Selling Scarlett (21 page)

Priscilla flits off with one of her camera people to pose for a photo with the assistant mayor—only in Las Vegas would the assistant mayor attend a porn star’s benefit—just about the time I start feeling sick.

It’s my back. My skin is burning. I’m on my way to the bathroom when I get intercepted by Marchant’s cousin, Samuel. I talk to him for twenty minutes about some development ordinance he wants the city to pass. He wants me to help, and I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about, my back hurts so bad.

I mutter an “excuse me” and shake my head. “Migraine,” I croak, and he says, “Ow. I'm sorry, man. Those things hurt.”

“They do.”

“Take care.”

Fat chance.

I spend the next five minutes in a frou frou yellow bathroom, where I text Dave and let him know I haven't seen Smith or Lockwood yet.

'I'm here, outside,' he replies. 'Lwd just arrived.'

Hell, yes. I'm stepping back into the formal dining room when I feel something trickle down my back. My stomach heaves—blood—and I whirl around to step back into the john just in time to see some lady close the door. Fuck. I step toward the food-piled table, telling myself to quit being such a pussy, but the punch is blood red and there's steak laid out on a platter right in front of me, swimming in...

Fucking fuck!

I set off down the hall, swallowing repeatedly, ignoring one of Priscilla's cohorts, a pretty porn star named Cinnamon Vern. The nearest door is only steps away, and I'm reaching for the crystal knob when I hear Priscilla's voice.

I lean closer to the door, but her voice gets softer.

What the—?

I notice another door a few feet down, and walk swiftly too it. I hear a male voice, too, rising and falling in turn. I'm only standing there for a moment when I recognize it from a tape I heard in Marchant's office: It's Lockwood
.
He says something low that I can't hear, and Priscilla laughs.

“I ripped up his back. He’s trying to play it off, but he can barely walk.”

Lockwood chuckles, and she goes on. “Go for his left shoulder blade. I think there's some ceramic impacted. It was swollen and I noticed in the car he's not moving that arm much.”

I clutch my stomach; it feels hollow.

“I don't want to do that,” Lockwood says. I frown, confused. “I don't give a shit about the fight, and it's a bad idea to match me up with him anyway. I don't want anything to do with that sonbitch. I'm keeping my nose clean.”

“Honey, there’s not a thing about you clean,” Priscilla drawls.

He says something angrily, but for some reason it’s muffled.

“Don’t be silly,” Priscilla says, and Lockwood groans, “Just finish the damn job.”

Priscilla murmurs something I can't hear, followed by: "He doesn’t like to hurt a lady." She snorts, like the notion is ridiculous.

“Which is why you’re supposed to make him like it,” Lockwood snaps. “And get it on tape.”

She laughs under her breath. "I never have time for that."

"Yeah, because you're thinking with your pussy."

"He's a good fuck.”

"Congratulations, now do you want to do time in prison, or do you want to frame this son of a bitch and go to Mexico with me?"

"Is she still alive?" Priscilla asks softly.

"Yes," he says, after a moment's pause. "Now get down on your knees and—"

I slip into the next room and get sick.

Chapter Nineteen
~ELIZABETH~

I see Loveless's big, brown eyes, and I see her swallow, like it hurts to even think about. Juniper squeezes her arm and Loveless's mouth flattens. Juniper says, “Maybe we shouldn't talk about this.”

Loveless shakes her head. “Scarlett should know.”

“If you think.”

And I can't hold it in anymore. “Are you talking about the girl who disappeared?”

They both freeze. I watch as their mouths curve down in unison. Juniper nods. Loveless says, “Yeah. She was my next-door-neighbor. Sarabelle. I trained her when she started. Three years ago, I think.” She opens her mouth, like there's so much more she wants to say, but in the end she just shakes her head. “We’re praying for her.”

“It makes me furious,” Juniper says.

“Me, too, but here's the thing, Scarlett. You need to know a girl disappeared from here. I don't know if Richard told you but I'm the Head Girl and I want you to know. If you ever feel uncomfortable around any man, or something happens that doesn't seem right, you need to let me know.”

I nod.

“Probably best not to bring it up,” Juniper advises me. “We miss her, some of us more than others, but we're family here, so it's a hole in all our hearts.”

“I'm sorry to hear about it,” I say as we reach the punching bags. “But, uh, what does—uh, was it Hunter?” They nod. “What does Hunter have to do with this?”

“He was the last one to have her,” Juniper says with one eyebrow raised.

*

The next morning, when I eat with Juniper, Marie V., and Loveless, all I can think about is Hunter and whatever happened here, with Sarabelle. I'm disappointed when the subject doesn't come up again over breakfast, and I tell myself that's crazy. I should be glad no one's talking about Hunter. Just like I should be glad he doesn't come here to see the escorts anymore. I'm not glad about the reason he's staying away, but I'm glad I won't run into him.

Juniper has today off, at least until four, so she shows me all around the place and I learn a little more about Marchant. Rachelle and him have had a thing since college, and everyone used to think it would be just a matter of time before they wound up in bed together.

"But they use restraint," Juniper says. "I'm not sure who they fuck. Marchant seems positively virginal when he’s out here, although I know he must get most of his pussy in the city. Rachelle is different. I really think she's sworn it off. I'm not sure how. Orgasms are the best thing in the whole wide world. Don't you think so?"

I blush, but I'm proud that I can manage a response. "They are."

"So tell me how it is that you're a virgin, darling? Just never met the right one?" I think about Hunter and feel my cheeks and throat color again.

"Yeah. Just haven't found the right one."

"Well Mr. Right will pay you rather handsomely I'd bet. In fact," she laughs, "we're all betting. I'm putting my money on a randy bidder for those long legs of yours."

I smile, feeling warmed by her compliment. "I've never heard anyone use the word 'randy.'"

"I bet you've never had a lesson on deep-throating, either, am I right?"

We're en route to one of 'the rooms', and I've been wondering exactly what we'll do. Hearing this, I nearly fall flat on my face.

Juniper smirks. "I guess you do have virgin ears, but a virgin throat?" She shakes her head. "No more. No worries, though, you're learning from the best." She gestures to herself. "Men pay thousands for this throat. It's not as unpleasant as you might expect either, if you know what you’re doing."

"So you're my sex teacher?"

She winks. "Anything you want."

"Does that mean I'm supposed to...give the winner a blow job?”

"No, not at all. But Richard felt you might appreciate some bonus lessons, for whoever might be Mr. Scarlett one day, or boyfriend of Scarlett." She smiles. "If it weren't for this, you'd be with Brenda all day, and that's not good, I'm afraid."

"Who's Brenda?"

"Your trainer. She'll be responsible for all your beauty matters. And though they're few, she's sure to make them count. She might order you a waxing, or many miles of running, or perhaps a new hairstyle." Juniper yawns, and mutters, "Sleepless night. I've got a boyfriend in London."

"You do?" I gape, and she nods. "He wants me to quit my job, but he's a poor man and he can't support me. A soldier, in fact. Coming here in several weeks. I'll have to take the time off, but truth is I'm rather excited for it."

We slip into easy chatter, but behind it I’m thinking about Hunter. Sarabelle disappeared from his room. What happened? The girls have all been careful not to say, so I know there must be something there.

*

By the end of the day, I still haven’t learned anything else about what happened. I have, however, been waxed, tanned, toned, and pampered with an hour-long massage, and Brenda's personal shopper has brought me several outfits.

"We like our girls and guys to look a certain way. One that speaks to a certain kind of luxury,” she explained. “You might have wonderful clothes, but we'd like you to wear ours while you're doing business here."

The outfits are beautiful—rich, soft fabrics and complimenting cuts—and the truth is, I love them. I feel sexy. I call Suri after dinner and get an update on Cross, who squeezed her hand today, and then call Mom, who's spending an evening away from rehab. I wonder who authorized that.

After an hour alone, most of which is spent wondering about Hunter and Sarabelle, and Googling my butt off but finding nothing, I grab my bag and head downstairs, wearing gray leggings, a royal blue sweater, and tall brown leather boots, to meet the escorts who worked day shift. Those of us who have tonight off are going somewhere fun.

As soon as I arrive in the nook nearest to the staff side door, Juniper pulls me into a hug and begins to brag about my prowess today. It makes me blush, but it also makes me a little happy.

"I want to know how your next guy likes it," Juniper tells me.

Everyone laughs, and Hannah, an escort all the way from India (they get a lot of international girls, I’m noticing) asks if we want to see Thomas Bourne.

“Who?”

“He’s a poker player,” Loveless explains. “And one of Marie V.'s, but Hannah wants to recruit him.”

"He's a beautiful man,” Hannah says.

"Too skinny," says a girl named Cat.

"That's not why he's beautiful. It's more than just his body. It's his...everything." Hannah holds up her hands, miming a swoon, and Loveless bumps into her. "You sure it’s not that dick you want?"

"Is it big?" Hannah asks innocently.

Five minutes later, Hannah has been outvoted. We won't be going to watch anyone play poker, which leaves me feeling defeated; I'd hoped, against all good sense, that I might see Hunter there.

"We'll go to the fight," Juniper says.

As we spill out the side door, Loveless winks at me. "All the men who come to Love Inc. will have their eyes on you, wondering who you are. You'll have cocks across the stadium standing on end.”

"I'm not sure how much I like that," I say as we walk across the parking lot.

“You should like it, honey. It means more money for you.”

“Do you guys feel safe, out and about? I mean...after what happened here?” I've taken her light moment and turned it deadly serious, but Loveless doesn't take the bait. She tosses her hair, which tonight she's wearing straight down her back, and gives me a funny look out of the corner of her eye—one I think says 'I'm not talking about that'. In a normal, cheery voice, she says, "I feel real safe." She opens her handbag and holds up a Taser, and I gape. For the remainder of our brief walk to a stretch limo, she shows me how to work it.

We pile into the limo, driven by Rod, a Peruvian man who's also an escort, who declares, once everyone is in, "I'm tired of my female clients. I need a man tonight."