Seductive Shadows Read online

  “You haven’t answered me,” she said, though she placed her finger on my lips to keep my mouth from opening. “And I don’t want you to just yet.” Her hand grasped mine, and she pulled me to my feet.

  The string of her thong buried even farther between her cheeks as she walked and kneeled on Victoria’s bed. Once she reached the pillows, she turned, and motioned for me to join her. The ceiling above my mattress at home—what I stared at when I masturbated—wasn’t nearly as sexy as the chains and cuffs that were above Victoria’s. And my fingers weren’t foreign like the Recruiter’s would be. But she only teased the top of my thighs before she stopped and turned toward the nightstand.

  Victoria had moved to the foot of the bed; a man stood next to her. I never heard him enter the room, but one of his hands gripped the right poster, while the other fondled Victoria’s waist. Her posture had softened.

  The Recruiter removed several toys from the nightstand; their vibrant colors flashed across my body, but I never looked down as she placed them at my side. I couldn’t stop staring at her. She slid her tongue over the outer edge of her lips, and my back arched. It was as though she were licking my clit. And when her fingers glided down her chest, pausing at her nipples, pulling them with the lace from her bra, I moaned.

  “Answer me.”

  I could barely find my voice. “Yes,” I stuttered, “I want to be one of you.”

  “Tell me, then.” She circled her hand around my pointer and middle finger and brought them up to her mouth. “Tell me you want to fuck me with these, like you fucked yourself in the bathroom last night.”

  My wetness had seeped through the satin dress, and I could feel it when I wiggled on top of the bed. My body was begging for her; my clit craved a release. My breath came in small bursts, and my chest heaved as I gasped for more air.

  “Or better yet,” she said, “show me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There weren’t any clocks in the basement, but I knew we were in the early hours of morning when Victoria finally signaled us to stop. The Recruiter’s lips softly pressed against mine. Then she grabbed the man’s hand, and they disappeared behind the pocket door. When Victoria went to her desk to make a phone call, I slid the dress over my head and slipped my feet back into the heels. I didn’t need her to tell me that I had passed the audition. Maybe it was arrogance or some preternatural sense of right, but somehow I just knew.

  And I was sure of it once she led me to the doctor’s room.

  Outfitted like any other physician’s office with an exam table, stirrups, and canisters of alcohol swabs and tongue depressors, the room was a short elevator ride from the basement. Victoria told me that once a month I would be summoned here for a blood test, pap smear, and physical. There would be no exceptions made. The health of her girls was a top priority to her. The doctor, outfitted in a white eye mask that matched his jacket and black latex gloves, entered from a side door. As if taking her cue to leave, Victoria exited the same way.

  Then, the doctor’s questions began. I gave him Lilly’s medical history—the only family I knew of—and past procedures that I’d had. The doctor glanced between a tablet and me. I got the feeling I was just confirming everything that was already on the screen.

  He had a professional demeanor with a frosty edge; his mannerisms told me he expected obedience, and that’s exactly what I gave him. I placed my feet in the stirrups and leaned back on the table as he began the breast and internal exam. His warm touch surprised me, but after an evening of penetration I appreciated it even more. He scanned my skin, covering both sides of my body, swabbed my mouth, and drew my blood. Then he explained his rules: I was to call him Doctor and contact him for all of my medical needs—trivial or serious. He wanted to know what ailed me, and he would be my primary physician for as long as I worked at the mansion. I was no longer allowed to receive any outside care.

  As the Doctor departed through the side door, Victoria entered and escorted me outside to where the limo was waiting. She handed me a cell phone; I was to have it on me at all times and was expected to answer if it ever rang. She said the location of the pick-up spot would be sent by text message, since it would change every day. But it would always be near a train station. I wasn’t ever allowed to be late. And for my protection, I wouldn’t be dropped off or picked up at my apartment. I actually preferred it that way. Since it wasn’t common for a limo to come into my neighborhood, it would prevent the other tenants from gossiping and keep Lilly from finding out. Not that Lilly would care at this point how I earned my money. But I didn’t want her questions. I didn’t owe her anything.

  It seemed that getting caught by the police didn’t pose a concern; as Victoria had said, their business had been around for over fifty years and their clients were the most influential members of New England’s society. Those were the kind of people who had connections on the inside, who could ensure the mansion stayed out of the light. And I would be servicing them. I wasn’t a prostitute; I was an artist who used her fingers to paint a fantasy that her body fulfilled. And when I was desired by men, I felt the most creative.

  I had pondered the consequences of working at the mansion during Victoria’s interview, and I did again as I lay in my own bed in the early hours of the morning. Would it be so horrible to be paid to have sex? Being hired to provide pleasure didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy every moment of passion and every uninhibited, deviant thought. I craved sex and attention; I needed it. I was turned on by the cameras that would point toward my bed, by the lust that would be whispered in my ears, and by playing out the fantasies that I would compose. The challenge would make my release so much sexier. And if one of the clients tried to hurt me, Victoria would be there for my protection, to stop him before he went too far.

  Not knowing anything about these men—their names, or even what the top half of their faces looked like—meant they also knew nothing about me. I would never have to discuss my past or the accident; the only thing I would have to unzip would be my lingerie. I would have enough money to pay off Lilly’s debt in a reasonable amount of time, take more than one class a semester, and because her disability checks would stop once she died, I wouldn’t have to find a roommate to cover the remainder of the rent. I could get lost in the sex; I could escape, even if it was for just a brief period of time. I could forget.

  Victoria’s final rule, never discuss the mansion or what you do here with anyone, would be the easiest to uphold. Lilly had only a few more months to live, and Professor Freeman didn’t need to know I had stopped working at the hotel. I didn’t have anyone else to hide it from—no friends, no other relatives. Because I hadn’t just lost Emma in the accident.

  I’d lost her family, too.

  ***

  My head pounded as though it were being squeezed by a vise. Black mixed with silver circles swirled behind my lids. Every muscle ached, and my lungs felt heavier after each breath. Had something struck my head? I tried to swim around the pain, so I could remember its cause. A steering wheel, maybe? Yes…it was a steering wheel, and my toes were broken…because I’d hit the brake so hard. And my fingers ached from squeezing…Emma?

  Emma!

  My eyes burst open, and I attempted to sit up. There was movement by my side, a flash of color, and it pushed me back against the bed. I didn’t bother to turn my head; once I heard her voice, I knew who it was.

  “Charlie, no,” Lilly said. “You’re going to pull out your IV.” She reached for something on the table. “Nurse, can you come in here?” Her breath reeked of booze, and her clothes of cigarettes.

  A nurse wasn’t going to stop me and neither was Lilly. I needed to see Emma. Now.

  I yanked her fingers off my skin and swatted them away from me. “I don’t give a shit about my IV.” My throat was dry. Nothing was steady. I felt as though I’d just stepped off a high-speed merry-go-round, and I wasn’t even standing yet.

  “Emma’s dead, Charlie. She didn’t survive the accident. Neither did the girl t
hat hit you.”

  I stopped moving.

  She was…what? Dead?

  No. No, she couldn’t be dead.

  I ripped the IV out of my arm and tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed. The pain hit me as soon as I turned my hip, a stabbing ache that shot down the length of my leg. That didn’t stop me. “I don’t believe you. I’m going to go look for her right now.”

  “Nurse!” Lilly yelled. Then she grabbed my face between her palms, her lips inches from mine. “I know my word isn’t worth shit, but I wouldn’t lie. Not about this. Emma didn’t survive, Charlie.”

  I shook my head as hard as I could. “No, I don’t believe you. No…no.”

  “Listen to me, Charlie.” She held my face straight and looked into my eyes. “She’s dead.” She pulled me against her chest, her arms wrapping around my body. She swayed, slowly, back and forth.

  Lilly didn’t know how to say anything delicately, and the alcohol almost always made her lie. But she was holding me in her arms, and I couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. And she knew how much I loved Emma. Even though booze permeated her breath and my brain wanted to fight what she had said, I believed her.

  As if I had been tipped upside down and shaken like a bank full of coins, everything in my stomach came up. And it projected. Liquid and food and a flood of bile poured all over Lilly, the blanket, bed, and me.

  “Nurse,” Lilly shouted. Her arms dropped from my back.

  I had reached for Emma, like Moonlight had told me to, and squeezed our hearts together. I had given her my strength and protection. Why hadn’t that been enough? I had held on until I couldn’t anymore. And yet she was dead? Really dead? But she was my best friend, my sister, my…

  Everything went black again.

  ***

  I shivered from Lilly’s words, Emma’s dead, as though she had spoken them just moments ago. I couldn’t make the thoughts stop; I couldn’t push the memories away. Tucking my blanket underneath my sides and pulling it up to my chin didn’t warm me. Neither did the flashback of waking up in the hospital for the second time. I had asked Lilly if the Hunts had gone home. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t come to my room yet. I wanted a hug from Mrs. Hunt; I needed Mr. Hunt’s reassuring voice.

  “They blame you for Emma’s death,” Lilly had answered.

  I didn’t believe her. How could the Hunts blame me when it hadn’t been my fault? I had the green light, not the car that hit us, and I would never hurt Emma. They knew that. But days began to pass and they never visited, never called the phone in my room. At Emma’s funeral, with my leg in a full-length cast, I asked Lilly to wheel me over to them. Mrs. Hunt stuck her hand in the air to stop me from approaching; Mr. Hunt put his body between us, shielding his wife from me. Emma’s brother said through gritted teeth, “Give us time, Charlie.”

  I had read the witnesses testimonies, the detailed police report, and the findings after the wreckage had been analyzed. It all matched my statement. The Hunts weren’t arguing the facts. But they had told Lilly at the hospital that if Emma had been the one driving, their daughter would still be alive. They wanted to trade my life for hers. The people I had called family for almost half my life had abandoned me, wishing I was the one who’d died.

  I went downstairs every morning on my way to school, hoping the Hunts would be parked along the curb. The night before each of my birthdays, I wished for them to ring my phone. I was driven by hope. And I had given them time, the only thing they had asked for.

  Still, in the years that followed the accident, they’d never called.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On my first real night of work, I rushed inside the mansion with flushed cheeks, the cold night air still kissing my face as I moved toward Victoria. She was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. I had stuffed my bra, panties, clothes, and new cell into the cloth bag labeled Charlie and was dressed in the red silk robe and eye mask that had been left for me in the limo. The silk ended well above my knee and hugged my curves, but I still felt frumpy next to Victoria, and small against her height. Where the Recruiter was tall and toned, maybe even a little too thin, Victoria had a luscious, full figure. She was thicker in the places that men found desirable; her skin tone practically sparkled and her stance screamed confidence. I was twenty-three and petite, and my stature wasn’t nearly as dominating.

  With her hand on her hip and her fingers resting on the banister, she let her eyes follow each of my steps until I stopped in front of her. I didn’t know if she had an official title—if she was considered the madam of the mansion—but I knew she was in charge. She was also the only person besides my clients and the Doctor who I was allowed to speak to. And when she spoke, I surrendered. When she told me over the phone that afternoon that she’d taken care of my resignation, ensuring I could use the hotel’s supervisor as a reference, I didn’t ask any questions. When she said she had my first three shifts already fully booked, I smiled. A tingling settled into my stomach. I wanted to be devoured and worshipped sensually. That would be coming very soon, along with the attention.

  With Victoria’s arm looped through mine and a tuxedo-clad guard walking behind us, she led me up the stairs, circling the music room where a baby grand piano sat below. A fireplace made of several different shades of brick extended to the second floor and disappeared into the ceiling. At the end of the overpass, the hallway forked, and each path ended with its own door. Victoria chose the one on the right, and we stopped in front of it. A gel-like pad hung on the wall next to the door; she pressed her hand into the center. Once she removed her fingers, she instructed me to insert mine.

  “It’s reading your fingerprints.” She looked at her watch. Once ten seconds had passed, she nodded, and I pulled my hand out. “When you come here tomorrow night—and every night following—I want you to get out of the limo and come straight to this door.” Her stare intensified. “No dawdling in between. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you get to the door, you’ll place your fingers on the pad, like you’ve just done. Once the software recognizes your prints, you’ll be granted entry.”

  As the last word exited her mouth, the door slowly swung open. A double-tiered crystal chandelier hung above us. Farther down the hall were its twins, equally spaced. Caves were supposed to be underground…but this one wasn’t.

  She turned to bring the guard into our conversation. “Sal is here for your safety. He will always stay in close proximity, escorting you to your wing or to the Doctor’s office if you have an appointment.” Just as my lips parted, Victoria said, “The only time you will speak to him is if there’s an emergency, if you need to see the Doctor, or myself.”

  I shut my mouth and nodded.

  Once we stepped through the entryway, Victoria gave Sal a signal with her eyes; he leaned against the closed door and we moved forward. I tightened my robe, but it didn’t stop the dampness from seeping through the fine silk.

  “This will be your wing every night that you’re here,” she said. Our sounds echoed, making her message that much more prominent. “You’ll be notified before Sal escorts your client in.”

  The ceiling was arched and covered in small bronze tiles that shimmered from the chandelier bulbs. The walls looked like the inside of a clay vase. Small niches had been cut and filled with candelabra; a warm mix of orange and red flickered in the light of the taper candles. The floor was made of broken mirrors and covered in thick coasts of polyurethane, reflecting even more of the light.

  When we reached the room’s center, the ceiling extended to a second story and rounded into a dome. Just before the arch, a catwalk of wrought iron cut through the middle of the room. Its floor was curved, and its path was bordered in candles. Small glasses of water with tea lights floating within were scattered all over the floor; flickering pillars decorated the side tables. Stone covered the walls, and its black soot gave dimension and character. Centered in the back of the room were three doors; each stood
in its own archway, and each was clad with iron handlebars that zigzagged across the front. Old, dark things fueled my artistry, and this place was both. It was gothic and mystical, and its quiet beauty would haunt and feed my imagination.

  Victoria led me toward the back. Her hands gripped and pulled the iron bar of the center door. “This is your bedroom.” I shifted to her side, holding onto the door’s edge as I leaned into the room. “It’s similar to mine,” she said, “but yours comes with a few…extras.”

  The chains and handcuffs on the ceiling and the nightstand next to the four-posted bed were the only similarities. This room was decorated like the hallway. Nooks were cut into the stone walls and wax dripped from the candelabra. The ceiling was covered in more bronze tiles, and the floor in broken mirrors. There was no art, no closet, no TV…not even a clock. There were speakers on each side of the bed; the only other piece of furniture was a wooden chest. With the room being so naked, it almost felt medieval. But stripping it to the essentials also made it romantic.

  “This is your bathroom,” she said, moving through the door to the right.

  This was nothing like my bathroom at home, or even the master bath at Emma’s. This was the size of mine and Lilly’s entire apartment, and made entirely of granite. A massive shower was chiseled into the rock, with the head recessed into the ceiling and niches along the wall holding bottles of shampoo and body wash. A tub sat in the opposite corner; the faucet for that was also built into the ceiling. Jets moved the water in a circle, and a light changed the hue from clear to red.

  “This is Sandy,” Victoria said, referring to the woman who stood in front of the sinks. She wore a white lab coat with a matching mask that covered most of her face. “She’s in charge of getting you ready every evening, performing treatments on your face and body. She will always leave at nine o’clock sharp.”