AFTER

Prologue

“You ready for this?”

I take a deep breath and stare at my partner across the cab of the ambulance. Am I ready?

Yeah, I think I am. I’ve been training for this. How could I not be ready?

I nod. She opens the driver’s side door, and the world erupts into chaos. Lights. Sirens. People rushing here and there. Shouting orders. Crying out. This is a scene. A goddamn scene.

We grab our equipment from the back. Just like I was trained. But this is not a drill. It’s motherfucking showtime.

My vision blurs slightly as we rush inside. It’s a lot to take in. The house itself. The people standing around. The furniture and art and little additional touches that make this house what it is to the people who live here. We enter what I assume is the living room under the direction of a tall man who’s commanding in stature. He seems confident and sure, but not unaffected. Nobody here is unaffected. The room is dimly lit, but then someone must flick on additional light because it suddenly gets very bright. Camera flashes go off.  

The room is somehow more chaotic than the scene outside. I sway slightly on the spot as I try to take it all in. An end table is overturned. A lamp is broken. The woman we came for is lying in the middle of a plush, off-white carpet, blood blooming beneath her like a jellyfish. Like she’s swimming, floating, somewhere better. Anywhere but here.

“Move!” someone yells. “She’s bleeding out!”

The voice sounds like an echo.

It’s not the sight, but the smell. Maybe both.

Now everything is swimming.

I turn where I stand and run back outside, then retch my dinner all over the carefully manicured front lawn.

BEFORE

Chapter One

Sadie

This fucking guy.

His snore practically shakes the walls in the dingy motel room as I shove his heavy body off me. He rolls to face the bedside table, and I finally feel like I can breathe.

My eyes are bleary. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. In fact, that’s one of only two rules I set for myself. The other is that I avoid using the L-word like it's actively trying to give me herpes. Actually, now that I think about it, I have three rules. Cause yeah, condoms are a must. As is regular testing. But that L-word? Well, I'll tell you I love spending time with you. I'll tell you I love your cock. But I’ll never tell you I love you. That's not how this works. It’s a lie and a line I won’t cross.

The mattress shudders beneath me as he readjusts again. It’s a bit chilly in the room now that we’re no longer sweating. He pulls the covers up and around himself. A cocoon. He’s one of those.

Shit. What’s his name again?

Right. Calvin. Cal as he’d introduced himself, hair slicked back, handshake more of a caress than an actual shake. I didn’t evade the lingering slide of his fingers against mine when we met in the living room of the home he shares with his wife and twin sons though. It makes my job so much easier when they lean in.

I sit on the edge of the bed and bend to scoop my clothes off the floor. Black lace bottoms. No bra. An emerald wrap dress that practically unwraps itself on command. Calvin shifts again, and then suddenly, he’s there, right behind me, the mattress sagging under his weight, his breath crossing over my ear before his lips touch the crest of my naked shoulder.

“That was incredible,” he says, and because I’m turned away, he doesn’t see my reactive eye roll. Gotta curb that. 

“It was,” I assure.

“Are you leaving so soon?” His voice is husky with sleep. “Stay.”

That word. Stay. They never use it when I fuck them in their homes. But all bets are off at away games.

I never should've come here. To a motel. At night. The kind of establishment where nobody asks questions. Where you can pay by the hour before you disappear. I usually try to avoid places we’re less likely to get caught. It’s better when they can’t get too comfortable. When they practically encourage me to dine and dash. Thanks for the sex; my wife will be home soon. Maybe that needs to be one of the rules. Maybe I should write this shit in a notebook or something.

“I can’t stay,” I say, standing to emphasize the point, but my curves are exposed by the move, the moonlight shining straight through the torn curtain practically a spotlight. A low groan escapes his lips. I can tell when a man wants round two. They almost always do if I linger long enough. It’s important to escape before they rally.  

Goddammit.

I step away from the bed and slip into my underwear before he can reach out and pull me back onto the bed with him. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I have an early morning.” That part is true, but then I bite my lip and prepare to lie. “But this was great.”

“How did I get so lucky?” he muses, all smiles as he stares at my perfect-handful tits. He’s practically drooling.

I fling my wrap dress around my hips, thankful it ties up as quickly as it falls off, and lean forward just enough to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Come away with me,” he whispers, reaching out to grab my hand. I let him, not wanting to ruin the illusion.

Come away with him? This is new. I’ve received small gifts before, ones I’ve never kept, but no one has asked me to…come away. Come away where? Another city? Another country? A different motel? Exactly how deep has Calvin fallen in such a short span of time?

“I think you know that’s not possible,” I say gently.

“So, we’ll make it possible.”  His eyes shine with sincerity. “I want to be with you.”

Jesus. After one night?

“Cal,” I say, rolling the L gently over my tongue. His body notably vibrates in response. “We can’t.”

His expression falls. He knows we can’t. He knows it even better than I do. Running away together would blow up his entire life. Every single aspect of it, quite possibly never to be repaired. The man might be rich, but even he can’t afford to do that.  

I grab my handbag and jacket from where I left them on the motel room’s one and only shitty chair, then head for the door.

“Sadie,” he says, practically begging my name.

I turn around, and then he asks the thing they always ask:

"Was it good for you?"

I shoot him an enthusiastic smile and a reassuring nod before slipping out the door, closing it behind me.

Bitch, please. Getting paid is always good for me.