Page 54 of Nightfire

Mike was steamrolling her, no doubt about that. His stance was aggressive as he faced his two brothers, arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

He was clearly perfectly prepared to fight to be the one who was her prime protector. Harry and Sam were there, willing and able, but Mike was right. They had other responsibilities, to their wives, to their children. Sam’s wife was going to give birth any day now. Her previous delivery had been hard and she’d bled a lot. He wouldn’t want to leave her side.

Quite right.

Chloe shook a little. However it had happened, she’d re-entered the dark world of male violence once again.

She had no doubt that she needed a protector. Pretending otherwise would be foolish beyond words. She had no tools and no weapons against men like those who had come after her.

Mike was right when he said he didn’t have divided loyalties. But there was something else. He’d defended her without hesitation, without any sense of danger to himself. He’d faced two deadly men head-on. He’d risked his life for her.

In the most primordial way possible, he’d fought for her and in the most primitive way possible, she was his. There was also one more factor in this, one she kept close to her heart.

She loved him.

Chloe reached up to squeeze Mike’s hand and looked at her brother, Harry, and at Sam. “I’m with Mike,” she said.

TWELVE

The Meteor Club

The man grunted heavily, fingers digging painfully into her hips and slumped on top of her. Consuelo didn’t dare push at his shoulders to get him off her—he’d paid for it, after all—trying to pull in breath even though her lungs were compressed.

Please, God, don’t let him fall asleep.

After a few minutes, when Consuelo started seeing spots in front of her eyes, the man groaned, pulled out of her and rolled away onto his back, forearms across his eyes.

From this moment on, she was invisible. As they said, this was what prostitutes were paid to do. Leave.

She got out of bed quietly, breathing shallowly. He’d imprinted her skin with the smell of his rancid sweat with an overlay of Armani for Men. Her groin smelled of his semen. Sex without a condom paid much better and under the new Russian management, whatever paid better was definitely preferred.

Some of the older women were given to men who liked to hurt. There were special sound-proofed rooms in the other wing for that. The Russian made it clear that there were no limits to what could be done, as long as the men paid enough.

Two women had disappeared in the last month.

Consuelo looked down at the man, trying to push away the spurt of red hot rage that raced through her.

‘John’, he’d said his name was and she refrained from smiling at the name that was also a description. Yeah. John.

His real name was Larry Cameron and he ran a huge used car dealership in Chula Vista. His face was all over late-night TV.

Consuelo didn’t care. She didn’t care about much, actually. More and more lately, while the men grunted over her, using her body, she’d fly right out of it. When they started using her body hard she’d leave, at the exact same instant. She’d come reluctantly back in the middle of it this time because ‘John’ had been hurting her so much it had been impossible to ignore. Ramming into her, digging his fingers hard into her hips, biting her breasts.

Before, Franklin would have had a quiet word with him. Between gentlemen, of course. Care for the merchandise and all. But lately, since the arrival of the Russians, many of the customers had sniffed the new regime, like animals sniffing freedom and become violent, out of control. The girls started sporting bruises that took more and more makeup to cover up. A couple had needed medical care.

It was as if a new, evil spirit roamed the club. The Russians had come and somehow their rough presence had unleashed something. Something bad.

In Consuelo’s opinion, men were very close to the animal kingdom. Like horses could sense the appearance of a lion among them and grow agitated, so the customers had sensed the appearance of a crueler race of man among them, a presence that lifted inhibitions, gave the men silent permission to let themselves give in to their darker impulses.

Because, after all, they’d paid for it and who was going to complain?

Consuelo could see in their eyes if they’d been infected with this new plague. Sometimes she flew out of her body the instant the door closed behind them and she was ordered to strip, because she could instantly sense that they’d been infected. Even the many blue-eyes—their eyes grew cold and dark. Instinct told her shooting out of herself was necessary to survive the session.

She was sweaty and smelly and bruised.

Each luxurious room had its own bathroom, but she couldn’t stand the thought of showering naked while the man was passed out on the bed. She had her own room in a separate annexe with the other girls and longed for the quiet of her room, longed to take an hour long shower under the hottest spray she could stand, knowing it wouldn’t wash away anything.

Consuelo picked up her clothes, noting without interest the ripped panties and torn bra. ‘John’ was one of those who got very excited for sex two seconds after the door closed behind them and they were alone in the room.