Raw (30 page)

He blinks a moment before nodding his understanding and jotting down his directions. I see so much of myself in this kid that I feel something for him. Something almost paternal.
 

Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Kid, the only time I’d ever put my hands to a woman,” I smirk at his sudden look of interest, “is if she begged me to.”

Stepping closer, he looks behind him at the open door before leaning closer and whispering, “D-does that happen a lot?”

Lord only knows what Ling made him do.
 

Steeling my face, my jaw tics as I answer, “No. That isn’t something you see often. But yes, some women like that.” Wanting to punch myself in the face for using a label, I explain in a way he can understand better, “It’s not what’s considered normal though.”

Nodding once more, I switch my attention to my computer screen and wave an arm his way. “Dismissed.”

Sounding panicked once more, he states on a rush, “But you still haven’t given me anything to do!”

“Get me some coffee. Make it strong and sweet with a dash of milk.”

He rushes off to do that and I smile to myself. He’s eager to please. He’s polite. But he’s still street. I really like Michael. He’s everything I was before the world made me the bastard I am today. My only want for this boy is for his story to end differently from the way mine will. I want his story to be fairy-tale happy, not a drama.

Lost in thought, Michael returns with my coffee. Standing, I meet him around the desk, take the mug from his hands, and sip. Mock-coughing, I sputter, “The hell did you put in this?”

The look of horror on his face makes me laugh out loud. Chuckling, I clap him on the shoulder, “It’s perfect. Relax Michael. You did good.” Breathing heavily, he nods, and my smile falls away. I tell him honestly, “Relax, Mickey. You’re safe here.” Never having stopped nodding, he continues to do this as I ruffle his hair and push him away, “Find Happy and get to work, knucklehead.”

If I had a kid like Michael, I’d make sure I taught him right. He’s good people.

He trudges away, dragging his teenage sneaker-covered feet, and something strange happens.

It takes me a minute to process the occurrence.

The awkward and unwelcome feeling of happiness washes over me. It feels rough and uncomfortable.

I don’t know if I like it. Yet.

What I do know, is that I continue to work all day with a small smile on my face.

Facing my computer screen, I hear a slight knock at my office door.

A bored voice asks, “You wanted to see me?”

Ling.

Without looking at her, I jerk my chin and grunt.

Closing the door behind her, she comes forward and sits in the guest chair. Already on the defensive, I spot her tight posture and rigid jaw. I ask her, “You have fun today with the boy?”

As if she’s researched the facts – which no doubt she has – she fires off robotically, “Michael is seventeen. It’s not against the law. He’s above the age of consent in New South Wales. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ling is hard to deal with. Like me, she has skewed view of right and wrong.
 

“No. You’re right. It’s not illegal. Just immoral and unethical. Not to mention, you doing what you did at
work
.” Leaning closer to her, my eyes dart into hers. “And telling him I’d be angry at him if he didn’t fuck you is coercion. Coercion is almost as bad as rape in this state. Threatening him is most definitely illegal, and I don’t need that kind of trouble, Ling. You’re bringing me a shit storm. I can feel it.”

Looking at nothing in particular, she sighs, frustrated. As if
I’m
a pain in
her
ass.

My anger wells.

“You’re no better than your father. Or your brothers. You’re just like them.” Her jaw steels; her eyes blaze. I continue, “You gonna groom the boy like they groomed you? Fuck him until he can’t see the wrong in it, then sell his body to every pedophile in Sydney? That your plan?”

Jumping up, she screeches, “Fuck you!
Fuck
you, Twitch! I am
nothing
like them.”
 

Shaking, she reaches up and fists her hair harshly. Letting out a pained wail, she hollers, “They did things. They did things to me. I was just a girl. I didn’t know!” Still pulling her hair, she whispers, “My family did bad things to me.”

Seeing Ling fall apart is not something I like to see. She’s so strong, but with one mention of her family, she falls apart. They damaged her. Much like my family damaged me.

We get each other.

Mascara-soaked tears run down her cheeks as she trembles in anger. Walking around my desk and placing my hands on her hips, I pull her towards me. “I know, LingLing. It wasn’t your fault.”

Sniffling, she whispers into my neck, “You saved me.”

She calls it saving; I call it gaining a ruthless employee.
 

Ling was working the streets when I found her. She was high when she approached me on a night out, and when I refused her advances, she pulled a knife on me. Not even as a threat. The stupid bitch was so fucked that she actually attempted to slit my throat while trying to grab my wallet from my pants pocket.

I had two choices.

Kill the bitch.

Or employ the bitch.

I chose the latter. She came to live with me. I forcefully detoxed her and hired a nurse to watch over her for a month. After that time, she was partly-human again. The first words Ling ever heard come out of my mouth were, “You owe me.”

I fed her, gave her shelter, and dressed her up in the finest brands.

And she was grateful.

She showed me almost any time she could just
how
grateful she was.

Never bothered me. Not until recently.

Ling is a self-confessed sex addict. I tried to get her help once. Once.
 

Then I found her eating out Dr. Laura McCullough.
 

The doctor was kind enough to suck my cock as I watched her get licked six ways from Sunday. Although it was hot, I never took Ling back there.

Ling pulls away from me. “You son of a bitch. Don’t ever bring up my family.” Angry once more, she slaps me right across the face and shrieks, “Not ever again!”

Her heels clip-clop away and my office door slams shut.

Rubbing my red, hot cheek, I smirk.
 

Doesn’t take long to get her back to the way she was.

Picking up my cell, I call Happy. The phone rings twice before he answers, “Yo.”

Pursing my lips, I ask, “What do you know about lingerie?”

A bark of a laugh, then, “Uh, I know women look good in it.”

I chuckle, “No, I mean what do you know about brands of lingerie? Which ones are good and all that?”

Humor colors his voice, “Maybe you should talk to Ling about this.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I tell him, “Nah. I pissed her off.”

Happy sighs, “What she do now? You know she’s a liability, right?”

“I know. But so am I.” Silence, then I blurt out, “I want to buy Lexi some lingerie.”

He stalls a moment, then says in a sing-song voice, “Then I suggest you go shopping. Happy hunting.”

He hangs up on me.

I glare at my phone, then throw it onto my desk with a sigh.

Shopping.

How bad could it be?

On edge from yesterday’s drug test, I jump when I hear the front door open.

Three guesses to who it could be.

Nikki, Dave, or Twitch.

Seeing as I spoke to the first two and know they’re both busy tonight, by process of elimination, I go with option three.

And boy, are we gonna have words today.

Soon as I see him back through the front door, I start with, “You’ve got some nerv—”

Stopping mid-sentence, my mouth gapes. Dragging bags, bags, and more bags behind him, he kicks the door shut, then says, “Could use a little help here, Angel.”

The way he calls me Angel...he should
not
be allowed to call me Angel.

I breathe, “Okay.”

Standing in my sweats, tank, ratty hair, and reading glasses, I walk over to his tall suit-covered frame and take some of the bags from him. He takes off down the hall toward my bedroom and places the bags on the floor. Placing my haul of bags on the floor next to his, I watch as he starts turning the bags upside down.

Clothes, accessories, and shoe boxes fall out onto my bed.

And I’m just standing here thinking, “
Um
…
aren’t we pissed at each other?
”

I whisper, “What is all this?”

Not answering my question, he tirades, “Did you know there’s a lady at the mall that you can hire to shop for you? All she needs is measurements and
bam
, she’s off. Like a fuckin’ machine. You tell her to spare no cost and she spares
no
cost.” He looks back over his shoulder at me with a knowing look, “Know what I mean?”

Mouth still gaping, I manage an, “Uhh…”

He points to random things on my bed. “Evening wear. Evening shoes. Work wear. Work shoes. Some dresses and everyday clothes. Necklaces and frilly shit. Hair stuff.” He grins, “And there are your delicates.”

Delicates?

Looking up at him with a frown, I lean over and peer into the bag he just pointed to. Picking up a lacey see-through teddy, I squeak, “Lingerie.”

Shaking my head, I ask angrily, “What are you doing here? I haven’t heard from you in a week. You know? When you left me in your bed to recover from a virus and never even called to check up on me?”

Twitch doesn’t flinch. “May not have called, but I knew you were fine. I always know. Just like I knew you needed help with your mandatory drug test, little one.”

I bark back, “You didn’t think I wanted to see you? That maybe I
needed
yo—” I cut myself off. I won’t let him know how much I needed him then. How much it broke my heart that he could cut me out as if I were just another woman.

He stills, then turns to me. “Needed what?”

“I’d like for you to leave.”

His eyes darken a shade. “Not before I get what I came for.”

My voice drops marginally, “Wh-what did you come for?”

Slowly walking towards me with a purpose, I know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it.

“What you owe me.”