Rastor (Lawton Rastor Book 2) (19 page)

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "What someone?" she asked. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

"You tell me."

"I can't. Because he doesn't exist."

"Alright. Then who was that guy?"

"Which one?"

I shrugged.

She stared up at me. "You mean the guy on the porch?"

"That'd be a good start."

She made a sound of disbelief. "You've
got
to be kidding me. That guy? You seriously think he's my boyfriend or something?"

No. I didn't think he was her boyfriend. I thought he was something worse. But I didn't want to say it, so I just shook my head. "That's not what I said."

"Then what
are
you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't get it."

"Get what?" she asked.

"Alright," I said. "I'll spell it out. I don't
get
why some guy in a fancy car would be showing up on your doorstep and handing you a pile of cash. I don't
get
who you live with, or why you've never asked me inside."

I was talking louder now, probably too loud. But I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. "I don't
get
why you're getting 'business calls' at midnight on a Sunday night or why I'd happen to go by early this morning and see some guy in a sports car leaving your house."

My heart was pounding, and my muscles were tight. I stared down at her, waiting for her to tell I was seeing things. Hell, at this point, I'd be relieved to hear it.

She was glaring up at me. "You're twisting everything around, making it sound worse than it is."

"Is that so?" I crossed my arms and waited. "Then go ahead. Tell me how
you'd
say it."

"I already told you." She gestured vaguely toward the place she called home. "I get paid to stay there. What don't you get?"

An image of the cash flashed in my brain. What, exactly, had she been paid for?

She lifted her hands. "Yeah. I do it for money. Big fucking deal. And the reason I didn't tell you right from the start is because that's part of the deal. I'm supposed to look like I actually belong here."

The douchebag's words echoed in my brain.
"What about nice girls? I got them, too."

I stared down at her, wondering what, exactly, she did for that money. Straight stuff? Kinky stuff? The kind of stuff she did with me?

I felt sick. All the secrets, all the shit she didn't want to talk about. No wonder.

Her eyes were filling with tears. "Yeah." She made a scoffing sound. "I've got the dog, I've got the plants. Hell, I've even got some stupid lawn guy coming once a week to trim shit that doesn't need trimming." Her voice cracked. "But it's all about the money, because I don't have any of my own."

No. That wasn't true. I
knew
it wasn't true. The Porsche, the jewelry, the house…what the fuck?

She looked down at her front pocket, still bulging with all that cash. Her shoulders started to shake, and she swallowed a sob. "I'm broke. There, you happy?"

I felt my eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"Yeah. You want the whole story?" In a choked voice, she kept on talking. "Well, here it is. I've got a grandma who gets all her rent money from this fake job I had to make up. I've got a kid brother who thinks our mom gives some sort of a crap, even though she doesn't. I've got student loans from a degree that as far as I can tell, probably cost me a lot more than the damn thing's worth."

Her voice rose. "And now, I've got you ragging on me like I’m some kind of horrible person!"

I stared at her, not knowing what to say, or hell, what to think. All this time, she'd been broke? And I'd had no idea?

It couldn't be true. But what if it was? Why hadn't I known? I claimed to love her. I
should
have known.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Chloe–"

"Don't 'Chloe' me," she said. "What the hell? Have you been rich so long that you've forgotten what it's like to live in the real world?"

The real world – yeah, I'd seen it, alright. But for some reason, all this time, I'd pictured Chloe as this rich girl who never knew what it was like to need anything.

On raw instinct, I moved toward her. "Chloe, you need money? I mean, shit, why didn't you say something?" I reached toward my wallet, thinking to offer give her whatever was in there, anything to make things better.

She lifted her chin. "I don't want your charity. As you so aptly observed, I just got paid. So I'm practically rich, right?"

"But you just said–"

"I
know
what I said. Quit rubbing my nose in it, alright?"

None of this was making sense. I stared down at her. "But what about your waitressing job?"

"What about it?"

"So you do
that
for the money too, not–?"

"For the ego trip?" She gave a bark of laughter. "You ever work as a waitress? It's fucking hard work. I take shit all night long from people who act like they're better than me just because they're sitting down, and I'm standing up. I dress like some bimbo and act like I'm stupid, for God's sake."

She tugged her hair. "You know how many times I've got to wash this to get the hairspray out? You think I'm doing this for some sort of ego trip." She made a sound of disgust. "That's rich. At least with this job, I get to dress how I want. And I get to live in a nice place where people treat me half-way decent."

The way she was talking, it ate me up inside. Half-way decent? What did
that
mean? That the guys didn't beat her?

How had this happened? It's not like I hadn't seen this sort of thing before. I knew girls in my old neighborhood. Some of them weren't too bad. And the things
they
did for money…

But this was Chloe. How the hell had I missed that?

In a quiet voice, I said, "And that's good enough for you?"

"It's gotta be." She squared her shoulders. "I've just got to keep doing what I'm doing, that's all."

My thoughts were churning, and I didn't know what to say. All this time, she'd been so broke, so hurting for money, so desperate, that she'd been selling herself. And I hadn't seen it. What kind of asshole doesn't even know that his girlfriend has no money?

"But Chloe…" I shook my head. "You don't need to. Not anymore."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"You just don’t." I shoved a hand through my hair. "So, you want a loan or something? I mean, if you won't take money…" I blew out a long, unsteady breath. "All I'm saying is, you don't have to do this. Don't go back there, alright?"

The pain in her eyes was a knife to my heart. All this time, she'd been desperate, and I'd been blind to everything.  There was nothing that could make me feel shittier – or so I thought, until she started crying.

Unable to stop myself, I moved forward and wrapped her in my arms. She felt small and fragile against my chest. I wanted to protect her. I
should
have protected her. She shook against me, her muffled sobs going straight to my heart as I held her close and whispered soothing sounds into her hair.

"Baby, don't cry," I said. "I'm sorry. We'll work it out. You can move in with me, alright?"

She leaned closer, and I felt like a giant shit-heel, listening to her cry.
I'd
made her cry – not the guy from this morning, and not the douchebag who'd paid her.

A hypocrite – that's what I was. The things
I'd
done for money. I'd beaten men bloody. I'd partnered with violent people. In a way, I'd let
my
body be used, too. And why? Because desperate people did desperate things.

I wasn't desperate anymore. And I didn't want Chloe to be either.

I held her for a long time, telling her it was going to be okay. And it
was
going to be okay. I'd make damned sure of it. When she finally stopped crying, I vowed to do anything in my power to make sure she never cried again.

She pulled back and gazed up at me. Her face was flushed, and she tried to smile. "I've been such an idiot." She wiped at her eyes. "I should've told you sooner." She gave a little laugh. "Like it's such a big deal, right?"

I tensed. I didn't want to judge her. Hell, after the things I'd done, how could I? But in my book, it
was
a big deal. And the fact she couldn’t see that, well, it made me feel funny, like I might not know her as well as I thought.

But this was Chloe, the girl I loved. I clutched her tighter and said, "Baby, I don't want you to do this with anyone else. Not ever."

I heard a smile in her voice when she said, "Yeah?"

I nodded. "I mean it. Move in with me. Right now, today. This'll be our home. Together, alright?"

She clung to me, and I tried not to think about everything else – the guys, the money, the things she'd probably done to earn it. I loved her, and somehow, I told myself, we'd work it out.

I felt her smile against my chest. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think." Sudden panic clawed at my heart. "Just do it." She
couldn’t
go back there, to that house, where guys would show up expecting something special, and leave smiling in the morning. She couldn’t. I wouldn’t let her.

I pulled away and gave her a pleading look. "You don't want to take money from me. I get that. And I respect the hell out of that, honest. But baby, please. Come on. Stay with me. Or shit, I'll buy you a house of your own if that's what you want. Just no more other guys anymore, alright?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I love you."

She hesitated. "I love you too."

I reached out, gathering her against me. Desperate now, I tightened my grip and whispered an urgent plea into her ear. "You don't have to sell yourself anymore. From now on, let
me
take care of you, alright?"

At this, she grew utterly still. For a long moment, she didn't say or do anything. And then, she pulled back and gave me an odd look. "Sell myself?"

I leaned in close, trying to pull her back into my arms. I wasn't judging her. Or at least, I was trying like hell not to.

She yanked herself back and looked up at me. "Just what are you implying?"

I met her gaze. "Baby, I don't want to judge you. I mean, the things I've done for money…" I tried to find the words. "In a way, I guess I sold my body too, right?"

She stared up at me for a long, tense moment. For some reason, the look on her face was making me nervous as hell. I didn't get it. I mean, I knew she had to be embarrassed, ashamed even. And I couldn’t blame her. Whatever she'd been doing, it couldn't have come easy.

In front of me, she was looking unsteady now, and maybe a little shell-shocked. I reached out, wanting to wipe the look of horror from her eyes. But she took another step backward, as if desperate for some space.

In a choked voice, she said, "Oh my God."

I hated to see her like this. "Hey," I said in a low, soothing tone. "Like I said, I don't wanna judge you for doing what you had to do, but–" I shook my head. "It stops now, alright? You've gotta promise me."

She closed her eyes, and all the remaining color drained from her face. I wanted to reach out for her, but something made me stop. Obviously, I was missing something. But what?

She didn't feel dirty, did she? Who knows? Maybe she did. After that whole sex tape, I hadn't felt exactly right either.

When she opened her eyes, she looked at me like I was the biggest asshole on the planet. "Let me get this straight." Her body was trembling now. Her voice rose. "You think–" She swallowed. "You think I'm some kind of
hooker
?"

"Chloe." I kept my voice soft. "I didn't call it that."

I mean, shit, I'd
seen
hookers, not that I'd used their services. But I knew the difference between a hooker and a high-end call girl. It was pretty obvious that a girl like Chloe didn't walk the streets.

She was breathing too fast and too shallow. "But that's what you think?"

"Baby," I said. "What is it? You okay?"

She glared up at me. "Okay?" She shook her head. "Nope. Definitely not okay here."

She cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered toward the interior of the house. "Chucky! C'mon! We're leaving!"

"What?" I reached for her hand. "Why?"

She slapped my hand away. "Don't touch me."

"Why not?"

"Because, you idiot, I'm not a
hooker
." She spoke very slowly and clearly, enunciating every word. "I'm a
house-sitter
!"

Her words echoed in the silent space. I stood, utterly still, wondering if I'd heard her right. The house-sitter?

I shook my head. "What?"

"Oh yeah." She made a sound that might've been a laugh, except there was no trace of humor in it. "Big difference there, huh?" She turned away and called out again, "Chucky, where are you?"

For a long moment, I couldn’t move. My thoughts were coming too hard and too fast. What about the guy this morning? What about the douchebag? What about the house? I couldn't be wrong.

But – a sick feeling settled in my stomach – what if I was?

Fuck.

Chloe turned and stalked toward the kitchen.

With growing panic, I followed after her. "Chloe." When she ignored me, I reached for her elbow. "Baby…"

She shook off my hand and whirled to face me. "I already told you, stay away from me!"

The look in her eyes sliced through my heart. But I
had
to know. "So those guys–"

"Who?" she said. "The property manager who stopped by this morning?"

I swallowed. "Property manager?"

"Or maybe," Chloe continued, "you meant the financial guy?"

"Financial guy?"

The douchebag – what
that
who she meant? I recalled something he'd told me earlier.
"I'm just the guy who pays the light bill."
Shit. In a twisted way, it made sense.

"Yeah," Chloe said. "The guy on the porch." She gave me a cold smile. "And just so you know, when I say financial guy, I mean someone who manages the home-owner's accounts, not for example, some fucking pimp!"

I felt the color drain from my face. I
knew
what I knew. The guy
had
offered me girls for money. But he hadn't offered me Chloe, had he? In fact, he'd flat-out denied knowing her. Was today the first time she'd actually seen the guy? The way it sounded, it was.

As for the rest of it, it made no sense. Turns out, I didn't know as much as I thought I did. But I knew enough to realize I was in some very deep shit. I heard myself ask, "And the call last night?"

"It was just what I said. And in case you're wondering, she's a woman. And she called me last night because their accounts are all screwed up, which, in case it hasn't escaped your attention, is a whole lot different than screwing for money!"

Accounts screwed up? That would explain the cash, wouldn’t it? Houses in this neighborhood weren't cheap to maintain. Hell, my own landscaping service cost more than any waitress made in a month.

Had Chloe been fronting those bills?

I was finding it hard to think. "So she's the home-owner?" I said.

"Renter, owner, hell, at this point, I have no idea. But she definitely lives there." Chloe crossed her arms. "Except, I guess, when she's off in Costa Rica with her husband."

I shook my head. "But the guy who lives in that house, he's not married."

"Oh yeah? How do
you
know?"

I tried to remember. It was something Bishop had said, maybe on the night of my birthday party. Right now, I was finding it hard to remember anything. Still, I managed to say, "Bishop told me."

"Yeah? Well, maybe he's wrong."

"No. He's never wrong."

She gave me an icy smile. "Then maybe you should ask
Bishop
whether or not I'm a hooker. I mean, he knows everything, right?" She threw up her arms. "Why am I even discussing this with you?" She turned to call over her shoulder. "Chucky!"

My heart was pounding. This was happening too fast. Somehow, I could make it right. I
had
to make it right. I reached out for her. "Baby, c'mon, don't go. Not like this."

She slapped my arms aside. "Look, let me make this really clear. Whatever we had, it's over."

No.

It wasn't over. It couldn't be over. I shook my head. "Don't say that. C'mon. I’m sorry, alright?"

"No, it's
not
alright." She glared at me. "What is it with you? Why do always assume the worst about me?"

"I don't."

"You do." She turned and stalked through the house, calling out for Chucky.

I followed after her. "C'mon, Chloe." My voice broke. "Don’t go like this."

She whirled to face me. "You've got to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't call me. Don't talk to me. Don't–"

"Baby, c'mon–"

"Don't write me. Don't email me. Don't text me. And, if you see me on the street, don't fucking wave to me." She choked down a sob. "Just leave me alone, alright?"

Desperately, I reached out, wanting to gather her in my arms. Again, she slapped my hands aside, yelling out, "What part of 'leave me alone' don't you understand?"

I hated to see her like this. And I hated the fact that I'd caused it. "But Baby, you're upset."

"Of course I’m upset! My boyfriend–" She raised her hand. "No. Make that my ex-boyfriend, thinks I’m a damn hooker!"

"Chloe, c'mon, don't say that. That's not the way I thought of it."

"Yeah, right." She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. "Now, promise me."

"To leave you alone?" My insides were churning. The thought of life without her, what kind of life was that? I gave her a pleading look. "I can't."

"If you ever loved me, you can."

"Don’t ask me to." Shit, there had to be another way. I'd pay. If not with money, then with something else, anything. But not this. I gave her a desperate look. "Beat me, yell at me, whatever, but don't make me do this. Please."

She made a scoffing sound. "Look, all the time I've known you, I've never asked you for one fucking thing. And I know damn well that other girls have. So now, this is it, the first thing I've ever asked, and you can't even say 'yes'."

"Baby–"

"Promise me. I mean it."

I couldn’t.

At that point, I'd have done anything for her – anything but that. My mind was frantically searching for another way, a shred of hope, anything. I couldn’t lose her. I just couldn't. Not forever.

Seizing on the only hope I had, I made myself ask, "And if I do promise you? What then?"

She looked away. "I don't know."

I could hardly talk, but somehow I managed to choke out, "Are you saying there's a chance?"

"Yeah. Slim to none."

She was hurting. And once again, it was all my fault. "I am so fucking sorry," I said.

"You already said that."

Just then, Chucky skidded around the corner, with one of my socks dangling from his teeth.

Chloe looked at her dog and said, "C'mon Chucky, time to go."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't go. Please?"

She gave me a hard look. "Where's my promise?"

"I can't."

"Alright, fine. Whatever. I guess it's all about you, huh? Heaven forbid
you
do anything you don't want to."

What could I say to that? Not a fucking thing.

Because she was right.