These parties are see and be seen. Fuck and be fucked. The woman scans the room as we discuss the latest charity fundraiser. She’s looking for her next conquest.
“Honor, darling.” The voice is like a cube of ice all the way down my spine.
I turn to greet the handsome man. Byron Adams, my fiancé. And the rising star in the Las Vegas Police Department. He’s aiming for police commissioner. “Byron, I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
There is no lipstick on his face, which isn’t proof of anything. No, the main reason I believe he is faithful is because of the look in his eye. The one that scares me. “I was talking business,” he says with an almost bashful smile. It was strange to see that expression on him. It made him seem younger. It made me ache. “And missing you.”
Both the man and woman smile at us like we’re in love. I have to remember that. We are in love.
I lay my hand on his arm and force a smile. “Then take me with you.”
And he does. He leads me out of the room and up the stairs to the office. I’ve been in this office a thousand times, but not like this. Not with my fiancé’s rough hands bending me over the desk. He drags up the hem of my glittery dress, exposing my ass. The thong snaps.
“I couldn’t find you,” he says, voice tight.
There’s no right answer. If he wants me, he gets me. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, pleading.
The sound of a zipper pierces the room. Then he is inside me, skin to skin. His cock thrusts d
eep into my cunt. The papers are probably important, the tally of millions of dollars, but I crush them in my fists.
His fingers dig into my hips. “I don’t like that. Stay where I can see you.”
“I will,” I gasp out, but it’s hard. Hard because I can barely breathe, the way he’s thrusting faster now. Harder. The way my face is shoved into the desk, leaving streaks of eye makeup on the crinkled sheets of paper, damp with tears.
We are in love.
He pulls out. I tense up, knowing what’s coming next. If I’d had any doubts—any hopes—they are gone when he spits onto my ass. Careless fingers smooth the saliva into my puckered hole. Then his cock is pressing against me.
I practice like he tells me to. The plugs are as big as I can bear, but it’s still too much. Too much when his cock is inside me, dragging against the tender flesh, fucking me.
“Wait,” I whimper. “Wait.”
I don’t mean wait. I mean no no no. I mean stop and never start again. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t stop, and that’s for the best. If he did, he’d ask what I meant. He’d ask why I said it. And I don’t have answers for him. I only have my own muffled groans as he slams back into me.
I only have pain as he presses deep.
Chapter Five
The rest of the night I dance in a kind of trance, only vaguely aware of the flashing lights or the applause. The hands that reach for me, stroking and grabbing, barely register tonight. The hurt and shame I feel after being made to fuck his boot are too strong. I can see why Candy likes to shoot up before she goes onstage. I wish she was here so I could ask her for a hit.
There’s shock too, and that helps.
It’s dreamlike. I’m not really here, undressing and shaking my ass for strangers. I’m not even awake.
The sky is already a murky orange by the time I leave. A fine mist hangs between the buildings, a cross between fog and morning dew. The Grand is closing. Blue is ejecting the last customers, and they wander away, tripping their way over the uneven cobblestones, bleary and already hungover. Half the stones in the driveway are gone, pieces of the building’s façade missing, as if we’re in some battle-torn country. And we are. Wars are fought and lost on this street.
The well of the central fountain contains only dried leaves and cigarette butts. Whatever statuette once adorned the center pillar has long since been cracked off, leaving only a jagged edge jutting up. It’s a fitting centerpiece for the courtyard and the Grand as a whole, broken and proud.
I’m still in a trance as I head to Candy’s apartment. The numbness helps me here too, dulling my fear as I step over the bums and scary-looking men slumped over in the stairwell.
My knock echoes off the faded green walls.
She doesn’t answer.
“Candy,” I say, pressing my face against the door, hoping she’ll hear me. Still no answer. I try the doorknob just in case, but it’s locked.
Worry churns in my stomach. If she OD’ed on something behind that door…if she went home with some guy and he tied her up in the basement… there are so many ways she could get into trouble. So many ways to get hurt.