Muse in Lingerie_Lingerie 1 Page 7

  * * *

  I was checked at the door before I walked inside.

  The basement of the old opera house was filled with circular tables covered by red tablecloths. Low burning candles sat in the center of each table, creating a light so dim it was difficult to make out the appearance of everyone else in the room. Their policy for no masks almost seemed pointless.

  I was escorted to a private table with a number on a paddleboard.

  A scotch was brought to me instantly, and then I was left alone.

  Each table was reserved for a single man, creating space between each competitor. Sometimes when a woman was particularly beautiful, the bidding war between men became heated. Then it turned into a pissing contest—who had more money. I’d seen slaves sell for twelve million dollars before—far over their value.

  I enjoyed my drink and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I’d left my phone in the car because those weren’t allowed either. They didn’t want any of us being traced, and they didn’t want these events recorded.

  They waited an extra five minutes for any last-minute stragglers.

  Then it began.

  One by one, the naked women were pushed forward, and the bidding war began.

  I made a few bids just so it wouldn’t be obvious there was only one woman I wanted.

  These women were forced to stand naked so all the pigs in the room could see exactly what they were buying. But a woman in lingerie was far sexier than one in the nude. The thin material hugged her body perfectly, accentuating her flaws. It made her nakedness the grand finale.

  The girl I was there for stepped forward, a complete mess. She cried during the bidding, her wrists secured behind her back. She was over eighteen, but far too young to be sentenced to such a horrific death. Watching her cry made me think of Ten.

  She would never cry. Even if she were buck naked in a room full of assholes, she would still keep her dignity.

  Fortunately, no one particularly wanted this girl, so I got her for a good price.

  When they took her off the stage, she sobbed even louder.

  There was nothing I hated more than a crier.

  * * *

  She was fully clothed once she was handed over, wearing jeans and a t-shirt so she wouldn’t draw suspicion on the street. But once the men escorted her to my car, she started to wail louder.

  I couldn’t tell her what was really going on, so I shut her up in the best way I could.

  I slapped her across the face. “Keep crying and see what happens.” I became the monster they thought I was. I kept up the charade so they would believe I was a perverted bastard who didn’t possess even a quarter-inch of a heart.

  She shut up instantly.

  I got her in the passenger seat and drove away.

  For fear of being bugged through my phone or car, I didn’t tell her the truth. I drove to the building I owned near my studio, parked in the garage, and then forced her into the elevator until we reached my space on the top floor.

  By the time we arrived, she was crying again.

  I cut off her bindings then set my phone in a different room.

  When I returned, her arms were wrapped tightly around her body with her knees pressed together. She obviously expected me to rape her right then and there.

  “You can calm down, Anastasia. I’m not going to hurt you.” I poured her a glass of water and made a sandwich for her at the kitchen counter.

  She didn’t move an inch, her eyes watching the way I handled the knife when I sliced the sandwich in half.

  I returned to her with the water and the sandwich. “Come on, I know you must be hungry.”

  She still wouldn’t take it.

  I set everything on the coffee table. “Long story short, your father paid me to buy you at the Underground. The Skull Kings are a psychopathic group of criminals that capture privileged women from their rich fathers and sell them for cash.”

  It was the first time she’d taken a real breath since she’d stepped inside my apartment. She covered her mouth with her hand as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. “Daddy…”

  “So, you’re safe now.” I sat on the couch and patted the seat beside me. “Now, eat.”

  She finally approached me with her guard down and took a drink from the glass. “So, does that mean he’s going to pick me up? Are you going to take me to him?”

  “No. This is the shitty part. In order for my cover to be legitimate, I need you to work for me for a short while.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a lingerie designer. I need you to model for me a few times. That way, the Skull Kings will think that’s what I bought you for. After a few weeks, they’ll forget about you and move on to their next project. That’s when I’ll take you back.”

  She grabbed the sandwich in both of her hands but didn’t take a bite. “How long will that be?”

  “A few weeks. Maybe a month.”

  Her happiness immediately died away. “Oh…can I talk to my parents?”

  “Of course. Tomorrow. It’s not safe to do it right now.”

  “Okay…I can wait until tomorrow. What will I do in the meantime?”

  “You’ll stay here with me. I have a spare bedroom with a private bath.”

  “Thank you… That’s really nice of you.”

  I didn’t want her gratitude. “Your dad paid me ten million dollars to get you out. I wouldn’t risk my own neck for nothing.”

  “But still, I’m so glad to be out of there. Those poor other girls…”

  I didn’t want to think about their fate. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Pushed me around a bit…hit me a few times.”

  “But did they…?”

  “No,” she said immediately.

  I nodded. “Help yourself to whatever you want in the house. I’ll take you to work with me in the morning.”

  “What should I say to people?”

  “That you’re a new model I discovered. You were eating in a coffee shop when I noticed you. That’s all you need to say.”

  “Alright…I think I can do that.”

  I left the couch and moved away from her to give her some space. Even though I admitted I wouldn’t hurt her, that didn’t mean she was comfortable around me. I was a complete stranger—and I was a man.

  There was no guarantee I wouldn’t take her father’s money and fuck her before I returned her.

  People did some fucked-up things, after all.

  I turned on the TV before I headed down the hall. “Good night.”

  Her weak voice followed me. “Good night…”

  I could head to the lingerie club I owned and pick up a woman for the night. I could sneak off into a corner there and get a nice blow job in the darkness. She would already be wearing my lingerie so it would be perfect.

  But the work didn’t seem worth the reward.

  Not when I could just jerk off—and think about someone else.

  8

  Sapphire

  I was back on the stage where I first auditioned with the other nine girls.

  Conway stood in the aisle between the two rows of seats. He was several feet below me, but he still felt like the biggest thing in the room. He adjusted his watch before he stripped off his jacket, revealing his musculature in the cream collared shirt. He tossed it onto the nearest chair then slid his hands into his pockets. Straight, rigid, and strong, he stood upright with his chest opened to the stage. A black tie hung down his chest over the buttons of his shirt. The clothes covered most of his skin, but the distinct formation of his strength was outlined in the way the fabric hugged his body. It was tight over his strong biceps and his expansive shoulders. It was ironic he designed clothes for models when he easily could have been a model himself.

  The lights were on high like they were last time, so I could actually see him in the audience. I wore a black corset with a sweetheart top and matching black panties. A diamond necklace was placed around my throat, and my brown hair had
been teased for volume and curled for texture. Whenever I was done up by his staff, I had to admit I’d never looked better. And his clothes made me feel sexier than I’d ever felt. In the beginning, I was uncomfortable standing nearly naked in front of this man I hardly knew. But once I saw his kindness and generosity, it didn’t feel quite as strange.

  “We aren’t leaving until you get this right. So I suggest you give it your best effort.”

  Conway Barsetti had more important things to do than babysit me, but yet, he spent most of his time with me. He used me as the basis for his designs, and now he worked with me personally to get my performance down. This building housed dozens of employees. He couldn’t get someone else to do it? “Why is that?”

  “Why is what?” He slowly approached the stage, his posture perfect with every step he took.

  “Why are you working me like a mule?”

  “Because I don’t accept anything less than the best. If you want to wear Barsetti lingerie in front of the world, you’d better be worthy of it. The rest of the girls would kill for this kind of attention.”

  “Then why aren’t you using them instead of me?” It was impossible for me to control my smartass remarks. Not taking bullshit was ingrained in my blood. It might get me killed someday. Instead of submitting to Knuckles, I disobeyed him and took off. It was a stupid move, and if he ever caught up with me, I would pay the price. It didn’t matter if I was buck naked on that stage. I refused to let anyone speak to me like I was a household dog.

  Conway tilted his head slightly, regarding me with his ice-cold gaze. The silence filled with tension, and at times like this, it seemed as though I could be taking my last breaths. Conway Barsetti was a frightening man, but he was never more frightening than when he stood in complete silence. The anticipation was worse than his actual response. He had more power than I’d seen a single person possess. The models worshiped at his feet, and everyone else in the world respected his unbelievable success. But he never responded to my question, stepping away into a different spot in the audience. “There and back. Go.” He hit a button in his pocket, and the music began.

  I straightened my body as best as I could and then walked, moving across the stage while thinking about keeping everything straight and tucked in. My hands were positioned on my hips so I could feel the way my body shook from left to right.

  Conway slowly paced down below, his fingertips resting against his smooth chin. He shaved that morning, so the hard lines of his jaw were clearly visible. His rugged knuckles were noticeable too, the way the veins stretched out over his hands. Everything about him was masculine, from the darkness in his eyes to the end of his fingertips. “Straighter.”

  “This is as straight as I go.” I kept walking, imagining my spine as a straight line.

  “You’re being sloppy.”

  “How am I being sloppy?” I reached the edge of the stage and stopped. “Just the other day you said I was better.”

  “Better doesn’t mean perfect. Better is the worst compliment anyone can receive. Better means absolutely nothing.” His voice didn’t rise, but his anger escalated. The sound of his voice grew quieter, but that implied more rage. Very few people could be more intimidating by generating less noise.

  Conway Barsetti nailed it.

  He walked up the steps at the side of the stage, his jaw clenched tighter now that I was nothing but a nuisance to him. He walked behind me, his footsteps thudding with power. “This is what irritates me about you.”

  I tried to swallow my pride before I could blurt out an insult.

  “I’ve watched you more than you realize.” He moved to my opposite side, circling me like a shark calculating when he would strike. “And when you think you aren’t being watched is when you start to perform. It’s when you hold yourself with grace, power, and confidence. It’s when you show who you really are. I know you’re capable of it, but you’re very selective on when you show it.” He stopped directly in front of me. “So, stop being selective. Show it at all times. In life, we’re always performing. We’re always on stage—even when we think no one is watching.”

  * * *

  We worked for hours straight, but Conway was never satisfied. As a perfectionist, even perfect wasn’t quite good enough. He left his seat in the aisle and walked up onto the stage to my side. Without warning, his bare hand moved to my lower back.

  I hadn’t been expecting the touch, so I stiffened. The muscles in my lower back immediately tightened, forcing the sides of my body to curve back. My shoulders moved back at the same time, and I immediately sucked in my stomach. His touch stimulated my heart, making my blood circulate at an exponentially faster speed. My breaths turned ragged, and my fingertips suddenly felt warm. The heels were killing my feet, but the pain suddenly disappeared. Anytime he’d touched me in the past, my body reacted the same way. The stimulus never faded in effectiveness.

  Conway stood behind me, his breaths falling on the back of my neck. “Perfect.” His warm fingertips caressed my bare back. “Pretend my hand is just like this all the time. You’re cradling your body back, changing your center of gravity. Now, walk.”

  I slowly stepped forward and felt his warm hand slip away. I walked to the edge of the stage, pretending that touch was still pressed against me. The ache was gone from my feet, and my shoulders were naturally snapped back because of the way my spine was aligned. I still felt the fire in my belly from the way he touched me, because his touch did surprising things to me. It made me feel alive but dead at the same time. It made me feel like a lightning bolt had struck me from head to toe. I was burning alive from the inside out.

  “Stop.”

  I halted at the edge of the stage, his invisible hand still pressed against me.

  “Halfway there.” His footsteps tapped against the floor as he approached me from behind. He took his time when he headed anywhere—because he knew people would wait. He came to my side and looked at my face instead of my body. “This is the tricky part. I need you to project your fire to the audience.”

  “Project my fire?” I asked.

  “Your presence,” he explained. “Your attitude. Your personality. But you have to do it wordlessly. Most of my models not only look like queens, they behave like queens. Their self-respect and authority bring extra appeal to the lingerie. It makes people associate these clothes with power, like a crown for a queen. This is something that can’t be easily taught like placing a hand against your lower back. This is something you have to draw from yourself. I know you have it because I’ve seen it before. I was sitting in this very audience when I saw you for the first time.”

  I remembered that moment, but I didn’t remember projecting anything. “I was just being myself.”

  “Then do it again.” He moved away, his hand remaining in his pockets. “Combine everything together and own this stage.”

  “Are you going to put me in the show this weekend?” I’d heard him mention it to Nicole a few times. He’d designed seven different articles of lingerie this week, and he rushed the order so the designs would be ready in time for the show.

  “Yes.”

  “If you’re unhappy with my performance, maybe you should put me in a later show.”

  “No.” He walked in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re going to be my grand finale.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the last model to show my most revered piece. It’s called Queen of Diamonds. I want you to be the woman to show it to the world.” He surveyed the empty audience before he turned back to me.

  He wanted a rookie to do the most important part of the show? That sounded ludicrous. “I’m sure one of your other models has more experience for something like that…”

  “I don’t want another model to do it. I want it to be you.”

  “Why?”

  He faced me, his dark eyes narrowed in sinister hostility.

  I guess I shouldn’t have asked that question.

  “It do
esn’t matter why. You’re doing it—and you’d better not disappoint me.”

  * * *

  Milan was a beautiful city, full of timeless history and innate power. It was at the top of the country, close to the borders of France and Switzerland. I’d only experienced the far northern part of the country, not taking in the sights like Venice and Verona. But my short time here had shown me how special it was. America was twenty times the size of this place, but it didn’t have quite the same character.

  It was easy to get lost in the beauty sometimes.

  From my hotel, I could walk to anywhere I wanted. The large sidewalks and cobbled streets took me to markets, coffee shops, and small grocery stores where I could buy my necessities. And the view from my window, even though I didn’t face the countryside or the river, was still wonderful.

  But it didn’t make me forget what I was running from.

  Who I was running from.

  Knuckles was one of the most ruthless criminal warlords in New York City. He was famous by name, but still untouchable by the police. That meant he had more power than anyone—if he didn’t have to hide his face.

  Even if I’d called the police, they wouldn’t have done anything. They might have filed a report, but they wouldn’t have acted on it. And then they would have taken me into custody for failing to pay my property taxes and foreclosing on the enormous loan I had with the bank.

  Fucking Nathan.

  He fucked me over big-time.

  Almost made me glad he was dead.

  Almost.

  Now that I’d been in Milan for a few weeks, I knew I had to embrace this new life. This was my home now. There was nothing waiting for me back home besides a few friends who probably wondered where I disappeared off to.

  I was a lingerie model.

  It was the last thing I expected to do for an occupation, but that didn’t matter. I was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures. I had to put aside my morals and values and do what was necessary.