Say You Love Me by Rita Herron

her as a victim.
    * * *
    G INGER H OLLIDAY’S DADDY would die if he saw her now. He’d always told her she was some no-account piece of shit, but she told him she was a victim of having stupid parents. Wrong answer. He’d beaten her senseless and thrown her out on her ass.
    At first, she’d wallowed in self pity, but finally she’d dusted off her butt and decided the best revenge was to prove the bastard wrong. She applied to a med-tech school. In two years, she’d have a decent job, one that helped other folks. Not some demeaning, boring-as-hell drone’s job like threading fake alligator’s teeth on chords to make those cheap necklaces they sold at the market or gutting fish all day like her sorry old man.
    And not like the one she’d chosen last night. Why, he’d been quiet and intense. The artwork he collected was weird. Drawings and sculptures of crocodiles and black magic. And those eyes…man, they were some freaking shit. He’d even told her he wanted to paint hers.
    But he had a Bible beside his bed so she figured he was safe.
    Hell, so far she hadn’t done anything to earn her money. Sure, he’d made her pose for him. And he’d tied her to the bed but then he hadn’t touched her. He’d just drawn sketches of her while she lay there naked. He’d done a real nice job with her eyes, too.
    Wondering what he had in mind tonight, she glanced toward him. He looked like he came from money—had nice threads and a sharp little Miata. Maybe he was a professor or something. Anyway, he wasn’t half-bad.
    For a man who bought sex on the streets.
    Except his eyes were a little strange. One of them looked sort of blurred; or maybe it was his expression, as if he saw her through a fog. And his face felt funny, his skin sort of rubbery as if he was wearing makeup or a mask.
    He shifted gears and glanced at her, the scar on his upper eyelid glimmering in the moonlight. He hadn’t smiled since she’d gotten in the car; just told her he was taking her to a mansion where he promised to give her as much pleasure as she gave him.
    Like that could ever happen. She never got involved with clients, never let herself feel. In fact, she barely remembered how she’d gotten into the business.
    The moon slithered into the thick treetops in the bayou, the sounds of the backwoods echoing around her as they left the noisy town. Suddenly a frisson of unease skated up her spine. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, going outside the city limits. What if this guy was some kind of pervert? Or what if he refused to bring her home? A cab would cost a fortune.
    She automatically rubbed her hand over her purse where she kept her mace, then patted the edge of her thigh-high boots. She kept a knife inside, just in case.
    â€œWhere are we going?” she asked.
    His breathing wheezed out but he didn’t reply. She fidgeted and tried again. “You visiting New Orleans or you live here?”
    Again he didn’t answer. Only the whites of his eyes, big and unnerving, settled on her face, before he turned his attention back to the road.
    The silence was near-deafening, which only accentuated the noises of the woods. He steered the car onto a long drive flanked by cypress and live oak trees that created a tunnel. A second later, she spotted a two-story antebellum home. He parked in the winding drive beside the garage, then gestured for her to get out.
    â€œAre you restoring this place?”
    He nodded. Then finally he spoke. “There are rumors that a mighty man of the cloth lived here, but one of his own clan murdered him and fed him to the gators.” He slanted her an odd look, then cut his eyes toward the backyard. “Let me show you the river before we go up.”
    His story rattled her nerves. “As long as we don’t get too close. I don’t like the swamp.”
    The moonlight chased shadows across his face as he urged her forward