Riot

I jump off the bed and gather up the bondage rope and the condoms, stuff everything back into the boxes, then grab my clothes and pull them on, so pissed off I almost rip my shirt.

Yeah, then what? What will you do, huh? Say she’s lying? Why should they believe you? So you’ve worked with them for two years, and that should count for something, but not with the new boss of the agency who doesn’t know you and doesn’t much like you, either.

And what about payment? What the hell...I doubt I’ll see a single cent.

Just your rotten luck this should happen now. With payments due. With ghosts from your past waiting right around the corner to have your ass.

Christ. What a clusterfuck.

I shove the boxes into my pockets and try one last time. “Paxtyn…”

She’s hunched over on the bed, her shoulders shaking. Jesus. I take a step toward her. “Hey, let me try again, okay? I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, I swear. I’ll stop whenever you want.”

She says nothing, so I forge on. “You know, maybe we could start slow, like I told you. Slower. Go out, have a drink, hang out at the movies or something. So you can relax. So you can see I won’t hurt you.”

This time she shakes her head, her long hair dancing on her back. “I said get out. Leave me alone.”

“Fine.” I clench my teeth against the string of curses that want out. “Goodbye then.”

With one last look at her tear-streaked face, I zip up my jacket and go. Nothing else left to do.

Chapter Three

Paxtyn

Oh God, what a mess. Corey was right, this was as stupid as it could get. Why did I think I could relive that night and change it? Fix it?

Fix myself?

Curled up on the bed, I let the tears flow, soak the quilt. I thought I could do it. Thought I’m so much better now at managing the horror of the memories, the panic they bring.

It was so similar to what happened: my hands tied over my head, his hands on me, the slap, and yet so different.

I mean, I didn’t ask him to cut me with a blade like it happened in my memory, the small wounds leaving scars on my hips.

And God, I enjoyed it at first. Riot’s so handsome...I was excited. My body ached to be touched by him. I wanted him.

Not different enough, though. Not enough to keep the lid on the memory. And that’s how I planned it, that’s how I wanted it. I wanted to relive it so that I could get over it.

But instead I only sank back into the fear and despair until I thought I was dying.

God, Riot. I sit up, scrub my hands over my face. Not his fault, all this. Jesus, I treated him like crap. Not so proud of myself right now. Made him do things he didn’t want. He didn’t like slapping me, I could read it on his face, in the way he held himself so stiffly.

On the surface the scene I recreated was similar to the one I lived through, but below it was the opposite: it was me forcing something on an innocent. And that wasn’t empowering.

Not at all. It’s left a bad taste in my mouth. Shame washes through me. Not only because I asked him to tie me up and touch me, because I bared myself to him as if I do this often, with random men, no. Not just that.

I screamed at him, sent him away—let it be understood I’d call his agency and not pay him—when all he did was do as I told him.

Christ, Pax. When did you turn so cruel, only thinking of yourself?

Shivering, I throw my legs off the bed and go in search of my clothes. I find my panties and dress on the floor and pull them on with shaky hands. I should go after him, see if I catch him before he leaves. Explain.

I stop in the process of zipping up my dress. What am I thinking? I can’t tell him. That’s crazy.

Shit. I sink down on the bed, put my face in my hands. I swore I wouldn’t talk about it. Took the money. Didn’t realize back then how this would haunt me, how it would ruin my life.

And besides, why would Riot want to know? He only wants his money. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him. He was here for a job, and he upheld his end.