Hell by J.L. Beck

2

Lucian

She’s notwhat I expected. Nowhere close. Alexei described a weak, shaky, timid girl. Hot, sure, or else she wouldn’t be here. When it comes to her face and tight-but-curvy body, she’s definitely all he described and more.

It’s her spirit that interests me. That little spark in her. Most girls come in here with their shoulders hunched, looking at me from under fake eyelashes, afraid to do more than whisper their name and bob their head up and down when I ask if they’re ready to work. Others are simply coked out of their mind, so addicted to drugs that they’ll do anything.

This one, though? She looks me right in the eye, stands straight and tall. There’s a refreshing sort of honesty about her, but she doesn’t overshare. Like that bit about having somebody she doesn’t want to see anymore—probably a shady ex-boyfriend or a family member she’s running away from.

But she didn’t blubber about it. She didn’t beg for me to understand her situation, to take mercy and let her out of a contract she didn’t thoroughly read. She’s direct, to the point, but there’s still a thread of vulnerability running through her words. It’s enough to get me a little hard, honestly.

Well, it’s not the first time I’ve done business with a girl in a tough situation. That’s how most of my employees end up on my doorstep in the first place.

“Here.” I pick up the drink I fixed for her and hand it over. “Whiskey rocks. It’ll calm your nerves.”

Something moves across her face. She doesn’t want to admit she’s nervous and resents my guessing. “Just take it. Trust me.” She extends her hand to accept the drink, and our fingers brush against each other. Her skin is as soft as it looks.

All that discovery does is remind me what’s waiting for her in the basement, and something unpleasant stirs north of my dick. I have to look away, finding my own drink and downing what’s left. The whiskey sends its usual warmth through me, but it’s not enough to loosen my discomfort.

She’s perfect, but she won’t be for much longer. My hand tightens around the tumbler.

“Would you mind if I have a seat?” She lifts one of her feet, rolling it in a circle. “I’m not used to standing around in shoes like this for so long.”

Her frankness teases another smile from me. “Of course. I don’t know how women walk in them.”

“We do it because men like them.” She sits in one of the chairs in front of the desk, crossing her ankles. Demure and ladylike. Again, not like the girls who usually walk through my door. Normally, I don’t care much either way—in fact, there’s not much profit to be made from modesty.

It’s just because she’s different. That’s all. She’s not special. She’s just unusual.

I check my watch. He’ll be here soon. I should send her downstairs, but something inside me won’t let me do it. Not yet. I don’t know why.

She must feel the weight of my stare because her fair cheeks go pink an instant before she turns her head, letting a curtain of thick, shining blond hair hide her reaction. But it’s too late. I’ve already seen her blush, and it’s like she set a bomb off in my head.

Letting her go through with this is completely fucked up.

I need another drink. Since when do I give a shit either way? She’s money on two legs, nothing more. And she owes me. She walked into this with her eyes open. I don’t even have to give her this chance to pay off her debt.

So long as I don’t think about what she’ll look like by the time he’s finished with her…

“You better finish that. I pride myself on punctuality as well as discretion.” I suck down another whiskey with my back to her, telling myself to forget about it. Adults make decisions, and they have to learn to live with the consequences. That’s all there is to it. I don’t make the rules.

By the time I turn around, her glass is empty. I take it from her without meeting her gaze, turning away again. I can’t look at her.

“Alexei?” The door opens an instant later, the way I knew it would. “Take Rowan down to Hell.”

The chair creaks slightly when she stands. “I feel like I should thank you or something…”

She doesn’t know it, but that’s the worst thing she could possibly say. I have to grit my teeth and will away a rush of something that feels suspiciously like guilt. “Don’t bother. Just do what you came here to do. That’s all the thanks I need.”

Alexei mutters something unintelligible, and Rowan’s heels click across the floor. The door closes, leaving me alone.

What the hell is wrong with me? I never get sick, but this must be an exception to the rule because there’s no other explanation for how twisted up I suddenly feel inside. That girl has no idea what she has gotten herself into.

But she did get herself into it. She borrowed a lot of money with no means of paying it back, then let the interest build until the amount was in the five-figure range. She signed a contract to pay that debt back, and now she has to live up to the terms she agreed to.

It just so happens some men will pay a lot of money to get what they want. The shit they crave, no matter how twisted it is. So I provide a service in a safe, clean environment.

And Rowan is perfect for him. Alexei was right about that. Skin like alabaster, unblemished. Young, innocent—no way has she ever been in a club like this before, for any reason. Not with those wide, innocent eyes with a hint of fear.

But dammit. Even though she was scared, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down.

And she followed Alexei like a lamb to the slaughter.

“It’s not up to me.” My voice rings out in the otherwise empty room. There’s no one to agree with me, to tell me I’m right. To ease the nagging sense of something being very wrong with this situation.

I’ve got to get my head screwed on straight. I didn’t spend ten years building this business from the ground up to start growing a conscience now. She’s just a girl, like every other girl working for me. And once tonight is over, she can go back to her narrow little life.

Glen’s kink isn’t even the strangest I’ve ever indulged here. At least that’s what I tell myself as I sit behind my desk. I’ve had clients who were into branding. One burned his name onto a girl’s ass, then jerked off onto her wounds after she passed out from the pain. I’ve had a few who dabbled in vampirism, for lack of a better word. One of them will never be back here again so long as I own the place, the greedy, disgusting fuck.

But Glen? He likes pain. Especially the kind involving knives and bare skin. And he’ll just love all that smooth, unscarred skin, too.

People have to live up to their word. Rowan’s not the only one who’s made promises. Hell-level clients expect freedom and protection, and they pay handsomely for both. I can’t go back on that.

Fuck, but I can’t stop thinking about her, either.

Alexei’s three knocks tell me he’s back. “It’s done.” Meaning his job is finished for now. She’s down there, and the fun’s about to start. “She’s good, right? Like I said?”

“She’s good.” I can’t help but ask my next question since I wasn’t precisely paying attention when we first discussed her. “What were the circumstances of your running into each other?”

“She was a waitress at that diner near the college.” Yes, more than a few of our short-term employees come from the college. “I was on my way in one night, and I saw her sitting there on the curb, crying. I thought she might be a good prospect. She told me she’d just got fired and would get kicked out of her apartment since she had no money for rent.”

He shrugs, grinning. “It was like she was waiting for me. Perfect.”

“Perfect.” So he loaned her the money she needed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to pay it back any more than any of the other girls—and occasionally young men—who eventually end up working in one of my establishments.

Everything is the way it’s always been. We have it down to a science by now.

So, why does this feel wrong?

“Have you seen Chloe tonight?” I ask.

He seems surprised by the sudden change in subject. “Yeah, she’s on the floor.”

“Tell her I want her up here now.” He knows better than to ask why.

There’s a knock from outside the office a minute later, but still not soon enough. I need something, anything, to distract me.

I press the button, opening the door, and am pleased to find the leggy redhead I requested. She’s tried a few different personas over the months she’s worked as a stripper down on the main floor and does best as a sexy businesswoman type: buttoned-up blouse, leather pencil skirt, garters, and stockings—the whole nine yards.

No matter how unique men think they are, I’ve never met one who doesn’t respond to a powerful but hot woman. Even I get off on them under the right circumstances, whether or not I’m the one doing the fucking.

“You wanted to see me?” She steps up to the desk, wearing a pleasant smile. It’s been a while since I’ve requested her company, and I already can’t wait to watch her at work.

This is who I am. This is what I do. I make money, I provide a service, I get off whenever I feel like it.

I don’t think about the girls I use. It’s not like they don’t get anything out of it.

“I want you to dance for me. Let me see those tits.” I lean back in my chair, making myself comfortable as Chloe backs into the center of the office. The music playing downstairs isn’t exactly audible, thanks to the soundproofing throughout the building, but the bass comes through.

She uses the beat, swaying her hips while running her hands over her body—ass, hips, tits, then over her face and head. In one quick move, she slides the clip out of her hair, shaking her head to let the red waves fall past her shoulders.

Her fingers work the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one at a time until she reveals a black lace bra barely strong enough to hold back her double-Ds. She massages her tits, pinching her nipples through the lace, and I’m reminded of the perks of my job as my cock stirs.

Perks too valuable to fuck up for any reason.