Chapter 1: A Wilted Memory
After having fun with Liam at the hotel, I stared at the flowers while waiting for him to start snoring. I waited for his touch and his hold to stop feeling good, and when it didn’t—when I simply found myself wanting to cling to him tighter, to turn and believe that I was really the one he wanted to embrace, the pillow and affection he craved above all others—I saw a flower fall to the floor.
It was wilted and worn. That reminder of normal, promising I’d be wilted and forgotten, wormed back into my head. Norman’s voice echoed in my mind: You’ll wilt. I heard a woman outside, her voice low as she spoke to another, “Another one’s gone—four now. They’re picking us off.” My blood ran cold—River’s warning about missing Dolls, stolen from the streets, whispered to be the work of powerful men in the Core, suddenly felt too real.
Wanting Liam and putting my heart in his hands would make it fragile.
Maybe I want fragile, maybe I want normal. Maybe I can have it with him, I told myself. The thought alone required punishment. Since I couldn’t wait for logic to calm the frantic beats of my heart, I left.
Now, after walking blocks to remind myself I have more on my plate than any feelings I may be harboring for a man who might as well be a prince to an empire I’ll never be able to touch, I’m standing in front of Lacy’s door. River has told me I should check on her. She’s whispered that Dolls are going missing, being stolen from the streets, and there are whispers that the Core and powerful men are behind it. She’s told me that being alone, or leaving others alone, creates risk. Has she found someone to help, maybe a detective to look into this? The thought flickers, a faint hope against the dread.
Lacy’s been alone for too long.
Whether there’s a conspiracy or group hunting us down or not, loneliness is water eroding grout—strong enough to topple walls that have stood for centuries, and Lacy… she’s always been delicate and soft. I’ve been trying to distance myself from this life since that night with Liam, thinking maybe I could take a break, avoid The Black Wire for a while, focus on something else—like music. Maybe I could contact a madam, offer to perform, not as a Doll, but as a singer, a small step toward freedom. My hand raises to knock on the door, to extend a hand, a line, a comfort, even if I’m not quite sure how to do it.
She opens the door, looks at me as if trying to determine why I’m here, then hugs me. “I hate it all! I don’t want to feel. Tell me how to turn it off, Asami!”
My hands linger at my side, then slowly wrap around her. I close my eyes and press my face to her oily hair. For a moment I’m real in a way that makes me feel inhumane. How can I comfort her the right way when tears greet me?
“I don’t know if it’s possible to turn it off,” I whisper.
She squeezes me tighter, and I remember squeezing my mom like this. I remember clinging to her in a softly lit room while she told me she couldn’t sing anymore, when she told me she was sick. She’d just pet my hair, held me, promised we’d find a way. Swallowing that memory again and hoping it will digest this time, I do the same, petting Lacy’s hair and tightening my grasp to hold the pieces of her together. “We’ll find a way. A way to make it better, to soften it.”
Chapter 2: A Poisonous Kiss
One of her paintings spirals off the wall and to the floor, drawing my attention. There is little of her apartment not smeared or coated in paint, all images of the same man. Sometimes smiling, sometimes sleeping, sometimes wrapped up in black angel wings or surrounded by red mist like a rising demon across her walls, her floor, even parts of her ceiling.
A photo on her coffee table—untouched by paint, yet loved based on the fingerprints across it—shows Lacy with her family, a glimpse of a life beyond her work as a Doll. A letter tucked under a paint can catches my eye, a note from a buyer named Theo, sent via Cam: “Your work speaks. I’d like to photograph it for a small gallery show—capture its story.” The words are gentle, a small gesture hinting at a connection beyond her grief, a seed for something more.
“Let’s go inside,” I encourage.
She nods and lets me go, looking back as if I’ll leave. Like she can sense I’m beyond my depth and I’m no salvation or life boat to save her from drowning. I follow, shutting the door, trying to promise something like comfort.
I offer to cook for her, to teach her a song, to paint with her. I try to soften her hurt with words, offers, unfamiliar touches. I braid her hair to save her from my unsure expression. Every word that leaves my mouth feels tailored to someone else—feels like filler and nothing more.
Her crying doesn’t stop, even with her eyes puffy and her face splotchy. I’ve never known anyone to have an entire ocean in them.
“Dolls aren’t supposed to cry,” she says softly while blotting her face. “We’re not supposed to feel. That’s when bad things happen.”
“Lacy,” I soothe.
“If I hadn’t wanted him, if I hadn’t liked him or kissed him, he’d still be alive. My kiss is poison, Freya. Are all of us poison? Is that why we’re not allowed to want other people? Because it’s toxic?”
My mouth opens and closes, and no answer comes. Is that why I refused to kiss Liam, not because he’d poison me and make me swallow too many of his secrets or the feelings he wasn’t supposed to say, but because it would lead to his death? Are consequences what keep fragile things out of reach until our fingers brush them and break them?
“We’re people first,” I say softly, pointing to the photo. My throat tightens. “I think River forgets that sometimes. Our job is a job, but we’re still people, on and off the clock.”
Lacy whimpers. “If we were robots or actual dolls we wouldn’t feel anything, but we do, and stopping it or controlling it isn’t always an option,” I whisper.
“Then tell me how this isn’t my fault? Tell me how it’s not your fault. How it’s not someone’s fault,” she begs.
Again, I don’t have answers, and I know she needs them. More than food, more than water, she needs her sanity. She’s grasping for it. “We’re all flowers,” I say softly. “Sometimes people are allergic to one another, sometimes they are too rough and we break. I don’t know if anyone is meant to be loved or if love is real at all.”
Chapter 3: A Door Closed
It’s the wrong thing to say. “You’re wrong,” she hisses.
“Lacy, you’re in agony, this isn’t love. It’s loss. It’s grief,” I whisper.
“If you really think that people can only hurt each other and that no one deserves or is meant to be loved…” she trails off, but keeps watching me. The look she gives me is a knife in my side. She doesn’t ask me to leave. She assumes I will the second she looks away, and I do.
Maybe I’m not as strong as I once was. Or maybe Lacy’s softness is now calcifying. Either way, friendship feels far away… again. Just like when my mother’s doctor—Dr. Kane—had said we were friends. He’d taken care of my mother, had shown us both kindness when we had nothing to offer him. I’d believed in him. I’d shared so much, just wanting an ear.
Again, I’d tried to keep him close, to maintain a sense of normal even as my mother’s world fell apart around us, even when I started my new career and left music to the side. I’d trusted him. He’d been a client, someone who just wanted to talk, to be heard, to win a few arguments. He’d check on me until his looks changed, and I realized that I wasn’t meant for friendship, not the all-accepting, unconditional kind.
His last session had been years ago. He still took care of my mother, but I always had an excuse to avoid seeing him, to keep the door between Dr. Kane and me locked tightly. I feel the same door closing between Lacy and me as I let myself out. She slams it between us with a comment I don’t think I’m meant to hear.
“You’ll be the next one to go missing. Trusting the wrong people and pushing away the ones you need will leave you all alone.”
When a heart is tangled in strings that become chains, can anyone extend their reach? I know that Lacy probably doesn’t mean what she says, but it lingers with me, follows me, becomes every shadow teasing me from the street lights. Liam says the lights aren’t safe, that they highlight me in ways I should hate. But when the darkness of being unknown tries to coax me into the shadows, I have to know what’s worth—to be known in some way by people who want me but can never actually have me or to surrender to mediocrity, to being caged by the will of another and allow myself to not only wilt, but become brittle and fragile while only coming to life under the gaze of someone else.
I show up to Black Wire just like I said I would when Liam confronted me. After thinking about things, visiting my mother and remembering that being seen for who I am in some way… even if it’s a cultivated way, is better than being forgotten, I decided to show up. So I sit in the back, just another patron nursing a drink that I don’t remember the details of while Rowan whispers and talks with someone who’s slightly familiar.
I write down some of my thoughts, hoping they’ll turn into lyrics on my napkin when Rowan’s voice reaches me. “Cam, this isn’t what I deal in,” Rowan says. “Not here.”
“Not here is hard when you rarely leave,” Cam replies.
“You’ve already explained plenty. I have too. I’m a bar owner, not involved in—”
“You involve yourself plenty,” Cam finally says, his tone carrying an edge that hints at a darker past. “And she needs this. Just make sure it gets into her hands. Theo wants to meet her.”
“Does he know what she does for work?” Rowan asks, his face unmoved, a flicker of wariness in his eyes—a remnant of a past betrayal, perhaps tied to his dealings.
“She’s an artist. It doesn’t matter the method. This is more than a favor or networking. Consider it… a last request,” Cam says, then leaves.
Chapter 4: A Poet’s Wisdom
Rowan curls something into his palm, then I see him pause, as if he’s felt my gaze. I look back at my drink before he can catch me. Observing is hardly a sin, but I know Rowan prizes his privacy. He shares himself in bits and pieces. Maybe he’d eclipse everything if he shared all that crosses his mind. Maybe I’d be crushed under the weight of his experiences or I’d start thinking about things that are beyond my reach… again. I scoff at the thought.
“Asami,” Rowan greets.
I look up at him slowly and look away. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”
Rowan looks at me. No light shields his questioning eyes or gives me the mercy of protection. The more he looks at me, the more I’m sure he can see my plastic defenses, my blank eyes, everything that has been crafted rather than grown.
The best trick I’ve learned is how to hide all my manufactured edges, the seams that sometimes show through, and to convince my clients that silicone skin is as warm as the real thing. Because mine is too thin, my mind is too overwhelming, and there is nothing to save me if I cannot make myself a body that is immune to charm and pretty words that weave worlds that will never be mine.
“What haven’t you shared with me, Asami?” he asks.
I watch him over my glass, drinking until I look away. “Everything that shames me.”
When he doesn’t answer, I sigh. “His warmth, his snores, his honesty and lies… they’re not made, they’re… real. He’s too real, and that’s too dangerous. If I don’t break him first, he’s going to break me,” I say softly.
Rowan’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer. “No advice or comments?”
“It’s not my place.”
“Hypothetically… if it was?”
“I’d say the line between obsession and love is thin, but deep. Obsession will trip you down the cavern until the only way out is him. Love will lay down across it, stare down the monsters and beasts below, and sacrifice a belly willingly given to ensure your safety and happiness.”
“You’re a poet.”
“Would you trust Liam to give everything to you—to die for you, to kill for you, and most importantly, to support your dreams without argument?” he asks. Our eyes meet, and he nods. “That’s the only question that matters, the only logic that matters, Asami.”
“He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Which is the bare minimum.”
“He wouldn’t forget me.”
“Who are you convincing?”
“That’s the best for a Doll.”
“You’re a person,” he argues.
I feel chastened and sink further into my chair. I know I’m a person, no matter my eyes or job or how I put food on the table, but it’s inescapable even if there are times I’d rather be anything else. My brow furrows, but he walks away right before Liam finds me.
Chapter 5: A Kneeling Promise
I look up at him. He has bags under his eyes, stubble on his jaw. He’s a man distraught, and thinking that I have the kind of power to put him in this state is almost… liberating. He has money, pockets so deep, he could buy every Doll in Danger City, yet only I can bring him to his knees with lust, worry, and sleepless nights. Liam watches me, not reaching out, but studying my practiced perfection. Then he brushes the corner of my mouth.
“You’re not an easy woman, Asami.”
“Did I ever give the impression I am?”
His lips lift in a half smile. “I said too much last night. And I said it too loudly. I’m well aware of that. You left me in the middle of the night without warning, without a goodbye, and didn’t answer. I worried about you. Women have been going missing.”
“I’m aware.”
“And…” he trails off, like he doesn’t want to say more.
“Do you need more alcohol to finish your thought, or is it the kind that we don’t talk about?” I ask, trying to remember my place.
Liam’s smile grows, and he leans down. He brushes his nose along my hairline and whispers against my temple: “Both, angel. I owe you an apology, one that’s deeper than words. Flowers aren’t good enough either.”
“The flowers were wonderful.”
“Flowers die. They wilt, and clearly they bring up far too much for you. I’d like to do something else with you tonight.”
“Let me guess, dinner and a hotel? Our tradition?” I tease.
“Something better,” he baits. “Shockingly, I don’t just want you for sex. I don’t deserve it anyway.”
As much as I want to remind him that he doesn’t have to ‘deserve’ sex with me, the words stick in my throat. Liam gently takes my hand and pulls me from the booth. We step out of Black Wire together. When I look back towards Rowan behind the bar, he’s more interested in filling a drink than watching me.
Liam pauses outside of the bar, the neon light catching his face, revealing every facet of his eyes as if he wants me to see the map of his thoughts and the roads of feelings that connect them. “I’m paying you for your time even if you leave now,” he states.
“That’s ridiculous, I wouldn’t—”
“You undersell the worth of your time, Asami. I won’t tell you how to run your business or how to market yourself. You know the industry better than I do. All I can do is keep you safe the ways I know how. Today… I have a dangerous request.”
“If you tell me that you’re going to take me to the Core…”
“No. You might stab me with your heels,” he chuckles, then looks at my heels and reaches into his brief case, revealing more comfortable flats. “Speaking of.”
I arch an eyebrow at him.
Chapter 6: A Dance in the Streets
“If you say yes to my offer, I will get down on my knees and replace your heels with these. Let everyone see me kneeling before the most frustrating, maddening, addictive… wonderful woman I’ve ever known.”
Too much. Why does he always say too much when less is necessary? Less would be better. But Liam fights himself as much as the world around him. I have a feeling that he couldn’t find moderation no matter how many directions he was given. “I want to go on a date with you—a real one. One where I don’t spend a fortune on a restaurant that’s barely passable. One where we actually talk rather than ignore each other. I want to give you a night that’s worthy of you. You choose the place, I choose what we do. I choose what we do, you choose where we eat.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I don’t see you as just your job, and I certainly hope you don’t see me as some hopeless man entranced by you because you keep saying no.” Liam pauses, then smirks, his signature, bad boy charm on display. “Though I have to admit, I like the constant challenge and how much you make me work for your smiles, your honesty, and you.”
My throat tightens. I glance around, sure that someone is going to say something, that they’ll laugh at him, that he’ll laugh at me the second I say yes, letting me fall into the chasm that Rowan was talking about. “You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t deserve this kindness. I get why you yelled last night, and I don’t want you constantly offering your heart to me,” I whisper.
“No one deserves kindness because it’s not something a person can earn. It’s offered freely, a gift that’s yours to take or say no to. I’ll be disappointed, but I know what I’m asking. I know it’s breaking a rule, and I’m still here willing to do just that because you… you are you. The woman I can’t get enough of. I dream about you. I think about you in the middle of meetings. I think of texting you whenever I see something that might make you laugh or that you’d like. If I don’t try, what does that make me?”
“Certainly not you,” I answer. I lean back against the brick wall outside of Black Wire and lift my foot. “I suppose heels would make my plan a little difficult.”
“A yes or no,” he insists.
I bite my bottom lip to stop my smile from spreading. “Yes, Liam. I’m not promising five hours though.”
He gently changes my shoes, carrying my heels by their straps as I lead him to the art district. He listens when I point out different shops, but when I see a musician playing in the street, I take his hand. “Dance with me.”
“To a single guitar?” he asks, obviously not impressed.
My smile starts to fall, but he twirls me under his arm. “Sounds better than being in a high rise with a planned playlist of music.”
He pulls me close, his hand sliding over my back so my heels dig into my ass, but I don’t mind. Liam dances terribly, he can’t quite find the beat, so I adjust his hands on me and hum in his ear. The song being played is common enough that the lyrics drag from my throat as if it’s the only thing that can fill the space between us.
Liam draws back and watches me hum, slowing the pace of our dancing to the beat of the words. I nod with him, then get to the chorus. His gaze slips down to my lips, watching how I form the words as I say them rather than sing. He pants and twirls me out, before pulling me back to him. I slip on a can in the street and land against his chest.
He drops to his knees, to make sure I don’t get hurt, holding me against him with my legs on his. I pant and finish the song. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“What are you, Asami?” he asks. “Don’t answer. I already know, and I have a feeling you’ll simplify.”
“I’m me, Liam. Just like you’re…” I swallow as I eye his mouth. “I’m hungry.”
“Whatever you want, Angel. It’s yours.”
Chapter 7: A Shared Moment, A Growing Fear
“Give me just a second to check out my ankle,” I ask.
Liam sits me on the curb close to, but not right beside, the man playing the guitar. He looks at me and smiles. “Are you having a good night?”
I smile. “A very good one. Thanks to you. You must have had lessons.”
“Not a lesson in my life. Just a lifetime making and selling instruments,” he answers with a shrug.
I smile and look at his fingers as they strum effortlessly. They’re calloused and sure, but there’s something soft and appreciative every time he plucks a string, as if he knows how fragile it all is, how one wrong note is a disservice to the creation of a song and the instrument itself. It’s a raw and simple kind of honesty, but the kind that is easily overlooked and rarely acknowledged unless it’s ruined.
“Did you want to go into such a job?” I ask.
“No,” he laughed. “But the Fringe isn’t kind to those with dreams. It’s best to pretend you’re happy with the opportunities presented. It hurts less than having a dream fail. With so many artists…” He pauses in his playing. “I am lucky to play on the street and make a bit every night to supplement my income. I consider that my pride and joy, even better when someone dances.”
“Be careful with such kindness.”
“Eh, it’s not all kind,” he leans towards me. “I have a knife worked into the neck of the guitar. If I pluck just the right notes, it springs out. Being mugged once was enough.”
I smiled and looked at his watch. I transferred one hour of what Liam had paid me—always overpaying—and the man shook his head. “I couldn’t. No, no. Take some back.”
“Someone told me recently about underselling one’s time and talent. Allow me to show you more.”
“Love, come inside,” a woman says, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck.
He grins at me, says something to her, and she looks my way. She smiles. “Are you an artist too?”
“An excellent dancer.”
“Then maybe you could teach my husband a thing or two,” she laughs. “He never dances with me.”
A drunk man scoffs about what a Doll could teach a man, and the woman sneers before looking at me. “Ignore them. I’m sure they’re little more than watch dogs or drunk assholes.”
“Language,” the guitarist chuckles. “So feisty.”
“That’s what got your attention to begin with,” she teases with a wink.
Their obvious affection lingers with me even when the man says something worse. It just shows what he thinks of women in general. That we’re lower, that we’re somehow wrong for existing. But when I look up, ready to say something, I see Liam.
So does the drunk, staggering man. Just the sight of Liam makes the man shrink. “Maddox.”
The word is a whispered plea, one for mercy, one of fear. A few people hurry off the street at the mention of the name. It raises questions that I’d rather break my teeth on than ask. Doubt has power, and doubt is poison. Better to drink it myself and let the softness of silence be the antidote than feed it to Liam.
“Answer me.”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know she was your—”
The man swallows, looks at me, and starts to leave, but Liam grabs him, says something in his ear, and shoves the man towards the guitarist, his wife, and me. His wife sneers. “What a coincidence. A useless person staggering through the city streets with empty pockets. Would you be missed by anyone?”
He looks between us and instead pays us before crawling and stumbling away. The guitarist chuckles. “I’d like you to come back, miss…”
“Asami,” I fill in, taking his hand.
“Asami. This is the most I made in the last two weeks in under an hour. You’re generous and far too talented to silence your singing.”
I shrug and reach out to Liam. He takes my hand and rubs my back, watching only me. “You are worth millions, sir, if you can get her to sing,” Liam says softly, his thumb brushing my cheek—a tender gesture, not a possessive one, a reminder of the normalcy we’ve shared tonight. “And I’d pay to hear it nightly. It might actually convince me to work,” he chuckles.
We bid Mr. Charles and his wife goodbye and continue. I pass a nurse in scrubs heading to a night shift, her weary face softening as she nods at me, a silent acknowledgment of shared struggles in the Fringe—a glimpse of a life I long for, one I might reach if I can escape this game.
Chapter 8: A Spicy Connection
Liam finds a small restaurant that has food I’ve never tried, and we agree to do it together. We regret it with our first bite. It’s so spicy that I fan my mouth. Liam laughs and passes me water: “Here, angel. It’ll help more than fanning.”
We laugh, our faces red, hands brushing as we share the meal, a moment of normalcy that feels out of reach in my everyday life. “Do you like art? Visit artist walks often?” I ask.
He thinks while passing me more water. “Not very often. I end up stuck in meetings, going out strictly to network and see what I can gain. It doesn’t leave much time for art.”
“And a powerful man like you can’t make time?” I tease.
He chuckles and meets my eyes: “We’ll see. Perhaps I can find a way. Especially if you’re willing to teach me about the kind of art I should be looking at.”
We watch some street artists working on walls, tease each other, ease into one another in a way we never have before. I keep showing him other artists throwing themselves into their paintings. They don’t notice us or others. They’re too focused. When Liam pauses at two artists working on the same canvas with passion that borders on mania, I turn to look at him instead.
Watching him says a lot more than anything that will leave his mouth. I’d rather actually know the man I’m with rather than letting him fill in the blanks with what he thinks I want to hear. Liam is watching it with confusion. “What questions do you have, handsome?” I ask.
“I don’t understand how people can put so much into their work to get so little. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What else is there to do?” He turns to look at me.
I shrug: “I want to sing, but I have to provide for my mother, so I work. Others are okay chasing their passion and their dream. They do it despite the odds, making a life they love rather than splitting their time. Imagine if you didn’t have to be in the office. Imagine you weren’t a Maddox, just Liam. What would you do?”
“I…” he trails off, his brow furrowing. “I only know one thing that makes me feel alive. I don’t think I would have gotten to experience it if I wasn’t a Maddox,” he finally says, looking at me.
“Thing?”
“Person. Are you going to make me say it, Asami, when you tie my tongue in the best and worst ways?” he asks.
It’s my tongue that’s tied now. How am I supposed to pretend I don’t know he’s going to say me? And why can’t I tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I’m what makes him feel alive? I nibble my bottom lip and clear my throat. “You’re overwhelming.”
“Where else should we go, Asami?” he asks, stroking my cheek.
Chapter 9: A Dangerous Confession
The need to make this experience normal, to suggest a hotel, to even suggest my ‘apartment’ so he’s something I know how to handle, so that way I can make everything tangible and real eats at me. “Whatever you’re about to suggest isn’t what you want,” he whispers, stroking my cheek.
But when he does that, I think of Lacy in her room, painting, broken, unable to touch reality without it biting her. Lacy’s fate, her hurt, her need for outlet, her fragility… that’s what I’m waiting to have if I give in to Liam. River said it’s better to feel than to lose the ability to feel, to be alive and be able to feel the horrible things rather than dead and gone.
“Asami?”
“I know what I’m supposed to say. I know what I’m supposed to do. Why do you make it so hard?” I ask.
“Hard?”
“To remember that? Why do you seem so dangerous? Why did people run when your last name was said? Why can’t we go to the restaurants we used to? I have so many questions, and I shouldn’t ask them. Just like you shouldn’t ask me about my feelings.”
He swallows. “If I tell you…”
“If you don’t…”
We stare at each other, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m fixing it, angel. I wouldn’t let anyone pluck your feathers or clip your wings. Not me, not anyone associated with me, no one.”
“You already said you want me in the Core.”
“As my wife with my name to protect you, not to limit you,” he says.
I stare at him, eyes wide, lips parted. He nods slowly. “One dangerous question down. That’s what I want, Asami. A woman who doesn’t really care about my money. A woman who I can rely on, but doesn’t bulldoze me. A woman who supports me. A woman who has passion and power, grace, and skill. You have made me want things I never thought of before.”
I rub my arm, starting to pull away, but he kisses the corner of my mouth gently, his lips slipping slightly, nearly molding to mine. I tremble. I should pull away. We’re in the middle of the Fringe. We’re in a gorgeous artist alley, exposed, where anyone can see us.
He pants. “You are… astounding, and I want you in my life. I will take any option you give me. It’s dangerous for plenty of reasons, but I want to keep you safe through it all. I like seeing you with others. I like seeing you interact with people. Fuck, it’s what I want.”
“Liam, I…”
“If it means owning you in name, I don’t care, but you…” He shakes his head, then looks past me. His face hardens, and he stands up, leaving the stinging reminder of his lips nearly closing over mine as he spoke. “I want you safe, and that’s more important.”
“What?”
“I apologize. Apparently, that’s becoming a trend.”
Chapter 10: A Growing Suspicion
He pulls me through the streets while I come up with every terrible reason he’s pulling me away. His father has seen us, someone he knows from work has seen him. That I’m an embarrassment. That any idea of me being with him for anything other than his pleasure is a joke and so shameful that he’d rather hide me.
“Liam, please talk to me.”
The tone of my voice catches his attention. He pulls me close and puts me on my back, his arms winding under my legs. “This is about your safety, Asami. That’s all that’s important.”
“Then make me feel safe. Explain,” I challenge.
“I’m not a good person. I’d like to be. But I’m not. My family is worse. Then… there are the people my father associates with.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better. We were having a good night and now… are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not,” his voice is hard and cold. I hate it.
I whisper in his ear: “What is going on?”
“Nothing that I can explain right now. Just remember the promise you made to me, Asami.”
“Which one?”
“Norman.”
My blood goes cold. “You don’t know him… do you?”
Liam doesn’t answer. He glances behind us again and huffs. “Fuck. I can’t leave you in a hotel. There aren’t enough people. Too easy to buy off. Black Wire.”
“Yeah, because Rowan loves you.”
“He’ll keep you safe. I’ll handle myself,” he answers.
“Hold—Liam!” I squirm and finally escape his back. I ease away from him and point at him. “Explain. We’ve had such a good night, and you said five hours. I didn’t book anyone else, I was hoping…”
Stupidly. I was hoping stupidly that I’d be able to stay with him, that we could spend the night together, that I could actually fall asleep with him. It’s stupid. Stupid that I thought I could have him. It’s a fantasy. The best part of tonight was talking with a man who’s living his dream even in bits and pieces. How did I wrap all that positivity around Liam?
If I keep reaching towards what I know I can’t have, my fingers will be mangled, my wrists broken. Happiness, affection, this kind of easy joy and comfort … it’s not mine. I’m borrowing it from someone else. I just keep forgetting that no matter what I do for work, I’m someone from the fringes. I’m someone who struggles.
Why does this keep happening? I’m the one who’s supposed to remember what we are, what this relationship is, but I keep forgetting. Because I need to escape this job. Maybe it’s possible.
“Ah, dear Asami,” the flat, even voice slides along my nerves.
I turn and find Norman standing there. He rubs his hand over my watch, then smiles. “You’re looking… wilted. Don’t tell me you’ve already found captivity appealing.”
“N-no,” I answer, looking around for Liam.
“Well, if you’re free tonight, I have something in mind that might interest you. There’s a party, and I need a few Dolls. I’m certain you have friends, and it would be wonderful for all of you.”
Something feels off. “You already said I look wilted, so I’m not certain I’m the best woman for you. I actually have plans for tonight.”
“Oh, what a shame. I thought you were a woman who could recognize opportunity, a woman who was honest and eager to escape the game you found yourself in,” he says, sighing. “Oh well. There is another contact I have. She has been out of the game for a week or so, perhaps longer, but maybe she’s still receptive.”
My hackles raise. I feel eyes on me as he types on his phone, a chill running down my spine—a shadowy figure watches from a distance, his presence a silent promise of danger, foreshadowing the threat that will eventually claim a life.
Chapter 11: A Deal in the Shadows
He looks up at me. “Ah, well, I would also like a way to contact you, you know? To have another wonderful conversation.”
“I—”
“Her time is spoken for, and as lovely as your conversation was, I don’t believe you paid her last time,” Liam says, pulling me into his arms. “Her time is more valuable than her fee.”
“Ah, silly me. Allow me to rectify that,” Norman says. “I had thought we were simply having a nice rest together.”
I stick out my wrist, and he types something into his watch before pressing it to mine. Liam doesn’t leave me. His hard chest against my back reminds me that I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’ve survived plenty, and if I’m going to survive transitioning out of the life of a Doll, and finally closing the distance between what I can reach and what I can’t, then I need more spine than this.
Looking back at Liam, I’m about to ask where he went when Norman clears his throat. “Your father wanted me to let you know, Liam, that getting too involved in… trade deals is frowned upon.
“You two know each other?”
“Only by name, of course. I told you all about me, don’t you remember, Asami, or did the wine go to your head?” Norman asks. Circling the deal isn’t the same as closing it. And if you’re not up for the task, well… If you can’t complete the deal, someone else will with a higher return. Ah, speaking of…”
“What is he talking about?” I ask seriously.
“The exact thing I’m protecting you from.”
Perhaps the world is too big for me to understand everything. Perhaps there are more things in play than I want to believe. Liam’s reaction, the constant buzzing in his phone when it’s been quiet all night, all of it points to a conclusion I don’t want to draw. Liam’s determination to protect me. Norman’s warning about ‘trade deals’ while focusing on me.
Missing Dolls that seem to disappear without a trace, even the ones who service men in the Core… the fear of Maddox and the constant reminders that I shouldn’t be with Liam. My throat tightens, and for a heart-stopping moment, I wonder if Liam is trying to make sure I forget what our relationship is. If he’s trying to pry me from the friends I’ve had who have always protected me.
I wonder if it’s possible for everything about Liam—all he shows me—to be as plastic and manufactured as I’m supposed to be.
Chapter 12: A Threat Resurfaced
“I’m going to have to take care of some things,” he says slowly. “Stay at Black Wire and…” His jaw works. “I won’t tell you who to see.”
“You want to.”
“I do. For your safety,” he says, looking at me.
“It sounds like you’re the one I shouldn’t be seeing.”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t promise he can keep me safe, just looks at me with conflict raging in his eyes. He knows girls are missing. He knows something is wrong among the Dolls and with Norman. How much is he keeping to himself, and why?
As I open the door to Black Wire, I nearly run into someone. I’m so frazzled that I steady myself against them, only to realize it’s a client who made me question my entire existence—Dr. Kane, my mother’s doctor. He stares at me, notes my eyes, and smirks.
“Looks like you didn’t get out, did you… Freya,” he purrs my name and runs his fingers through my hair.
“Don’t you remember our last conversation?”
“You don’t own me. You don’t own her, and my mother—”
“Would love to know what you do at night, would love to know exactly who you serve,” he answers, looking past me. “My offer is still open, it’s one I think you should take. I could always remind certain people about who your mother is associated with and who she used to be.”
“My job has nothing to do with the money I pay you, and it certainly doesn’t—”
“Reputations matter, don’t they?” he asks, tightening his grip in my hair and tugging me against him. “And I’ve been doing my research.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Terrible things have been happening among the streets, not just to Dolls. Pretty women who run astray, who walk the streets alone and don’t know the difference between a client and a threat, seem to be disappearing. Your poor mother—what would she do without you?”
Dr. Kane’s eyes shine with victory. “A proper Doll knows that a brothel is best for her because it’s safe. Remember that, or I’ll just have to make sure others know what your sweet mother’s innocent, exceptional daughter does.”
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper. “It would be a breach of patient confidentiality.”
He seems to consider that while looking past me. “Then it looks like you’re going to have to be a good girl, aren’t you? And much nicer than you just were to Junior Maddox. Otherwise, everyone is going to know what your job is and who you provide your services for.”
My mouth opens and closes. “Is your number the same?”
I nod slowly.
“Good. Keep it that way. And be responsive,” he pauses and sighs. “If only you hadn’t changed your eyes.”
Liam looks from me to the man and takes a slow breath, “Asami, please. If I could explain—”
I put on a plastic smile again. “Explain to who, Liam? I’m just a Doll. Thank you for reminding me what the outside of a bedroom looks like.”
“Don’t do that,” he begs. “Don’t cheapen—”
“Every time you lie to me instead of partnering with me, you remind me exactly where I stand. So thank you. Have a good night,” I whisper.
Chapter 13: A Cycle of Despair
I don’t ask for my heels. Instead, I go into Black Wire, sit at the bar, and look at Rowan. He pours me a drink, and his fingers brush mine. “Need a drink?”
“I need answers more, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I welcome the sharp sting of tequila working through me. One night where I got to be more than my job, one night where a date felt real, but it was more manufactured and hopeless than my thoughts of being known for music. Best to swallow the disappointment and make it a lesson. I am a Doll. I need to remember the rules. I need to stop letting Liam find all my seams and try to strip me of the perfect image I’d created. I need to be there for other Dolls, to make them feel safe and distance myself from threats so I can protect what’s important.
My passion is rooted in other people, not in a secure future like Liam thinks. Even if my heart and lips burn for him, my brain knows what’s best. Rowan’s fingers gently brush mine. “Answers hurt as much as they help.”
“At least they give a person the option to prepare a defense,” I murmur, my thoughts drifting to River—has she found help, someone to investigate the missing Dolls, maybe even a detective? The hope flickers, a small seed for what might come next, but for now, the despair of my own entrapment weighs heavier, a cycle I can’t break, not while men like Dr. Kane hold my chains.
