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Chapter one
Mindy
“That’s a wrap!”
I inwardly groan and slide off the bed to grab my robe. Chad comes up behind me, clasping his hand around my arm. “You were great today, babe. Wanna get a drink after—?”
“Not a chance.” I snatch my arm away. “And if you try that shit again, I’ll cut your dick off.” I turn on my heel and walk off the set. Once upon a time, this job made sense. I was young and wild, so why not make extra cash working on low-level movie sets? At least, that’s what I told myself they were. It sounded way better than porn. Ugh. EvenIwince at that fact. But for the record, I don’t do full-on filth. There’s no beggingBig Daddyto give it to me in nasty places while moaning until he fills me up. I’m notthatdesperate for cash.
I work in soft porn—because throwing “soft” in front makes it less sleazy. For the most part, I just have to pet and be petted. Simple as that.
“Oh, come on. You were feelin’ it.”
I flick him off over my shoulder. Chad has been pushing the envelope lately, and I’ve had enough. My contract states no penetration unless I say so—and Ineverplan to say so. But my contract is up in a couple months, and Russell, my boss, wants me to up my game. The problem is, I want out. Unfortunately, my bills tell me to stay the fuck where I am. There’s no way the income I bring in at my other job as a bartender is going to cut it when I’m drowning in debt with both jobs.
I tighten my robe as I walk past another set. Clarissa, who has no limits in her contract, is being twisted like a pretzel and pummeled from all angles. I cringe, picking up my pace.
I hit the shared dressing room and bump into Gretchen as she walks out. “Hey, girl. In a hurry?”
“Just need a shower to wash off Chad’s disgusting hands.”
“Ew. Is he being a creep again?”
“Again? He never stopped. And anytime I complain to Russell, he blows me off and brings up my contract.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“No. Not yet.” But I have. I’m going to walk away. I have to. Who I was when I started this journey and the woman I am now are not the same. My life is different. I want things.Realthings. A stable job. Someone in my life. And no man wants to date a woman who spends her days naked in front of a camera. I want a steady relationship. A cuddle buddy. Someone I can make stupid lasagna recipes I cut out from a cornyMarie Clairemagazine. I want to be domesticated.
God! My younger self would keel over in shock at hearing me admit that.
“You’ll figure it out. I have to go, though. I’m running late. Russell has me with a new guy and wants us to get familiar before we shoot.”
“Yep. Later.” I jump in the shower and stand under the stream, letting the steaming water scorch the feeling of Chad’s wandering hands from my skin, then wrap a towel around myself and walk back to the dressing room. My feet stall, and I almost drop my things when I see a large vase filled with red roses on my vanity. Chills spread up my arms. My eyes shift to the other women in the room. “Did anyone see who put these here?” The girls shake their heads. “Seriously? No one?”
“We’re not here to monitor your admirers,” Mary says snidely, returning to over applying her lipstick. Bitch. I look back at the bouquet. My stomach churns, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself as I walk to my dressing table, set my things down, and reach for the card, unfolding it.
I want you to spread for me. Soon, you will.
I toss the paper to the ground as if the words burn me. Uneasiness settles in my core. This is the third delivery of roses this month. Same creepy note. No signature.
Getting fan-mail isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but this…
Snatching up the card, I crumple it in my fist and toss it in the trash with the roses. Grabbing my things, I rush to dress and head out, gazing down at my phone. It’s almost two in the morning. I exit out the side of the studio, tugging my jacket tighter around me, and hurry down the alley, starting the four-block trek to my car. I walk through the now deserted parking lot, and a gust of wind rushes through me, forcing me to grab at my purse strap.
I’ve done this walk numerous times, but tonight, an eeriness lingers in the air. Picking up my pace, I slide between two cars and take a shortcut through an apartment alley. A loud bang sounds, and I jerk, looking behind me. A cat jumps off a trashcan and scurries between the dumpsters. My hand flies to my chest, and I release a deep breath. “Relax, Parks,” I console myself. I’m not a scaredy cat or someone afraid to be alone. The studio isn’t in the best part of town, but there’s never been any reason to worry.
Until three weeks ago. When the flowers started showing up.
I try to tell myself it’s all in my head. I’m stressed out, creating this paranoia. I’m broke. And if I don’t figure out how to pay rent next month, I won’t have a place to call home. Russell always gets what he wants. If I don’t give in to his demands, I’ll be out of a job. Maybe I can convince him to extend my contract until I—
A large hand ropes around my neck, pulling me back into a hard chest. A scream rips from my throat, only to be silenced by the hand squeezing over my mouth. Adrenaline pulses through me as I attempt to fight out of my captor’s hold. I kick back, trying to land between his legs, but he twists us, slamming my body against the brick building. “Please, don’t hurt me,” I plead, but my voice is muffled. He doesn’t reply. His mouth is close to my ear, his hot breath skating along my earlobe. He brushes the tip of his nose to my neck and inhales, smelling me. “Please, I don’t have any money.” My bravado slips, and a tear snakes down my cheek. I don’t know what he wants. Is he going to hurt me? Kill me?
He takes another breath and grinds into me, his erection thrusting against my lower back. My stomach churns. Bile threatens to expel from my throat. I thrash against him, but he’s too strong. He thrusts harder, smashing my forehead against the brick. Sick moans of pleasure fill the space around me as he grinds harder against me. His thumb digs deeper into my neck, and tears rush down my face. He leans in, and I cry out as his tongue presses into my cheek, dragging up my face and licking at the wetness.
Regret washes through me like a tidal wave. Why did I stupidly walk to my car alone? Why can’t I live a normal life and not be such a failure? I choke on my own sobs when the sound of his zipper lowering echoes in the alley. He maneuvers himself, his rough hand briefly letting go of my mouth, and grabs at my yoga pants to tug them down my legs. A hoarse scream rips from my throat, and he covers my mouth tighter. I catch the side of his palm, biting down, and he grunts and thrusts me into the wall. My head makes contact with the brick, making me dizzy, and I lose my grip on his hand.
“Hey—hey! What’re you doing? Hey—get off her!” a man’s voice comes from behind us, and my heart stops. My assailant freezes, his hand suddenly still, and then the coolness of the night air hits my back as he drops me and takes off.
