Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair (15 page)

What he said to me was under his breath which only made it harder to pick up with my altered senses but I got the gist, it was somewhere along the lines of, “You better make this good, little girl.”

Little girl, those two words took me back to Slayton. To our first night when I was both terrified and turned on by him. Channing didn’t turn me on, there was no rush. Fear wasn’t doing a damn thing for me this go ‘round.
Figures.

My mind pushed Slayton to the forefront. I saw his anger, the jealousy and rage he’d have for me when he figured out what I’d done.

I’d wronged him again...

Right then, I couldn’t gauge Channing. I could not pinpoint if he was a savior or the final nail in my coffin.

See him...Slayton.
Some wise—or unwise depending on how you look at it—part of me thought. There was no other way for me to get through this. No, I wasn’t a virgin, yes I loved the feel of a man’s touch across my flesh. But I’d never once touched, or let someone touch me that I didn’t feel a connection to. Slayton was different than the other guys I’d gotten close to. With my past boyfriends, I built something. I knew them for years, dated for months—sex was our next step. Slayton was instant. I swear I felt that boy jar my soul the first time I looked him in the eye. I felt his stoic strength. I felt his stubborn determination. I sensed his uncanny loyalty. Above all, I felt how drawn he was to me, how our pull was mutual. Almost supernatural.

I didn’t want to taint his memory, use him to fight this demon before me but I knew there was no other way. I had to see him, to pretend...

My life depended on it.

My hands seductively moved up Channing’s thighs as I moved my body trying to entice him. My eyes welled as I slowly went through the paces. My hands fumbled, they shook, I felt sick, but I moved through the steps. The good girl in me, the one that still believed I was protected, that angels walked with me, was waiting for one of those benevolent beings to step in and save me from the course I was on.

It didn’t happen.

Worse yet, I was sure I was failing at seducing Channing. He was still in the state of mind to not only pour a drink, but also take two more shots. He poured a third then held it to my lips. I wanted to refuse it, but it was another rule of Tuesday’s—take what they give you, never refuse and make sure you’re grateful. I swallowed the shot and moaned as I did. It wasn’t an act. The burn, the taste, took me back to those field parties I was trying to pretend I was at before. It helped my spinning head lose a few more ambitions.

Channing’s thumb traced my bottom lip, taking the drop that had escaped. His eyes were glazed over, but I saw dark desire there. Still holding my chin in his fingers, he leaned back, a gentle call for me to come with him. As sexy as I could manage, I crawled up his body.

I sighed out of shock, not pleasure, when his hands landed on my breasts, kneading them until they fell from the tiny cups they were shoved into. When his lips landed on my chest, the entire room spun, and I gripped him for support. When I felt his erection pressing into my belly, my mind struggled to sober, but then I decided letting go was my only choice.

I needed Channing to be faceless, a dream I’d wake from. I pulled his belt loose; I struggled with the button, but I blamed him for it, his grip on my boobs was so hard that I felt it even as blazed as I was. I was turned on by the intensity of it, him kissing the nape of my neck wasn’t helping either.

I didn’t want pleasure and as soon as I screamed that in my thoughts I went back to work. Slowly leaning down to kiss the glistening head of his erection. The groan he let out told me I was sober enough to remember how to do this. My hand went to the base of his length as my kiss met my hand over and over, slow then fast.

His hands framed my face, his fingers pushed through my hair, pulling it from the pins Tuesday had in place. He lifted his hips meeting me. There were a few seconds where I let myself become enthralled by his action. Where I felt powerful enough to make this man crumble without even trying. Those seconds were fleeting and all part of the high. Then it was over. I did as I was told before. I swallowed. Worked him until he was lax.

I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do after. If I sat obediently, crawled way—I had no idea, and my back was to the room so I couldn’t turn and look at what the other girls were doing. Channing patted his lap answering my question. I crawled slowly up and perched on one side. He poured me a shot; before I drank it down he’d poured another one.

Other men came close, spoke to him...but I was gone. At first, I only slipped into that echo of my mind. But then I felt myself swaying.

All I remember was being grateful that I was permitted to walk across the pavement instead of crawl. Even though I did so poorly. I wasn’t even sure what pavement it was.

Then darkness came.

SEVENTEEN

I puked before I ever opened my eyes, which didn’t earn me any favors. I heard a score of gasps and ridicules. When I finally did focus, I had no idea where I was but figured out it wasn’t the train, the room was big. Not clean but not a slum either. It was almost industrial, the floor was a sheen marble, one wall was metal the other three were drywall that had been poorly painted over. The lights were fluorescent and hung low, each one stabbing my eyes with light and pain.

There were girls everywhere. At least fifteen. A few faces I recognized from the night before. Now that they were not leashed or collared their entire demeanor had changed. They were flaunting their sex appeal and aggression. Most in the room were nearly nude, in scraps of lingerie. Every glance, grin, comment, was full of challenge. It was clearly every girl for herself, and the stupidest thing in the world was for you to think that being nice and sweet was going to win you a friend. I thought the men were the evil in this outfit; as it turned out they were just another flavor of a devil in this evil hell I was traversing.

A blond I’d never seen before was the first to say anything to me. “Clean that shit up.”

I squinted my eyes in her direction; she was holding a bucket with towels and a cleaning bottle. The only thing worse than puking is cleaning it up right after, swear. Hearing the jeering. “Too much come, princess? Does your jaw hurt too?” only made it worse.

I found the bathroom, stumbled in and puked some more. The same girl with the bucket came in and turned the shower on. She nodded for me to get in and when I did I squealed under the cold water. She didn’t get in like Tuesday did, there was very little compassion in her eyes if any at all.

“Where did you come from?” she asked as I started to down the water that was washing over me. I had a horrible taste in my mouth and a pounding head.

“A train...”

She shook her head. “None of the girls that came with you know you. They said you just got there.”

I grimaced, still refusing to let myself remember how I landed here. “I met a friend from school at a bar...I don’t know the rest.”

She sneered, and never bothered to give me my privacy as I turned the water to scalding. No matter how hot the water got, I could not shake the sleazy feeling clinging to me. Worse yet, I was starting to recall what happened with Channing. What I could not un-live or hide in the dark corners of my mind.

I was horrified. Terrified to see Slayton. Petrified not to. I didn’t know what any of this meant. When I dried off, the girl handed me two pills. I glared at her. I was sick of going up and down. Of not knowing what I was doing to myself.

The girl rolled her eyes at me. “It’s fucking Tylenol. But fine by me if you like the pounding.”

I read the pills before I took them, which only seemed to insult her more. She pushed a sleeve of crackers in my hand. “High dose. Eat some shit.”

Easier said than done.

Other girls pushed into the bathroom. Some peed not caring who watched, others fought for the mirror. Two got in the shower together. Every one of them had something to say to me. None of it was worth repeating. Once they were over prodding their new punching bag, aka me, they went back to their idle, competitive, chatter.

They were talking about fights. Malcolm’s fights. A whole new level of reality and sobriety hit me when I realized how close I was to a hell that Slayton had never wanted me in the middle of. I realized how bad this could get. For him, not me, I was sure I was already dead. What would I say? What was my cover story?

Channing recognized me. I know he did. So what the hell did he do with me? What happens now?

I almost lost the crackers I’d forced myself to swallow when the sense of doom twisted my gut even more.

A busty redhead spoke over all of the girls. “Fuck you, whores. I’m getting in the box tonight,” she said eyeing me. “Apparently, they’ll let anyone in.” 

The girl with me—a platinum blond who was a bit too tan— her expression went from bitch mode to psycho as she pushed the other girl from the mirror. “You want in the fucking box, whore? You want to be raped in front of a room full of sweaty cocks? Want your hair ripped out? To be rammed so hard you swear your pelvic bone is going to break? Have your chest so fucking bruised when it’s over that breathing is torture?”

The redhead said nothing but her expression said she wasn’t backing down or buying that it was that bad.

“They’re fucking
killers,”
the blond went on. “You can still smell the fucking blood—they’ll smear it across you. They’re savages. We’re just bones tossed in the lion’s den.”

The redhead stepped up. “You must fucking like it. The big bad bitch you are—runnin’ shit.”

The blond gripped my arm, preparing to pull me to leave with her as she eyed the other girl. “You stupid bitch. Why do you think I have to train new girls every night? Where the fuck do you think they go? A body bag,” she glared. “Stick to sucking dick in the cages.” She lifted her chin. “Stay the fuck away from the Gladiators and the sacrifices they’re given.”

The other girls put up their protests. Some were clearly on the redhead’s side, the trashy and ghetto as they come girls. Others had the same look in their eye the blond had, the one I had. Scared shitless but too stubborn to show how much.

The girl pulled me out of that room. At the door was an armed man. He eyed us like yapping puppies at his ankles he didn’t want to deal with. She flipped him off and took me across the hall into a room that was half the size of the one we were in before. Three girls were sitting on a thin mattress on the floor, as three others worked on their makeup.

The blond pulled me to the corner only stopping for a trash can on her way. No one there paid us any attention. For a long while, I sat against the wall and tried to talk my stomach out of twisting as I processed what I’d heard. Any hope of seeing Slayton was vanishing. I knew he hated fighting. And that unless I was in the room with Malcolm and he made a drop I might not ever cross him. Which was good and bad.

The idea of being close to Malcolm all but made me hurl again. I knew he didn’t get a good look at me that one night I was outside his office. And I knew that he had enough women to hardly notice new faces around him. The thing is, though, the man paid people to notice shit for him.

People like Channing...

Why would he bring me back here? Was I ransom? A bribe? I didn’t get the games in this underworld and was sure I didn’t want to.

The girl had carefully put her makeup on and was dressing. When I saw her put on a dress, tight and short, I felt some hope. I missed clothes. Seeing I was focusing better she nodded her head to the vanity, telling me to get myself together.

I did my best. I could blow-dry my hair, maybe put on mascara, but that was about it on my best days. I wouldn’t be able to make myself look the way Tuesday had the night before. Cussing me, the blonde came to my side and started to work on my face.

“You heard what I said didn’t you?” she asked.
My welling eyes were her answer. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to piss off Channing, but I swear to you it was the wrong fucking move to make.” Under her breath she said, “He’s the last asshole you should’ve rattled.” She finished the line on my eye before she went on. “But you’re here now.”

She leaned back. “You need drugs?”

“I don’t know,” I said quietly.

She looked over her shoulder at the other girls, ones who had more confidence than me but looked just as scared. “It’s the semi-finals tonight. Four fights. Those four winners will walk into the box and be celebrated. Seconds before they do, they kill,” she said to set the horror scene in my mind. “Right now, they’re standing in a room with three others they know they have to kill to live. You’re their distraction. Their reward. You’re not a person. Your screams will mean nothing and your fight will only make them more aggressive.” She eyed me. “Don’t tense. You’ll rip if you do. If you don’t think you can control your body, then you need drugs.”

I bowed my head. “When is it over?”

She was quiet for a while. “If you’re alive, others might take a turn.” I shook so hard I heard my teeth rattle. She went on. “Some girls leave with the fighter.” The sound of her voice told me that was not a good thing.

“You’ve survived this?” I needed a stitch of hope. Just one.

She swayed her head. “I manage the girls.” Lower she said, “I’m in one of Malcolm’s crews.”

Sick jealousy slammed into me when the thought of this girl going down on Slayton came to mind. She eyed me shadily when she saw the anger wash down my expression. “It’s no fucking glory job, sunshine.”

I bowed my head again. I may have been sober but I still felt like I was on the edge of the high I’d ridden for so long that I couldn’t focus.

“Channing wants us looking high-class tonight. She pulled out a sequined mask that curved up sharply at each side. A pang of relief came when I thought at least half my face would be hidden if there was anyone I shouldn’t cross in that room.

She let me adjust my mask. The black mask, thick liner and shadow made my eyes so bright even I wanted to squint looking into them. The girl studied me a bit. “You’re not even his type.”

“Whose?” I asked with a rasp.

“Channing’s.”

“And what type is that?” I asked wondering if I should act that way or something.

“Mean,” she said bluntly. “How the fuck did you end up here?”

“Cursed,” I said weakly looking away. Inside I was angry. Fucking furious. I did nothing to deserve any of this. Was I an angel? No, but who the fuck is? One day my life was fine. Then I lost her, the only mother I ever knew. Nothing had been right since. Even the good was bad. Whatever child was left in me, teen girl, young adult, whatever you want to call it—she died right then. I let her go, and pushed her into a world I could never return to.

I was a woman now. Broken and damaged, maybe, but I wasn’t a pushover, and I wasn’t weak. Something dark wanted me to forget who I was. Where I came from, the lessons I’d always known. It wanted to suck me in, and I was determined to fight it. I was losing my fight right then; I might lose for a while. I had faith, though. One way or another I’d come out of this stronger...at least, that was what I asked for in a loop of prayers that my mind was clinging to.

Hours went by. She’d given me lotion for my knees and hands, and stockings to cover the burns I had from crawling the night before. She gave me food, only allowing me to take baby bites. Not long after I could feel the nerves picking up in the room and knew my clock had all but run out.

“Take this,” she said handing me a white pill. Xanax. Then a bottle of lube. “Put it everywhere,” she said. “Generously,” she warned.

God help me.

I was allowed to wear a dress, but no underwear, and no bra. Another win was that I wasn’t wearing a fucking leash or told to crawl. These men preferred to herd us with guns. When we left our room, I figured out those with me were the only ones in matching dresses and fancy masks.

The girls across the hall and the ones along the walls outside were quick to tease, shout out how we thought we were better than them and wishing us luck with our fist fucks. The redhead who had started trouble hours before was at the end of the hall, she wasn’t the loudest anymore, but her disgust was evident as she cursed under her breath to the hooker next to her.

It was when I looked at the girl she was talking to that a chill of fear rushed down my spine. Sugar. The girl who had come at me when I worked for Mrs. Jin. The one Channing punished. Her mouth fell agape. Obviously, she recognized me despite the mask, then she kicked into motion telling the guy leading us to tell Malcolm she needed a private session. He laughed at her, but I knew from the persistent look in her eye she wasn’t going to give up.

Part of me thought
get over it, what’s the worst that could happen?
I was already told the chances of me making it out of this room were slim to none. I hadn’t accepted death, the fear was still churning my gut, I was shaking and spacy as hell, but I could only fear one thing at a time. What Sugar could do to Slayton or me was something I’d worry about if I managed to wake up tomorrow.

I don’t know what I expected when the doors opened, but I don’t think it was a party. Every man in the room was visibly armed. At least half, I was sure were guarding one of the older men—the ones that carried a marked degree of authority. Some of those men had girls with them, others were eyeing the line of girls I was in with sick desire.

Then I saw him, Channing. He was right by Malcolm. I didn’t really recognize Malcolm’s face, but his voice. This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at the stocky, older, man. He was doing his best to put on an air of refinement, but the streets were in his eyes. His ear looked like fleshy cauliflower, telling me he’d spent some time in the ring at some point in his life.

Channing and he were standing in front of a glass wall, talking warmly to a man around Malcolm’s age. Channing’s eyes only touched on me lightly, and when they did, I couldn’t read them. I couldn’t tell if he’d made a positive ID on me, and if he had if I was there for revenge or I was just a toy.

Three girls and I were told by the blonde chick to kneel by the glass, facing out to the crowd. I wasn’t sure where the others went, the girls who had gotten us ready, but from the corner of my eye I was sure one of them had sat when Malcolm did, just behind me, across his lap.