Misfit (Death Dwellers MC #6) (93 page)

“Will you require a madam’s fee?”

“Save the sarcasm. You’ve asked me to help. I am in the only way I know how.”

“Might I remind you that besides the credit card you gave to me after I busted you, you’d already jacked up my earnings, gotten two additional credit cards and a personal loan using my credentials?”

Babs had left Story living in blissful ignorance until eight months ago when Story had attempted to take out a small loan for a used car. She’d been so proud of herself with the money she’d saved for a down payment and had wrangled a one-year warranty on her chosen vehicle.

Then, disaster. The finance manager’s decision devastated her. Declined due to bad credit.

That night, when Story obtained her credit report, she’d cried for the first time in a long time. She’d been a victim of ID Theft. At the time, she hadn’t known who was responsible. Only to discover it was Babs.

Story’s emotions still ran the gamut of anger, disbelief, and disappointment, especially now when Babs suggested another outrageous scheme.

“If things work out with this boy, you don’t have to worry about finals. You can withdraw from school. Arrange a deal where you have enough to save dollars each month to tide you over in between arrangements.”

“No, no, no, Mom! I’d do this to finish my degree. He’d have to be willing to pay my tuition.”

“That’s unacceptable. He’s looking for a trophy, not an academician. How many months behind on your on rent? Trying to stay in school
and
repair your credit?”

“As well as eat and stay clean. Don’t forget that.”

“As well as that.” Babs hadn’t taken it in the spirit of resentment that Story had said it. Instead, she’d added it to her arsenal of all the reasons why Story should run with her idea. “You’re wasting your time chasing a lost cause.”

“Girls get Sugar Daddies to pay their expenses, including tuition.”

“Not you.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I’d like to think you’d want me to be independent.”

“Yes, giving birth to you at sixteen. Losing your father in an accident months later. I wanted an education too, but it didn’t happen. Life happened. I wanted more for you. I
want
more for you. Why do you think I talked you out of your silly fashion designer dreams?”

“I can’t…I mean I can but suppose I don’t like him?”

“Who said anything about liking him? Satisfy him in bed, look beautiful, and smile.”

“I want some emotion in a real relationship.”

“What am I going to do with you? Fine, Story. I can’t change how romantic-at-heart you are. Let’s scratch the sugar daddy. Here’s a job that requires no emotion. Just sex. I heard through the grapevine they’re casting at Dirty Boys.”

The statement broke into Story’s thoughts. “Excuse me?”

“Story, love, you’re a realist. You know dreams have no place in the real world. Not fashion designer dreams. Or teaching goals. You’re a beautiful, beautiful girl. Use your looks and your body. You’ll be happier.”

The dreams she’d had of becoming a fashion designer was locked away in the lone closet in the apartment, in the form of her drawing pad with all her sketches. Her future as a teacher was all but lost for the time being if she didn’t find the money to pay next semester’s tuition.

“Think about it, Story. I’ll text you Ryker’s contact information. He’s in charge of production and casting for the company.”

“So you’re telling me to get into porn?”

“Yes,” Babs answered without apology.

Story had a dead father and a lunatic for a mother. “Bye, Mom.”

Without waiting for her mother’s response, Story ended the call and growled in frustration. Her mother collected husbands like Story once collected
Hello Kitty
stuff. Winston Sherwood had been married to Babs the longest. He was older, with his own collection of ex-wives and five sons who were complete and utter dicks. Although Story liked Winston, he dismissed girls, so he’d ignored her. On the other hand, he’d spoiled Babs and had the patience of a saint.

What her mother had done to piss him so thoroughly off, Story couldn’t imagine. But Babs caused the end of the marriage. Of that, Story had never doubted.

Vague images of Babs holding on tight to Story while they foraged through restaurant dumpsters for food and found nighttime shelter wherever they could still haunted her. Somehow, Babs had gotten them out of that situation and found a wealthy man to marry. From the age of three, Story had suffered through the revolving door of Barbra Thornton, right along with her mother. The man she married two days after Story’s third birthday stayed around for eight months. By Story’s seventh birthday, she was on her fourth stepfather. When Winston married her mom, stepfather number ten had already walked away. Including Winston and her dad, her mother had been married
twelve
times.

Babs’s thirteenth husband would appear as soon as she divorced Winston.
Whenever that happened.
Neither of them seemed in a rush.

Her phone beeped, and she glanced at the screen. True to her word, Babs had sent a phone number and email address for Ryker Sherwood, with the message of
Contact him immediately.

The battery operated clock ticked in the silence of her rundown efficiency apartment. The drip-drip-drip of the leaky kitchen faucet captured her attention. For the months that Story had lived in this place, faulty plumbing had plagued her. Despite numerous complaints, the landlord never made an effort at repairs.

It was almost time for her to start her shift. She needed to cook her Ramen noodles, change into her uniform, and get a move on if she didn’t want to be late.

Heading to her bedroom, she once again eyed the bills. She’d bounced around the idea of becoming a stripper. Why not porn? It was just sex, and she needed the money like yesterday.

Before she changed her mind, she sat back down and typed out a message to Ryker. Hopefully by the time her shift ended he’d answer her.

Hi Ryker. This is Story, your stepsister. How are you?

This had to be the worst idea
ever
. Story wasn’t a stripper or porn star material or a sugar baby. She wasn’t—

Her phone beeped, and one word appeared.
Who?

Asshole.

Story:
Babs’s daughter

Ryker:
Yeah

Oh my God. What did that mean? Was it a question? A statement? He wasn’t up for small talk. He’d never been as far as she remembered the one or two times she’d met him. She needed to get straight to the point.

Story:
Your company’s casting and I’m looking for work. What must I do to be considered?

Ryker:
You want to do a show?

Damn it, she needed to hear his voice to know the meaning behind the words. Was he asking in a rhetorical way? Or was he surprised?

Story:
May I call you? Texting doesn’t seem to be right for this.

Ryker:
No.

Chewing on her lip, Story stared at the screen and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the word. Her half-hearted attempt was laughable. If she wanted to have a roof over her head, food to eat, and a school to attend in the fall, she needed to put more effort into this.

Ryker:
If you’re serious email me a headshot, an ass shot, and a full frontal nude.

Wow. Just like the ad. That must be standard requirements.

Story:
Okay. Do you need my age, weight, and height?

Ryker:
You’re 20. 5’2”. Most of ur weight in your tits and ass.

Story:
You know all this but you didn’t know my identity when I contacted you?

Ryker:
How many fucking chicks named Story do you know?

Ryker:
Send the pics now and stop wasting my damn time.

Before she had time to think this through, Story stripped, grabbed her phone again, and snapped three photos of herself. Headshot. Full frontal nude. And a shot of her ass, captured when she stood in front of her dingy bathroom mirror and clicked.

One by one, she sent the photos, staring at the phone in trepidation. This could be the worst mistake of her life.

Five full minutes passed before Ryker messaged her again.

I can get you a phone meeting with Max. I’ll let him make the final decision.

Max. Story’s biggest fantasy and worst nightmare. He’d tell her ‘no’ on GP.

Story:
I thought you made the final decision about casting.

Ryker:
Not where YOU are concerned.

They’d never liked Babs and whatever her mother had done to their father worsened their hostility.

Ryker:
We have three big productions coming up and we’re casting lead girls for each of them. I like what I see so far, so here’s what I’ll do. Fly you out as I would any other girl I’m considering. Let you have a face-to-face with my brother. If he agrees, we’ll take it from there.

Story:
Thank you, Ryker. I appreciate it. I’m desperate, on the verge of homelessness. This is a lifesaver.

Ryker:
Your situation isn’t my problem. You and your mother’s doing. These productions are my only concern.

Story:
Whatever happened between our parents, I had no involvement.

Ryker:
If you say so.

Story:
I do!

Ryker:
Convince Max of that.

The decision maker in this matter. She’d leave it alone for now since she still had other questions about these productions.

Story:
If I am chosen, how much do I earn? What’s the production schedule?

Ryker:
Max will determine your pay based on your experience. Production is 14 days. A speaking part. In other words, some acting and not just fucking.

Story:
I have no experience in acting OR fucking.

Ryker:
Fucking on screen or at all?

Story:
At all.

Ryker:
Well, shit.

Story:
Please don’t let this change your mind. I’ll have it taken care of if it’s a problem. My mother thinks this is a good opportunity for me.

Ryker:
What? Adult Entertainment?

Story:
Yes.

Ryker:
Are you shitting me?

Story:
No.

Ryker:
Well, fuck. Is she willing to star in some shows with you?

Story:
Ewww.

Ryker:
It’s happened. Google it. I know of at least two porn stars who did movies with their moms.

Story:
I’m desperate, not perverted.

No response.

Story:
What happens if I’m not chosen?

Ryker:
You leave and don’t bother us again.

Story:
My plane ticket will be round trip?

Ryker:
Yeah. Whatever. You and your mother in front of a camera would make Max’s day. Almost guarantee you’d get chosen.

Story:
Not happening. What else can I do to guarantee he’ll pick me?

Ryker:
Arrive here with proof that you’re clean. You’ll still have to get tested at our facility, but it’ll get Max’s attention.

Story:
I don’t have money for tests.

She had to go to Planned Parenthood for her monthly birth control pills.

Ryker:
Find out the cost and let me know. Repay me if you get the contract.

Story:
If I don’t get it?

Ryker:
We’ll figure it out.

Story hated not knowing the particulars, but he held the ball in his court, and she had no room to demand answers.

Ryker:
On second thought re: your virginity. Let Max decide what to do with that, too.

Story:
Okay. What now?

Ryker:
Once you send me the requested information, if you’re sure about this, we’ll take it from there.

Meaning, he’d tossed the ball back in her court.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Isreal Kamakewiwo’Ole

Canon in D - Pachelbel

Fade Out Line - Phoebe Killdeer & The Short Straws

You Don’t Own Me - Grace, G-Eazy

Marry Me - Train

Solomon: Act III – No 42 Symphony - Handel

You Can Leave Your Hat On - Joe Cocker

Wedding March - Mendelssohn

Wedding March - Queen

Now That We Found Love - Heavy D & The Boyz

Closer - Nine Inch Nails

Pony - Ginuwine

The Art of Seduction - Maxi Priest

Luv Me, Luv Me - Shaggy

Bang Bang - Jessie J

Dangerous Woman - Ariana Grande

Outlaws - Alessia Cara

Ex’s & Oh’s - Elle King

Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry

Pornstar Dancing - My Darkest Days

Bad to the Bone - George Thorogood and the Destroyers

American Woman - Lenny Kravitz

Unsteady - X Ambassadors

Pocketful of Poetry - Mindy Gledhill

Kiss It Better - Rihanna

Thrift Shop - Macklemore

Desperado – Rihanna