One

Father. Forgive me, for I have sinned.
This’s just one week after my last confession…

What would the good reverend father say if he knew she was the same girl who was here last Friday, the Friday before that…and several other Fridays, recounting the same sin— colored with little lies to make it sound mild.

Why she kept coming back, draped with one of the few long, free dresses she owed, with a shawl wrapped over her head and covering part of her face, she hadn’t figure out yet.

"Father. Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Fiddling with the crucifix at the tail of her Rosary, Scarlet brought her face closer to the latticed opening and started all over. The low light from the lantern at the end of the wooden hand rest warmed her face. They said the light symbolizes the warm heart of the lord when a sinner returns home, however, this sinner had kept returning and going back.

Maybe she wasn’t ready to be saved. She didn’t want to be saved. But why would her feet always drag her to the confessional, her hand parting the curtain and her knees crumbling on the hassock?

“You can confess your sins to the blessed Lord now, child.”

The calm, assuring voice of the Reverend father poured into her ears.

“I…”
She swallowed hard. Her sins were too disgusting, too heavy to spew out, yet it possessed a smell too strong to be left unsaid.

“I… sleep with men.”

She heard the priest shuffled his feet, the squeaking of chair from the other compartment told her that the priest most had moved closer, she could hear the man’s breath.

“Go on, Child.”

“That is all father.” That was the much she could say. Saying more could turn the old priest’s pale-white face red with shock.

“It is the will of the father that we receive forgiveness for our sins and return to the path of righteousness. Confessing your sins means you are ready to reject the devil and all his enticements…”

She suppressed a scuff at the priest’s statement. Hers wasn’t just sins, iniquity was a better qualifier. And was she ready to severe her sore but necessary relationship with the devil yet?

Eight years she’d been on the market, men and women had haggled her like wares. Five out of those years, she’d slaved for her task master- paying back loan she didn’t know when and how she incurred. None of them girls had ever set their eyes on the man who’d owed them, it was a business being run underground, connecting girls and clients via phones, payment made to the master who paid them monthly stipends.

Her freedom came with a huge price- a story for another day. Now she did made money, a lot of it, doing what she knew how to do best.
Her relationship with the devil did got her a decent house and comfort in three years, something she’d craved for since she was smuggled into Montreal.

“My child, ” The priest said wearily.

How much longer would the poor priest sit and listen to mountainous tales of abominable acts? Probably gritting and shaking his head in disgust. His stomach must be churning by now. Being stuck in a wooden enclosure like the one they were and pretending to be patient with penitents who would likely find their way back to the same debris as soon as they step out of the church premises, must be the worst punishment on earth.

“Say the act of contrition, tell the lord how sorry you are and make a commitment with him…”

As she murmured the prayer she’d master by heart. she felt a gnaw in the pit of her stomach. She was sorry. Sorry that she’d turn this way, sorry that she wasn’t going to make any commitment to the lord anytime soon, that she was one of those penitents who would return to their debris like a dog would return to it’s vomit.

“…will you do it?” The priest asked.

“Uh? Do what?” She stuttered.

“The penance given to you.”

What penance? Goodness. She hadn’t been listening the whole time.

“Yes…yes, father, I will do them.”

Say the fifteen decades of the rosary, the lord’s prayer five times a day and the act of mercy. She was a regular visitor to this booth; it had been same or similar penance for the past three years she’d been coming here.

“…may God grant you pardon and peace. And I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Pardon and peace. What she felt at the moment was anything but pardon and peace, how could these priests think that God would wave sin off just by the extending of their hands and few words? And if it only takes few hours of chanting a mantra and counting beads to appease God, then…

She shrugged, gathered her dress and stood up.

Why didn’t the man ask her to go into the wilderness and fast? Or even something worst? She deserved it.

Dusk came sooner than expected, the last of the sun’s ray cosseted behind soft gray cloud. Scarlett filled her lungs with the still warm air, unhooked her sunshade from the neck-line of her dress, fitted the dark tinted oversized pair over her eyes and walked hastily out of the premises, to her newly acquired Toyota Prius Prime, 2017 model—another luxury gotten with the power of spreading her legs wide.
God should see how she’d transform from a beggarly little girl who couldn’t afford a loaf of bread, to a queen in her own world. Having everything she’d wanted and even dropping huge amount for charity.

She was doing well; he shouldn’t judge her at all.

As she pulled the car to the Autoroute Papineau road, she told herself for the umpteenth time, “I will visit no longer. Coming to seek for mercy is useless.”

But she knew that next Friday- her feet would drag her to the church gate.

****

A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eyes, his mouth formed a rigid grimace. With arms folded tightly across his chest, his foot tapping furiously on the wooden back-stage floor and all the while, eyes fixed at the curtain that separated him and greatness, Paul Clurkin knew that his fate would be decided tonight, here, at the prestigious ‘Sound Academy’ Toronto.

‘Praise Unlimited’ concert- the biggest gospel musical show in Canada was scheduled for that evening and for the very first time in his music career, Paul got an invite to perform.

It was the opportunity, the big push he had always prayed for. The thought of performing alongside great names in the industry added to the tumultuous thudding of his heart.

Paul acknowledged the technical guys who were moving equipment in and out of the stage, glimpsed at his watched and nodded. There was still enough time to go over his planned songs with his backup singers and get enough rest before the concert would start.
Four hours to play with, that was enough.

He had flew from Armstrong to Toronto the previous Afternoon and spent the whole of yesterday rehearsing and praying with his crew, yet he felt he hadn’t done enough.

Armstrong was his home, his territory. People there loved him a lot and his albums were always readily accepted, his songs rendered in churches and other gospel programs. But Toronto seemed different. People here talked more about Kirk Franklyn, The Tri- city singers and Tasha Cobbs than they did about him. He needed to do a song that would impress everyone and make fans out of them.

His 2016 hit song, ‘Rescue by grace’ seemed not be the song that would do the trick.

“Holy spirit, help me out here,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped into his rented car and headed towards his hotel.

Grace had always been there for him, who could ever imagine that at twenty-nine, he’d achieved so much in a career he started in a local church where his father was the pastor while he and his two sisters where the singers.
But he knew he hadn’t arrived yet. The world was waiting and he had always prayed that God would announce him, not only at his Jerusalem and Judah, but to the other uttermost part of the world. He needed to have his name topping the chat of renowned gospel singers and his albums ranking ‘number one’ on the internet.

“I trust you Holy Spirit. Let me worship you tonight, for only then will these people worship and you will be glorified in me.”

I don't know how to mention names , but if you are seeing this, just know we have started another story o.

As usual, this is a fresh story from the oven, it's not written down anywhere, so I will be writing each chapter from my head. I hope I don't run out of ideas

I also hope to finish it, and also will be editing and publishing it someday in major bookstores.

Finally, Enjoy and let the Lord speak to you through this story.

Joining the train.

Sure this will be lovely as always.

We gather Dy.... following

This specter will go no where, the miscreants here to hunt, all who enter here must a token leave because a fantastic story they are about to read

Thanks for this wonderful piece of work. Nwannem nwanyi

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And I’ve booked my space already for a thrilling and mind blowing story..and the writer doesn’t disappoint..Ride on Rosemary..I know this one will keep your readers glued to their screens as always..Cheers

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Two

Scarlett sat in front of her dressing-table mirror, starring at her second identity, one that defined who she was now, a package that was handed over to her alongside the name she bore.

Scarlett Brownson.

A perfect name, Better than her native name. Easily pronounced by everyone—especially her white clients.

“Obiageliaku Mmerim, is a mouthful. Who will want to pronounce that?” Madame Charlotte had spatted, looking at her passport. The Indian woman had almost shredded her tongue pronouncing the native name.

She’d accepted the name Scarlett with no second thought. At nineteen, she was ready to accept any condition given, as long as she had a roof over her head and a decent job in this foreign land. Only that there wasn’t anything decent about the job that she was forced into. The life she met wasn’t the heaven Uncle Kendy promised her.

Scarlett. She had borne the foreign name for eight years, had denied her heritage while carefully building a new identity for herself. It was tough but she succeeded in erasing every trace of Nigerianness in her. With her near perfect American accent, she could be mistaken for a black-American and that was okay by her.

She’d become a costly commodity meant for only the rich and the affluence, made a lot of money for madame Charlotte and the mysterious Mr. P until she became wiser and demanded for her freedom.

Freedom. Did she know the meaning of that word? Even with everything she’d gotten, rot still coiled around her like burning chain.
Scarlet picked a red lipstick out of many scattered on the table and lavishly ran it through her lips, smacking, pouting and twisting her mouth from side to side. Satisfied, she picked her blond deep curly wig, fitted it perfectly on her head and combed the curls with her fingers.

Perfect. Tonight, she’d transform into a dominant bitch. She had picked randomly as this client never specify how he would want her to present herself, he never did, unlike the others. “I like surprises, Scarlett, wow me,” he would always say. But most times, this client, Bernard Swift, a notorious drug lord, had his own sacksful of surprises. Yet, she had come to learn how to be comfortable with him and his demands. He was one of her most generous clients and had been treating her like a queen, a treatment she’d reciprocated in her own little way. Bernard was the only client she did visit without a mask.

She checked her phone to confirm the location for this meeting. Danforth, A five hours drive from Montreal. Good enough Bernard was sending his driver over to pick her up.

“It’s the Limo or you will have to make do with one of the girls,” she had demanded.

“Of course, it’s the limo I am sending.”

With half of thirty thousand dollars cooling in her account, the balance to be paid once she got there, Scarlett knew the baron didn’t want to play around with the girls, it was her he needed for the night not her girls, and he knew she didn’t come cheap.

Yes. She ran her own cartel now. Not as strict and cut-throat as Charlotte and Mr. P’s. Her girls were stylish, good-looking career women by day— hairdressers, models, pub singers, designers, they could run solo and only answered to her when she needed any of her rich, famous and powerful clients, satisfied. And she made sure they got paid every penny due to them after a job well done, sometimes with a little extra.

She still got a heart. Taking care of girls who were like her when she had no one to look out for her, was a huge humanitarian act. Without her help, most of those girls would have ended up in deeper shits or with slave masters like Mr. P. But she made sure those naïve ones got hooked to decent men at a very good price. Money, big enough to afford them decent apartments, food and even tuitions.
They owed her nothing.

Ahe pushed her chair backward and delicately stood up, surveying her full image on the mirror with a ghost of a smile, satisfied with the perfect transformation her latest plastic surgery gave to her body- an ass job, done three months ago.

It all started with the nose, a boob job shortly after, then she needed her skin so clear, so chocolate glittery and a periodic skin lasering treatment helped her with that. Finally, with an enlarged backside, giving her the conspicuous hour-glass shape, her body was a playground of delight.

She heard a car pulled up in front of her three-bedroom duplex— not large enough though but she took delight in telling anyone who’d care to listen that she bought it with her own money. Why wouldn’t she be proud? She had humped uncountable men to get her that. Something a paid job wouldn’t give her in twenty years.

Scarlett was a who*re, and she wasn’t ashamed- not anymore. She could wear it as a badge around her neck.

The chauffeur announced his arrival with a hunk. Scarlett grabbed her bag already stuffed with her pantie-host, a lube, a pack of condom and some other things that may come in handy. As she made towards the door, her eyes caught the milk-colored rosary lying carelessly on the bed. Without much thought, she swiped it and shoved it into her hand bag.

Her Rosary, now served as a luck charm, was one of the old traditions she learnt from her mother—God rest her soul, when she was in Nigeria. Just like going for confessions and visiting the blessed sacrament in the chapel.

She didn’t know why she still kept those traditions, not that they meant anything to her now.

One final check around her room, she switched the bulbs off, locked the door and proceeded downstairs, to the waiting car.

****

“You look like a doll, the most beautiful one.”
The drug lord kissed her cheeks delicately and ushered her into the picturesque interior of the ‘Swift’s Palace.’

“And you like dolls,” she purred. Deliberately swaying her million-dollar hips side to side, aware of the pair of eyes ogling at her. She wasn’t surprised, with her long cloak removed and left inside the car that would still take her home, her dress was so mini, she swore that the down part of her butt cheeks were barely covered. The neckline, cut so low that her braless tits nearly jumped out as she leaned forward to great Bernard friends.

“I like this particular doll. You.” The baled, black buffy man, rasped into his ears.

“Good. Because this doll wouldn’t want to share you with another.”

“Oh, but I have something else in mind. Something very special for you to night. Come.”

He led her up the thick center rugged staircase into another room. She blinked to get her eyes acclimatized to the dim light coming from the single chandeliers that dropped midway from the high palatial designed ceiling.

Settling himself on the sofa, the big black man picked a very long Cuban cigar from the gold platter on top of a small table before him, caressed it, lit and puffed from the corner of his mouth, the expensive fume drifted over her nose and she suck it all in. She needed it. Though she had not spent her money buying one of those, had only taken a drag or two from her rich clients when making out.

“If you like drags so much, why don’t you try weeds or cocaine?” Bernard had asked her one of the days they were making out.

“No.” White stuff and weeds weren’t her thing. She’d seen what those substance did to some of the girls at Madame’s place.

The big man patted the space beside him. “Sit with me.” She did. “Closer,” he ordered.

With one leg crossed over Bernard’s, Scarlett proceeded to rubbing and smooching all over the man’s body. She was about to grab his erected crotch when the door opened and the two men she greeted downstairs walked in, stripped to their boxes.

“What the…” she took her leg off Bernard and was about to ask why he would allow the men barge in on them announce. Nobody disturbs the baron when he's getting some'n. It's the rule!

A rule that favored her.

“Welcome Gentlemen.” Bernard beamed. “I promised you guys a worthy entertainment tonight.” grabbing her face, he kissed her hard in the mouth and pushed her away. “Be a good girl and make us all happy,” he said roughly.

“You want me to take three of you here- at once?” She had prepared for surprises but wasn’t sure she was quite ready for this.

“Don’t be a idiot. You know what these men want.”

Threesomes and orgies were for slave girls at madame Charlotte's in, not for her. She’d upgraded, had become classier, and particularly picky in the kind of men she serviced and the kind of Job she did accept.

“I can call one of the girls to service them.” Growing her leg over the big man's thigh, her hand striking his protruded stomach, she tried to persuade him to reason. “You know you don’t like sharing me with anyone. You said that yourself.”

The man bust out in a convulsive laughter, the other men joined in. “A who*re is a who*re,” he said, dragging from his cigar. “A black who*re is the worst of them all.”

He called her a black who*re? She though she was his doll? His pretty thing? Now he called her a…

“The men are waiting.” He smoked some more.
“Ben, I am not ready for this.” She was desperate to make him understand, but he bust out in another laughter instead.

“Okay, I hear you. I will have you alone.”
Phew! She almost brought out her rosary and kissed the cross. “That’s wonderful, Ben.” She’d known Bernard Swift and his lavished life-style for seven months now, the man had since stuck to her after the first job. He was a man so easy to please. A Mouth Action, marathon crazy sex—he could have it all day and night without fagging out, but never with another man, not to think of three at the same time.

“I want to have you now.” He rasped.

“Here?” fear creeped into her again. She glanced at the other men who now had their boxes down and the pendulous poll between their legs, rigid.

“Please, let’s not do this here, we can go to your room or anywhere secret…”

“Shut your mouth and behave, LovePeddler. I have treated you like a princess all this while, not anymore. You will stay still and do as I say.”

He pulled her up, rolling her dress to her waist. His hand, hard and rough, pressed between her legs. He stabbed his fingers into her, drove up her, hard and fast. With his other hand, he struggled with her dress and pulled it over her head, dumping it on the floor.

“Take me to the room at least. Let this be private.” She whispered in horror.

When was the last time she had it this way? Four years ago? She had vowed that no man would dominate her again, they wouldn’t use her body like a toy, she would call the shorts, offer what she could and give her terms.

“No. I will have you here, now, while they watch. After, I will watch them ravish these beautiful holes of yours.”

Her lungs clogged with soaring disgust mixed with fear and anger.

“You are a who*re, it’s high time I started treating you as one.”

No. she was a survivor, a warrior, a business woman with class. He should respect her like a woman who knew her worth not a little girl under madame Charlotte.

But she also knew that whatever she’d chosen to call herself now, what was reflected on the mirror when she looked at herself was only an outer image. She was a LovePeddler, everybody knew it. Bernard only took a little longer to state the obvious.

Why did it hurt her so much now? Wasn’t she doing what she used to do before?

Prostitute, hooker, call girl, are all the names that described her profession, it didn’t matter what she coated herself with. She sold her body for the almighty dollar; she was meat to both men and women who could pay.

A high rated LovePeddler.

****

“That was amazing Paul, you did it! The audience were eating out of your palm,” George Oakman, his manager gathered him in his large flabby arms and squeezed, rolling off laughter from his bowel. “Incredible, boy you were an angel out there. You made them believe it was Jesus himself standing on that stage.”

“Thank you, George.”

Paul was yet to learn how to accept compliments for the magic he performs with his voice. It wasn’t his thing— gleaming and basking while accepting praises. Ten years in this, singing his heart out and drawing tears from the eyes of those who listened to his music. Yet, each time he was showered with adoration and praise, he felt awkward.

Nevertheless, he knew George was right. He had worked his bones out for this day, training his voice and rehearsing. Abstaining from foods and drinks he feared would affect his voice. He had tarried in the presence of the lord two days before embarking on this journey, his plea?

‘Lord, Give me Toronto. Announce your ownership of me in this concert.’

When his time came, he was overwhelmed by the crowed. For a brief moment, he felt his vulnerability. His inadequacy jolted his whole body. Then he had shut his eyes, allowed a large soothing breath through his lungs, down to his belly. He’d felt it, a surge of spiritual boost.

He had sang ‘Way maker’ by Sinach, first.

Why the lord wanted that particular song, beats his imagination. Paul hadn’t even listened to it for a while, there were reasons why he had wrestled with the lord on that decision; first, it was an old song, secondly, the piece was done by an African, a Nigerian. How would the people receive it?

The lord had proven his wrong again.

The sound from the keyboard had permeated into his skin with the surge that catapulted him out of the place, lifting him to stand face to face with the divine.

When he finally opened his eyes, more than half of the crowd were on their knees, hands lifted, heads bowed. Everyone was caught in the spell of the moment. He was caught in his own spell.

It wasn’t excitement he saw; it was something more. Longings, hearts thirsty and hungry for the lord. That was it- the ultimate, the peak of the night, the reason for this calling. The lord was using his voice for his glory, giving him the souls of more than fifteen thousand people simultaneously.

When he finally raised his own songs, ‘To your Glory Alone’ and ‘Rescued by grace,’ the crowd went wild. People cried unabashedly.
In all his years of ministration, he’d seen nothing like it.

When it was over, he was drained and in a state of shock. In that moment of unboundedness, devoid of clapping and cheering— just men with their eyes closed, faces lifted up while some had their heads on the ground, worshiping, he knew it would take time for his brain to find the word to adequately express what just happened.

“I have watched you perform severally; tonight, was magical. Toronto will never forget this night,” George said.

Nodding, Paul's face moved too slowly to the smile that tugged his muscles, as he gradually took in the sweet effect of what he just did. He then grinned. Relief flooded through him and the tensions and insecurities of the previous few weeks were gradually exorcised. He had done it, and it had turned out well.

“I am amazed too.”

“I guess we can afford a small party when we get to the hotel, the crew deserve it.”

“You go ahead with whatever plan. But I don’t think I am up to it, I want to retire for the night.”

George nodded. “And wait for offers to come in tones.”

“It’s always offers and money for you George.”

“Sure, it is. Am I the only person who sees your voice as a gold mine?” Lips downturned, the man shook his head. “Boy, you sure don’t know your worth.”

No, he didn’t. that was why he left all concert bookings, bargaining for payments and logistics, managing his accounts for George. Oh, George loved money, he could smell it from miles away same way he could smell fresh talents even from a rat hole.

It was George's idea to record his first song and put it up for sale. He had approached his after a provincial church program and had gone on and on about recording one or two songs, offering to pay for the sections.

“You have a hell of a voice, son. You could make a lot of money with it!”

But money wasn’t the problem. Paul believed that his talent wasn’t for sale.

“Bullshit.” George had spatted. "Who planted that stupidity in your head, son?"

So began their star-manager journey. Hero had scouted for openings, hyped him before gospel event planners and organizers—adding a little exaggeration to make him marketable. Spent a lot of his cash on getting his pictures on billboard.

“Ed Sheeran’s lost brother.” George would refer to him. It wasn’t the first time anyone had mistaken him to the English pop singer, pointing out his unique ginger red colored hair, his ‘Alice in the wonder land’ cat face and his pale-white skin that made people easily mistake him for an English man.

Staring at the fifty-one year old flabby flesh man occupying a two-man space on the three-sitter SUV, The dome of his head totally bald, but half way down his scalp, a profusion of blond curls sprouted and luxuriated well pass the back of his neck. Paul agreed that if happiness had a face, it would be George's.

"Thank you Jesus," He muttered, leaning back on the car sofa, his eyes shut.

The rest of the ride back to the hotel was done with the crew squealing and howling their excitements and how they would want to spend more days to explore the amazing city.

But Paul had other things in mind.
A shower. A healthy dinner. And a glass or two of Ariel Chardonnay- his favorite white wine, he was fast getting addicted to that, then he would call home.

His parents must have watched. They always did, except of course when they were seriously engaged with church administration.

His parents. The greatest gift the Lord had given to him, one he would never tread for anything in this whole world.

Though they had received his decision to frolic with the guitar and sing his lungs out with disappointment, they wanted him to take over his father as the pastor of their local church.

But, Hey…he did chosen to build himself a mobile pulpit, doing the same thing his father does- only a little differently. With his voice bringing joy, love, laughter and hope to the ears of those who had forgotten the warmth of such harmony.

Seat booked already... waiting patiently for this grand coaster ride

Wow...
Another great piece from one of nairaland's best.
Welldone Rosemary
Your number one fan is eagerly following...

great....the story appears deep

yipee

Three

Scarlett

“Lovely night, huh.” The driver said, glancing in the rear-view mirror, his narrow eyes busy checking her out. “How did it go?”

“I’m not in the mood for conversation,” she said crisply, turning him out because he bothered her, he always had. There was something about him that unnerved her each time he came to pick her. Maybe it was the sinister grin that seemed to have found a home on his lips, and the way he kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, sticking out his tongue suggestively when she locked gaze with him. He was a white man with a longish dirty blond hair. The only white man working for Bernard—not that she knew all his staff, just a handful that were always around whenever she visited his palace.

“’Scuse me for existing,” he muttered, still grinning at her.

Damn! How she desired to kick him in the crotch. That would wipe off the dirty idea of having sex with her she knew he had been nursing for only God knows how long now.
Men! She thought. the only thing that rushes into their heads each time they see beautiful women like her is sex. Sex and domination.

“You don’t look too good.” The driver ventured, narrowly avoiding a meandering jaywalker. “Anything bad happened back there?”

“Just be quiet and drive,” she said, seething with anger. Turning her head to the left, she saw the coat she’d left in the limo when she arrived. Grabbing it, she slipped her hands, clutching it around her to conceal her ripped dress. How she managed to walk out of the house where Bernard— if that was indeed his name, and his foolish friends had held her captive for the last two hours, looking like a cheap prostitute who was engaged in a fight... she didn’t want to think about it.

What they did to her was unthinkable. She’d been more or less raped and brutalized, treated like an object to be used for their pleasure. They were more than rough with her, exhibiting no respect at all. As far as they were concerned, she was a souvenir, which wasn’t how Bernard treated her before. What changed?

Her pleas of, “Stop! No! This isn't going to happen,” didn’t affect them one bit. She’d struggled, but to no avail. those bastards treated her like one of Madam Charlotte’s who*res.

With shaky hands, she retrieved from her purse, the cell phone she used only when she wants to call those that would save her live if need be and speed-dialed her lawyer.

“Mr. Chip will be with you in a moment,” replied the velvet-toned voice of his ever-efficient secretary.

Scarlett waited. Her lawyer like keeping people waiting, she’d seen him do it before. ‘Builds characters,’ he would say with just a hint of the European accent he had never managed to get rid of.

Nervously, she leaned forward and asked the driver if he had a cigarette.

“I thought you don't smoke,” the man said with a nonchalant shrug.

She used to smoke, but had given it up a very long time ago. But tonight, she could do with a long deep drag of the stick.

“Do you want me to stop and get you a pack?” The driver asked.

“No.” She shook her head vigorously.

“Scarlett.” Her lawyer’s voice. The slight accent. The oily thickness. “You called.”

“Yes.”

“What’s up?”

“I need you to sue someone.”

“A client?” It’s always a client. Mostly those that didn’t treat her girls right. Now it was her that was abused and she wouldn’t have it.

“What he did to me... I can’t... I can’t.” Teared welled in her eyes. Swallowing a sob, she glanced at the rear-view mirror and caught the driver watching her. "I want... I want...” Trailing off, Scarlett realized she didn’t know what she wanted anymore. An apology from Bernard? More money? Or for the pig to rot in jail?

“Who is this man?” The lawyer asked.

“We have to see and talk.”

“Where are you?”

“Still in Danforth.”

“You are in Toronto? It’s your lucky day princess. meet me at ‘One King West Hotel.’”

“I don’t know my way around here.”

“Get a cap and give the driver the address.” She was busy complaining how she wouldn’t be able to see him in her condition and didn’t hear the click on the other end of the line.

When she discovered he was no longer there, she was enraged.

“Going to meet another client?” The driver mocked.

“Shut your trap.”

The man laughed, infuriating her more. “I know One King West Hotel. I can take you there.” She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need his help because she knew that soon, he would want to ask for something in return of that favor.

Sex. That’s what he would demand from her because she was a hooker, a who*re, prostitute.

And she would slap his dirty face if he ever opened his mouth to ask her for that. Because she wasn’t any of those things. she was a stylish Montrealer, who’d succeeded on her own without any help from anyone.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she remembered what she’d been through to get to where she was.

Some minutes later, the driver stopped in front of the hotel. “Should I wait for you?” He asked.

“Go to hell.”

The man’s laughter lingered as he drove off.
Clutching her coat around her to hide her torn dress, she started walking into the hotel, fishing out her phone again to call her lawyer. “I’m at the entrance of the hotel, about to get in now.” She stepped on the porch, “How do I find you?”

She was about to walk into the lobby when she collided with some... who the hell? “Hey! Can you watch where you are going?” She blurted at the flaming red hair man, ready to unleash all her frustration on him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“Sorry.” He was down on one knee, already gathering her things scattered all over the porch. The packs of condom, her panties, black hose, lipsticks and a mask. She watched him push the items inside her purse and stood, offering the bag back to her. “I’m really sorry.”

Those eyes...

“Please, forgive me.”

There’s something about this beautiful pale-skinned ginger-red haired man. Beautiful, yes. The man gave new meaning to the word, ‘handsome,’ and the only way to describe him was ‘beautiful,’

“Are you okay?”

His eyes were narrowed and roaming down her body. She wanted to snatch her purse from him and hurried into the elevator, but something held her there. Under the man’s perusal. Was he... going to know what happened to her? That she was a LovePeddler who wasn’t lucky tonight? Would he ask for her service as well?

“Where you attacked?” His eyes where back on her face and there was concern? “Are you hurt?” A sudden weakness and shame came upon her as she stared back at him. And a sudden urge to hide, to cry. Was it his... what... who was this man?

“How can I be of help?”

She didn’t need his help. What she needed was to get away. She felt naked before him, as if the man could see through her, he could see all the sins she’d committed since she was born. It was worse than sitting under the damnation preaching of some pastors, worse than kneeling on the confessional hassock to confess her sins.

“Madam...” He was inching closer, about to touch her.

“Get away from me,” she gritted. His touch would burn the same way his gaze upon her did. “Don’t come closer.” Snatching her purse from him she walked briskly through the lobby, into the elevator without giving him a glance.

****

Paul

Alighting from the rented SUV after bidding his manager and the crews goodnight, he was relieved to see that upon stepping on the hotel’s porch, there was no welcoming committee to greet him.

Great, he thought. No one to bother me here. It would take a day or two for Torontonian to recognize him on the street as the man that held audience spellbound in tonight’s concert. He wanted it so. At least he would have peace for once after a concert.

Or not.

Someone collided into him.

“Hey! Can you watch where you are going?” She shouted. He didn’t blame her for losing her cool, it was his fault. He wasn’t looking. So, he went ahead to do all he could to appease her.

He didn’t take a proper look at her at first, then when he handed her purse back to her, his eyes couldn’t leave her face.

She was an exotic beauty. Brown eyes with sharply etched cheekbone. A wide luscious mouth and a deep brown complexion. Her dark hair swept in a curtain to her shoulder—curly and shining. She was curvedly built. Very curvy.

And she seemed like she was in trouble. Her dress was torn too, what was remaining of it barely covered her body. But for the coat she had on, she was almost naked.

“Get away from me,” she had said, horrified. As though something in him was scaring her.

He had thrown glances around to make sure the lady wasn't drawing attentions. From the content of her bag that was scattered on the floor, it was obvious who she was and he wouldn’t want to be seen with a woman of low virtue.

Yet, something in him stirred at the thought of her and a sudden desire to see her again came on him. Running his hand through his hair, he glanced at the elevator, where she’d disappeared into, somehow hoping that the door would open and she would step out and... and what?

What was wrong with him?

He should be finding his way to his hotel room not standing in the lobby thinking about a scantily dressed beautiful black woman who might be here to sleep with a man.

“Hey.” A redhead white woman approached him. “I know you.” Oh, Jesus. “You are the guy at the concert.” Another woman that was speaking with one of the receptionists turned and started walking towards them.

“Sarah,” The first woman called. “It’s him.” The guy from the concert.”

Did he think he would sneak into his room unnoticed? He was wrong. It wouldn’t take a day or two for people to recognize his face outside the concert auditorium.

First to comment
Yaaaaaay
Thanks for the update Rosemary.

[color=#000000][/color]

I arrived on time this time.

Your story leaves me seeking Christ and wishing ill be more closer to him.

Bumper to bumper

favch:
[color=#000000][/color]

I arrived on time this time.

Your story leaves me seeking Christ and wishing ill be more closer to him.

Thank you so much

Four

Paul

“She’s yours.”
Paul turned his head to look at the time ravaged man with winter-white hair and eyes way worn. He could swear that the voice he heard didn’t come from the man who had his gaze fixed on the elevator buttons, leaning on his cane. There was no way such strong voice would come out from that withering body. But it was just the two of them on the elevator...

“It is not good for a man to be alone; you know.” Paul was now sure the voice came from the man. “She is pleasing to the eyes,” The man had his gaze on him now. “Don’t you agree?”

“What are you talking about?” And why did this journey to the fourth floor suddenly turned to a trip from Armstrong to Tottenham? Did someone slow speed and time?

“The lady you just met.” The man said, baring a surprising complete set of teeth.

“Which lady?” His question seemed to angered the man that he lifted his cane and hit him on the arm. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“I know you by your name, and can see the desires of your heart.”

What in God’s name... “Sir, I seriously didn’t know what you're talking about.”

“Search your back pocket.” The man ordered. Narrowing his eyes on the man, Paul wondered if he was going crazy. “Come on, show me what you have in there.”

Reluctantly, he slipped his hand inside the pocket of his jeans. Came out with his wallet, his mother's photo and… Jesus!

How did that thing get into his pocket! His eyes moved from the Rosary in his palm, to the man who was grinning with satisfaction. Then back to the praying beads.

The Rosary belonged to the lady that had collided with him at the porch… he had picked it with other things— he wouldn’t have dared to touch, and he was sure he put back everything inside her purse before giving it back to her.

How did…? “I'm sure I put this back into her purse,” he said, more to himself.

“Are you sure you did? Or you thought you did.”

“I know what happened back there, I gave her back everything…” Did he? Or was he assuming? This conversation with this man; was he also imagining it? The lady, the Rosary— he had to call his father.

“Find her, win her. Maybe…” the man shrugged. “You can keep her.” The elevator bell chimed announcing their arrival at the second... What? They'd been on the first floor all the while?

“I can’t believe this.” He couldn’t believe everything that had happened since he stepped out of the rented SUV. Stared at the old man who was now walking towards the opened elevator door, Paul tried to make sense of what the man said.

“Wait!” He called after the man. There were so much he needed to ask, so much he wanted answers for, but the man ignored and kept walking. “Hold on!” He had to follow the man.

Must speak with him some more…

But something was pulling him back, his legs could no longer move and the door was closing. “Please, wait!” The man kept walking and in less than a few minutes, four people joined him in the elevator and the door closed.

****
Scarlett

Scarlet murmured a response to the ‘goodnight’ said to her by the cab driver, got out and trudged towards her house, groaned as she climbed the three steps that led to her door. The night didn’t end the way she had envisaged, even after seeing her lawyer, she still felt like shit.

“Nothing will come out of this, Scarlett. That man will ruin you,” her lawyer had said.

Well, every business has its own risk and bad moments, tonight was one of hers. She didn’t set out on this particular job to become a intimacy gadget to three perverts. Yet, she agreed with her lawyer, suing Bernard and his stupid friends would end up draining her and her bank account.

Her door left ajar casted bright beam into the darkness that was reluctant to abate. Petrified, she halted, not sure what to do if an unknown person had broken into her home. She was still racking her brain when a feminine figure walked out of the house bearing the trash can.

Melony.

Scarlett let out the air that clung her throat and resumed walking. The woman had this weird attitude of coming into the house at odd hours to clean and do the laundry.

Crossing over the threshold the smell of the muggy air gave way to the stronger smell of Lemon scented bleach. As usual, Melony had cleaned her house like one who wanted to scrub the stench of her sins away.

Not even acknowledging her, the freckled faced woman handed her a rumpled note without a word.

“From who?”

Hmm…hmm.” Melony shrugged and walked to close the door. The woman would say nothing more than a shrug, a wince, a faint smile when she was pleased which wasn’t too often no matter how much Scarlett tried.

With the paper held tightly in her palm, she walked like her limbs didn’t belong to her towards the staircase, each step a negotiation rather than an order. Her body hurt terribly, every damn part. The worst was the wound in her self-esteem.

“What’s wrong with you?” the woman asked.

“Nothing, just a minor accident.”

“Yea right. Looks like something else to me…” the woman scoffed. “Want me to run your bath?”

“I will be fine Melony. Lock the door behind you when you are done.”

“You are going to get yourself killed by one of them men one day.”

With one foot at the end of the stairs and her hand on the polished wooden hand rail for support, Scarlett stiffened. She knew it was dangerous— the kind of men she provided service to where not totally decent men even though they have not posed a threat to her, as long as she doesn’t mingle in their dirty businesses.

However, Melony had just told her the truth she didn’t want to tell herself.

The money was good.

The men paid hefty price to have her and her girls.

That was all that mattered.

She quietly walked into her room, carefully undressed and stepped into the bathroom.

She was already in bed when she remembered the note. Getting up with a grunt, she picked the piece of paper off her dressing table, plop her bottom on the edge of the bed and read through the badly written words;

Hey, kiddo.
Miss me? Now you leave in a big house and have forgotten good old Meggie…told you I’d come after you were ever you are. Okay, here is the thing- ten thousand bucks in cash and I will be gone, this time for good, trust me…

Trust her? That was what she had been doing all these whiles. Yet Meggie had kept coming back, demanding for money- each time, something bigger than what she asked the previous time. Threatening to go to the police with the secret the both shared.

Le Sainte- Elizabeth, tomorrow night 9pm. You owe me much more kiddo, and you know it.

The thought of Meggie locating her new place sent a fission of shivers all over her and kept her eyes opened for a long time.

Christ.

Why couldn’t she just have the peace of mind her life craved for? Why would trouble run after her like a vulture after a carcass? Talking of trouble, Meggie was a big one.

What was she going to do?

Unable to will her eyes to sleep, she staggered out of bed, the cold air emanating from the air condition in the room suit her naked flesh, it was just what she needed, together with a little drama on the television screen.

Positioning herself to have a perfect view of the screen, she browsed through programs upon programs.

Music. Conversations. Laughter. Gunfights and magic shows. None interested her or quenched the angry, brooding voices in her head which a long bath could wash away. Voices from long gone, from yesterday upon yesterday- yet, still so loud.

She kept flipping channels in search of anything that would grant her the pleasure of sleep and quietness.

That was when a chilling melody found her. From Miracle TV, the heavenly voice floated into her ears, Euphonic chords tangle together, alarming, intriguing, calling her.
She sat straight. Squinted, in search of the source. Then a view of the stage gradually drew closer. A man stood at the center...

“I know that guy,” She murmured, getting up and walking closer to the TV. Yes, she had seen him somewhere before...

The guy she collided into at the hotel porch!
Now she knew why she couldn’t stand close to him, why she couldn’t hold his gaze. The guy was more than human! How else would she explain someone capable of enchanting thousands of people without effort? Not to talk of what he was doing to her heart with his voice.

It wasn’t the light around him that added to her amazement, it was the one from him.

“…way maker miracle worker promise keeper light in the darkness…”

She has heard that song before, had played it over and over again because she loved both the original singer and the origin. Hearing it from this epitome of angelic handsomeness gave a whole new meaning to it.

“…You wiped away my tears, you mend the broken heart, you are the answer to it all…”

The lyrics swan through her cerebral cortex like a wakeful dream. The notes relaxed her, when the man lifted his chin and his hands up, her whole body followed. He was so ethereal, so divine, wielding a force capable of transporting her from her room to the stage with him.

When he opened his eyes and flashed a beautiful smile at the wailing audience at the end of the song, she realized that was the most perfect and real smile she had seen in a long while. His eyes, soft blue like a very early morning, spelt peace and contentment.

The kind she wasn’t privileged to have.

“I want that peace he has,” she found herself murmuring. “I want it! I want!”

Beautiful piece as always

Grace is always available, for even the worst sinner.

Thanks for the update Rosemary.
I always love your stories and this has a promising start.

Thanks for the update ma’am

Captivating as always
Spellbound as usual

Finally here❤️❤️

Five

Paul

Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two...
Christ! This was the hardest part of his morning exercises. Down on his fours and sweating under a fully air-conditioned room and counting. ‘Twenty-five, twenty-six…thirty.’ whoever invented push-ups must be a sadistic prison warder.

The muscle tearing exercise hadn’t even got him buffed up since he added it to his routine.
Not that it mattered to him anyways. Broad shoulders, plank-hard packs and muscle rippling arms were never features meant for him. He’d come to accept his uniqueness since he was a teen. Thanks to his parents that ceased every opportunity to adore his not perfectly toned body.

Thirty-five. Thirty-six... Letting out a loud breath, he collapsed on the floor same time he heard the pounding on the door.

George, he muttered. Only George, his manager could bang on a hotel door without giving ‘two cents’ about disturbing others. The man could bring the whole Hotel down with his ‘Loud’ self when he is extremely excited or chrism red angry.

The formal was the case, as Paul would find out.

Scrambling to his feet, he took wary steps across the room, unlocked the door and walked back without a glance at his manager, collapsing on the bed.

“Get your ass up and get ready. We are going out,” George barked. For a man as big as he was, his voice was a perfect fit to his personality.

Groaning, Paul turned to face the man. Not surprised to see George’s black tee-shirt, emblazoned with ‘PRAISE UNLIMITED,’ damp with perspiration. The man could wring out four liters of sweat from his body even during winter.

“Where are we going?”

“Business. Your amazing act last night didn’t go unnoticed by one of the biggest players in the music industry here in Toronto…”

“It wasn’t an act, George.” The man wouldn’t understand. How would he? A carnally minded man would not understand the things of the spirit. “So, what is the news?”

“A meeting with one of the biggest music producers in Toronto.” The man perched on the cushion’s armrest tapping his feet that was forced into his Stars and Stripes sneakers.

“Liam, Liam Belanger. That is the name you want endorsing you, boy. That name performs wonders in the industry!”

“Mr Belanger of fire sounds? He was there last night?” Now that gave his body all the refueling it needed. Feeling a surge of excitement shooting through his bones, he jerked to a sitting position.

“Belanger in flesh and blood. Yours truly got a wake-up call from the man himself demanding your presence at Le Sainte- Elizabeth, this night.” George bit off a nail and spat out. “He said he had wanted to meet you immediately after the show but you were gone. Which was good by the way. The more you are out of reach, the higher the demand for you.”
“And you agree to a meeting today? What happens to ‘the more out of reach I am?”

“This is different. Last night was enough to get him drooling for you.” Glancing at his watch, George picked himself up, smoothening his brows with his thumb, “Get ready kid, an official ride will be here in less than an hour.”

“You said this meeting is scheduled for tonight, it's barely 8 a.m.”

“We are going shopping.” The man was already walking toward the door. “Belanger pays special attention to looks.”

“He was captivated by my worship last night, not the dress.” Pulling his sleeping shirt off, Paul walked across the room to the wardrobe, his eyes caught the rosary on the dressing table and he halted. Staring intensely on the object while his mind made a trip back to yesterday. At the hotel porch.

She was the most beautiful black lady he’d seen in years. Beautiful in a most worrisome way. She reminded him of the biblical queen of Sheba, or the historical Egyptian Nefertiti.

The kind of beauty every man should beware of, especially a spiritual minded man like him. But he’d found that just thinking of her now, he was beginning to feel a strange sensation within him.

Picking the rosary, he stroked the crucifix at its tail end, his brows coming down into a barely perceptible frown as he thought of his encounter with the old man at the elevator.

Find her, win her... The man had said. Win her... it was obvious the lady was on the dark side. The more reason he shouldn’t be giving what the man said any thought. Wasn't he supposed to be fleeing from every appearance of immorality?

Maybe, you can keep her... He didn’t think that would be a great Idea too. The lady looked wild, like a daughter of wantonness.

You like her at one glance.

She exudes trouble.

Your heart desires her.

Yes... No... Yes... Christ!

“You are now a catholic?” His manager’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Your father wouldn’t like that.” He thought the man had left. when did he creep up on him? “Where did you get that thing from by the way?”

“You already said I’m now a catholic.” Paul put the rosary down and continued his walk to the wardrobe.

“Are you now?”

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs waiting?”

“I am your manager not your waiting boy.”

“You’re still under my payroll.”

“I get the contracts that get you the money.”

“The money that pays you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, boy. There are many talents on the street.” The man had started walking towards the door again. “I can pick any...”

“…of them and make him or her a star,” Paul finished for him, laughing. “Yet you are still with me.”

“That’s because I like you.” The man was half out of the room.

“That’s because You’ve not found a talent like mine yet. All you’ve seen and heard are voices and skills. None with the touch of the Holy Spirit.”

The man snorted and left.

As he headed towards the bathroom, he muttered a shot prayer of thanksgiving. If things would work in his favor, he would be signed to the biggest record label in Toronto and that would be a dream come through.

You will not be returning to Armstrong as soon as you thought.

It didn’t matter, as long as he would get the deal. he didn't mind staying a few more days in the beautiful city, recording music.

****
Scarlett

On the long bar chair, up the first floor of the popular yet conspicuously hidden La Sainte-Elizabeth pub, Scarlett sat near a plate-glass window which gave her a bird eye view of the terrasse. While she would struggle to give the always bubbling, dimmed lit pub a four plus rating, the terrace on its own deserved a five. In her humble opinion, it was the nicest in Montreal- with long elegant trees, ivy growing over its brick walls. She couldn’t get enough of the view.

But today, she wasn’t here to admire nature and drink beer. She was here to face a nemesis after two years of coughing out five thousand dollars to buy her silence.

She ran her thumb around the rim of her beer glass, picked it up and sipped. The more she thought about Meggie, the more she was convinced she had to do something to get her off her trail completely, but what?

Her hand tightened involuntarily around the glass.

Meggie used to be sweet. Crazy- yes, but sweet. An old brood who worked for Madame Charlotte five years before she arrived the inn.
Scarlett remembered her first day on Madame Charlotte’s LovePeddler table. Caucasian men had haggled price over her as one would do while buying crayfish at Nigeria’s Port Harcourt town market. As if she wasn’t there; the men had talked and laughed at her expense, only looking her up and down once in a while, then one by one they had left except the heavily bearded one.

“Two thousand dollars for one girl? Come on Madame; très, très cher, she is expensive.”

“Alexander… look at her. She is a trophy, a fresh meal to relax with.”

“That is true, but I have not paid even a thousand dollar for la pute, non… its one thousand dollars or nothing,” the one referred to as Alexander had shaken his head vehemently.

“Come girl,” Madame Charlotte had beckoned, giving her attention for the first time since Meggie led her into the woman’s large room.

“Come over here, daddy wants to see you.”
Scarlett had moved forward. As timid as a rabbit.

“Unfold your hands girl… turn around for him to see.” Madame Charlotte had forced compliance on her. “Alex…what do you say now?”

“Oui! Qui!” the man had given her a nerve cringing slap on her backside, licking his lips. “I like them curvy…” he had demonstrated with his hands, “Handful…le popotin…big backside you know. This one has little meat here…” Another spank on her butt. “But I like her. She is beautiful and innocent. Elle est belle.”

“My girl here is still young. Barely nineteen and you will be the first to have her.” Charlotte had chuckled confidently, “And of course, with a girl like this, you will have no trouble throughout your time with her. She will obey you like a puppy.”

“Okay, I like her already.”

“Perfect,” Charlotte had squirmed. “So, how many days?”

“That depends on how happy she makes me. A whole night for now, and if I like it, I will call you.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said in satisfaction. “You are paying cash, yes? You understand the reason why I always prefer that.”

The man had counted some cash and slapped them on the table, he made for the door and turned when he realized that his acquired property wasn’t following.

“Few seconds please, she will join you.” Charlotte had apologized.

“Look here…” The sudden change in demeanour was like magic, “I don’t know what your problem is but this is my business and you will not ruin it for me.” Charlotte had said splaying her cellulite ridden arms. “What am I even saying, you have a lot to pay back, in fact; you are paying double of what others are paying. Mr P said you didn’t come cheap, so the sooner you started working this your ass off, the better for you.”

That was the first time she heard about the mysterious Mr P. She would later ask Meggie about the identity of the man.

“See kiddo, if you want to survive here, don’t bother your pretty face about who Mr P is and don’t start asking questions. Do your work and everything will be fine.”

Meggie became her guardian angel from hence—until she turned into a thorn in her flesh.

Kicking her shoes off, Scarlett wiggled her toes while allowing her eyes to roam around the bar for a while.

Eight years ago, they would have smiled at couples laughing and flirting with each other in this pub, she and Meggie. She would have seen her future in the love-struck couples, her hands being touched gently by a man who loved and adored her and a shy smile playing on her lips like it was doing on the lips of the blond-haired girl whose man was whispering into her ears.

A sad smile graced her face as she tore her gaze away. Meggie didn’t believe in love and ever after. However, the lady had allowed her to dream. “What kind of man do you want to settle down with?” Meggie would ask, suppressing laughter as she described her prince charming.

Those days, they’d steal some times to give themselves treats with the money they’d stolen from unsuspected clients and from running solo.

Meggie taught her how to run personal underground businesses. Without it, you will remain wretched and when they finally discard you like an old rag, you will end up on the street, Meggie had told her.

This pub had been their little hideout, perfect for dreaming of love, admiring free people and celebrating their little wins. Some of the nights, they had ended up with Hot men who wouldn’t mind some quick ones in their trucks and cars, only a handful took them home.

It was a dangerous game that could get them severely punished or even killed— one of the girls was dumped in front of the inn, with scissors buried in her temple, a message that nobody should dare play games with Mr P’s clients or his money.

Her head swung towards the entrance as the glass door quirked.

Not Meggie. Scarlett hissed, grabbed her glass and gulped the whole beer down. She’d rehearsed what to say to Meggie when she finally walked in, but somehow, she knew she would not be able to say any of those things.

The lady had a way of wrecking her nerves and turning her into that small naïve girl she once was.

She hated it so much when Meggie reminded her of the past, threatened her with a scene she tried to forget, something the other lady had used as a noose around Scarlett’s neck all these years.

The entrance door quirked again, this time, it was who she was waiting for. Meggie. The other figure looked around, found her and started walking towards her table. In an oversized coat over a long dress. Her legs were covered with a pair of socks, and a grandma’s scarf was knotted around her neck, Scarlett almost didn’t recognize her.

“Relax, Kiddo. I don’t bite.” The other lady settled on the stool opposite hers. “Damn, I can do with a good drink right now.” She beckoned at the bartender, smiled with satisfaction as the young man left with her order.

“You look, Uhm...”

“Don’t say it.” Meggie scuffed. Grabbed the glass of beer before it reached the table and chugged down, beckoned on the bartender again.

With each gulp, her throat bobbed violently and the liquor drizzled from both sides of her thin cracked lips. Drinks like the one she ordered were meant to be sipped from small glasses, so one would not knock himself out. Somehow, Scarlett desired nothing than to see Meggie drink herself to death.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Meggie was on her third cup.

“What is going on with you?”

“As if you care,” Meggie retorted. Wiped her mouth, “See, I am here for the money. Hand it over and you will never see me again, I mean for a long while.”

“For a long while? You said you will be gone forever.”

“You want to get rid of me so fast? How disgusting you must think I am…a dirty drug addict, hanging around a high-class LovePeddler like you… you must want me dead now."

“You should stop.”

“Who made you my mother? The last time I checked, I was the one wiping your butt.”

“I’m only showing concern.”

“I don’t need your pity. Just give me the money.” Scarlet gave her a long stare, “You don’t want me hanging around you, I get it. Let me have my money and I will be gone.”

“If I give you this money, will you stop bothering me?”

“You don’t tell me when to stop, I choose when the time is right”.

“I can’t stand your blackmail anymore…”

“I saved you. If not for me, you would have been dead long ago.”

“You were using me the same way Mr p and Charlotte did. I wanted a steady life.”

“You are a LovePeddler, a slut. There is no life for people like us in the real world.”

“Yet I made one for myself!”

The edge between them was skin-prickling; Scarlett stared into those bright blue eyes burning with anger and resentment and knew she had said more than she was supposed to, what would follow would be a threat, something to cut her to size.

“You think so? How comfortable you have gotten on your throne that you have forgotten the horrible things you did in the past."

Looking around to see if anyone was within earshot, the other lady continued. “You murdered a man.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about and please bring your voice down.” Scarlett gritted.

“Scared now uh? I thought you were playing tough?”

“I didn’t kill anybody, you were in that room that night, the man died of heart attack!”

“What are you now? A doctor? See, you and I know what happened that night. But I covered you. I didn’t report it because I have loved you like a sister. Now you dare want to throw me out?”

“You chose your part and I chose mine.”

“I gave you everything you have.”

“I worked hard for every penny I owe now; you only sheltered me for a short period. As for your silence, I bought it. I have kept paying you.”

Cocking her head backwards. Meggie observed her intently. “What you do with your life now is none of my business. Just hand me my money and I will be gone, it's getting late.”

Grabbing her bag, Scarlet threw a passing glance around. She was about to return her gaze on Meggie when the entrance door swung open and two men stepped in...

Two men...

One as big as a pregnant whale. the other... The man that kept her away last night.
what... what’s he doing here?

Running her tongue over her lips, she threw glances around again, counting the many women that had their eyes on him. She didn’t blame them at all, those she pitied were the men that came with these women. They stood no chance if the angelic singer decides to notice their women.

What was she even saying? When Paul Clurkin—She learnt his name last night, after watching him sing—into a room, everybody took notice, women especially. Not only because of his incredibly good looks but a certain something... a compelling aura she was yet to understand.

“Hey, Kiddo.” Meggie’s voice jerked her back to her reality. “Hand my money over.”

Sparing the handsome singer one more glance, she pulled her bag closer, opened and brought out a purse. Her hands trembled as she brought the money and moved it from her side of the table to Meggie’s. the other lady snatched the notes, shoved them inside her bag without counting.

“Thank you,” Meggie said in mocking politeness. Got on her feet and made it towards the exit. She turned back, hunched over the table, coming forehead to forehead with Scarlet. “The handsome over there.” She thrust her head towards the singer and his friend now seated four tables behind theirs. “You think I stand a chance with him?”

“Don’t you dare get your filthy self near him?” Her anger rose hard and fast. the need to hide Paul away from the likes of Meggie, steamed inside her. “You don’t get close...”

“Hey... hey...” The other lady leaned her face back. “I was just kidding! Wouldn't approach him looking like this.” Hanging her bag over her shoulder, Meggie straightened up. “I advise you let that one go too. He looked too decent for you.”

“Get out.”

“I see the way you look at him...”

“Get out!”

“See you, kiddo.”

Scarlett waited for the other woman to leave, then with shaky hands, searched her bag for a hankie or a tissue paper. She found a tissue, daubed her eyes while swallowing a sob.

Against her wish, she turned her head backwards, more men had joined the singer and his big friend. her eyes stayed on them... on him. He was laughing now, drawing her attention to his thin pink lips.

He was innocently good looking. Like a grown boy! And his...

The words had not finished forming in her head when he threw a glance backwards and... phew! he turned his gaze away as fast as he...
Oh no! He looked back again and straight to her. Biting on her lips, she looked away, wishing she could be anywhere but in there, with him.

She heard a chair scraped on the floor and knew he just stood up. was he leaving already?
Glancing up, she saw him walking towards her with those eyes that looked deeper into hers.

“Hey, it’s you.” He’s now standing beside her, his face melting into a smile as soft as the morning light.

“H... Hi.” Her body squirmed a little as his smile broadened while he kept his gaze on her face.

There was something about his eyes that called for her... She wasn’t sure...

“You look different,” he said. “Can I sit with you?”

yes o you can sit with me, thanks for the update.