Crossing the Lines
Copyright © 2020 by SJ Hooks
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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.
Cover by Graphics by Tammy.
Formatting by Tammy
Who says second novels are terrifyingly difficult?
I did.
Who encouraged me to write one anyway?
You did.
Thank you to my online friends around the world.
Fandom is family.
Always.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
“Please. There has to be something you can do.”
The chair creaks as the woman behind the desk swivels it around to face me, looking at me rather than her computer screen. There are deep-set lines on her forehead and streaks of gray in her hair. It’s her eyes that age her most of all, though—world-weary is the term.
“Look, Miss …” Her eyes dart toward the ceiling for a second.
“Winters,” I supply, as patiently as I can. It’s not her fault. In her system, I’m probably just a number. One in a seemingly endless line of women who turn up at her desk with the same story to tell.
“Miss Winters.” The social worker folds her hands and leans forward. “The state has several programs for single mothers, but the problem is that you don’t qualify for any of them at the moment.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry. I really am.” Her gaze darts to my right for a second and when she looks at me again, I see a genuine spark of pity. “You have a beautiful son.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, running my hand over Luke’s hair. He looks up from his picture book, smiling at me before diving back in. It’s a new book, borrowed from the small stack in the waiting area.
“Until the state launches an investigation into your ex … husband?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Sorry.” She rubs her forehead. “Until it’s determined that he’s no longer providing for you and your son, we can’t get you into any of the programs.”
“When will that be?”
“I can’t say. It doesn’t help that your home is still his only registered address.”
“But his mail stopped coming months ago. He must have a P.O. Box or something somewhere.”
“Probably,” she admits. “You’re sure nothing happened to him?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. He posted a few things on Facebook at first. Just stupid videos and stuff like that. But he didn’t answer the messages I sent him, and one day I was blocked from seeing his account.”
The social worker sighs, her lips tightening briefly. “Is there anyone else who can help you until you can get into some programs?”
I shake my head. There’s Jo, but I can’t keep taking her money.
“Your parents? The father’s parents?”
“No. There’s no contact. They’ve never even met Luke, and my ex was raised by his aunt. She hasn’t been around either. There’s no one.” I blink to keep my eyes from watering.
“I’m sorry,” the lady says, sighing softly again. “I assume you’ve looked for work?”
“Everywhere. Anything. Turns out I’m qualified for nothing.”
This time the pity in her eyes is more than a spark. “I wish …” She trails off. There’s nothing she can do, and we both know it.
“Yeah, me too,” I mumble, pushing back my chair. “Let’s go, hon.”
Wishing gets you nowhere, I know that all too well. And life isn’t fair at all.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
I look up from the Help Wanted ads and try to smile at my son. I hope I’m successful. I hope he doesn’t see the anxiety that flares within me at his simple request.
“Okay, baby. Grilled cheese sandwich?” Please, say yes.
Thankfully, he does, and I’m able to relax just a little as I rise and begin assembling what I need: bread, the last two slices of cheese, and a stick of butter. The empty cavern of my fridge stares back at me as I take out the few items and quickly make Luke a meager dinner. I know it must taste a little stale, but he starts eating enthusiastically anyway.
“What about you, Mommy?”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie.
The truth is that I’m starving, and not just for food. I’m starving for more than this—for more than this run-down apartment, for more than this life of barely getting by.
“Finish up, hon,” I say. “You’re staying at Mrs. Watt’s tonight.”
His face drops, but he nods. I know he doesn’t want to go, but I have no choice. I have to find work and there aren’t a lot of options for a twenty-two-year-old with no job experience and no marketable skills. In the bathroom, I put on too much makeup and tease my long hair before changing. My nice outfits won’t do tonight. I’ve tried every diner, restaurant, and shop I can think of with no luck. I have to go elsewhere tonight and with a small sigh of defeat, I pull out a short, tight skirt and a low-cut top, pairing the outfit with stilettos. I bought the whole ensemble long ago in a pathetic act of rebellion against my parents but have never had the courage to actually wear any of it.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. That’s good, I suppose. This is so far from the person I am—normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in something this revealing. I hide myself underneath a coat before going back into the kitchen. I don’t want Luke to see me dressed this way.
Ten minutes later, I knock on Mrs. Watt’s door, just down the hall from our apartment. She’s always home.
“Abbi,” she greets me, looking me over with a frown, eyeing my tousled hair, red lipstick, and hooker heels.
“Hi, Mrs. Watt. I have to go out. Would you mind …?” Luke is hiding behind me, clutching the hem of my coat in silent protest.
“Come on in.” She sighs, reaching out her hand to my son.
“Mommy,” he whispers, looking up at me with wide eyes.
I kneel down as best as I can in my restricting outfit until we’re at eye level. “I’m coming back, baby. I promise. It’s just for a few hours.”
He’s terrified of me leaving and no amount of reassurance on my part seems to help. I understand why he’s scared, though. Fucking Patrick and his promise to come back soon—it’s been six months and Luke’s still waiting. Luke wraps his little arms around my neck and squeezes until I can hardly breathe.
“Lis
ten,” I whisper. “I love you, baby, and I swear I’m coming back. I’ll never leave you, not ever.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever,” I promise, and I mean it with my whole heart. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Okay,” he sniffs.
Mrs. Watt huffs impatiently above us. She’s a no-nonsense lady and I’m sure she thinks I’m coddling Luke, but I don’t care what she thinks. I’m grateful for her help, though. Her apartment smells like stale cigarette smoke and her cat, Buster, scares Luke, but underneath her tough exterior she’s a nice woman who always takes good care of my son.
“Come on, young man,” she says as Luke reluctantly releases me. “Did you have dinner?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have room for dessert? I bought cookies. They’re in the kitchen.”
“Yes, please.” Luke wanders into her hallway, giving me one last look before getting his dessert.
“Thank you, Mrs. Watt,” I say, hobbling to my feet in the stupid heels.
She looks me over again, obviously noticing how different I look tonight. “Where’re you off to?”
“I have to get a job. There’s a, uh, gentlemen’s club that’s hiring.”
She nods slowly, taking a drag of her cigarette. “You be careful,” she warns, waving it at me.
“I will. I’ll be back in a few hours. If he falls asleep, don’t wake him, okay? I’ll just carry him home.”
She closes the door with a small shake of her head. I know she doesn’t approve, but what else can I do at this point? Steeling myself, I pull the strap of my nearly empty purse over my shoulder and walk out of the building into the night.
“Well?” The club manager leans back in his chair, a bored expression on his face, as if he didn’t just ask me to take my clothes off in the middle of his office. I’m very aware of the large man standing behind me by the door and shoot him a nervous glance. He meets my eyes with an impassive stare, which tells me he’s not going anywhere.
“Look, if you can’t get naked in front of me and Benny here, how the hell do you think you’re gonna do it in front of an audience?” the manager asks.
He’s got a point. My hands shake as I peel my clothes off, my eyes fixed on the vomit-colored carpet beneath my feet.
“Nope. Sorry.”
My head jerks in surprise and I look at the manager again. “W-what?”
“I can’t use you.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You’ve got a pretty face, but you’re skinny as a fucking rail and you look scared to death. The innocent girl-next-door routine only works if you look like you’ve got a naughty side.”
Panic wells up inside me. “Please. I …”
He tilts his head to the side, looking behind me. “Benny, you wanna fuck her?”
“No.” The answer comes without hesitation, chipping away my last shred of dignity, and I start pulling my clothes back on.
“Quit starving yourself and maybe we can work something out,” he calls after me as I stumble out of his office, fighting a losing battle with my tears.
The back of the club is dark and the music deafening. I rush past the bar, looking for the exit through blurry eyes, when I barrel straight into a solid wall of muscle, losing my balance. Before I can fall, I’m hoisted to my feet by two strong hands on my naked shoulders. I look up, recoiling when I realize I’m being held by a man. His brow is furrowed and his gaze dark, sweeping across my face. I’m a complete mess to look at, I’m sure, and I redden in embarrassment at my disheveled state and revealing clothes.
“Thank you,” I mumble, unsure if he’s able to hear it. I retreat, making a beeline for the exit, the music masking my choked sobs. I don’t linger outside, wanting to get away from here immediately, and I wish I’d brought my sneakers with me as I hobble down the sidewalk, the pain in my feet only eclipsed by the dread I feel.
I don’t know what to do now. There’s no more money, and there’s food for maybe two more days. The rent is long overdue, and if we get kicked out on the street, what will happen to Luke? Will they deem me unfit and try and take him away from me? My heart twists in fear and I have to stop walking and concentrate on breathing.
“How much?”
I startle and nearly trip as I lose my balance. A dark car has pulled over and the passenger-side window is open. “W-what?”
“How much?”
How much for what? Then the proverbial ton of bricks hits me. He thinks I’m a hooker! Well, I guess I do look like one. I should have put my coat back on. “I’m not—”
“I don’t care,” the voice interrupts. “How. Much?”
“Look,” I snap. “I’m just trying to get home.”
“I’ll give you three hundred dollars.”
Whoa! I don’t know the going rate, but to me, that’s a lot of money. I can almost taste the food I’d be able to buy with it, feel the heaviness of the grocery bags in my hands, and see the brimming shelves in the fridge. I could make a real hot breakfast for Luke in the morning.
“F-for what?” I ask, stepping closer to the car. The door opens and I catch a glimpse of a suit sleeve and a large hand.
I know I shouldn’t do this. It’s dangerous. But I can’t lose Luke. Cautiously, I lean down, peering inside the car. It’s him—the man from the club. He followed me.
“Hello again,” he says. “Get in.”
I look him over: nice suit, clean-shaven, nothing that screams danger. I lock eyes with him, trying my best to assess him. I don’t get a bad feeling from him. He also looks like he might actually have that three hundred dollars.
Climbing into the car with my heart in my throat, I don’t know if I’m about to make a huge mistake, but I have no choice. I’m desperate. I’m crossing the line.
Chapter Two
Up close, I register that the man in the car is good looking in a corporate sort of way, like a lawyer on a TV show. His dark hair is neatly styled and I can smell his cologne from where I’m sitting. It’s nice. He’s a lot older than me, probably in his late thirties or early forties. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d have to solicit a girl in order to have sex, but what do I know? I’ve never done anything like this before, so I really don’t have a clue what type of men solicit sex workers.
“Close the door,” he says.
I hesitate. Am I really doing this? I can’t get out if he decides to lock the door. “You’re not a cop, right?” I ask. “You have to tell me if you are. It’s the law or something.”
“Is it?”
“I … I saw that in a movie once.”
He chuckles. “I’m not a cop. And you’re obviously new at this.”
“Uh, yeah.”
I notice he speaks with a slight accent, but I can’t quite place it. He’s not from the Pacific Northwest, I’m fairly certain, but it doesn’t sound like any other American dialect I know either.
“So what do you say? Are we doing this or not?” he asks.
I swallow back the tears I feel approaching. I have to do this. “Yes,” I answer, closing the door. “I need the money.”
He eyes me speculatively for a moment before nodding to himself. “Yes, you do, don’t you?” he says, steering the car back onto the road.
We drive for a little while, saying nothing to each other. I pull my coat on and keep a close watch on him, but he just drives, steering the car through traffic with practiced ease, the picture of calm.
I notice as we enter an industrial area of the city, abandoned at this time of night, and I feel a spike of panic as I look around. No one will hear me if I need help.
“It’s all right,” he says, apparently picking up on my state of mind. “I won’t hurt you. This is just more private.”
Finally, he turns the car into an alley between two large warehouse buildings and shuts off the engine. I guess this is it.
“So, uh, what do you want?” I ask, glancing over at him.
“I’d like a blow job.” He says it as if he’s ordering a
cup of coffee from a waitress, like it’s no big deal at all. Still, I’m relieved. I thought he was going to demand a lot more.
“I should get the money first, right?” Why the hell am I asking him?
His lips twitch as he pulls out his wallet, taking three hundred-dollar bills from a large wad of cash and handing them to me. I stare at all of the bills still left in his hand and try to imagine having that kind of money. Stuffing the three hundred dollars in my purse, I resist the urge to thank him. I know I’ll have to earn that money now, doing something I’ve never, ever imagined doing.
“Take off your coat,” the man demands.
I manage to wrestle my way out of it, rubbing my bare arms as the coolness of the AC hits them. My mouth goes dry with fear as he gently grasps my wrists, straightening my arms out in front of me and turning them slowly, eyes fixed on my exposed skin. After a moment he releases me with a nod.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Twenty-two.”
He frowns, pursing his lips. “I don’t like liars,” he says, his voice a bit gentler. “Are you being truthful?”
I nod. Why would I lie about my age?
“Good,” he says.
“Good?”
“Yes. You look younger, and I’m really not into the whole underage thing. Take off the top too.”
For the second time tonight, I find myself showing my nakedness to a stranger. I look away from him as it comes off, the words of the strip-club manager still echoing in the back of my head.