Yes

Copyright
© 2012 by RJ Lawrence

All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Chapter 1

By
the time his Mercedes pushed into the driveway, it was too late. The plans in
her mind had cemented, and now there was just the goodbye. After all the lonely
nights and gray, sugarless days, she'd finally made her choice. To hell with
him and to hell with this two-dimensional, colorless life. The world called,
and she would resist no more.

His
key sunk into the deadbolt and it gave way with a twist. She watched him enter,
his tie loose, stomach bulging against his unkempt shirt. He dropped his keys
on the table, the metal splashing audibly and adding a fresh abrasion to the
varnished wood. On any other day, she'd have winced at the way he treated her
mother's table. But, today, her thoughts were light and deliciously selfish.

He
looked up and grunted, his face slick with sweat.

"Goddamit,
Hannah, it's 100 degrees out there," he said. "Why in the hell is the
thermostat set so high?"

She
put her sunglasses on and lifted her suitcase, her slight jaw as rigid as he
had ever seen it. He straightened and took a step forward.

"Oh,
here we go," he said. "What's this about? You get your feelings hurt
over something again?"

Hannah
took a step toward the massive man before her.

"Get
out of my way, Ronnie. I'm done with all this."

He
put his palm flat against the open door and pushed it shut.

"No,"
he said. "That's not how it is at all, actually."

He
dusted his hands together and looked from side to side.

"You
go ahead and take that suitcase back to the bedroom and swallow a Valium or
something. I'm tired as fuck, and I don't have the patience for all this
dramatic female shit."

She
swallowed the void in her throat and took another step forward.

"I'm
not kidding, Ronnie. You can say whatever you want, but I've made up my
mind."

He
smirked.

"Alright,
sweet lips, I'll play your little game," his face grew quizzical and he
turned his palms up. "Where you gonna go? How are you gonna pay your
way?"

The
suitcase handle bit into her fingers, and her shoulder began to burn.

"I'll
find a way. I don't want your help. I can get by on my own."

He
shook his head and chuckled.

"Well,
that's good, because you won't get anything from me," he said.

He
scratched his stomach and thought for a moment.

"Honestly,
Hannah, why do you want to go this route? Just take the Valium. Then you can go
in the kitchen and cook something up. We'll sit down and talk about this at the
dinner table after you get your senses together."

She
approached him, his gigantic figure seeming to grow larger with each step. He
looked down at her, and she raised her chin to meet his gaze.

"I'm
leaving for good. That's it. You can kill me or let me go."

He
took a step back and leaned against the door, the entire thing disappearing
behind his hulking frame.

"Kill
you or let you go," he said, as he tapped his finger against his chin. He
studied the ground for a moment, his mind swimming in thought. She waited, her
heart tapping against the inside of her chest, palms bleeding sweat. Finally,
his eyes trickled upward and he grinned, as if truly amused by a thought his
own.

"You're
going out to Vegas to live with that whore sister of yours, that it?"

She
said nothing while he studied her delicate facial features, his jaw muscles
undulating, as he clenched back a growing rage.

"I'll
tell you what Hannah," he said as he moved away from the door, his body
swelling before her, a shadow falling over her slight frame. "Killing you
would be the nice thing to do." He put his massive hand on her arm,
engulfing it whole. "I'm gonna do worse. I’m gonna let you go."

He
gave a hard squeeze and she nearly buckled from the pain. Then he released her
and stood aside, arms crossed, his brutish facial features arranged in an
expression of disgust.

She
took her opportunity without waste, opening the door and moving swiftly through
past him. But before she could clear the threshold, he had her again, his
thick, hairy fingers gathering a clump of her dress. She stopped and looked
down as he pulled her back toward him. He moved closer and put his arm around
her waist, positioning himself as if he meant to take her sexually in the
bright open air for all to see. She felt his manhood underneath his slacks,
growing against her buttocks through the thin cotton fabric of her dress. He
leaned forward and put his wet mouth to her ear.

"You
remember Hannah," he whispered. "You will always be my little whore,
no matter what."

He
pulled her backside flush against his fully-engorged member and gave a slow
upward thrust. Then he released her and brought his hand hard against her
backside, reddening it beneath the fabric, as slapping noises racketed through
the neighborhood street. She stumbled forward and ran to her car. She opened
the door and got inside, while he strolled down the driveway toward her.

"I'll
see you soon," he said, as she put the vehicle in reverse and wheeled out
onto the road.

She
put the car in drive and brought her foot over the gas, stopping short to
summon courage enough to speak. She lowered her window and looked at him, his
face somewhat flummoxed, as if he couldn't believe she'd the gall to hesitate
in her escape.

"Ronnie,"
she said. "You will never see me again. I will cut my own wrists before I ever
come back to you."

His
face went flat, and she thought she saw the makings of sadness take root
somewhere within. But soon, she was too far away to tell anything, his figure
growing tiny and faint in the rearview mirror, her heart warm and swelling like
a balloon inside her chest, the horizon before her painted with colors and
promising little more than the sweetness of change.

Chapter 2

She
arrived to open arms, her sister giggling and crying, sexy as sexy gets,
fishnet stockings and pink lips, eyelashes thick and outstretched over wide sea
green eyes.

"I
have to go," she said. "I'm so sorry, I have a show."

She
turned and snapped her purse from the kitchen counter top, pausing as a thought
invaded her mind.

"You
should come!"

Hannah
shook her head.

"I
don't think I'd fit in at a burlesque show."

Courtney
took her by the arms and shook her head.

"No,
honey," it's not like that. "Everybody belongs."

When
they arrived, Courtney left her at the bar, a sweet sisterly kiss leaving a
lipstick imprint against her cheek.

"I'm
so happy you're here," she said softly into her ear, and then she was
gone, weaving through a crowd of well-dressed men, their necks whipping back
toward her, as if towed by some exotic gravity.

Hannah
lured the bartender over and ordered a drink. When it came, she sipped from it
lovingly, the alcohol sifting through her vasculature, warming her body. She
saw a man in an expensive suit eying her from down the bar, his jaw square, a
boyish smirk bleeding from the corner of his thick lips. She looked down and
brushed her long blond hair to the side, a thrilling chill springing up within
her chest. But before she could cast her eyes at him or offer any sort of smile
her own, the lights winked out, and the place erupted in noise.

Hannah
turned her body with all the rest, as splashes of red light soaked the stage.
The first performer strutted forward, the thumping speakers at pace with every
step.

The
girl wore a black, strappy corset, her breasts like jiggling boulders spilling
out over the top. The crowd gasped as she approached the chrome pole, which
jutted upward from the stage floor alongside a perfect twin. In an instant, the
girl scaled the thing and wrapped her legs around the cold metal. Her black
hair spilled downward as she leaned backward, the line of her cleavage square
to the crowd. Beautifully built, she was imperfectly perfect, with porcelain
skin and broad hips to match her broad chest.

Hannah
watched the girl, her face contorted in awe like every other in the room. The
girl traveled the pole with no effort whatsoever, with a practiced sexuality
that seemed new and fresh and just for you. When it was over, the crowd
applauded and Hannah ordered another drink.

A
train of performers followed, each more talented than the last, each costume
more colorful, more revealing. As the girls played their roles, energy built
and flowed through the room, the men driven to the brink by the brazen display
of sexual confidence, some of the girls winking shyly, others flexing and
stomping the floor.

Finally,
Courtney took the stage. Last and most anticipated, she drew a prolonged
introduction from the announcer and a raucous from the crowd. As the lights
flickered pink, she took the stage as if it was built just for her, drawing a
girl forward by a leash attached to a vinyl neck collar. The room became
feverous as she teased and tempted the young thing with tickles from a feather
and sharp lashes from a leather flogging whip. Soon, she was rid of the younger
girl, banishing her from the stage with a stern slap to the face. Then, she
commanded everything: the stage, the men in the crowd, time.

When
it was over, the lights picked up a bit, and many of the guests filtered out.
Hannah stood up on her high heels and wobbled a little, her mind swimming under
the influence of several cocktails. A strong hand took her arm and steadied
her.

"You
alright?" Said the man who'd been staring at her earlier, his height
imposing, voice dripping with a Spanish accent.

"Yes,"
Hannah said, as she stripped her arm away. "Thank you."

"I'm
sorry, I did not mean to offend you," he said unconvincingly, a wry,
amused smirk on his lips. "What is your name?"

She
looked around.

"It's
Hannah."

"Nice
to meet you," he said. "My name is Dominic."

He
offered a handshake and she accepted it, her tiny fingers disappearing inside
his large, enveloping hand.

"Forgive
me, but you don't look to belong here," he said.

"I'm
here to see my sister; she was the last performer."

"Ah,"
he said. "I see the resemblance. Both beautiful and sexy, one brazen; one
demure."

She
looked over his shoulder.

"I
have to go."

"By
all means," he said, as he stepped aside. "Perhaps we will meet again
soon."

She
gave a polite smile and walked away, his stare burning a hot spot in her back
as she crossed the room.

As
she approached the door that led backstage, a very thin man stepped forward to
block her path.

"Can
I help you?"

"I'm
Hannah, Courtney's sister."

He
smiled and moved aside.

"Go
ahead."

She
opened the door and moved through a narrow hallway, as two beautiful young
girls ran past, their hands cupping a pair of giggling mouths. She stopped and
watched them exit for the bar, and then turned to walk the rest of the way. As
she approached the back stage area, she heard a series of dull moans.
Carefully, she peered around the corner and saw exactly what the two girls had
been giggling about.