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5
CAMBRIA
The relationship I have with Abram is only getting weirder. He’s already coming on so strong that I have no idea how to slow things down. I need to lure him in more, ensnare him. If we move too quickly, he’ll get what he wants out of me and toss me to the side before I have enough evidence to ruin him forever.
If I lose that chance, what was this all for?
It’s been three hours since I was curled up under his desk, shaking and crying as I heard someone I had only seen once get shot to death. I don’t even know who got killed, which ruins my chances of having Abram convicted of accessory to murder. I don’t know anybody’s names or affiliations with him, and they’re criminals themselves.
It’s also not enough to point fingers. I tried that before, and it didn’t work. I need hard evidence.
As I walk back up to my apartment with a duffle bag of cash from work, I can’t help but feel like I’m going to get in trouble before Abram does. Even working for him, witnessing all this horrible stuff, feels like it’s going to get me arrested.
And even if the police don’t show up and take me away in cuffs, there’s the danger of being disposed of for what I’ve seen. Abram spared me once, seven long years ago, but that doesn’t mean he’ll spare me again.
I’m so terrified that I’ll be discovered, that Abram will figure out my motives and end me before I’m able to get to him. I should carry a gun, but how could I hide it when I’m paid to dance around in lingerie?
My fears abate a bit as I enter my apartment, arguably the nicest place I’ve ever lived in my life. The view from my living room overlooks the city, and the gentle snowfall catches the light from below as the sun sets. It’s eerie in a beautiful way. I’ve never been able to see the city like this before.
It’s even harder for me to feel apprehensive as I lay out all the cash I’ve earned. I need to count it still, but it looks like it could be at least five-hundred dollars. For an amateur, that seems pretty lucky. In my old life, that would have been half a paycheck.
Just as I lay the cash on my bed to count it, I hear a knock at my door.
Fuck.
My heart drops into my stomach as the knocking stops, then continues. Whoever is here is adamant about seeing me, and they know I’m home.
My legs shake as I slide off my bed and step cautiously toward the door. The knocking grows louder, as though whoever it is knows that I’m coming toward the door. I walk silently, my breath stuck in my throat as I turn the lock.
When the door opens, I see Abram standing in front of me with an expression of remorse.
I was expecting anger, but maybe he’s sad because he has to kill me.
“Um, hi,” I say, scanning his body language and failing to find anything unusual or dangerous.
“Hey. Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier,” he begins. “Can I come in, and we can talk about it?”
I hesitate. Is he talking about the spanking or the shooting? Coming to my door to apologize about making me witness a murder seems a little too casual.
But I don’t have a good reason to say no.
“Yeah, sure,” I relent, stepping out of his way as he walks into the front hallway. I follow closely behind, closing the door and scanning him again to make sure he doesn’t have a weapon on him.
It doesn’t appear that he does.
Would he kill me with his hands?
That seems short-sighted.
“Damn, looks like you really did well tonight,” he remarks as we pass by my bedroom. “Most girls end up barely breaking even after they pay their dues to the rest of the staff.”
“Mhm,” I reply curtly.
He enters my bedroom without asking, approaching my bed and leafing through the cash for a moment. “You could really be one of our higher earners if you stayed with us long enough.”
While the prospect is tempting, I’m in no mood to small talk with him. He came all the way up here for a reason, and I need to know what that reason is before I explode.
“So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” I ask, sitting on my bed and looking up at him expectantly.
