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“Thanks,” I reply with a small smile, shaking my head slightly. “It feels so much lighter.”
Apparently, today was the day of proper makeovers, and with my new hairstyle and expertly applied makeup by the always grumpy Arturo, I feel stunning.
Jaime starts to open her mouth but the sound of approaching footsteps stop her. In a leisurely fashion, the girls take their positions and plant smiles on their faces in a move that’s become all too familiar.
It’s only a minute later when Mark steps into the room, his eyes moving around the room until they land on me.
Mark clears his throat. “One of the Masters has requested you,” is all he says and I feel what little blood is left in my face drain. I remember Jaime’s words when we first spoke.
“It's an in-between spot for some girls, home for others. A place where they’re groomed, brought into the life before they’re brought elsewhere.”
Where am I going without the others? My body feels frozen, rooted to the spot, and I don’t realize how much time has passed until Jaime puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Come on,” she says in a small voice, helping me rise on shaky legs. She turns me toward Mark and I look up at him. Giving Jaime a small nod, he takes my arm and leads me away down the hall.
* * *
I findmyself wishing I hadn’t cut my hair if only for the satisfaction of being able to chew on it. As it is, I wring my hands in my lap while I wait in the small, but plush, room. Unlike the rooms we sleep in or even the brothel rooms, these ones are clearly special.
A huge, four poster bed sits in the centre of the room with a few black couches in varying places around the edges. Wood-stain walls and a huge fireplace in the centre set the tone almost as well as the large X-shaped cross against the wall.
I was given another white dress like the one I wore the night of my audition, and though the room is warm, I feel cold as I sit there and wait.
“I work here all the time, usually in the general brothel, but sometimes for individual masters. It...it isn’t so bad, when you get used to it.”
I remember well enough Eli’s words too and know that he’s finally come for me like he promised so many times. Nausea rises in my stomach as I think of what it would actually be like to be r…
I can’t even finish the word.
Somehow, what happened before with Atlas didn’t seem quite the same.
I hear a low voice outside the door and almost pee myself. I’m petrified. The door opens and my jaw drops when Atlas steps into the room.
Even out of the fancy suit, his presence commands attention. A tight black t-shirt pulls across his chest, hints of tattoos peeking out the top. His dirty blond hair is wild and unruly to go with the scruff covering his face. Though I’ve never liked longer hair on men before, I can’t help but squirm at the sight of him, oozing masculine alpha vibes.
His expression is harsh upon entering. I watch as he looks me up and down, but rather than feeling salacious, I get the sense he’s making sure I’m alright. His expression softens when his eyes meet mine.
Pulling my jaw from the floor, I give him a tight smile from my perch by the bed. He closes the gap between us until he’s so close I have to look up to see him.
“You came back,” I say needlessly.
“I said I would.” The hint of the smile on his face soothes my nerves. His hand comes up and gently touches the edges of my hair.
“I like it,” he says, his voice quiet. I feel the tension deflate out of my body in a wave and actually release a small shudder as I drop to the bed, my adrenaline-soaked limbs finally failing.
A large hand grabs my elbow and helps guide me down. He sits next to me and I have to keep myself from rolling toward him on the bed. I keep my head down and feel my face flush as I realize I’ve spent days dreaming about this man, and now that he’s here, I have no clue what to say.
He came back.
Silence between us lengthens but somehow, it doesn’t feel awkward. Maybe it’s just me, but I imagine that we are both breathing steady for the first time in a week.
“Have they hurt you? Touched you?” he finally asks, his voice low. I look up and notice he, too, is looking down, as though he couldn’t bear to look at me while I answer.
“No,” I reply, my voice tiny. I clear my throat.
“No,” I repeat again, firmer this time. “Your friend Riot scared the crap out of me, though.”
Atlas whips his head toward me. “What? How?”
