Illusions: A prequel novella to Mirage by Alice Tribue Page B

squaring my shoulders and wishing like hell that I had a baseball bat with me. “I found a girl, who just hours before was in perfect health, bloodied and bruised. Her wrists and ankles were red and sore from being bound to a bed against her will. I found a girl who was held that way for HOURS and used and abused by you until you got your fill.”
    “Is that what she told you?”
    “Are you going to tell me that’s not what happened?”
    “What I’m saying is that she was a willing participant.”
    “Really? She asked you to beat the shit out of her?”
    “Some women like that sort of thing.”
    “And some men get off on hurting girls; they get their kicks by taking a pretty girl and abusing her, making it so that she can’t defend herself. Some men are just that disgusting.”
    “Miss Powell.”
    “Do not even try to explain away your behavior; I really don’t want to hear it. What I came here for is to tell you that I am terminating you as a client. You will no longer be able to use the services my company offers.”
    “You can’t do that.”
    “I can do whatever I want. It’s my company.”
    “Fine, I’ll expect a refund.”
    “You won’t be getting one; I’ll also be sending you a bill for Miss Madison’s physician charges.”
    “That’s absurd.”
    “Also, Mr. Roberts, I’d like to remind you that upon entering into our association, you did sign a non-disclosure agreement. Should violate that… well, let’s just say I’d advise you to adhere to it. I’d hate to have to enlighten your wife on your extracurricular activities.”
    He grows even paler, if that’s possible, and I relish the look of defeat on his face. I wish it made it all better, wish it was enough to satisfy my need for payback, but it’s not. I make my way back to the front door, grabbing the knob before turning back.
    “I almost forgot; there’s a little someone I’d like to introduce you to before I go,” I tell him, twisting the knob and opening the door. I don’t turn around, but I know Kyle is standing in the open doorway now. I can tell because I’m pretty sure by the look on Mr. Roberts’ face that he’s fighting the urge to soil himself. “This is Kyle; he’d just like to make sure you understood what we’ve spoken about today.”
    “Victoria, there’s no need.”
    “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just standard protocol. He won’t leave any bruises where they’re visible. You’ll be all right.” I toss him a brilliant smile, pat Kyle on the shoulder on my way out, and laugh inside, allowing myself to revel in the fact that he’s going to experience the same kind of pain that he inflicted on my girl last night. Visions of him begging and crying play out in my head, and for a moment, I wish I’d stayed behind to watch him get what he deserves.
    I get off the elevator, thank the doorman again for turning a blind eye, and head out to the awaiting car.
    “Are you headed home, Miss Powell?”
    “No. Can you take me back to the office, Parker?”
    “Sure thing.”
    Leaning back in my seat, I let the events of the day wash over me, settling into my brain so that I can wrap my head around them. It’s days like these that I wonder if I’m in over my head, if I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m just as fucked-up as everyone else in this business. I’m not stupid, and I’m certainly not naïve. I know that from the outside looking in, there’s no right way to look at what I do for a living. I sell sex. There is no easy way to say that—in technical terms, I guess you could call me a madam, but I hate that shit. I’m a business owner, an entrepreneur, because the way I sell sex is not the norm. I don’t shuffle my girls around like cattle, allowing them to fuck two, and sometimes three, men on the same night. No. My girls have one client, one. That’s it, and they service only that client for as long as his contract lasts. I ensure the girls’ safety that way. I know most people would say that