“Where are your panties, whore?”
I inch closer to his face, so we are almost nose-to-nose. “In my last customer’s pocket.” I smirk. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“You’ve already finished work for the day, then. That means I can abuse this cunt?” His hand goes to slide around to my bare pussy, but I stop him.
“That’s a no.” With my other hand, I pull my dress up. He looks down between us, and as he does, I lean in and bite his cheek.
“Love bites. Can’t say I’ve had those for a while,” he growls in my ear, and that’s exactly where I need his attention to be.
I take a deep breath and do the stupidest thing I could possibly ever do, and that’s really saying something. I pull the knife out of the strap on my leg and bring it to his throat, adjusting my body out of his grasp.
“You can’t afford me,” I tell him. “And I know better than to give it away for free.” I look him up and down, as he’s done to me. “Especially to you.”
A slow and steady smirk touches his lips, and he moves closer to me, the knife pressing into his skin. I watch in horror as he pushes more and more until blood starts seeping slowly from his neck, forming little droplets.
“If you plan to pull a knife on me, you’d better back it up.”
I press harder, feeling it cut deeper.
Do I really plan to kill a member of the mafia? Especially when they all know what I look like.
“You are scum.”
“Coming from a prostitute,” he bites back.
Yes, I may sell myself for money, but there’s a reason why I am this way. One he would never understand.
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, I plan to fuck you. Maybe not today, but mark my words, I’ll be between those legs in no time.” He licks his lips and takes a step back from me, the knife removing from his flesh. I see the blood dripping down his throat into the opening of his shirt, and he makes no move to clean it away. He simply reaches behind him and picks up a cigar, putting it to his lips as he watches me. “If I were you, I’d run before I change my mind.” He clicks his tongue.
I back away until my ass hits the door, then I reach for the handle and turn without a second’s hesitation. As soon as it opens, I’m out. The bartender smiles at me as I run, my feet aching and my heels clicking, but I don’t stop until I’m safely in my car. The stupid thing starts, which I thank the stars for.
As soon as I get to the shitty apartment complex I call home, I take the stairs to the second floor and swing the door open to find my brother sitting in front of the television with a bag of popcorn open, watching a movie.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I scream at him.
He jumps in surprise, popcorn flying everywhere, as his head whips toward me.
I slam the door and storm over to him, shoving my hand in his face. “You little shit. I fucking warned you.”
Brody rolls his eyes and focuses back on his movie.
“I had to,” he mutters.
“Had to?” I bite back.
“Yes. You aren’t happy. I know you do what you do because of me. And he pays well,” Brody states, simply, still not looking my way.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m happy. I didn’t sign a deal with the monster,” I reply.
“You didn’t? Seems to me you did. You’ve been saying all month it’s your last night. Yet, here you are.” He waves his hand up and down, making a point about my outfit.
“The money’s too good to pass up.” The words leave me on a stolen breath. It’s an excuse but also the truth. Working at a small clothing boutique during the day just isn’t cutting it. Feeding two people and paying for a roof over our heads requires extra cash.
“Well, so is mine.” Brody pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket and throws it on the floor. “Now, quit like you said you were going to because I can help now.”
“No, you’re going to college. That’s the plan,” I bite back at him.
“I’m not. I dropped out of school a month ago.” My jaw hits the floor—this was not our plan.
Not our plan at all.
How could he do that to me? To us. After everything we’ve worked for.
“Chanel.” He says my name and stands. Brody’s taller than me now, and not so much my baby brother anymore. Though he will always be to me. “I can help. Let me help now.”
“I don’t want this life for you. It was meant to be different for you,” I say on a broken whisper.
“There’s no escaping this life, only surviving it,” he replies. I want to argue with him and tell him how wrong he is, but the words get stuck in the back of my throat. How can I tell him he’s wrong when our mother and father couldn't escape this life no matter how much they tried? It seems our chances are slim to none.
No matter how hard I try to change Brody’s path, it seems that it’s impossible, and I hate that fact. I hate that for him, and I hate that for us.
We didn’t plan it to be this way. But somehow, we haven’t been able to crawl out of the hole our parents left us permanently buried in.
I try to remember good memories of both of them, but every time I do, all I remember are bad ones.
The only good memories I have are of Brody and me.
It’s just us.
Always has been.
“I’ve been doing that. Surviving,” I say quietly. “For the both of us.”
“And now you can stop doing that and only work at the boutique. I can earn cash, and we can both pitch in, instead of just you.”
“I can make ends meet on my own. Go back to school.”
He shrugs. “Can’t. Got kicked out.”
My mouth drops open again. Seems I am doing that a lot as I learn more and more about what Brody’s been up to. “What for?”
“I may have run a guy’s head through the bathroom wall.”
I…I don’t even know what to say to that. How on earth…
“Why?” I manage to ask. He rubs his hand down his face and looks away, mumbling something unintelligible. “Brody,” I push through gritted teeth.
“Because he called you a whore.” I step back and sit on our ratty old chair. I can’t say I blame him. I’ve beaten people up for less than speaking ill of my brother.
“Well, that sucks.”
He turns away and looks back to the television. “Yep,” is all he says in return.
I sit there watching Brody for a while before my mind drifts to him.
Lucas.
I know he’ll make me pay for what I did. No one threatens him, let alone makes him bleed.
Stories are told all over the place regarding Lucas, and trust me when I say none of them are ever good. He may not be the leader of the mafia, but that does not make him weak. He runs our part of town with an iron fist, everyone knows his name, and everyone knows not to be anywhere near him.
Women who have supposedly been with him have turned up dead. They say that his bedroom antics are rough and not for the faint-hearted. He likes blood, he likes to tie his women up. I’m sure there are many other things too, but that’s the main gist of what goes around about Lucas Rossi.
A fist bangs on my door, and both Brody’s and my eyes snap to our entrance.