every move. He gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t pay for my fucks. If you want to leave you can.”
Was he serious? All he wanted to do was talk. Hesitantly, I sat on the green bedspread that was adjacent to the cream-colored couch.
“You only want to talk?”
“Yes.”
I watched him closely to see if there was any hint of a lie. There didn’t seem to be. Talking for money. For some reason, that still made me feel cheap. Maybe if I was dressed more appropriately, I’d feel less vulnerable. “Can I change first?”
“Yes.”