***
I can’t go back to sleep after Mike leaves. My cozy apartment is feeling like a prison, and I have to get out and escape for a few hours. I dress carefully, doing my best to cover my bruises and step outside inhaling deeply. Though I normally stay away from it, I decide to head for the Strip. For some reason I find myself longing for the crowds. I want to lose myself fin a mass of strangers. I have to get away from the solitude for a few hours.
I walk for half an hour. It’s one of those standard hot as hell, dry to the bone days and I’m not used to being outside much. But the thought of going back to my apartment isn’t appealing, I want to stay in the open air. Where I can at least pretend for a few minutes that my life isn’t what it is. There’s a bench near the Bellagio that’s my thinking spot. I head toward it.
It isn’t surprising that someone is on my bench. After all, it is Vegas and the Bellagio is a nice place to sit and rest for a bit. What is surprising is the person sitting on it.
Isaiah Martin.
Chapter Five
My first thought is that it’s a setup and Mike’s somewhere nearby watching. It’s without a doubt something he’d do: make a rule and then tempt me to break it. I glance around to make sure he’s not nearby. I even try to peek into the windows of the buildings that look out onto the bench, but of course, I can’t see anything.
I still don’t move. It’s like my feet are encased in cement. Only when someone bumps into me do I realize I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Watch it,” the person who bumped into me says.
“Sorry,” I reply. I plan to walk past my bench and pretend as if I don’t see Isaiah.
But of course, right when I’m within a few feet of where he’s sitting, he looks up.
“Athena.”
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Isaiah,” I say, hoping I’m wrong and Mike isn't nearby. And then it hits me: Why would Mike be nearby? It’s not like he’s following Isaiah around just to see if I’m going to show up. My smile for Isaiah grows bigger.
“Come have a seat.” He scoots over to make room for me.
I tentatively sit down and his eyes widen as I remember my visible bruises.
He reaches a hand up, but hesitates and doesn’t touch me at my slight flinch. “What happened?”
I touch a spot that’s still sensitive on my cheek, probably the one he’s looking at. I finger it gently. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”
“From the party?”
“Huh?”
“The party you were on your way to when I ran into you at the hotel the other night.”
Right. I’d told him I’d been going to a party. “Yes,” I say. “It was a bit wild. Dancing, you know? One of my girlfriends swung her arms a bit too vigorously.”
“And hit your cheek?”
“We were dancing really close.” I can’t decide if I want to let on that I know Mike told him what I do.
“I know you weren’t at a party,” he says. “Mike told me.”
His voice doesn’t hold any judgement, but I still feel shame. “I didn’t want you to know. Not yet anyway.”
“Did it happen when you were sixteen?”
“Yes, it’s a long story. I don’t want to go into it.”
He nods, but I get the impression he knows there’s more I’m not telling him. I need to change the subject. Get the focus off of me and my job and how I look.
“How’s the church going?” I ask.
“Set up’s slow, but the first service is Sunday. If you’d like to attend, you’re more than welcome. Playmaker’s Lounge at ten o’clock.” He smiles the sweet smile that reminds me of my childhood, and the sight of it hurts something in my chest. “It’ll be nice to know at least one person.”
I swallow my snort before I offend him. He’s trying to be nice, and while I appreciate that, there’s no way in fucking hell I’m going to church. Casino or not. “I’ll have to wait and see.”
“It’s so hot here,” he says changing the subject. “You’ve been here ten years. I can’t imagine being here that long. It’s so different from home.”
I shrug. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years.”
“I guess I’ll get there eventually.”
“You will,” I assure him and I want to kick myself. What am I doing? Why am I trying to help? I should be doing everything in my power to get him to go back home.
“It’s so good to talk to someone from home.” He leans forward, inching closer. “You have no idea how hard it’s been. Moving here. I haven’t met very many people yet.”
If I wasn’t a prostitute, this would be my cue to ask him for a lunch date. We’d meet at a nearby deli and talk and get to know each other all over again. But I am a prostitute. One who has explicit orders not to be around Isaiah Martin. And while it’s possible luck will be on my side and I’ll be able to have this moment without Mike finding out, there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to tempt fate by meeting him again.
“I’m sure you’ll soon have more friends than you know what do with,” I say.
“Can we meet tomorrow?”
I shake my head and start to stand. “No, I’m sorry.”
He narrows his eyes, analyzing my reply. Does he see through me? “No problem. Later then.”
Yes, later. Like never later.
But I nod. “I look forward to it.”
I’m walking back to my apartment, replaying the conversation with Isaiah in my mind. I don’t plan on seeing him again, and I want to catalogue every moment, every detail, so I can recall it years from now. Hold on to the part of me that was once normal and free.
Something’s off, though, and I dig further into the conversation to try to find it. Isaiah had been a perfect gentleman. Such a change from what I’m used to. I replay his words, and it hits me.
I never told him I’d been in Vegas for ten years.
***
I’m conflicted by the emotions running through my head. How could he possibly know how long I’ve been in Vegas? I finally convince myself that he’d simply done the math, or Mike told him. That was probably how he knew. I bet Mike really enjoyed telling him exactly how long I’d been a hooker. There’s no other explanation.
I’m so focused on Isaiah, I don’t see him until it’s too late.
“Athena.”
Harris is standing in front of my apartment, and I hate myself, because for a second I was thinking about how nice looking he is. He has an easygoing self confidence about him that doesn’t seem diminished when he’s around Mike, and that’s more than you can say about most people. Plus, there’s the way his eyes always seem to dance, almost like he knows what’s going to happen before it does.
Idiot.
How can I possibly think such a thing about Mike’s second in command? His eyes? Seriously.
I toss my hair behind my shoulder. “What do you want?”
“What I want has nothing to do with this visit.”
“Right,” I say. “You’re nothing but a message boy. What does your big, bad boss want?”
I think I see a slight flash of amusement in his expression before he scowls. “You need to watch the way you talk to him, Athena. Unless you want a repeat —”
I wave my hand to shut him up. “Save it. What does he want?”
“He wants to see you in his hotel office.”
My stomach falls to my feet, and the earth tilts.
I hear Harris mumble, “Damn it,” and seconds before I fall down, he grabs me and brings me to my feet.
“I’m fine.” I try to push him away, but he doesn’t listen and for a few precious seconds I lean on him. He’s strong. I feel hard muscle under his shirt. The way he’s holding me isn’t sexual, and it’s a very odd, almost comforting feeling.
“You’re not fine,” he whispers, those knowing eyes of his searching my face. For what? “Come with me, Athena. Let me take you from here. Let’s leave.”
If it weren’t for his two arms around me, I would probably slide to the ground. What the fuck? “Are you insane?” I ask. “He’d kill us both.”