Change of Harte (Harte, #2) (Harte Series) (9 page)

‘You get a room, but I’m cutting your time to half an hour.’

Julian extended his hand and the man shook it. ‘Deal.’

Upstairs was just like any exclusive hotel—thick crimson carpet, cerise walls, and oversized neon pink chandlers. If the look they were going for was very expensive canary vomit, they’d certainly pulled it off. Julian waited in the corridor for the man who’d gone to find a girl up for the job. Julian stayed well back, one hand behind his back holding the lift door open just in case it suddenly became very important to get the hell out of there quickly.

The man reappeared a few moments later and tossed his head toward one of the closed doors at the end of the long corridor. ‘Tamara is in there. Play nice, Mr. Harte. You have a half an hour.’

Chapter 17

The room was smaller than he’d anticipated, and it smelled delicious. Like lime and fresh cotton. Even in the confined space, the girl who lay sprawled on her back on the bed seemed so tiny and fragile that just looking at her might break her. She was definitely underweight, which was a stark contrast to her perfectly golden hair that fell in soft curls around her shoulders and her perky double D tits that spilled out over the top of her emerald green corset. Her weary body needed a good breakfast and some hydration, but her beautifully manicured exterior advertised ready for business.

Julian closed the door with his back, but he didn’t step any deeper into the room. She sat up, obviously hearing the gentle slam, and smiled. Julian smiled back.

‘Hi,’ Julian said only barely above a whisper.

She sniffled and wiped under her nose with her finger and Julian suspected she had either just snorted something or she’d been crying. He hoped it was the latter, but the spec of whitish residue just above her top lip told him otherwise.

‘My name is Julian. What’s yours?’

She licked her bottom lip and tossed her hair to one side. ‘What would you like it to be, Julian?’

Julian walked slowly toward the bed, gauging her response. He’d slept with more women than he could possibly count, sometimes more than one at a time, but he’d never forced himself on a woman. The thought of her thinking that was what was about to happen made him sick. He was seriously struggling to control his temper. His primal instinct told him to chase Mr. Skinhead downstairs and choke some sense into the sick motherfucker, but thankfully his common sense prevailed. He knew no good would come of him flipping out and certainly wouldn’t lead him to Melissa.

‘No need for games.’ Julian shook his head at the irony of his words.

The girl looked Julian up and down, and he could tell that she was surprised by his appearance. He’d dropped the drunken act since walking into the room, and he was his usual self now.

‘Okay, Julian. No games. My name is Tamara.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Tamara.’ Julian extended his hand. He was going to help her up but instead she shook it and laughed.

‘You’re a businessman, Julian,’ Tamara said, finally getting to her feet.

She was petite; the top of her head didn’t reach his chin, even in heels.

‘Yes, Tamara. I am.’

‘And you’re here to work off the stress of a busy working life.’

‘Not quite.’

‘Drink?’ she said walking with a slight limp over to a dresser that was higher at one side than the other and Julian noticed one of the legs had been broken. He didn’t ask how it got that way, but his imagination was running wild. He knew the damage was recent, this wasn’t the type of place to neglect maintenance and repairs, and Tamara had a nasty gash above her left eyebrow that she couldn’t fully conceal with make-up.

‘Let’s just get to it; I’m paying by the hour.’

Julian could see her whole body become a fraction heavier.

‘Of course, Julian. Let’s see what you’ve signed up for.’ Tamara turned around, took Julian’s wrist in her hand and twisted it toward the light. ‘Where’s your stamp?’

‘Stamp?’

‘Yeah, your stamp. How am I supposed to know how much you’ve paid for if you don’t have a stamp…I don’t know what package to offer you…’ Tamara stopped mid-sentence and a look of horror splashed across her face, but only for a second before she inhaled deeply and got back to the task at hand. ‘VIP?’

Julian nodded and Tamara dry wretched.

‘BDSM,’ Julian said, suddenly understanding that VIP status offered free rein. He didn’t like to think how freely that rein had been exercised in the past.

Tamara smiled, but it wasn’t hiding the sadness in her eyes.

‘Good,’ Julian continued. ‘I’m not into anything weird, but I do want to tie you up. Let’s start now.’

Tamara pulled the chair out from under the desk and sat down. ‘Do you want me to take this off first?’ she asked sliding her fingers under her bra strap.

‘No. Leave it on. Green is your colour. I presume you have something we can use?’ Julian was conscious of the time ticking by. He didn’t want to arouse Tamara’s suspicion by rushing, but he needed her restrained in case she decided to make a run for it as soon as he started asking questions.

Tamara tilted her head toward the top drawer. Julian pulled it open to find it full to the point of overflowing with condoms, sexy toys, whips, and chains but nothing actually useful.

‘Handcuffs?’

‘Broke last night, sorry. Did you bring your own?’

Julian snorted and shook his head, suddenly wishing he were wearing a suit, his tie would have been very useful.

‘I’ve changed my mind. Show me your tit,’ Julian said.

Tamara didn’t flinch at the request. She slowly slid one strap down her shoulder, ran her fingers across her chest, and attended the other strap. It was all very seductive and everything but really rather time consuming and inconvenient.

‘Here. Let me help’

Julian caught the front of her corset and ripped it off in one go. Tamara gasped. Julian took a sneaky glance at his watch. He’d been in the room for ten minutes already. That was nine minutes too long. He pulled off her stockings and she had to hold onto the side of the chair to make sure he didn’t pull her off along with the silky nylons.

‘Put your hands behind your back.’

Tamara did as she was told. She was shaking a little now, and Julian knew his sudden aggressive approach was scaring her. ‘I won’t hurt you, okay?’

Tamara’s eyes rolled and her body was becoming noticeably floppy. The drugs were kicking in. Julian had no idea how much she’d taken or what the hell it actually was. He hurried as he tied a knot in her stockings, securing her hands behind the chair and her ankles to the chair legs. He slapped her cheeks and her eyes focused on him again. It was doubtful the club had an exchange policy, but Julian imagined the fine print would read something like fuck the wasted chick or piss off home.

‘Too tight?’ Julian asked.

Tamara wriggled her wrists. She was still listening, she was still conscious. Julian pulled the duvet off the bed and quickly laid it flat on the floor. He dragged the chair and Tamara into the centre of the duvet; if she decided to kick and freak out, the duvet would muffle the thud if the chair fell.

Tamara’s chin dropped against her chest, and her head swayed from side to side. Julian looked at his watch again. Thirteen minutes now. Julian slipped his hand under her chin and pushed her head back up. Her eyes were completely rolled back and her jaw dropped open letting a deep throaty croak come out with every breath.

Julian had wondered how they managed to keep their girls here. It wasn’t as if it was some seedy underground secret society, with girls in dungeons shackled in chains. But it was just as twisted and fucked up, maybe even worse—this place actually masqueraded as classy. So, the girls had soft beds and fancy lingerie, but they didn’t have their freedom. At first, Julian thought the girls stayed for financial reasons because they had nowhere to go as an alternative. But he was seeing a much seedier side to this operation. Girls dosed up on fuck knows what and confined to a beautifully furnished bedroom cell all day. Stoned by day to be abused by night.

Julian loosened the stockings around Tamara’s hands and took the time to examine her wrists. Gaudy circles wrapped around her slender wrists. Some were old and faded to a dusty brown, some fresh and red, and some that had broken the skin and bled, leaving new scabs behind. It was highly unlikely that every client Tamara had liked to play rough; these wounds were most likely from being tied to something for hours and hours on end. The black end post, on one side of the wrought-iron headboard, was chipped and sanded away to a dull grey. And all the pieces fit together. The handcuffs hadn’t been broken last night; they’d most likely been pinched off with pliers in the absence of a key just moments before Julian walked into the room. The hint of coke under Tamara’s nose was probably an ill thought out attempt to counteract whatever sedation had been pumped into her earlier.

Julian couldn’t leave her here. She needed to see a doctor. He looked at his watch.
Fifteen minutes.
He only had fifteen minutes left.

Red…orange…grey…

Red…orange…black…

Memories of the fire flooded Julian’s head. He could almost feel the heat, the smoke. The sensation was so vivid he wanted to double over and cough. He looked back at Tamara, mostly naked apart from a tiny black thong. He didn’t stand a chance of finding Melissa now, and he couldn’t leave this girl here. He was failing again, failing, and people’s lives were in his hands. 

He was about to untie her feet when he noticed a tiny birthmark that look remarkably like a butterfly just above her left ankle.
Fuck!
He recognised the pretty marking straight away. He’d seen it before…on Eva’s shoulder. He’d never asked Eva about it, but it had obviously been there since birth. Something genetic that ran in her family.
Melissa!
Coincidences were not something Julian believed in. His eyes darted around the room, scanning all corners, but his head stayed still as if admiring the beautiful perky breasts on display. A blinking green light winked at him from one of the surround sound speakers in the corner. But there was no television or music system in the room. He was being watched, they had been waiting for him. This had been a death trap for them both from the moment he stepped inside.

Chapter 18

Julian took the flask out of his inside pocket and pretended to take another swig. His mind was racing to hatch a plan. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of Tamara’s chair making sure the tail fell completely to the floor like a tent. He dropped to his knees and slowly ran his tongue across Melissa’s nipple. His hands reached around as if to grab her arse, but he dropped them behind her and out the gap in the back of the chair. He fished blindly for his phone in his jacket pocket, all the time paying attention to her beautiful breasts. She didn’t react. Julian could hear her breathe, but her breaths were becoming worryingly shallow and uneven. Finding his phone, he pushed his chest a little closer to her body
.
He needed to make sure his hands were hiding between the tail of his jacket and her ankles, his broad shoulders providing camouflage from the angle behind.

Alleyway behind club.

Drive around.

Three floors up.

Six windows across.

Is there a pipe or ledge there?

Julian hit send on the text. If Anthony’s jet lag had kicked in and he’d fallen asleep, Julian and Melissa were screwed. Seconds ticked by in painful slow motion. Julian dotted kisses on Melissa’s neck and checked for her pulse with his lips. He checked his watch again. He had just under ten minutes left. His phone vibrated in his hand.

I’m out the back now.

Ledge all the way around.

No pipe.

What’s going on?

Julian sighed. It might not work, but it was a lifeline at least.

Stay there.

Julian slipped his phone back into his jacket and could hear it vibrating frantically in his pocket. Anthony was freaking out, he knew. Julian could feel beads of perspiration trickle down his spine as he unbuttoned his shirt as fast as he possibly could without popping the buttons. He ripped the stockings away from Melissa’s ankles and pulled her lifeless body into his arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and her bare skin was hot and clammy against his chest. He slammed her back against the wall, just beside the door of the small en suite bathroom. His hands rushed all over her body as he tried to get the bathroom window in his view. It was fucking tiny. He’d need something to smash the glass. His hands groped her tits and ass roughly, putting on the most convincing performance he could muster. The bathroom was empty. He couldn’t even see as much as a bottle of shampoo.

Julian threw Melissa onto the ground as roughly as he could without actually hurting her. He dry humped her quickly and aggressively, throwing his head back and gasping after just a few seconds. Seven minutes left.

‘You fucking whore,’ Julian shouted, suspecting the room was bugged as well as watched. ‘You made me come too fast.’ Julian kicked the pile of clothes on the floor in a display of temper.

The clothes slid perfectly into the bathroom.

‘You can lick this mess of my cock now, bitch.’ He dragged her by the hair into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He guessed his seven minutes were null and void when he disappeared out of view. He wrapped his shirt around her naked body and wrapped her corset around his knuckles. He didn’t have to time to count back from three or any of that bullshit before his hand was smashing through the window. The glass ripped through his skin like hundreds of tiny hungry dogs devouring his flesh. Blood soaked her corset and he dropped it on the floor and once again pulled her floppy body into his arms. This was the closest to suicide he’d ever come.

He looked out the window and found Anthony’s car just meters ahead, waiting with the engine running. He was close. The ledge was narrow. Just enough room to walk with one foot in front of the other and allow for a fraction of wobbling room. But last night’s rain combined with the minus temperature turned his escape route into a slippery as fuck tightrope. Whatever chance he had of dropping to the ledge below if he was on his own was made next to impossible by carrying Melissa.

‘Put your arms around my neck,’ Julian shouted.

She didn’t respond. The freezing wind bit against Julian’s bare back, but he was so on fire inside, he barely registered the harsh cold.

‘Wake up. I need you with me on this, Melissa.’

As soon as Julian said her real name out loud, a weary pair of arms wrapped around his neck. It wasn’t quite the grip he was hoping for, but he knew it was the best she could do.

‘Don’t let go.’

Julian dropped to his knees. Melissa’s body awkwardly fell with his. Her back rested against the freezing stone wall behind them and the tops of her calves balanced her on the edge of the ledge.

‘You still with me?’ Julian said keeping his body pressed against her side.

The blood pouring from his sliced hand was making a grip almost impossible to achieve. He had two more floors to drop like this; it wasn’t doable.

Thunderous banging echoed out from the bedroom door inside. Julian knew the lock wouldn’t hold much longer. They’d have company very soon. If not out on the ledge, then the skinhead would more than likely send foot soldiers into the alley to find them. Julian pushed Melissa along the ledge in front of him. Suddenly glad of the ice, it made sliding much easier than carrying. He stopped in front of a dumpster below filled with black sacks. The contents could be anything, but glancing across the alley at the rear of an Italian restaurant, he hoped they were about to land in yesterday’s pizza leftovers. He caught Melissa’s hand and dived feet first off the ledge, letting her go as they fell, so as not to dislocate her shoulder.

They sank deep between the bags, some bursting under their weight. Rotten food and raw meat splashed against Julian’s chest and pants, but he dived deeper between the mounds of rubbish to search for Melissa’s hand. Anthony was beside the dumpster now, jumping up and down with his hands on his head and glancing behind him back onto the main road every couple of seconds.

‘I have her,’ Julian said, dragging her up and flinging her over his shoulder. He climbed on top of some of the unburst bags, stumbling a little as the bags rolled beneath him. He tossed Melissa over the edge and into Anthony’s waiting arms.

‘Careful,’ Julian warned. ‘I don’t know if she’s hurt.’

Julian used his undamaged hand to grab the edge of the reeking dumpster and swung his legs over the side, landing on the ground feet first with a loud thud.

‘We need to get the fuck out of here. Now.’

Anthony was already on his way to the car. He laid Melissa across the backseat, practically stuffing her legs against her chest to close the door as quickly as he could. Julian hopped in the driver’s seat and shouted at Anthony to jump in. Julian was speeding away before Anthony closed the passenger door behind him.