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  “Thank you.” Theo pumps Mike’s hand. “That’s very nice of you.”

  Mike waves the compliment away. “Just like to see to my customers’ satisfaction.”

  They finish their conversation. Theo sits down, cuts into his tuna, and starts eating. Mike slowly walks over to me. His hand is painful on my shoulder. He leans down and speaks low enough so Theo can’t hear.

  “Theo will be meeting with me tomorrow morning,” he whispers. “He’s very important to the new operation. His company is very important to the new operation. If he gives me any hint suggesting he is not one hundred and ten percent satisfied with the way this evening goes...” His grip tightens so hard on my shoulder I see stars. “I don’t think I need to remind you of anything, do I?”

  “No, Sir,” I whisper.

  “Excellent. Excellent.” He pats my back and speaks louder. “You two have a pleasurable evening. You hear?”

  Oh, yes. I hear loud and clear.

  Chapter Nine

  It’s early morning by the time Theo finally rolls over and goes to sleep, but I’m not tired. There’s not a part of me that isn’t aching, yet it isn’t pain that keeps me awake. It’s the realization deep within my soul that if I don’t leave, Mike will kill me one day.

  When I was new in the business, I thought the danger would come from one of the men he set me up with. After all, you never fully know the danger that might reside in a person. Now, with years behind me, I believe I have the ability to read people.

  Police officers worry about people shooting them. Firefighters might get caught in an uncontrollable fire. Hell, from what I've read, even CEOs have dangerous jobs; a good number of them die from coronary disease. How many prostitutes die on the job? I bet no one has ever run those stats.

  Because who would miss a whore?

  I stare up at the ceiling, and not only do I hate my life, I hate myself.

  So now what? I ask myself. Are you going to just keep on doing what Mike wants you to do, or are you going to make something happen? Take control of your life?

  It’s fear that keeps people where they are. Even if things are bad, at least they’re familiar. I keep staring at the ceiling, and it finally hits me that if Mike’s going to kill me anyway, I might as well die trying to get away. Beats putting up with men like Theo every day and night of my life until Mike decides I’m not even good for that anymore.

  It’s a morbid thought, but it’s what makes me creep out of bed and pull on a pair of jeans and T-shirt. I don’t take anything else. If everything goes as planned, I won’t need my things anyway, and if it ends badly... well, it won’t matter.

  I don’t even take the room passkey with me. I tell myself there’s no going back. I know exactly where I’m headed and what I’ll find.

  For the first time in ten years, I start to feel alive. Excitement pounds through my body, and I feel so light I swear I float down the elevator and toward the main entrance. No one even looks twice at me. Before I exit, I stop below one of the numerous video cameras and flip it the bird. “Fuck you, Mike,” I mouth.

  The temptation to run is strong, but I walk slowly to my destination. Behind the hotel, a small building lent itself to storage. I have in my possession a key, thanks to one of the security guys.

  The truth is, I’d stolen it from him. But seriously, even if you list out all my vast number of sins, I doubt that one would even make the top twenty.

  While Mike never paid us anywhere near what he said he would, he did on occasion pass us cash. And cash adds up over ten years. I don’t use a bank because one of the girls did that and her account was mysteriously emptied. Likewise, Mike would find it if I kept it in my apartment, after all, the place is technically his. As I let myself into the building, I try to calculate how much money I’ve saved. My best guess is ten thousand. Nothing to sneeze at, surely, but a sad, sad amount when you think long and hard about it. Was I truly only worth a thousand dollars a year?

  The metal door closes behind me with a clang, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the low light. There’s a small flashlight that I hid on a previous visit behind some boxes and I smile as my fingers wrap around it. The faint light trembles as I aim the flashlight to the row of crates along the back wall. Ten thousand dollars isn’t a fortune, but it’s enough for a plane ticket out of Vegas and rent money for a short while.

  I tentatively push aside the crate in the far right corner, and the entire time my mind spins with all the places I can go. Not the South. Maybe someplace completely different, like Indiana. I can start over in Indiana, maybe work on my GED, get a job at a clothing store, a grocery store, a bookstore! My heart pounds as I imagine my new life.

  With the crate out of my way, I wiggle the loose wooden wall panel. Will I settle in a big city, like Indianapolis, or go somewhere smaller? I can’t decide. Maybe I’ll rent a car once I land and check out a few places.

  Hi, my name is Athena and I’m from Indiana.

  I like the way it sounds in my head, and I giggle at the possibilities.

  There’s a hole a rodent made years ago behind the loose panel, I reach into it, feeling around, but my fingers only brush empty air. I frown and shift my weight. Wiggle my fingers deeper.

  Nothing.

  Oh, no.

  The flashlight falls from my hands and I struggle to fit both hands into my hiding spot. It has to be there. It just has to be. Ten thousand dollars doesn’t just disappear.

  “Be there. Be there. Be there.”

  I rip the panel off and try to pry up the floorboard. Maybe it somehow got buried. Mentally, I calculate how long it’s been since I’ve added money to my nest egg. Three weeks ago. No longer than four.

  My fingers finally settle on a piece of paper. Heart beating wildly, I jerk it out, grab the flashlight, and read.

  Do you think I’m stupid, Athena?

  “No.” The paper slips from my hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  I drop to the ground, choking back tears I know are going to fall anyway. Who would take my money? Who even knew where it was? The security guy I lifted the key from, Mike, or Harris?

  In the end, it doesn’t matter. Gone is gone, no matter whose hands it went through to get that way. My fingers scratch uselessly at the dusty floor, and hot tears stream down my face. Indiana will never happen. There will be no bookstore, no rental car. There is here and me and the men. I’ll never leave.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I half whisper, half choke. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it’d be forever.”

  I’m not sure how long I sit there. By the time I finally emerge from the dark storeroom, there is a hint of the coming dawn teasing the horizon. There are people around, but no one seems to notice me, though I know I’m a sight with the puffy, red eyes.

  I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to the hotel. I can’t even go back to my apartment. So I walk. And walk. With my head down, I can be anyone, going anywhere.

  I wish I could walk forever. If I had my ten thousand dollars I would. But thoughts of my lost money bring the tears, and I sniffle, trying in vain to hold them back.

  I look up to make sure I’m alone and unnoticed and find I’ve walked further than I thought. The hotel stands miles behind me, and tourist traffic has dwindled down to almost nothing. I take stock of my surroundings and head to a nearby public park.

  I tell myself I’ll just sit and think for a bit. Try to decide what to do while not thinking about how I lost ten thousand dollars overnight. But, of course, that isn’t going to happen.

  “It’s Vegas, right?” I ask out loud.“Happens all the time. Probably a lot more than ten thousand.”

  I laugh, but it’s not a happy sound that comes out of my mouth Matter-of-fact, it scares away the flock of pigeons who boldly approached to see if I had food.

  “Sorry,” I say, as they flitter away. “I didn’t have anything anyway. Can’t afford it.”

  How is it possible one person can make so many mistakes? I catalo
gue them: leaving for Vegas in the first place, trusting Mike, thinking my money was safer in the storage building and not my apartment. I sigh. No one’s doing but my own. Make your bed and you have to sleep in it and all that jazz.

  “Not that I do much sleeping,” I mumble to myself.

  “Talking to yourself?” a soft southern accented voice asks from behind me. “I’ve heard it’s only dangerous if you answer.”

  I jump off the bench and spin around.

  Isaiah stands behind the bench, hands in his pockets and his signature smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Instead of answering, he comes around the bench, lifts an eyebrow and, at my nod, sits down. “I found this park a few weeks ago. It’s not far from my condo. I like to come here early in the morning when it’s just me.”

  “Sorry I interrupted your private time.”

  “There’s no reason to apologize. What brings you out this early?”

  He saw me at dinner with Theo, and Isaiah is smart man. He already knows what I am and what I do.

  “I’ve had a bad day.”

  He gives a low whistle. “And it’s only five in the morning. That’s really bad.”

  He means it as a joke, but his words bring back just how alone and destitute I am. I’m not able to stop the sob that rips through my throat.

  I drop my head into my hands and give into the tears once more. I curse myself for being such a crybaby, but that doesn’t stop the tears. I cry, not caring that Isaiah is there, not caring if he gets up and leaves. Somehow, the cry is restorative. As the sobs lessen, I’m aware of a presence beside me. I sniffle and glance out of the corner of my eye. Isaiah. He hasn’t left.

  “Better?” he asks.

  I shrug.

  “Here.” He hands me a cloth handkerchief. I take the soft piece of material and run my thumb along the monogrammed ISM. Isaiah Samuel Martin. I’m not sure what surprises me more: that Isaiah carries handkerchiefs or that he’s letting me use it.

  I hold it back out to him. “I’ll mess it up.”

  “It’s just cloth, Athena. Wipe your eyes, blow your nose if you want. You’ll feel better.”

  I dab my eyes, just using a corner of the cloth.

  “For goodness’ sake.” He snatches the handkerchief from me with one hand, holds my face with the other, and proceeds to wipe my face himself. All the time under his breath, he’s mumbling. I hear something along the lines of ‘stubborn woman’ and ‘piece of cloth’.

  His hands are soft and gentle against my skin. When he brushes the handkerchief under my eyes, I close them, relishing his warmth. His touch is so different from what I’m used to. His fingers make me think of comfort and affection and something else that causes my stomach to flip flop.

  “There,” he whispers, and I open my eyes to find his face mere inches from mine. His hand still cups my chin, and his thumb traces my cheekbone.

  “Thank you,” I answer in my own whisper.

  He swallows, glances at my lips, and drops his hands. “It was nothing.” He scoots away as far as possible.

  I glance down at my hands, unable to meet his expression. I hate that he’s sorry he touched me. Even though we are alone in the park, it suddenly feels too stifling. I need to leave. To get away. Figure out what I’m going to do. I stand up.

  He holds out hand. “Don’t leave. I moved away because I didn’t want you to think I was coming onto you.”

  “I’d never think that.”

  “Sit down and tell me why today’s so bad.”

  I don’t want to tell him too much about Mike. I don’t know how close they are ,and I’m not stupid. I keep it simple. “I want out.”

  He nods. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, it seems. I’ve managed to save some money over the years. Not a lot, but enough to get me out of here. I went to get it,” my voice drops, “it’s gone.”

  “All of it?”

  “All of it.” I reach into my pocket. “There was a note.”

  He takes it from me and reads with a solemn expression. “Who would do this? How could anyone do this?”

  “Real easy like.”

  His eyebrows wrinkle up. “It has to be someone who’s watching you.”

  “I have a few ideas, but it’s nothing I’m in a position to pursue.”

  He sighs. “You should call the police.”

  It sounds just like something a naïve know-it-all would say. “Did you miss the part about me not being in a position to pursue anything?”

  “I guess I need you to explain it to me, because the way I see it, you’re the victim of a crime and it’s the police department’s job to help you.”

  I glare at him, but can’t find it in my heart to be angry. I guess for some people, life really is that black and white. Too bad the rest of us have to live with all the different hues in between.

  “Look,” I finally say when he continues to look at me with his hopeful expression. “I know you weren’t born yesterday, and that in your world life is full of this is right and this is wrong, but you have understand that most of us live somewhere in between the two. The police won’t listen to me. Even if they did, I have no way to prove that money was mine or even existed in the first place.”

  He drums his fingers on his thigh, and I see his mind spinning with ideas, possibilities he could offer. “I could talk to Mike –”

  “No!” I jump up. I tremble just thinking about him talking to Mike. Of what Mike would do after.

  “Mike and I are close, and he’s powerful. He’ll help, I’m sure.” His expression looks decided. “I’ll just explain –”

  “What part of no don’t you get?” So much for keeping Mike out of the conversation.“You don’t know how Mike is. What he’s capable of.”

  “He’s a good man. He’s helping me.”

  “He’s evil.”

  “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  I stomp over so I’m in front of him and place my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe me about Mike, and yet you think the police will believe someone stole ten grand from me?” I snort. “Yeah, I’m going to the police department. Right now. Know what? Forget I brought it up. I got myself into this, and I’ll deal with it.”

  “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

  My breathing is deep and heavy. “I just thought if anyone would believe me, it’d be you.”

  His eyes lock onto mine. “I believe you.”

  I sit down beside him again, making sure not to touch him in the process. “I’m still out ten grand.”

  Somehow, it feels better knowing he believes me. Granted, it doesn’t feel good enough to make up for losing all my money, but I don’t feel quite so alone. “I’m right back where I started.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “You’re right. I’m worse off. Before, I had money.”

  “Don’t you see?” he asks. “You’ve made an important decision. You decided to get out. To leave.”

  “Lot of good that’s done, right? I can’t leave if I don’t have the means.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t just walk out.”

  “And go where?” I sigh. “It’ll take me another ten years to save that much money again. I don’t think I’ll last that long. And I tried to leave once before.”

  He looks at me warily. “What happened?”

  At the moment, I want nothing more than to soak in a hot, steamy bath. I feel so dirty. Truthfully, though, anything would better than sitting here talking about things I’d rather forget.

  “I’d been in Vegas about a year and a half.” I close my eyes, picturing the one other time I’d gathered up the nerve to leave. “I had a pocket full of cash and thought I’d head back home, try to finish school. But as I waited for the bus, I knew I didn’t have enough money and that’d I’d be right back to selling myself.”

  “What did you do?”

  I shrugged. “When the bus left, I was still here. Choking on
exhaust fumes and trying not to look at Mike’s self-satisfied expression when he walked outside to take me back.”

  “You never tried to leave again?” Isaiah asks.

  “I thought about it a time or two, but never acted on it.” I never told anyone so much about me, not even Vicki. Of course, I don’t share with him how Mike forced me to show my ‘gratitude’ when he took me back.

  “After a while, it gets easier to stick with what you know. The way I saw it, I had a nice room, food, clothes.” A tear forces its way through my eyelids, even though I close them tight. “I just had. . . I just had to give pieces of myself away, night after night after night.”

  “Athena.” He scoots closer to me, reaches out his hand.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’ll get you out,” he says in a low voice. “I will.”

  “I’m not your problem.”

  “I never called you a problem.”

  I turn to face him fully. “But that’s what I am, aren’t I?” He’ll never admit it, but he doesn’t have to. I’m so tired of being seen a problem. I want to stand on my own, make my own choices, live my own life.

  “You obviously need a place to stay. You can stay with me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure the preacher bringing the hooker home will really make the neighbors pleased.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t live my life trying to make my neighbors happy.”

  I don’t even try to stop my sarcastic laugh. “And don’t forget what your congregation will say because I’m not sure what Jesus would do, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t involve Mary Magdalene, the Vegas Strip, and a condo.”

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  He doesn't see it. I have to be ridiculous. It’s the only thing keeping me from succumbing to another crying fit. Or maybe he does see it, because he doesn’t wait for me to reply but takes me by the elbow.

  “Come on,” he says.

  “Where are we going?” I try to yank my elbow away, but he’s stronger than he looks. His fingers have a grip on me, and he’s not letting go. You don’t get that strong from sitting around meditating your way through life and writing sermons.