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Now I have to save my brother from getting his limbs chopped off by some mobster … and then I’ll figure out what to do next after that.
It's scary. I want to have a better plan. I do. But I have no idea what that plan is yet.
Those thoughts make me stop walking right here on the stairs, and I can’t breathe for a second.
But I think of my brother, and I know that if he's ruining his life, unable to stop making these terrible decisions, or get a hold of his addiction, then I'll get him free of at least his debts with the only currency I have. I work hard to be an independent woman, but in the end, it comes down to the fact that I'm still a woman. I need to use that rather than ignore it, because if Giancarlo accepts my virginity in exchange for my brother's debts at Giancarlo’s Wicked Paradise Casino, then I can turn this awful reality into something good. It just takes one vile act.
It's despicable to offer my body up for payment. An exchange of parting my thighs for a pardoning of a debt? I can’t keep gripping my steering wheel this hard because I'll squeeze it off. I hate to drive angry. Driving is supposed to be the calming activity that I do every day, and now, driving over to Wicked Paradise, I’m ready to explode with all the fury burbling in my belly.
I wonder if my brother fell apart one bad choice at a time.
Even if this leads to my own downward spiral, it's my choice to take this chance. I have to try and save my brother. He matters more to me than myself. I grip the steering wheel hard, this time because I’m parking and steeling myself for walking into the Wicked Paradise Casino. I breathe deep my last breath as a free woman.
Lucy
When I stroll inside the casino, it isn’t hard to find him. Some people like to be the center of attention, and that must be the case with Giancarlo Sandoval. I spot him instantly. Undeniably, that’s him.
That breathtaking jawline, those sharp features … he’s older, but age has done nothing to make him less attractive. I can’t imagine a younger version of him being any more attractive than he is now. He’s got a single gray streak in his dark, tousled hair that accentuates how sexy he is.
I have to take a moment to appreciate his face. Giancarlo is a wicked man, but his face is a thing of beauty. The lines on his face aren't etchings that mar, they're character that adds to the carved-from-marble look he has. I bet his body, obviously fit beneath his suit, is just as David's Michelangelo. Really, his whole body is worth looking at an extra second or two.
Fuck, I'm trying to keep my cool, and I'm looking at his soulful, too-charming eyes, and his devious come-fuck-with-me-I-dare-ya grin.
I shouldn't be attracted to him. Mostly, he repulses me. So just looking at him now, in person and not the pictures of him online, I shouldn't be having this strong of a reaction to him just because he’s attractive. I’m not the kind of girl to care more about looks than anything else. Giancarlo may be attractive on the outside, but it's the inside that would — and should —count, and make me interested in him. The kind of man who would take me up on this offer—and there's no doubt that is the kind of man that Giancarlo is, which is not a man who I can be attracted to.
The concept of owning someone's virginity is disgusting. The idea that this is my only power as a woman because I have no money, no fancy job, and not even a completed nor fancy education, is despicable.
Right now, Giancarlo is a demon to me. Handsome and distracting and willing to take a piece of my soul … I hope. That’s not the sort of thought you have about a good man. That’s the sort of thought you’d expect to have about a man who owns a casino called Wicked Paradise. He looks devilishly good and he's oozing charm, but it's people like him who will do anything, take anything, and have anything, and that means we can't play by the nice rules of a pleasant society. He's good at being a shady bastard, but he's far from the only shady bastard. Men like him rule in every office, on every street, and on the board of every big company.
I'm a small person of no worth except that I have a pussy that hasn't been entered by a man.
So instead of bemoaning these facts, or begrudging his attractiveness, I have to stay focused.
Still, my mind wants to wander, stalling me so that it feels like my heels are literally dug into the plush carpet of the casino. As close as I’m standing, just a few tables away, I'm going to have to approach him soon anyway.
Scanning the room, I see women wearing outfits that resemble my own, except their outfits are several shades stronger than what I've attempted to pull off. Their heels are higher than mine. Their tops are cut much lower. Their makeup is more dramatic. I wonder if I’m doomed to fail because I didn’t quite dress the part. I can’t attribute this colossal failure on making myself up to not having a mother during my teenage years … I've completely avoided any dating whatsoever. It occurs to me that I’ve never found a man who I’ve wanted to fuck.
Looking at Giancarlo makes my stomach heat in a way that I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know what to think about that. Is my body trying to cope with this horrible ordeal I want to put it through? Even if an experienced lover like Giancarlo Sandoval takes my virginity, the mental toll of having sex with him is of course a frightening prospect.
I wonder why, then, I’m a little bit excited by the idea now. It must be because he’s attractive. But that’s so shallow! I think, as I’m watching him so intently now, it's because I recognize something in him. I recognize it because I feel it, too.
Giancarlo Sandoval looks like he wants to be absolutely anywhere but in Wicked Paradise. Oh, I can agree.
I wonder why he feels that …
But I don’t want to think about that. Making him human makes me more terrified. If he’s another person in my mind, then I have to fathom why he’d be willing to accept my offer. Yes, even though I want him to, it still isn’t pleasant.
I don't have to wonder why I've never met a man I wanted to fuck. I'm happy to be a virgin because I don't have the time or desire to deal with any of the fucked up things in this world.
The only man I love is my brother, Tommy, and he's falling apart in front of me. Other people I've had in my life—so-called friends—called me weak when I said that my brother just needed help. Because we have no family and I'm all he has left, I have to be stern with him. It's no excuse for his behavior. His gambling, alcohol, and drug addictions are the reasons behind his actions, but they don’t remove him from needing help. They don’t erase his humanity, as if him making those choices invalidate his right to being healthy and happy. Tommy’s just having a much harder time getting there, and he needs help. If I knew what to do to help him, I would've done it. I've tried so many fucking times to do just about anything that I can think of. My friends all fade away because they think
I need to cut him from my life.
How can anyone be so callous?
So many people are ready to feel high and mighty above Tommy.
This is why I have a hard time connecting to people. I can’t relate to how shallow people can be, how completely devoid of empathy. Haven’t they ever loved someone so much that they’d love them unconditionally? Why is it so difficult for them to understand that when you love someone, you aren’t condoning all of their actions … you just love them regardless.
