Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

"Well?" the voice barked. "If I'm expecting you, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get your ass in here."

I followed the voice into a room that looked like a sultan's tent. Multicolored pillows carpeted the sand floor. A huge gilt mirror on a stand had been tilted at an odd angle--odd until I followed the reflection to the pillows.

Caesar Romeo perched on an ornate wood seat, so huge it looked like a throne. He was no taller than my five feet. His skin was wizened, and so darkened by the sun I couldn't guess his age or ethnic background. Beady black eyes glared out from deep-set sockets. A flame-red Afro, gold lame shirt and tight white leather pants completed the look. If I believed in goblins, that's what I'd peg him as--one of the pisacha from my mother's tales.

His gaze crawled up me, then down, as cold and critical as a matron eying a slab of beef she wouldn't serve to her dog.

"Turn around," he said.

"I'm not trying out for a part," I said. "I'm Faith Edmonds. Ned Baker sent me."

Romeo waved a hand and I thought he was motioning at me, until I noticed a man smoking a joint off to the side, who was giving me a much more flattering appraisal.

"Felippe," Romeo said. "Go. Shoot those bimbos giggling at the door."

"Should I give them T-shirts?" Felippe asked.

"Don't waste the merchandise. They'll be lucky if they make the cut."

Felippe stubbed out his joint on a brass urn and left. Romeo's gaze followed him, and he listened as his assistant offered the girls a "role."

"Hear that?" Romeo said. "They'll flash their tits on film for nothing but the honor of being ogled by men they'd cross the road to avoid. Teasing little bitches. Like all you girls. Can't resist flaunting it at some guy who doesn't have a hope of touching."

Knowing I had to play nice, I settled for a noncommittal shrug.

"You disagree?" he said.

"I'm sure that applies to some women."

"But not all?"

"I can't speak for 'all.' Now, Baker tells me I need to pass some kind of test--"

"I suppose you think you're better than those girls, don't you? Smarter. More dignified." His lips curled in what I presumed was a smile. "Or maybe just more expensive."

"Maybe. Now, this test--"

"I have a better idea. There's another line of tapes I'm working on, high-end videos for more discriminating customers who want something more...exotic. The kind of girl they won't find humping poles. That sound more your style, princess?"

"I'm...flattered." I struggled to get the word out. I failed on the accompanying smile, though. "I'd rather just take the test."

He leaned back in his chair. "What if we skip the video? You undress right here, stretch out on the pillows...amuse yourself for a few minutes. No camera. No audience except me."

There was no lust in his eyes. No interest even. He didn't want to see me naked. Probably wouldn't even get a rise out of watching me masturbate. He just wanted to make me do it.

I smiled as sweetly as I could. "I'm afraid I'm pretty shy. My upbringing, the culture, you know..."

I tried to read him for chaos thoughts, but detected only a swirl of low-level negativity.

"What if I said there wasn't a choice? Do this or I tell Baker you failed the test?"

The chaos level rose. I shivered, but found little pleasure in it. My survival instinct ensures I don't enjoy chaotic impulses directed at me, thankfully.

I met his gaze. "Then I guess that's what you'll have to do."

I started to leave. Benicio had hired a spy, not a whore. He'd have to find another way to get me into the gang.

Romeo waited until I was almost out of earshot, then called me back.