Whore

  Whore

  Willow Aster

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Willow Aster

  Artwork created by Blade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1979226158

  ISBN-10: 1979226156

  Created with Vellum

  Thank you, Hosea and Gomer, for inspiring this story.

  Contents

  THE AWAKENING

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  THE RENAISSANCE

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  THE DOWNFALL

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE UPRISING

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  EPILOGUE

  Hosea and Gomer

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Willow Aster

  THE AWAKENING

  Chapter One

  LILITH

  Dignity cannot be stolen; it can only be given away.

  No one plans to be a whore. Except maybe my mother. It certainly wasn’t my life’s dream as a little girl. As I got older, it was more of an understanding: this is what we’ve always been, and this is all we’re capable of becoming. It’s in my blood.

  In 1923, my great-grandmother Fontenot opened Maison D’amour in the heart of the French Quarter. At the time it was the only brothel of its kind, run entirely by women. My grandmother inherited it from Gigi and built the business for fifty years before passing away ten years ago, leaving Maison D’amour to my mother. One day it will be mine. No longer a pawn, but the queen. It isn’t time to entertain these thoughts—my mother is too wicked to die anytime soon.

  Most mothers are proud when their daughter graduates or learns to cook. My mother is proudest when I average at least a dozen more calls each week than any other girl on the street. She is determined that I keep it that way. As the queen madam, she doesn’t just keep track of our house. Since taking over Maison D’amour, she owns New Orleans.

  The house proudly sits on the corner: four stories of imposing stone, windows, and iron railing. Twenty-four arched windows entice people to peek into the first level. Balconies wrap around the entire second and third stories; the iron railing and black shutters around all the windows leave an intimidating air. The fourth story has dormer windows facing both streets. We’ve been labeled “haunted” by outsiders, but I’ve never come across a ghost. Gigi would be the type to haunt us all if she could. Maison D’amour—called House of Love by the regulars, but never the employees—wears its age well. Fronting as an upscale spa, the small courtyard in the main entrance leads to the plush interior.

  My mother, Alexis Fontenot, is always in the foyer, greeting the clientele. A vision of Southern gentility, Alexis is a walking contradiction of formidable and charismatic. Her look is well-crafted—never a hair out of place or a crease in her pencil skirts. She keeps a strict house; we are no seedy establishment. Top dollar is paid and we don’t stoop to service just anyone. A high level of dignity and decorum is maintained at all times, by all parties. Voices are kept at a quiet decibel. Alexis says it gives an air of mystery when people have to lean in to hear what is being said. No unseemly language, ever. Sometimes I rebel and leave the house wearing clothes Alexis would never approve of, but in the house, our clothes are sexy, yet classy. It is her firm belief that a man prefers to unwrap the package himself, rather than seeing the full view for free. And it is a given that we are all groomed in every possible sense: plucked, waxed, buffed, tinted, dyed, manicured, pedicured, once-a-week facials, and so on.

  Some do, in fact, come for the spa amenities, but the majority enter the doors of Maison D’amour for what the second, third, and occasionally, the fourth floors offer. We get deep satisfaction from the fact that our house has never been compromised. Government officials close their eyes to what goes on, largely because most of them are regulars. Once you enter our doors, you can rest assured your secrets are safe.

  If these beds could talk…

  Ten women live in the house. If Alexis is the face of the house, Darla, Jessica, Lexy, Priscilla, Talon, and I are the bodies. And the three who keep us and our surroundings looking beautiful are Angel, Jonell, and Tricia. Alexis has a way of calling us in alphabetical order, saving me—Lilith—for last. Her only outward nod to me being her daughter. We are on call six days a week, year round. No vacation time, unless an emergency arises.

  The friendships I read about seem too good to be true. It isn’t that I don’t get along with the girls—we’re mostly pleasant with each other—but Alexis has cultivated competitiveness in the house. She thrives on drama and I will do anything to avoid it. If the girls are mad at her, I’m the one who feels the sting. It’s fine—when I have downtime, the last thing I want to do is be around people anyway.

  My mind and body are resilient due to daily workouts and the pampering I get on my day off. I don’t mind sex—it’s just a job. Sex is such a mind game anyway. If I stay in the right head space, it doesn’t matter if I’m with the most repulsive man or not. I have techniques to block it all out. But for the most part, I don’t mind men either. I have something they need and I’m paid very well to give it to them.

  Jonell taps on my door. “I finished changing the sheets downstairs. You’ve had a busy one.”

  I’ve seen nine clients already and it’s only three p.m.

  “Alexis is looking for you,” she adds.

  The girls have an assigned room on each floor. Men who pay by the half-hour are assigned to the second floor. Sparse and not meant to encourage men to get cozy, the rooms hold none of our personal belongings. The hour slots go to a larger third-story room that has a comfortable bed and couch. My room on the fourth floor is my haven. I do my best to keep Alexis out of it, which drives her crazy. It’s the only place I can let my guard down and relax.

  We keep our personal things out of sight when we entertain. If a man feels he knows you too well, it can become dangerous. Far too risky. We all have extensive training in self-defense and aren’t afraid to use it. I know my way around a knife and gun. It’s a necessity in this line of work.

  Minutes before my next client is scheduled to arrive, my mom sweeps through my door on the third floor and puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “Lilith, are you ready for this one?”

  I admire her flawless skin and then notice her expression.

  “What’s wrong—?” I stop ju
st in time. Sometimes I slip and accidentally call her Mother. Other times I call her that just to irritate her, but it’s obvious she won’t put up with much today.

  She looks me over, head to toe, and isn’t satisfied with my look. I can tell by the slight curl to her lip.

  “You need to go change. Wear something a little more … revealing. You look like a librarian.” She lifts my heavy necklace and drops it back on my neck. “Make sure you please him, Lilith. A lot is riding on this one.”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t get a chance to look over the file. Who is it?”

  “It’s not in the file.” She moves in closer and barely speaks above a whisper. “It’s Nico Santelli and I need you to make certain he has no complaints.”

  The wind is knocked right out of me. “You’re serious?”

  “When have I ever made a joke? Now, hurry up, go get changed. He’ll be here any minute.”

  “No, I won’t see him,” I hiss over my shoulder as I walk toward the back set of stairs leading to my bedroom. “I want no part of his life. I’ve made that clear.”

  I’ve entertained district attorneys, two former Presidents of the United States, and the Prime Minister of England; they’re part of the elite group who have actually been in my fourth floor room. And Nico, but that ended long ago.

  She follows me up to the fourth floor. “I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in—we’re already in about as deep as we can get. You sealed the deal when you became Nico Santelli’s lover.” She smirks and adds, “Or one of them. Once you’re as immersed in it as you’ve been, that doesn’t just go away.”

  “I meant it when I said I’d never see him again.” I ignore the sinking feeling I get whenever I think about how entrenched Nico has become in his family’s business.

  Six years ago, Nico was a client of my mother’s. He was only twenty-three at the time, but my mother must have thought he was experienced enough because she sent me to his house for the weekend right before my sixteenth birthday. I’ve never known who paid whom. I lost my virginity to him and that weekend he schooled me in the art of sex. I went to work as one of Alexis’s girls after that.

  “I’ve never shied away from having the mob in my back pocket.” Alexis lifts a shoulder. “We have an understanding. And you certainly never complained about Nico.” She waves her hand in front of my face. “I remember how heartbroken you were when he stopped coming around.”

  “He didn’t just stop coming around. I ended the relationship. It was the smart thing to do, and something you should have left alone.”

  Nico used to take priority over everyone. I haven’t met a man I can’t seduce, but I can count on one hand the number of men who have seduced me. Nico was the only man I craved for four years, and I haven’t craved another since.

  I remember the last time I saw him, before I knew everything. That he kills people for fun. That his wealth is obtained by blood. That I never meant anything to him.

  I was ready for him, wearing a red scrap of pretty lace he’d sent earlier. He leaned against the doorframe and looked me over. The lust I felt for him was always immediate. He slammed the door and stalked toward me. When he got close enough, he hiked one of my legs around his waist while unzipping his pants. He was already wearing a condom.

  “I knew I wouldn’t be able to wait once I saw you in this,” he whispered.

  He moved the fabric aside and plunged deep.

  Three hours and four positions later, I kissed him goodbye. I didn’t know it would be our last time, but once I realized who he was, I intended to keep it that way.

  I take a deep breath and unlock my bedroom door. My body is sluggish as I trudge to my closet. Most of the illegal activity in the Quarter goes back to Nico and his family. He owns a hotel not too far from here, but I’ve managed to avoid him for two years now. I lean back and put my head in my hands.

  “If anyone has to see him, it should be you,” I mutter.

  She’s across the room in seconds, gripping my chin with her bony fingers. “He wants you. And you cannot mess this up for me, Lilith Anne.”

  I jerk away from her and turn to my clothes, barely registering anything in front of me. I hold up a dress with a plunging neckline.

  She steps back. “Better,” she says. “Come down to greet him as soon as you’re dressed.” She turns once more at the door. “Oh, and bring him to this room. It’ll be like old times.”

  The doorbell rings and she floats out of the room and gently closes my door. All softness and grace, with no outward sign of the black heart she holds inside.

  There will be hell to pay, but I slip onto the balcony and go down the fire escape. I’ve lowered my conscience and lost my self-esteem in the process of keeping the peace with my mother, but this is one time I will not bow to her.

  Chapter Two

  LILITH

  No one owns their body—it’s always on display.

  I rarely venture outside. The sun and I are not friends, with my skin so pale it’s translucent. I’m a bit of a hermit anyway; it’s difficult to go out and not be recognized by someone.

  Fortune is on my side when no one notices me leaving. I walk to Cafe Amelie and have a few moments of quiet. I sit outside with a glass of wine and try to enjoy the twinkle lights and the breeze. These moments almost lure me into believing my life is uncomplicated. I don’t people-watch often, and especially not couples; it’s best I don’t go down that path when I know it will never be in my future.

  I nearly finish a bottle of wine and spend the time mentally telling my mother and Nico off. By the time I’m ready to leave, I feel better. I’ll handle my mother and I’ll force her to handle Nico. Just before sunset, one of my regulars walks into the courtyard and spots me as I’m standing. He puts his hand on my waist and swishes my hair back and forth.

  “It’s our lucky night,” he says in my ear.

  I raise an eyebrow. I don’t want to ruin the modicum of peace I’ve found, so I give in to what I know he wants.

  “Walk me back?” I ask.

  “Hell, yeah,” he says.

  I turn away before I’m too tempted to roll my eyes, and I tuck a tip under the wine glass.

  I tower over him, as I do with most, but that doesn’t seem to bother his ego. He walks with his chest puffed out. It’d be amusing if I had any humor whatsoever today; I don’t. We’ve only gone a few yards down the street when a hand brushes against my shoulder. I turn around and come to a dead stop. The guy next to me stumbles.

  Built like a gladiator, the man in front of me could squash a lion with his bare hands. My eyes hit his chest and I try not to get stuck there. His body is taut in the way a jaguar’s is before it pounces. He’s so tall I have to tilt my head back a little to see his face. His hair, wavy and not quite to his shoulders, adds to his barbaric look. I should be terrified. But his eyes. Everything goes quiet around me and all words lodge in my throat.

  “Good evening.” His voice rumbles, deep and raspy.

  I’m not sure how long I stare at him. His eyes smile at me more than his lips.

  “Do I know you?” I finally get out.

  Everywhere his gaze lands, a white-hot poker singes my skin, nicking my heart and crisping the edges. He can see right through me, I’m sure of it. When his eyes stop assessing and hold mine, it’s as if everything I work so hard to hide is laid bare. I force myself to shake it off—there’s no way he’d know me in one glance.

  In another life, he looks exactly like someone I’d want to know.

  He’s about to say something, when the jerk next to me decides to speak up, all bravado. “Back off, asshole, she’s with me.”

  I see the jaguar in action, as he moves in the other guy’s direction so quickly, the jerk cowers behind me and doesn’t say another word. I don’t stop staring at the man in front of me, but now I feel a flicker of fear.

  He chuckles and shifts toward me, stepping so close the tips of our shoes touch. My heart trips over itself.

  “I�
��m harmless … when it comes to you,” he whispers in my ear. “The degenerate you’re with? Can’t make any promises.”

  His accent makes me want to keep him talking just to hear the lilt in his words. He leans back to look at me and I give the smallest of smiles. It seems to be all the encouragement he needs. “You don’t have to do this. Walk away.”

  I take a sudden deep breath and my breasts brush against his chest. The contact surprises us both. I do it again, intentionally this time, trying to gain control in the only way I know how. His neck flushes and he takes a step back. I enjoy the rush it gives me, knowing that I affect him too.

  “Hey, would you like to come around the corner with me to—”

  I swallow my surprise and shake my head, holding my hand up before he says anything else.

  “Please,” he says louder.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am Sotirios … Soti.”

  “Soti, what makes you think you know anything about me?”

  He tries to make eye contact, but I focus on a spot just past his left ear.

  “I just want to help you…” His words trail off.

  The wind blows my hair forward, a sheet of black coming between us until I smooth the long strands down on either side. I gaze down the street and see a blurry little girl with black hair down to her waist in middle school, standing shy and hopeful in front of a group of girls.