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So a few cosmetic touch-ups were considered maintenance. After all, what girl at the age of twenty could say she earned a high six-figure within months?
My mum was not only a successful Madam but also a successful businesswoman. Her elite girls had to be able to do everything because her high-end clients wanted more than just sex—they wanted a package, an experience. A woman they could dine, flaunt to the public, a woman who could hold a conversation. Then when they wanted, the girl was to open her legs or get on her knees and fulfil his needs.
I often wondered, was I heading to hell or was I living in it. Was a nightmare nothing but our circumstances—that we created? That living with our mistakes, our decisions—was that the true meaning of hell. Because most days, I felt I was in hell, ruled by the devil of money and expectations—the expectations that society cast on you, and the money you needed to live a lifestyle that your actions created.
I decided to spread my legs for a price, at the end of the day, so it didn’t matter if I got paid thousands, hundreds, or cents. I traded my morals for money. At the same time, someone on the outside wouldn’t know what I did, unless they knew me.
I did know.
So I could fool them that I was a functioning mid-twenties adult, but at the end of the day, I had to live in my mind, and my mind was nothing but chaos, ruled by dark demons where I continually asked myself,What the fuck am I doing.
Some days I wondered if I was mentally ill for the lies that others believed of me. Other days, I believed the lies that I told others.
But only rarely did I see who I really was. Right now, as I stared at the woman in the mirror, I didn’t know her. Her perfect make-up, constructed curves, beautifully maintained blonde hair. She even had a small smile on my face that never fell. I saw the woman everyone else saw. The only downfall was I was within her mind. I felt the weight of the lies—the dark, suffocating guilt of being a soul that did nothing but keep up a front. I watched the tailor-made mask fall from the woman’s face. And I watched as her eyes became mine. When I saw the ghost of my decisions, the hollowness, the crippling pain rise in my blue eyes, I felt a tightness in my chest.
I had always worked well with clients. Always kept a clear line between them and me. But that was before Ty. A cutthroat businessman. He was everything I was trained to entrap. The only problem was, he trapped me, not the other way around. In other words, his soft kisses, that charming smile and how he actually asked me questions, wanting to know the real answer.
In my head, I knew what we had wasn’t healthy. But I slowly began to believe that what Ty and I had was an affair more than a business relationship.
He’d hired out our usual penthouse floor and flew into town just a few hours ago. We had our typical dinner, and he was the only person in this world that felt like—he cared about me. I was in the middle of telling him that I wanted to step away from the business… the lifestyle. For some stupid reason I thought he’d encourage it, and hell, Ty was always great at giving advice. So I was sitting there in our bed after we just made love. I was bleeding to him, that who I was pretending to be and who I wanted to be weren’t the same person.
That was when his wife called. Bushing his lips across my forehead, he’d said the words that shocked me, “You’re good at your job, sweetie,” and then left. Just like that, his wife had called, and he’d left.
My heart was bleeding in front of him. And he just put on his suit as he called his pilot to fly back home while also reminding me I was in this on my own.
He went back to his wife, and I was left lying in a hotel bed. I was reminded every month when my monthly payment went in that what we had wasn’t love—it was a business transaction. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to believe he loved me or how soft his touches were. How, when he smiled at me, I would melt.
I didn’t even wipe the tears away. They just rolled down my cheeks.
I managed to get dressed, and I did the thing that was expected of me. I suffocated my emotions and went back into business mode. A client had cancelled their appointment, so I had to rebook the spot. However, I couldn’t stop thinking. Was it all forced? His laughter, the knee-buckling smile he gave me? I felt myself crumbling to pieces…tiny pieces.
I headed home, waiting for my client to confirm the next booking.
I was standing in front of the floor-length mirror now, getting ready to leave to entertain another client. The only problem was, I loved Ty. He’d stopped being a client to me a long time ago.
However, the truth was, the only reason I fell into Ty’s grips was because of Kobra. I loved him in a way that broke me, and when I broke, I went for the comfort of a stranger’s arms. Thus, I fell in love with a client. But was it really love? Right now, I was confronted by the truth… It wasn’t really love. I just needed someone.
Because I had tasted real love, and he intoxicated me. Love was smothering common sense from my mind, consuming me with an undying passion for his touch. What I felt for Ty wasn’t love. Love was pure and utter insanity. That was what love really was.
It wasn’t just the desire to be touched, to be held. No. And right now, as I stared at myself, it terrified me. Because if I didn’t love Ty, that meant I was still in love with Kobra. And all the men I had fucked believing I had moved on—meant nothing.
And just for a few moments, as I stared at the woman in front of me, I was beginning to see me, and… then there was a knock on my front door. My masked quickly flicked back up.
Forcing a smile, I turned to the side, walked to my front door and opened it as my gaze landed on the man who made me suffer these painful truths every few weeks.
Kobra Kincaid. And true to his name, he was painfully poisonous to my mind. In some ways, he drove the insanity away that I lived with daily, to face my conscience, and that scared the shit out of me.
He was a biker, and sure enough, looked as terrifying as a man that carried the name Kobra would. Now, there were clear rules when associating with bikers. Well, clear rules set by Madam—the only problem was I ignored every one of them, and I fell in love with Kobra at a young age.
Why would I want to be alone with a man who could terrify Lucifer? I don’t know. I supposed it came back to my self-destructing tendencies.
I didn’t know why, but when I stood in front of him, I felt as much a fraud as I was. Perhaps it was because he lived a life true to being who he wanted to be. I lived a life true to money, society, and the expectations of Madam.
He was stunningly beautiful and alluring, words you wouldn’t normally associate with a hundred per cent biker. But to clarify, his muscles defined his stunningly carved body, and his detailed cryptic tattoos were beautiful. The way the black swirled so beautifully into the grey, his skin was a work of art. Even though I knew most of the ink on his skin stood for things, I could never fully understate their beauty. As for alluring, well, that all came down to the look in his eyes, the sharp smouldering blue eyes, which claimed your ability to think straight and could see onto your soul—just with one look.
Kobra Kincaid cast a spell over me. In more ways than just making me see myself clearly. He fanned my wildfire of lust within me. There was a long list of reasons why I couldn’t act on those lustful feelings. One, we had a business relationship that didn’t involve fucking. He supplied my high-end clients with their drug fixes. He sold me the drugs that put my clients on benders. Essentially, he gave me another tool to keep my clients coming back.
So I gave him my normal smile and snapped out of the trance he cast. I pretended he hadn’t broken me years ago.
