Page 94 of At Her Pleasure
“No, it doesn’t. Every one of them has eaten a part of my soul, Cyn. I’m pretty sure there’s not much of it left.”
Against the gravity of what he was telling her, what had happened earlier tonight shouldn’t really matter. He’d fucked up, she’d handled it, two people fumbling their way around in a relationship. Life would go on, for both of them. Unlike those girls.
But somehow resolving it mattered just as much to him. To his sanity. Maybe because of how many things he couldn’t fix.
“The smarter traffickers, they force you into a corner where you have to do something illegal, something a cop or agent isn’t allowed to do, even undercover. After eight years, I’ve earned my place in their world, so these days I can usually refuse without casting suspicion on myself. ‘I don’t partake of the merchandise, mix business with pleasure.’ That kind of thing.”
“But you couldn’t always do that,” she said quietly.
“No. One of the most common ruses to get women here for the sex trade is they’re promised a job in the States, or a modeling gig. Young girls are young girls.”
Except not all of them were the same. He remembered how she’d been that long ago night. Already far too cynical to fall for such a trick. When had she lost that innocence?
“When they get here, they’re taken prisoner. Some are broken in by having multiple handlers rape them. Or they’re strung out on drugs, their minds fucked with in a bunch of ways, so they think they have no options. Early on, when I didn’t have the bonafides I have now, I was put into the ‘go ahead and test the merchandise’ scenario. A friendly invite that was neither friendly nor an invitation.”
He’d avoided her gaze earlier so he could get certain parts of the story out. Now he wouldn’t allow himself to look away. He would face her judgment, see every emotion she revealed. Disgust, revulsion. Rejection.
She didn’t show him anything. Just waited for him to say what he was sure she knew was coming.
“They had a view window to determine how the ‘merchandise’ was adapting, how ready the girl was to be put to work. It was also to make sure no one damaged her, impacting her value.” A method he’d told Salazar to employ going forward, if he wanted to stay alive. “Prepping the girls sometimes involved deliberately hurting them, but you and I both know the difference between pain and damage.”
When she blinked, he nodded. “Ironic, right? I know the body’s capacity for pain. Withstanding it, surviving it.”
He sat down in front of her again. He almost reached for the persona he used with traffickers, to speak more nonchalantly, businesslike, as if discussing the sale of hammers or fruit pies, but he wouldn’t give himself that out. Not tonight and not with her.
“I was as gentle as I could be. Nothing about it consensual, but I made it clear I could make it not so awful. During that testing period, I had to do it three more times, different girls. One was nearly comatose from the drugs they’d given her, like I was fucking a corpse. The other two were so grateful for my ‘kindness,’ it told me exactly how infrequently they experienced that.”
His tone became flatter. “I don’t drink anymore, beyond a beer here or there to be social, or in situations where I’m playing the part. Never to excess. The only thing I steep myself in is dungeon play with Mistresses, and I never let that get out of hand. Just a quick fix to ease what’s inside me. Until you and I crossed paths.”
He'd come back to his point. Almost full circle. He tried to keep his voice even. “I should have walked away when I saw you. Left it at a polite hello. Or blown you off, been an asshole. I consider every variable like that, in every situation, how best to handle things. I stand outside of it like I’m fucking God, determining which button to press. But I met your eyes, and…fucking hell, none of that came into play.”
She had a brittle look in her eyes, and it was becoming something else. He wasn’t sure he could bear to see what that something was. So he’d finish it up and go.
“After all this time…you were someone who knew me before. Who could see me, who I am. I didn’t know how much I’d missed that. And I didn’t know, until you opened me up, how much I wanted a Mistress who could rip out my insides the way you do. I’ve been in control with Mistresses, always. I let myself not be in control with you…and as a result I hurt you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve done a lot worse things deliberately than what I did to you inadvertently, but it was like the last part of me that I trusted vanished with your trust. I’m so sorry for that. All the things I wish I could have changed these past few years, obviously, that one can’t top the list, but if I could only choose something about me, for me? That sure as hell would be number one.”
He let himself reach out and brush his fingertips over her clasped hands. One final touch. “The last truly honest moment I’ve spent happened when we first met. Until tonight, when I couldn’t stop myself from unleashing it all on you. Call it bullshit if you want, but don’t call it a lie. Because I sure as hell know the difference between that and the truth.”
* * *
Cyn had kept her reactions locked down, but inside her mind was whirling. As he rose heavily, she was thinking about the math problem he’d presented. Nine hundred versus two.
Sacrifice the present for the hope of the future.
Mick glanced around the backyard. “Sure is pretty here. I’m really glad you got this for yourself. You deserved it.”
All the various emotions she’d seen cross his countenance during his explanation disappeared, reabsorbed by his steady look, his firm tone. “It goes without saying, I’ve just put my life in your hands, and the lives of a lot of other people. But I trust you to keep that secret. I’ll be leaving after I finish up some things at Progeny. If you hold off coming back until then, you won’t see me again.”
He took off the necklace and laid it on the table beside her. “You keep this. It belongs to the guy I once was. The one you could count on.”
He crossed the yard, headed for the gate. He moved with wooden purpose, projecting an unmistakable message.
It’s okay. I don’t need or want anything from you.
What she felt from him was very different.
He'd travel on to another place, another event, while he kept working his real job. She couldn’t say if it was right or wrong. Whether the ends justified the means was the moral dilemma for anyone doing what he was doing.