His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush

CHAPTER 2

Maisie

I batted my eyelashes at the bearded man I was sitting on, then straightened. Between him and the stage lights, it was like being cooked under a broiler. Bambi bounced up, pulling a shaved-headed man to his feet.

“You sure you don’t want company?” I asked Shaved Head. Bambi blinked her doe-eyes up at him.

“Hey!” Beard Boy said. “What about me?”

Bambi focused on Shaved Head. “Two girls are better than one,” she said.

“Maybe next time,” Shaved Head said, smiling down at her. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

“I’m not complaining,” she smirked.

I grabbed her arm. “Let me steal her away for a second,” I winked.

I linked elbows with Bambi and went to the bathroom quickly. Her client waited outside of the door. The graffiti I had marked in the big stall was still there: No One Loves You Like The Stage Does. I was surprised no one had scribbled over it. None of the new dancers liked us hanging out here, even though we had once been in their stilettos.

“You’re sure about this one?” I asked. Bambi had a bad habit of picking the men who liked to leave shiners, and though Green always urged me to let Bambi make her own decisions, I still liked checking in with her. Better to know that she was positive about what she was doing than to let her get swept away on a date that promised a big payout.

“He’s a softie,” she said, shoving my shoulder playfully. “I’ll hightail it out the first warning I get.”

“You better.”

She squeezed my hand, then scanned me. “You look perfect, as always,” she said.

That was easy for her to say. She woke up like a fawn in human flesh—innocent beauty wrapped with light brown hair and eyes. Me? I wasn’t that at all.

“The perfect roast beef, maybe,” I said.

She laughed. “Go get ‘em.”

The door swung shut behind her, and I sighed, inspecting myself in the mirror. Perfect? Hah! Liner and mascara puckered around my eyes. I smudged a finger underneath, removing as much of the bleeding makeup as I could, then reapplied my lipstick. Dabbed a paper towel on the sides of my face. No matter how high they kept the air conditioning, I always burned up. Even back when I was only wearing a bikini.

A man with gray hair angled himself against the wall, instantly locking eyes with me. Late fifties, early sixties maybe, but in shape. I recognized him—he had paid me for a date, maybe a month ago, and wanted me to strip. Green hadn’t been too happy with my inability to make him close on a better date. But the two of them had come to their own arrangement after that. Since then, the man had always been occupied. I never got to learn what they had discussed.

“Crystal,” he said.

I smiled. “Yes, baby?”

“What’s your real name?”

Clients often wanted a real name, as if that gave them some sort of power over you. “I already told you, hot stuff. It’s ‘Crystal.’” I said. I hadn’t used my real name in years anyway. “Baby, I can’t strip tonight. But there are plenty of other girls willing to get naked on the stage for you. Unless you want to play—”

“I want to talk.”

Green appeared in the hallway, stroking his lime tie. I flinched, then turned back to the Gray-Haired Man.

“You gotta pay more this time,” I said.

He shoved a hand into his pocket, removing a wad of cash. He handed me a few bills. It was twice the amount he had given me last time. And he just wanted to talk?

“Ten minutes of your time,” he said. “Don’t worry. I cleared it with your boss.”

I shoved the money in my clutch, then linked arms with him as we walked past Green, who stepped out of our way. I rubbed the scar on my hand.

“Ten minutes?” I repeated so that Green could hear me.

“That’s it.”

We took an unoccupied booth to the side of the room. A waitress came for our drink orders, and I helped myself to a long island on the Gray-Haired Man’s wallet. He stared at me, but without the lust I was used to. Like he was assessing me, trying to figure out what my ammo was. The waitress brought us our drinks, and I made a show of clinking our glasses together.

“I have an offer,” Gray-Haired Man said, taking his time with his words. “That cash?” He nodded at my clutch and I tucked it under my arm. “We own the Feldman Farms. Ever heard of it?”

It sounded familiar, but I rarely paid attention to that kind of stuff unless it had to do with a regular client.

“I can make this world go away,” he said, gesturing at the club. “Your boss? That man that’s been following you? He’ll never bother you again.”

I highly doubted that.

“So,” I tilted my head, “You’ll get rid of him?”

“Sure.”

“You’d kill him?”

This time, Gray-Haired Man laughed, smacking the table.

“Oh, sweet girl, is that what you want?” he asked.

I blushed, my cheeks furiously red. “Of course not.”

He shrugged, pretending like it was actually an option. “Don’t worry. I’ve already arranged a deal with him. But I want to ask for your cooperation.” I wrinkled my nose. What did he want? He wrote a number on the napkin, then handed it to me.

1,000,000.

I blinked. I don’t care what kind of farm he owned; Gray-Haired Man didn’t have that kind of money. I pushed the napkin back to him.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“It’s yours.”

“What’s the catch?”

He finished the rest of his whiskey, then laced his fingers together. “Marry my son,” he said. “Screw him. Make him—” he paused, rubbing a hand over his chin, “—make him forget about his duties for a while. The boy needs it.”

“Marry your son?” I squeaked. Gray-Haired Man nodded. “Is he, like, weird or something?”

“I want him to be challenged by more things than work.”

Plenty of the farmers came down from Crown Creek, but none of them had that kind of cash. What kind of farming business did he own?

I’d better get everything I could.

“Add fifty percent,” I said.

He chuckled again, then crumpled the napkin in his hands, a sense of violence lingering in his eyes. I shifted back in my seat, cupping the edge of the cushion.

“It’s already been arranged. One million for your cooperation. Not a cent more,” he said.

My heart clenched. A million dollars was a lot of money.

But I couldn’t leave Bambi.

“Two of us,” I said. “My friend. Bambi. We can both—”

“My son can’t marry two women.”

“Do you have another son?” I seemed to remember him talking about two different kids when I stripped for him a while back.

He smiled. “My youngest is still broken up over his last,” he paused, “fling. The offer is for you, and you alone.” He pulled twenty-five hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket, then handed them to me in a firm handshake. “Take this as a show of good faith. A marriage. Sex. A million dollars. And you’d be free of this.”

Sex work was my life for the last few years. Bambi left with Green, and I followed her, afraid she would get hurt. Marrying Gray-Haired Man’s son? It didn’t seem that hard. And it wasn’t much different from my life already.

But it still wasn’t right to leave Bambi with Green. I’d find a way to make it work, to save her too.

I shook the man’s hand, taking the money. “Is your lucky son here?” I asked.

He pointed to a tall, barrel-chested man with black hair and the same pale blue eyes as him. The son glanced at me, then headed out through the exit to the side of the stage.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Let me take care of it,” Gray-Haired Man said. “Carry on as usual. We’ll come to retrieve you.”

I crossed my arms. Why hadn’t his son talked to me himself?

“He knows, right?” I asked. “That you’re asking—” I paused. That wasn’t the right word. ‘Forcing’ was more accurate, but less delicate. “That you’re arranging for me to marry him?”

“I didn’t tell him about my specific request. The money, he can know about. But not the sex.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Why was that a secret? I clasped my hands together, running my thumb over the stretched pink scar. As long as I got my money, I suppose it didn’t matter why he was keeping the sex part a secret.

“Can I talk to him?” I asked.

“Be my guest.”

I headed straight down the stairs to the stage, reaching for that same door as his son. A white button-up shirt and a lime tie crowded in front of me. He ran a hand over his head, then stroked his blond beard.

“Where are you going, babe?” Green asked.

I grabbed his arms, squeezing him. “Just a date.”

“That old man promised me a lot of money,” he said. “You’re my best girl. Don’t mess this up.”

My best girl used to mean something to me. But now, they were a curse. I slipped the wad of cash into his pocket.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m working hard.”

With that, Green stepped out of the way, letting me exit. Twenty-five hundred was no small amount of money, but if Gray-Haired Man had been telling the truth, I could lose a few bills to get Green off of my case.

Outside, spotlights hung off of the back of the building, lighting the wet asphalt. The smoking area was empty, gated around us. The man leaned against the wall, glaring out of the barred gate. Black hair. Groomed facial hair. Dull blue eyes. Dirt under his fingernails. His broad shoulders flexed, his burly muscles tensing under his shirt. Completely stiff. He glared at me. Apparently, I had interrupted his peace.

I sighed deeply, resting on the wall next to him. I always tried to find something in common with the men I entertained. Making fun of the music was an easy go-to.

“If I have to listen to another crappy top forty song, my eardrums might explode,” I said. The man ignored me. He didn’t even grunt. “Where are you from?” I tried.

He was silent.

He knew about the arranged marriage. He had to know who I was. We were about to spend a lifetime together.

“Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do this?” I asked.

“We?” he asked. Finally, he peered at me, tracing me from my eyes to my lips, down to my toes pooling out over the tops of my stilettos. Leather and mud and fur permeated the air. His family must have had a ranch, then, not just a farm. He towered over me, even in the heels, and though he was wearing a suit, his muscles were big, like a man that’s used to manual labor. Like he was built this way.

I straightened my shoulders. None of that made a difference. In the end, he was a client. I wasn’t afraid of him.

“I can smell you from across the club,” he said.

I froze, but only for a second. I sucked in a quiet breath. I had taken a shower that morning. I hadn’t even had a date yet.

“You get a headache from vanilla spray or something?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, then said, “Wear a floral perfume. It’ll hide your scent.”

I rolled my eyes. Sure. I had been asked to do weirder things by clients before; wearing some cheap jasmine perfume was the least of my worries.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Cry—” I stopped myself. If I was going to marry him, then I might as well tell him my real name. “Maisie. And you?”

“You didn’t ask my father for my name.”

I huffed through my nose. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

“About what?”

I narrowed my eyes. “So what? You only want to screw? Is that what you want out of an arranged marriage?”

He forced a chuckle. “You think I’m your ticket out.”

Or maybe I wanted the million dollars. “So?”

“Marry me, and everything will be set.” He shook his head, then went back to leaning on the wall. “You ran away from home because life was so damn rough. Is that it? You thought your mother and father would start caring about you if you sold your body. But then you found out no one gives a shit.”

My cheeks burned, my throat tight.

“Hate to break it to you. Marrying me won’t be the easy life you’re used to,” he said.

My fingernails dug into my palms. “My life has never been easy.” I opened my mouth to call him an ass, but he cut me off.

“You have a choice, Maisie.” He gestured at the corner of the building, toward the parking lot. “You can still say no.”

I gritted my teeth. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

My heart sank to my feet. “Your father made it clear that I don’t have a choice.”

“Then run away.”

He faced me, our eyes locking. The blue and gray in his eyes were like a swirling storm. I was transfixed by the hurricane. Rooted to the spot. Why was he like this?

“Why did you agree to an arranged marriage if you want nothing to do with me?” I asked.

He picked me apart, layer by layer. Then he removed his wallet and found several more bills. A thousand dollars. How was his family so loaded?

He handed them to me. “You must owe your boss,” he said.

I scowled. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Take the money and go,” he said. He waited for a few more seconds, but I stood still, staring at him evenly.

“If you don’t want to marry me, then you tell your father ‘no.’” I forced a grin. “You still have a choice.”

The corners of his lips twitched. I had called him out, and he knew it. He shoved the money back into his pocket.

“I agreed to a legal arrangement,” he said. “But I want nothing to do with you.”

I stepped closer, letting my hips sway, searching for the flicker in his gaze to see where his eyes fell. But he met me on an even playing field, never losing our eye contact. Like he was hunting for his kill. I slid my hand into his pocket, stroking a long finger across the fabric, his cock twitching against my touch. He wanted nothing to do with me? I brought my lips to his ear.

“You’re lying.”

I stepped away quickly, walking toward the parking lot. I waved down a taxi and had the driver drop me off near the woods beside Pierce Park. After walking a few hundred yards into the brush and trees, I stopped in front of the Pierce Park Tunnel. A two-mile-long tunnel through Pierce Mountain, the only mountain for miles. Every step echoed between the walls. I took off my stilettos, carrying them by the straps, the wooden planks rough underneath my feet.

Pierce Park Tunnel used to be a popular spot for teenagers, but had lost its appeal more than a decade ago. A quarter-mile in, I pressed my hands to the brick wall. I found the edge of the safety alcove, a recessed cutout that had been built into the tunnel for maintenance workers when trains passed. My older sister never went here. She liked following the rules, even if it made everyone else, including me, look bad. I always did the opposite. She didn’t want to go in here, so I ran in, ready to take whatever came at me.

What would my older sister think about an arranged marriage or this asshole fiancé? She believed in love and fate, but me? I knew better. Marrying some rich farm boy might have been one of the best opportunities I could come across, and I intended to take advantage of it.

“You in here?” a woman’s voice called. Bambi. I switched on the light on my phone and waved from the inside.

“Stay out there,” I said. “I’ll come to you.”

I carried my shoes and met her at the tunnel’s entrance. She pulled out a small packet of baby wipes from her purse. I grabbed them and started cleaning my feet.

“Can’t walk in these heels,” I said. I stuffed the dirtied wipe in my purse.

“Perfect,” she said, satisfied with my clean feet. “Green will be pissed if he finds out we came down here again.”

“You mean, he’ll be pissed at me.” I wasn’t going to let Bambi take the blame for something I had done. She gave me a sad smile, her posture sinking. “You were only trying to find me. How’d the date go?”

She lifted her shoulders. “It was fine. He made me work for it though. Should have charged him overtime.” I stole a glimpse of her; she didn’t have any new bruises or redness. That was good. After she called Green, we headed toward the street to wait for him.

“Did you find anyone?” she asked.

I handed her the thousand I had pickpocketed from my future husband. After the way he had acted, stealing the money from him was so much more satisfying than accepting his ‘gift.’ Besides, he had offered it to me, and his father owed me anyway.

“Damn,” Bambi said. “Your all-star blowie?”

“This guy wants me to marry his son.”

“Seriously?” Bambi asked. Her jaw dropped. “Are you going to do it?”

“I think so. Why not, right?” At least I could pretend like it was my choice.

Green texted us both: Be there in five.

I wrinkled my nose at the text, but Bambi still had that lust in her eyes. She sighed, eager to see him. When I had first joined them, I had understood why she had fallen for Green. But now? I didn’t see it.

“How much are they offering?” Bambi asked.

“A million.”

Bambi laughed. “Come on. Stop messing with me.”

“Green took the other two grand his dad gave to me. And supposedly, they worked out their own arrangement. I mean, it seems legit.”

“Wow.” A car passed by, honking at us. Both of us automatically waved, batting our eyelashes. Once it passed, our shoulders drooped. It was hard to pretend all the time.

“Don’t let him get the upper hand,” she said. I tilted my head, and she added, “You need to find some sort of power over him. Before it’s too late.”

I furrowed my brows. “You mean like, find something to blackmail him with?”

“Call it a security deposit.” She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “We’ve got nothing to lose, right?” She smeared a plumping gloss on her lips, then zipped her clutch. I checked the bottom of my heels, making sure they were cleanish. “But they do. Your future husband’s family? They’ve got something they’re trying to hide. Otherwise, this arranged marriage wouldn’t be a thing. Use it to your advantage before they use you.”

Bambi had always been a bit clueless, even when we were still in high school, but when it came to certain things, she’d have these strokes of genius, like this.

“You can’t let that happen with this guy,” she said, her eyes begging. She was talking about Green, how he had gotten us to fall for him. Then cornered us.

I rolled my eyes, the guilt from leaving her rushing back. “Maybe I should call it off.”

She shoved my shoulder. “I will push you down the aisle if I have to.”

She was right. I needed to do this. “But what about you? And Green?”

She shrugged. “We’ll survive. We always do.”

“I’ll come back for you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Worry about yourself.”