Gods of the Dead (Rising Book 1) (17 page)

The girl visibly pales, her breaths coming in short gasps that flutter her stomach in and out rapidly. “Six hundred?” she whispers to herself in amazement.

Marlow smiles. “Give or take.”

She glares up at him. She’s catching on to his game, but it’s too late. She’s shown her hand and she’s playing against the house. “How?”

“How what?” he asks innocently.

“How can I square the debt?”

His smile grows, showing his teeth. “Show me where they’re hiding.”

“No. Try again.”

“Are you giving me orders now?”

“I’m asking you to cut the crap and tell me the truth. I won’t turn them over to you so you can kill them, so how do I make this right? How do I pay off their debt?”

He sits back, relaxing as his smile fades. “The Stables.”

She laughs. It’s a short bark, loud and shocked and full of anything but joy. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s disappointing. I’m trying to work with you and you’re not meeting me halfway.”

“Halfway is not being a whore!” she shouts in outrage. “You’re giving me shit options.”

“Life, little Hyde, is a shit sandwich served cold. It doesn’t go down easy and yet it must go down. It must go on. Decisions must be made and just because they’re not pretty or desirable does not mean you can look away and they’ll disappear. Now you have a choice to make and while I understand it’s not an easy one, it still has to happen. I need an answer. Will you pay a coward’s debt from inside the Stables or will you turn the men responsible over to me and go free?”

Her chest heaves with deep breaths that pull in and out loudly through her nose like a bull getting ready to charge. Part of me wants to see it. I want to see her try, to see her tussle. I know she’ll die before she even gets close, but the fire in her eyes has my blood up. It’s infectious.

When she speaks her voice is oddly melodic, like singing. It’s throaty and full, but of what I’m not sure. Not at first. Not until I understand her words.

“I’ll work the Stables,” she chokes out. “I’ll pay my family’s debt.”

It’s loyalty. It’s the only currency I love more than coin.

“What’s your name?” Marlow asks her curiously.

She doesn’t answer. Instead she stonewalls him, her silence saying everything.

Marlow watches her calmly for way too long. The silence draws out so far I worry it’ll snap like a rubber band and sling back to slap us all in the face. The tension in the room is subtle, low, but alive. I can feel annoyance radiating from Marlow. Fear pulsing from the girl.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marlow finally tells her quietly. “The men will call you whatever they want.”

“I won’t answer them. I won’t speak to them.”

“Yes, you will. You absolutely will, and do you know why?”

“Because you’re forcing me to.”

“No one is forcing you to do anything,” he snaps, losing his patience with her. “I gave you a choice and you made it, the same way your gang made a choice when they entered my Arena. The same way they made a choice when they threw good money after bad. The way they tried to run from their mistakes. The way they let you stand trial for their sins, so if you’re looking for the hand that
forced
you into your situation, you can look to them. Not me. I’ve done you a kindness here today and you’d be smart to remember it. Vincent!” he shouts, startling the room. “Show the newest member of The Stables to her home, will you? Make sure she’s comfortable.”

I sigh silently, not eager to do Bennett’s job yet again, but I eventually go to stand behind her. I don’t touch her with my body, only press against her with my presence. She reacts to it immediately, turning on her heel and heading for the door to get away from Marlow’s eyes and my invasion of her bubble. Andy opens the door for us when I nod to him over her head and she storms out into the hallway. But it’s there that she hesitates. She doesn’t know where she’s going. She doesn’t know which way to run to escape.

I wait until we’re both out of the room, out of earshot, and I mumble to her, “Stables are upstairs. To the right.”

She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t do anything but stand there, and I tense, getting ready to chase her. But after a long breathless moment she turns right.

“Your name is Vincent?” she asks scathingly.

I fall into step just slightly behind her to make sure she can’t get the drop on me and turn to run the other way. “It is, but everyone calls me Vin. I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me your name.”

“I don’t need a name, I’m just another one of your whores. What number am I? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“You’re the seventh woman in the Stables and none of you are whores.”

She glares up at me. “Oh really? What do you call them then?”

I look at her evenly. “I call them by their names. If you give me yours, I’ll do the same for you.”

She looks away. “You bastards are getting enough of me as it is. You're not getting my name too.”

“Seven it is then.”

“Are you gay?” she blurts out.

I casually slide my hands into my pockets, my temper flaring faintly. I tamp it down because it’s exactly what she wants – to throw me off balance. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because it makes sense. Why would Marlow let straight men into his Stables? It’d be like letting a starving man into your kitchen.”

“That’s a good point.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

She brings her eyes back to mine, dark and round and so damn deep. “Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I stop by the door to an empty room, looking inside at the bare mattress pointedly before returning my eyes to hers. “Do you want me to prove it?”

She looks me up and down slowly, her eyes lingering on my hips where my bare body disappears from her view under the dark denim of my jeans. I don’t move. I stand perfectly still, my hands resting in my pockets, my feet spread to cast a wide stance.

Finally she sneers up at me, her face lined with open disgust. “Maybe later,” she says sarcastically.

I grin. “Just say when.”

Her body jolts slightly with a silent laugh, but she doesn’t feel it. It’s an act. There’s tension in her neck, a tightness to her eyes that tells me she’s worried. She doesn’t want me to touch her. So I don’t.

I nod toward the door. “That’s your room. You’ll be visited by the doc tonight. He’ll give you a thorough inspection. Make sure you’re healthy.”

“And if I’m not?”

“He’ll get you there.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart?” she asks dryly.

“Out the depths of Marlow’s pockets, so you’ll be expected to repay him.”

“How?”

I suppress a sigh, getting tired of this routine. “Don’t play dumb.”

She takes a step toward me, challenging me. Her dark hair catches the light in the hallway, shining so luminously it almost looks blue. “I’m not playing dumb,” she tells me, her eyes intent on mine. “I want you to have to say it.”

“You think I have a problem with any of this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

I close the distance between us, my hands still in my pockets but my body towering over hers until our chests are nearly touching. She’s dwarfed by my size and I can see a flicker of fear in her eyes as I close in on her, but there’s something else there too. Something warm and glowing. It’s that fire, faint but alive.

“The doctor will see to it that you’re healthy,” I tell her in a low murmur, my words vibrating the air between us. “It will be at Marlow’s expense because you are Marlow’s employee now. As his employee, you are expected to repay any debts incurred on your behalf. This includes medical costs, food, housing, and clothing, not to mention your other debts. Those will be paid first. You will pay all of these expenses by working in the Stables.”

“And by working, you mean?”

“Sex,” I answer clearly. “You will have sex with men for money and that money will go toward putting you in the black.”

“I could run. I could bolt right now.”

“And you’ll die if you do.”

“You’ll kill me?”

I step back, giving her room. “I won’t be the one to kill you.”

“Why not?” she scoffs. “You have no problem pimping me against my will, but you draw the line at killing me? How insanely noble of you.”

I chuckle. “I never said I was noble.”

“You’re disgusting is what you are.”

“I can see why you’d say that. Now go to your room. I have work to do.”

Her eyes dart inside the room, then back to me. “You showed me where it is. I’m good. You can go.”

“Get inside.”

“Are you going to lock me in?”

“Yes.”

She shakes her head, her eyes suddenly watery and wild. “No.”

I remove my hands from my pockets, letting my body unfurl until I stand broad as a barn in front of her. “Inside. Now.”

“No,” she whispers. “You already said you wouldn’t kill me. Why should I be afraid of you?”

“You shouldn’t be. You should be afraid of what waits on the other side of me.”

She swallows visibly, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth until it bleaches from the pressure. Finally she blows past me into the room, not bothering to flick on the light.

The door slams shut behind her.

Chapter Eighteen

Trent

My palms are sweating as we approach them. They line the streets. They moan and writhe, their eyes intent on us. Hungry. Some reach out and their fingers skim the fabric of my clothes. It sends a chill down my spine. It’s a tremor of fear that I try to mask but one is followed by another and I clench my fingers as they threaten to twitch.

“Hey, handsome,” a blond woman purrs at Kevin.

She ignores me entirely, her eyes locked on the man next to me with the warm eyes and thick build. All of the women in the Market see him and whether they know who he is from his repeated wins in the Arena or not, they’re glad to see him shopping.

A few eyes flicker to my face, to my eyes, before quickly turning away.

“You okay, man?” Kevin asks under his breath.

I nod my head. The movement is solid and decisive even though I feel anything but. I won’t admit that I’m having second, third, and fiftieth thoughts about this, though.

Kevin smiles at the blond who spoke to him, checking the sign on her tent. No rates are posted but it has her name and the gang she’s affiliated with. This girl’s name is apparently Crimson and she’s with the Elevens.

“Are you shopping today?” she asks Kevin.

“I am. Are you selling?”

“Always, baby. What are you looking for?”

“Basic cherry pop.”

She grins wickedly, her eyes roving over his body. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re a virgin.”

“Not me.” Kevin hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward me. “My boy.”

She looks at me for the first time since we stopped to talk to talk to her. Her eyes immediately narrow.

“No way,” she says, dropping the coy act. “Not gonna happen.”

Kevin gapes at her, shocked, and it shocks me that he’s shocked. This is pretty much how I saw this whole thing going.

“Why not?” he demands.

“He’s a freak. I can see it in his eyes. I’m not getting my ass kicked today. You want to get rough, you go talk to the girls at the other end of the road.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, now beat it.”

“What’s the matter, Crimson?” another woman, an older brunette, calls from the entrance of a tent next door. Her face is simple. Not very pretty, but it’s nice. Open and easy to read. “Are they hassling you?”

“No, we’re not,” Kevin tells her firmly. “We were looking to hire her but she’s not working today apparently.”

“Oh, I’m working,” Crimson assures him, looking at me with a sneer. “Just not for that guy.”

“What’s wrong with him?” the other woman asks.

“He’s a beater, I can see it.”

Kevin snorts. “How the hell can you
see
that?”

“Are you blind? It’s his eyes. He’s looking at me like he wants to kill me.”

“That’s just how I look at things,” I assure her calmly. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Well,
I
want nothing to do with
you.
”

“Fair enough.” I turn on my heel, eager to get out of this place

The brunette steps closer, blocking my exit. Her long legs carry her over the rough road with a surprising amount of grace that makes me pause to watch.

She looks at me critically. “What are you shopping for?”

“Sex.”

She laughs, her face surprised. I don’t know what it is about me exactly that surprises her, but it’s probably the depth of my voice. It’s bigger than my body. Fuller than it should be.

“I figured that,” she says lightly, “but what kind?”

“The first time kind,” Kevin tells her because he knows I won’t. I actually wish he’d stop broadcasting it to everyone we meet.

“Little late in the game for that, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been saving myself for the most incredibly awkward moment possible,” I tell her wryly. “This has been my dream since I was a little boy.”

Her smile broadens, her eyes squinting in amusement. “What’s your name?”

“Trent. What’s yours?”

“Crystal.”

“Amethyst is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?”

“Crystal.”

“What?” she asks, thinking I’ve said her name.

Kevin chuckles behind me.

“Amethyst is a crystal,” I clarify. “It’s a form of quartz. It has a purple hue. It’s my favorite crystal.”

“Oh,” she laughs, taking another step toward me. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it your favorite?”

“Because I like purple.”

“I like purple too.”

She stares are me as though she’s waiting for a reply, but I don’t have one so I don’t give one.

“I’ll do it,” she says suddenly.

“You’ll take him?” Kevin asks.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. If he wants to hire me.”

I glance back at Kevin. He looks at me questioningly, his eyebrows raised in query.

“What’s your rate?” I ask her.

“What were you going to pay Crimson?”

“A nickel.”

“Done.”

Kevin hands her the coin and she gestures for me to follow her.

Money is different now. Paper bills are rare and almost useless. They tear too easily, they get wet, they fade. Coins are the only real currency left unless you’re using something really valuable. Fifty and hundred dollar bills are still around, precious as gold used to be, but most of us will never see that much money up close. We deal in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, all of them representing their cash counterpart. A nickel now is what a five used to be. A dime will buy you ten dollars of goods and services. A quarter will get you twenty five dollars. A penny will get you punched in the face by a pro. No one values themselves that little.

As the woman walks back to her tent I glance at Kevin, wondering if I should tell him we’re calling this off. It’s getting real. This is happening and even though I want it, I’m nervous. I have no idea how to be good at this.

Steeling my nerves, I follow her inside her tent. It’s small and cramped even though it’s just the two of us and a mattress on the ground. She’s hung scarves of bright colors from the ceiling to dress it up but I think it’s more for her than her clients. Men don’t come here for the décor. They come for her body. One that she’s baring to me at that very moment.

I watch with rapt interest as she slowly lifts her shirt over her head. She’s not wearing a bra, most women don’t seem to anymore, and her breasts are out in the open for me to see. I feel awkward looking at them. I feel like I’m supposed to look away but that’s not why I’m here so I don’t. Instead I watch them move as she does, lifting and falling, swaying with a hypnotic beauty as she leans forward and lowers her shorts to the ground. That’s when I see everything. Absolutely everything.

I’ve looked at old magazines before. I know what a naked woman looks like. There is not, however, any comparison between seeing a women in a book and seeing a warm, living, breathing naked woman in person. Especially one that’s smiling at you.

“Crimson was right,” she tells me quietly.

“About what?”

“Your eyes. They’re intense. Like an animal.”

I look at the ground, relieving her of them. “They scare people.”

“They scare me a little too. But you have a nice smile and your eyes aren’t half as eerie when you use it.”

“How do you know?”

She steps toward me until we’re nearly nose to nose. Until I can see, smell, and feel her body closing in on me. She smiles up at me, her face unafraid. “Because you were smiling when you looked at me just now. Didn’t you realize it?”

“No.”

“Do it again.”

“Smile?”

“Yeah. I liked it.”

I try to smile for her but it feels forced. It must look it because she laughs.

“I don’t do fake emotions,” I explain, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Okay. Let’s go for real then.”

She takes my hand and lifts it. She presses my palm, calloused and rough, against her right breast. It feels strange. Her skin is warm and soft but what’s underneath is firm. It forms to my hand. It makes my breath hitch in my throat.

“There it is,” she murmurs, her eyes half shut and closing in on me. “There’s that smile.”

She kisses me softly. Her lips brush over mine, wet and firm, and I close that last step between us. I wrap my arms around her body. I pull her in tightly against me as I stiffen and ache eagerly. I let my brain shut down and my body take over, and it turns out that what my mind doesn’t know, my body understands. It wants to feel her, taste her. It wants to devour her and feel that heat she radiates everywhere, and the beautiful, perfect poetry of nature is that that’s exactly what I’m supposed to do. So I do it. I have sex with a woman for the first time in my life.

It. Is. Awesome.

Three minutes later and I’m on my back staring up at those scarves and seeing stars in their midst. I’m smiling a real smile, the one she likes, and I wonder why I waited so long to do this. It’s amazing. Everyone should do this all the time.

I roll my head to look at her, to thank her and ask if I can come back again. And again. And more than likely again.

The expression on her face stops me. She’s completely nonplussed.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She smiles quickly, covering the confused expression. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. That was fun.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“
You
didn’t like it.”

She laughs as she sits up and reaches for her clothes. “Oh sweetie, yes I did. You were great.”

I stand quickly, not bothering to cover myself. “Don’t do that. Be honest with me. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I wait. I watch her pull her shirt over her head then glance at me over her shoulder. When she sees my resolute expression she sighs.

“Fine,” she relents. “If I’m being totally honest, I would say it was a little… fast.”

“I did it too quickly?”

“If that’s how you like it, then no. It wasn’t too quick. It was just, I don’t know… efficient? I think that’s a good word for it. I’m surprised you had time to enjoy it.”

“What should I have done longer?”

She winces at me. “All of it.”

“I didn’t want to waste your time,” I say defensively.

“You paid for my time!”

“How much of it?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes at least.”

“So I have seven minutes left?”

“To do what?” she laughs. “Play poker?”

I kneel down on the bed next to her. “To get it right.”

Her eyebrows raise. “You want to do it again?”

I grin. “I want to do it every second of every day for the rest of my life, but only if I’m doing it right. So if we have seven minutes—“

“More like six now.”

“Then we better hurry.”

“That’s what went wrong the first time.”

I lean in slowly and press my lips to hers. I kiss her gently, taking my time. Tasting her and waiting for her to lead me. Finally she does. She licks a line across my lips and I open my mouth, letting her dip her tongue inside. Then her arms are around me and I fall back onto the bed with her straddling me. I give up control and I let her drive, let her show me the way and set the pace.

She goes slowly. She uses every second of every minute. She takes her time and she teaches me a few of the things that I missed, promising to show me more if I come back. I promise I will. I gasp and groan, gripping her body hard as it quivers against my skin, swearing over and over that I’ll come back.

I like the rush and release of my method. It’s exactly what she said it is – efficient. The shortest distance between two points and all of that, but by the end of my time – after six solid minutes of skin and sweat and painful pleasure – I can definitely see the merits of taking the long way home.