Page 24 of Dark Surrender

Good heavens, I can still hear it in that low, almost broken baritone.

He’s the first mark I’ve talked to as myself, not as a character I’m playing. Dad forbade us from conversing with men as ourselves, regardless of whether or not they were marks. They aren’t to be trusted because they want only one thing—to use us for their benefit.

Over the years, given what I do, I’ve realized Dad was right all along. Harold, or any of the others I got close with, never gave a damn about me as a person. Not that I expected them to. But a glimpse of something more would have been nice. Just once, I would have liked to be proven wrong.

Dee snaps her fingers, yanking me from my thoughts.

“What?” I grumble, with more irritation than she deserves.

“Harold,” she states. “I said Harold.”

Right. We were talking about who she’s working over today.

“Sorry,” I apologize, looking my sister in the eye so she knows I mean it. “I was thinking.”

With a low, it’s-fine, you’re-forgiven hum, Dee gets out of the rocker, collects our dishes, and carries them inside.

Harold’s going to die today.

Now this I can’t miss.

Harold, the man who gets off on murdering women.

Harold, the trafficker.

Harold, the man who said he wanted to marry me.

Yes, he said that, more than once, actually. Sometimes alcohol was involved, but most of the time he was sober. He, like most men, is not used to being denied access to women, and I’m a master at denying men, which only makes them want more, more, more.

Are you ready for a little secret? From one woman to another?

Stop giving men what they want. Stop granting them access to you when they haven’t earned it. The more you adopt this mindset, the more they will react in one of two ways—either they get angry and try to put you in your place, or they crave you more. If it’s the former, call me, and we’ll take him off your hands, free of charge. I could have Dee collect a little souvenir for your trouble. A tooth, perhaps? A lock of hair?

Now, if it’s the latter, own that man until he’s on his knees, begging to kiss your feet just so you’ll smile at him.

It really is as simple as that.

I wish it wasn’t. I wish I had some profound wisdom to impart. But men are simple creatures ruled by their dicks, money, and ego. I’m sorry if that offends you, but it’s true. Using that as leverage is the only way to get what you want.

Following my sister inside, I join her in our bedroom, collect what I need to fix my hair and makeup from the plastic storage container I keep at the foot of my cot, then sit on the floor to get ready for the day as she laces up her boots.

Once Dee pulls her dark hair into a sleek ponytail that swishes like a pendulum down her back, she pauses at the doorway and lifts her hand with all five fingers spread, indicating that’s how long until we leave.

“Ten,” I call to her retreating back.

“Okay,” she replies right before she clomps out of the cabin, no doubt going to check on her opossums in the doghouse to make sure they stay put today. Peanut following us yesterday was a one-off, and it’s not safe for him or any of them to visit there. It would kill Dee if they got hurt.

Setting a small, cracked mirror on the floor, I quickly do my hair, lashes, and brows. Adding a touch of blush to my cheeks and some tinted lip balm, I’m ready to watch Harold die… then maybe talk to Maxim, too. I need to bring him and Penelope food anyway. It’s the humane thing to do.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tied to a chair Dee wrestled him into, Harold fights against his restraints. Blood gushes from his nose, down his face, through his gray chest hair, and over his stomach, where it pools on the seat between his legs. Heaving for breath, eyes wild, one of them bloodshot, he spits blood from his lips at my sister.

Throwing her head back, Dee laughs like a psycho as I crack a smile. It’s small. Nothing too celebratory, but I can’t lie and say this doesn’t please me. At least a little.

“Fuck you, cunt,” Harold snarls, looking past Dee to me standing in the corner, keeping to myself.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you ask, he’s not privy to Dee’s protective streak and how calling me a cunt is wrong, wrong, wrong when she’s got your life in her literal hands.