Compared to that one night of violence, nothing of much importance happened for most of the week. I had the days free, so while I sometimes went on little romps around the city with Roger, I was often left alone in the hotel room with some books and my drugs. I never really found out what Ezekiel did all day, but I had no real interest in finding out. Nights were spent going to shows or occasionally gambling at the casinos. Ezekiel, however, was not a big gambler, and I think it was because there was too much risk for his taste. He’d win some, lose some, then wander away in disinterest. Often, he’d head back to the room and seek out my usual services. By now I had a map in my mind of Ezekiel’s scars, but I never asked about any of them. I didn’t really care to know. After watching him fire a bullet into a man’s brain without a flinch, there wasn’t much ambiguity to the scars’ origins.
The last night of our stay was spent at the fight club, watching carnage. I didn’t eat much—loss of appetite could be blamed for that. Roger didn’t eat much, either, and I wondered why fight clubs bothered him when he could apparently break a man’s neck without a qualm. I never found out, but I guessed that maybe it was because breaking a man’s neck was quick and painless. Watching men pummel each other to exhaustion was like watching torture. Killing a man required a cruel streak. Torturing one required indifference.
It all came down to Kennedy and JoJo, the men Ezekiel had told me to watch from the beginning. Two men who owed him money had bet on each. One of those men was going to be able to pay Ezekiel back with prize money. The other was going to sink even further into debt. I tried not to think about what would happen to the latter.
The fight lasted longer than the ones before it, and there was plenty of gore to satisfy the sickest person’s desires. Both men’s faces were bloody and raw like undercooked meat, yet they continued to fight—even when wounds broke open on their knuckles and they could barely gasp through the blood dripping into their mouths. I stopped watching after a while and excused myself to the bathroom.
When I came back, the fight was over. I didn’t lament missing the climax. One of the men was on his back, not moving. The other was screaming and running in circles around him, fists pumping the air. Kennedy was taking home cash and fame, while JoJo had possibly died.
Ezekiel nodded at Bruce and Garrett, taking a sip of his wine. Simultaneously they stood and slipped into the crowd. Ezekiel finished off his drink and rose. He threw a look at Roger, and in turn, Roger turned to me.
“Let’s go,” he said gently, taking my arm.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we headed toward the exit without Ezekiel.
“Back to the room. Ezekiel will meet us up there in a few minutes.”
A few minutes? Didn’t he need a few hours to finish up with his business?
I was seated on the couch, sipping champagne, when Ezekiel came into the hotel room, removing his jacket as he walked. Behind him followed Bruce and Garrett, along with two other suited guards who Ezekiel must have hired as temporary thugs. They hauled two men with them. Both were dressed in shoddy replicas of brand name suits, and neither looked comfortable. One was loosening his necktie nervously. The other was sobbing and red-faced, barely able to keep himself on his feet. The more composed one stopped at the edge of the steps that led down to the TV and couches. The other was shoved forward toward Ezekiel. He stumbled and landed on his chest in front of Ezekiel, who surveyed him indifferently.
“Ezekiel, I gotcha the money,” the composed one said with a nervous grin. “I won the money, and I gotcha it.” He held up a slightly worn leather suitcase.
“Bruce, take the briefcase and count it for me, will you?” Ezekiel asked. “Make sure it’s all there.”
“It’s all there, I promise!”
The man at Ezekiel’s feet began to sob. Ezekiel kicked him in the ribs. He wheezed and choked. Ezekiel knelt down to grab a handful of his sweaty hair.
“Mr. Walters, I’m afraid you’ve used your life as cash on the gambling table, and you lost.”
The man started sobbing again, and Ezekiel sneered at him in disgust. He slapped Mr. Walters smartly across the nose. Mr. Walters sniveled now, pressing his face into the carpet in hopes of subduing his tears.
“Is that how you plan to go? Sobbing like a child?”
“Ezekiel,” I whispered, standing and taking a small step toward him. “Don’t.”
Ezekiel swung around, eyes blazing. “Do you know this man, Melissa?”
I shook my head, biting my lip.
“Do you know how much money he borrowed? How he wasted it on hookers, drugs, and lavish status symbols? My money, Melissa. And now he has the nerve to cry about it. It’s my money you lost, Mr. Walters. Shouldn’t I be crying? That’s fifteen thousand I’ll never get back.”
“Please.” Mr. Walters reached for Ezekiel’s foot, then whimpered when Ezekiel stepped back. “Please, Ezekiel. Have mercy. I’ll get you the money, I promise. Give me a second chance.”
“A third chance, you mean. This was your second chance. I’m not a cruel or unreasonable man, but I’m not a fool. You’re a worm, a waste of flesh and blood. You could have spent that money well, invested it. Instead, you inject it into your veins and ejaculate it into dirty whores.”
“Not again. I won’t do it again.”
Bruce came out of the bedroom, carrying the briefcase. “Sir, it’s all here.”
Ezekiel glanced nonchalantly at the other man, who paled. “Very well. Mr. Perkins, feel free to leave. Consider yourself debt-free. It was nice doing business with you.”
An unhinged grin fueled by relief flickered over Mr. Perkins’s face. He swiped away a few locks of sweaty, graying hair. “Thank you, Ezekiel. Thank you very much.”
“I don’t need to be thanked. I just need my money. Garrett, escort Mr. Perkins out, will you?”
Garrett nodded and took Mr. Perkins’s arm. Together, they left the room. I wished I were leaving with them.
Ezekiel jerked a head at one of the men for hire. He swept forward and yanked Mr. Walters to his feet. I put his age around forty, though there was nothing really striking about him. He was slightly overweight with thick eyebrows and an earring that dangled on a little golden chain. Hell, he could have been a customer of mine. He seemed like the type, and guys like him all blended together into one. Now he was sweating and crying, the poorest excuse of a man I’d seen in a while. I felt a wave of pity for him, despite my experiences with his type.
“Take him to the bathroom and put him in the bathtub,” Ezekiel ordered.
“No. No, please, Ezekiel, have mercy! I’ll get you the money, I promise,” he cried as he was pulled away.
His voice cut me deep. I tentatively put a hand on Ezekiel’s arm.
“Ezekiel,” I whispered. “You surely can’t—he’s so—”
“Come, Melissa.” Ezekiel grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bathroom. I instinctively resisted, but Ezekiel responded with another jerk and dragged me along helplessly behind him.
He took me to the bathroom, where Bruce and the other two men for hire were holding the hysteric Mr. Walters in the bathtub. Ezekiel pulled on two black leather gloves that had been placed on the sink counter. Each went on slowly with calculating precision, finger by finger. When he finally fitted his hands, Ezekiel asked for a gun, which Bruce produced. Mr. Walters was sobbing something, but I couldn’t understand it.
“Undress him,” Ezekiel said in a monotone. “I don’t want to have to dispose of bloody clothes.”
Bruce pinned him to the bottom of the tub while the other two stripped him, tearing and cutting the clothing when it didn’t come away easily. I wanted to leave. I wanted to close my eyes at least. But part of me feared repercussions if Ezekiel noticed. Why was he making me watch this? Normally, he kept me out of his business.
Mr. Walters was finally stark naked, which made him even more pathetic than before. He was pale and soft, with wispy hair on his shoulders and a tattoo of a well-endowed woman on one saggy pec muscle. Seeing him like this nearly pushed me to tears, and I felt like I had to do something. I’m sure the man wasn’t the smartest or most decent specimen, but no one deserved to be murdered like this. He reminded me of my own people, addicted to drugs and always in want of cash. Cash, we were told, solved all. Once we got it, we didn’t know what to do with it. We hadn’t been told to invest it or spend wisely. We were only told it would make us happy. So that’s why we used it for pleasure. I’d had plenty of customers who owed money to someone, and yet they spent money for me, because I helped them escape their miserable prison.
“Ezekiel.” I strode forward and stopped in front of him. “You can’t do this.”
“What do you suggest?” His voice was coated in ice.
“W-well, maybe you can—can punish him or something. Beat him. Add more interest to what he owes you. There must be another solution to this.”
“So you would suggest leniency.”
“Yes. Please. Look at him.” The stench of urine hit my nose, and I realized that Mr. Walters was so terrified he had pissed himself. “You’ve terrified him. You’ve done your part. Just don’t kill him. Please. I’m sure he’ll get you the money if you give him more time.”
Ezekiel looked past me. “Is this so, Mr. Walters?”
“Yes! Oh, Ezekiel, yes! I will not sleep until I collect everything. If you kill me now, you’ll have lost all that money. If you let me go, I can get it for you. I’m your man. Give me the word, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“You do raise a good point.” Ezekiel raised a hand to his chin.
“Yes!” Mr. Walters gasped. “Oh, Ezekiel, you are a just man. A good man. If you would give me more time—”
“Money or time. That is the question. One can’t make a profit without time, correct?”
Mr. Walters nodded in blind agreement.
“Then again…” Ezekiel looked at his gun. “I feel like killing something.”
Then, instead of turning the gun on Mr. Walters, I felt the barrel of it between my shoulder blades.
I froze.
“So. It’s you, Melissa, or him. What do you think, Mr. Walters?”
I tried to turn to look at Ezekiel, but he shoved my shoulder so that I was forced to face Mr. Walters again. Mr. Walters wouldn’t look at me, but I looked at him as my whole body froze. Ezekiel couldn’t possibly be serious. As much as I felt sure Ezekiel was only bluffing, a voice in the back of my head doubted it. He seemed like the type to kill anyone to prove a point, and it wasn’t like I was irreplaceable. He could just sweep up any other whore off the street—most would risk bodily harm to be spoiled like a princess.
He’s lying, another voice insisted. He had to be. He had invested so much in me. To dispose of me now would be foolish. Despite how convincing he sounded, Ezekiel couldn’t convince a mother her baby was alive when its corpse was lying at her feet.
“Well?” The gun pressed harder. “What do you think? It has to be one of you. You, who have wronged me; or her, who has done nothing more than stick up for you?”
Mr. Walter’s eyes wobbled between me and Ezekiel, and his lips trembled. I already knew his answer. So did Ezekiel.
“Please,” Mr. Walters whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”
At that, Ezekiel grabbed my arm and forced me back against him, his lips against my ear.
“See, Melissa? You protect scum,” he hissed. “Next time, you’ll believe me and get out of my way.”
Throwing me away from him, he raised his gun and fired three shots into Mr. Walter’s skull. My hip struck the sink, and I fell just as I saw blood splatter across the pristine white tile. Mr. Walters slumped deeper into the tub, leaving a streak of red behind. I hadn’t had long to look, but I’d seen half of Mr. Walters’s skull missing, revealing a gooey mixture beneath. I turned my head before I threw up.
Ezekiel strode out without looking at me, removing the gloves and tossing them onto the floor as he went. After he left the bathroom, Roger slipped in, kneeling down in front of me.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, turning his back to the men, who began to remove Mr. Walters from the tub.
“No,” I whispered, grabbing him.
He put an arm around me and helped me up. I didn’t let go of him until we got to the bedroom, where Ezekiel was calmly removing his jacket and bow tie. Roger guided me to sit on the bed and didn’t let go of me until Ezekiel glared at him. Roger ducked his head and left, closing the door behind him.
There was a long silence. Finally, I inhaled with a rattle and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Ezekiel didn’t look at me. He glared instead into the mirror across from him. “Next time, I hope you think twice before contradicting me.”
“I was just—I could—I only wanted to look out for your interests. A man who is alive can at least try to pay you back. That’s fifteen thousand you’ll never get back.”
“Sometimes you lose a bit of the crop if you prune the branches. But pruning is necessary to make your produce bigger and healthier.” He turned to me. “Do you understand?”
“I only—”
“Are you insinuating you understand my work better than I do?”
“No—”
“Are you suggesting you’re merely looking out for my finances, not that worm’s well-being?”
I shook my head, biting my lip.
“I understand females tend to feel compassion for even the lowest of human beings. However, you are my employee before you are a woman, and you protect my interests above your own. Or did you forget that I help nurture your addiction?” He pointed to the suitcase that sat on the nightstand, the one that carried my dust.
“No,” I replied softly.
Ezekiel began to unbutton his shirt. “Am I not good to you?”
I took a deep breath. “You’re very good to me, Ezekiel.”
Ezekiel stepped forward and stood in front of me. He touched my jaw and turned my face up. His blue eyes were staring down at me, so piercing I could almost feel them burning holes in my skull. Like the holes he’d put in Mr. Walters’s head.
“Do you understand why I did this? Why I let you see that kill?”
I shook my head, trying to avoid his gaze without making it obvious that I was.
“Because sometimes when you give a person everything they want—drugs, riches, food, entertainment—she starts to think she has a right to it. She forgets that it’s all a gift, a privilege. And she must be reminded that what has been given can be taken away if her services are no longer valuable. Do you understand me, Melissa?”
I understood. He was telling me to keep my mouth shut and do as he said like a good slave. For a moment, I’d forgotten my place, and I’d paid for it. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
I nodded.
Ezekiel’s hands slid to my neck and he leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss against my forehead. One hand squeezed my shoulder, so I stood, my fingers reaching out for the last few connected buttons on his shirt. His lips fell to my neck while I removed his clothing. For a moment, I missed home, missed my sister, missed my fellow girls on the corner of Kirk and Underwood. Hell, I almost missed Joel and my customers.
But I shoved all that deep down and forced myself to be calm, complacent, and numb. Because that’s what a good whore does.