Page 41 of Savage Roses
I am nudged inside the limousine and the door promptly swings shut.
The fancy vehicle is moving within seconds. We leave the Mill behind, though I miss seeing it sink out of view. The windows are too tinted, and it is too late at night. I try, anyway, pressing my face and hands against the warm glass.
This must annoy the man named Mr. Adams. His voice is deep and masculine, with a layer of irritation.
“Sit down properly,” he says. “And don’t touch the glass. You’ll smudge it.”
“I apologize.”
I do as I am told, sliding down into the seat, folding my hands obediently in my lap.
My customers have only taken me to different playrooms inside the Mill. I have never been bought by someone who has taken me outside, though I have heard of rare requests where this happens. Usually it is with someone like the mayor.
Nerves ripple inside my stomach. Since I do not know what to expect, I would prefer if he returned me to the Mill.
He sits looking powerful and luxurious in his suit and tie, his gaze on me in much the same way Lucius Mancino had stared earlier—only maybe his stare is less reproach, more interest.
Neither man is someone I trust.
He leans forward and presses a button on a panel. It splits open to reveal a selection of beverages. He reaches for a glittering champagne bottle and two glasses.
“Thirsty?” he asks.
We are taught to be agreeable. We are told to go along with whatever our customer wants.
I do not like the fizzy taste of champagne, but he does. So I do too, for the occasion.
“Yes, please,” I answer.
He hands me a glass. “Are you nervous? You’re trembling.”
I smile and shake my head, though my knees will not stay still.
His gaze dips to them as they bounce, then flick back up to my face. “You can’t be cold. We’re in the middle of a heatwave. Half the city still has their AC blasting into the night. Rest assured. You have no reason to be nervous. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Lena.”
My name.
He knows my name.
I press my lips together, tempted to ask how, but remembering the rules. It is not allowed.
“I’m taking you to the Plaza,” he says casually, leaning back into his seat. He sips from his champagne and looks out the window as if our car ride is one between friends. “We should have plenty of discretion there.”
“Oh… yes. Okay.”
“Do you not like the champagne? It’s Perrier Jouet.”
I hurry to slop down several mouthfuls to please him. Some of it misses my mouth and spills down my front.
He raises a brow and then reaches to take my glass from my hand. “If you don’t like the champagne, that’s alright. One thing I want to make clear—communication between us has to be very honest, or this will never work. Do you know why I paid for you tonight?”
Slowly, I shake my head.
“I figured as much. I’m also guessing you have no idea who I am.” When I confirm this with another shake of my head, he smooths a large hand down his tie and resumes his position, sitting like a refined, powerful man in the back of a limo. “My name is Ernest Adams. I am newly-elected District Attorney for the city of Northam. My family has lived in this city for generations, and we have been fortunate enough to build a legacy over the decades. I am carrying that on in certain ways, hence why it’s so important I became DA.”
“That is… very admirable,” I stammer, unsure what he expects me to say. Why is he telling me this?
“I belong to the Neptune Society. The club that is… well,sellingyou.”