To Hold (7 page)

“Crystal Palace.”

Rick was always a smirker. It was something I grew to despise — his smirk. He would smirk at us when delivering bad news, smirk at patrons who had drank too much and had gotten sloppy, and smirk as his hand would travel over our bodies like we were his personal property. I can hear his smirk through the phone, his casual greeting vibrating through the receiver.

I grip the plastic tightly, reminding myself that I am no longer Candance Tapers, the pawn of this man, dependent on him for floor placement and wages. “Hi Rick.”

There is silence in response. I can’t hear a smirk in the silence, but it is probably there. Probably twisting the skin on his fat face as he tries to place the voice.

“Candy?” His voice catches me off guard, the tone one I have never heard from him. It is shaky. Nervous. Scared.

“Yeah, Rick, it’s me. It’s been a long time.” Not that long. Only two months — two months that have changed me in ways that I’m not sure are good or bad. But his shakiness gives me strength, validates my reason for calling. I feel a swell of nostalgia at his voice, which is ridiculous, considering I spent the majority of my nights cursing the man’s existence.

“Candy, I … it’s good to hear your voice. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.” I called him the day I signed the agreement, giving him my ten-minute notice. He hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t put any of the girls on, had cut the conversation short — with a brevity that had, outlandishly enough, hurt my feelings. I didn’t expect a gold watch or a tearful response, just enough time to complete a sentence without being cut off.

“I have to ask you something. It might be hard for you to remember, but the first time Nathan came into the club — ”

“I can’t talk about that, Candy.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

“What?”

“There’s nothing for me to tell you anyway. I don’t know anything about them — didn’t even know a name ‘til you just said it. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell. So I can’t help you anyway.”

I dig my fingers into the counter, holding a finger up to the receptionist, who looks pointedly at the clock.

“All I want to know is if he asked for me, or if you suggested me. That first visit … when you brought me into VIP.”

There is a shuffle of static and suddenly Rick’s whisper is loud, as if he is cupping his hand around the receiver. “Candy, they came here
for
you. They knew everything about you before they even walked in the door.”

Click.

Silence.

I look at the phone, and realize that he has hung up.

He watches me — watches as my husband makes me submit, makes me do things that, even in their depravity, bring me pleasure. He knows what I like and how I like it. But while Nathan dominates my body, Drew is interested more in my soul.

I can only bend so far before I break. Drew is my crack, my weak point around which everything else splinters. Even as more secrets are unveiled and all of the signs point to danger, I roll farther into this world — into this highbrow life, into both of their beds.

But to what end? At this point, I don’t know what’s in more danger: my heart or my life. For these men, these two men who I am pushed and pulled between? They seem to be much more interested in my death than they ever were my life.