Haven takes a step forward, and I jolt in the saddle. Another, and I almost fall out. On the third step I move my hips at the right moment. Only then do I understand what he means by trust. I have to move with her. This isn’t about being carried around. I’m not a passenger. This is an active form of trust, one that requires me to become part of her.
She moves into an easy gait, and I laugh in exhilaration.
Sutton makes a whistling sound, and the bay moves toward him. Haven stops in front of him, and he walks to the side of her. He reaches his hands up, circling my hips and helping me down. The ground feels unsteady after being on the horse for only a few minutes.
He’d been smiling before, but now he looks serious. “What happened to you?”
He means before I ended up on the street. My throat tightens. “My secrets are my own.”
“Ashleigh—”
“My little horse must think it queer,” I say. It’s a cheap shot, a feint so that he’ll stop asking what I’m not going to answer. “To stop without a farmhouse near.”
He’s everything stern and hard and frustrated, but he still completes the verse of the Robert Frost poem. “Between the woods and the frozen lake. The darkest evening of the year.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ashleigh
The afternoon gives way to dusk. I wake up with a contentment written on my bones. I want to lie in this bed forever—and that terrifies me. This isn’t my bed or my house. I belong on the streets. Being comfortable here will only make it harder there.
Sutton slumbers next to me, a heavy mass of muscle and heartbreak. He doesn’t stir even when I slip from the bed. He reached for me so many times, had sex with me in so many different positions. Somehow I liked every single one of them. He made me come so hard I saw lights behind my eyes. I didn’t know that would be possible. Not for any woman; definitely not for me.
I look at the bristles on his cheek and the curve of his ear. He’s not mine.
I’m a substitute for the bodies he’d rather be fucking.
In the living room I find his phone, which isn’t locked. I order an Uber that’s fifteen minutes away. And I dig into his wallet for the money he promised.
Thirty minutes.
That’s how long it takes from my last glimpse of Sutton to the first sight of the sugar factory.
“Ky?” The word echoes back to me. He doesn’t usually go out so early.
Sugar gives me an imperious meow that shames me for how long I’ve been gone. There are three different rat carcasses, each torn open and buzzing with flies. My stomach turns over. What a way to come home. This isn’t home. No. Sutton’s house is a home. This is a sad parody.
I climb the roof. “Ky?”
Nothing.
Maybe he went out early to look for a customer. Except he doesn’t usually go out when he’s flush with money. Maybe Mr. Monopoly came back for another round. Except he usually only comes once a month. The back of my neck prickles with warning. Ky could be anywhere in the city, perfectly safe.
It doesn’t feel right.
I head back down to the street, determined to find him. There’s a club a few streets over. Well, it’s more of a warehouse with bass. Sometimes Ky comes back from there smelling like pot.
The bouncer stops me, giving me an interested full-body glance. “You working?”
My cheeks flush. He’s made no secret that he wants to fuck me. And that he’s willing to pay. Which means it’s just that obvious what I am. God, my hair’s still bed-rumpled. I probably smell like sex.
“Not tonight,” I manage to say, hoping I sound casual about it.
He doesn’t move from the middle of the door. “How bad you want to get in?”
Oh God. Is he going to make me do something with him? He must sense my desperation, because I really do need to get into the club. It’s the only place I know where Ky might be, and every instinct I have is screaming that he needs help. “Bad,” I whisper.
“Let me see your tits.”
My skin prickles into goose bumps. I feel hot all over and then freezing cold. “My—”
“I just want to see them. That’s all.”
I stare at this man, who would have seemed handsome in any other context. He’s clearly muscled and well groomed. He could have a woman the regular way, couldn’t he? I don’t even know what the regular way is. Champagne glasses and little Yorkies eating Wagyu beef? That isn’t normal.
My stomach clenches, and I glance to the alley.
“Nah,” he says, reading my thoughts. “It’s too dark to see. Besides, if I got you back there, I’d want to do more than look.” His voice turns gentle, coaxing. “All I want is a little glance.”
Trembles run through my arms like little earthquakes. I reach for the hem of my emerald green shirt and lift—slow, slow, slow. I’m not wearing a bra. Then my breasts are exposed to the night air.
He sucks in a breath. “Yeah.” His voice sounds thicker. “Those are nice.”
I stare straight ahead, at the patch of black fabric on his shirt, not meeting his eyes. I start to lower my shirt but he stops me with a rough sound. “A little longer, baby girl.”
It feels like I’m someone else, watching this woman lift her shirt for a stranger. Standing in the street where anyone who turns the corner could see. Of course no one will turn this corner. It’s a rough part of town and an illegal club. On a Tuesday. Which means he could drag me into a corner and—
A rough palm cups my breast, and I jump. “You said you were only looking.”
“Calm down,” he says with a pointed squeeze. “One touch. Not like I’m the first one.”
“But you said—” Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I feel foolish for believing him. Or for believing anyone. Isn’t the world full of liars? I learned that early. How could I forget?
He squeezes my nipple, and pleasure shoots through my body. I feel sick. Horrified. How could this feel good? Only now do I understand how thoroughly Sutton has ruined me. Before this I didn’t know what great sex was like. My body had no idea that pressure on my nipples led to orgasms. There’s no way that I could come for this man—I feel cold inside. But my body doesn’t know that. It’s well trained by Sutton’s mouth and hands. By his cock.
This is what Ky meant when he said it was harder to come back. It wasn’t about the soft bed or the great food. It was about the sex—because Sutton made it feel real. I bet Mr. Monopoly does that, too.
The bouncer’s hand drops. He gives me a nod that I interpret as, Go ahead and cover your tits.
I shove down my shirt, feeling queasy with humiliation.
“You come see me later,” he says, still sounding turned on. “I got paid yesterday, and I’d love a round with you. I’ll take it easy, I promise. Won’t rough you up or anything.”
He doesn’t wait for a response but stands to the side, and tears climb down my cheeks as I duck my head and brush past him. Strobe lights and heavy bass hit me like a fist. I wipe my face with my arms. Bodies are draped across dirty cushions on the floor, most of the people already stoned out of their minds even though it’s still early. I suppose anyone who needs to work tonight will show up later. These people are the ones who already earned their money the night before.