Risking Eternity

Prologue

 

 

 

 He was a talker.

 Autumn sat on the enormous bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. From the right angle he had a prime view of her thong but by now she’d figured out he wasn’t interested in her lingerie. Or what was underneath it, which was fine by her. After a month of opening her legs for strangers she wanted to go home. The grunting, the endless probing and slapping, the slimy feel of an unknown man’s sweat against her skin.

If only she could go back.

The truth was there was nothing to go back to. Nobody gave a damn what happened to her and as far as she knew her foster parents hadn’t even bothered to report her disappearance. Why stir things up if it meant losing the measly check social services cut for them every month?

Of course, Jimmy probably missed her. Kim had never been one to put out on a regular basis (at least not according to Jimmy) and her foster father wouldn’t spring for a hooker. He had better things to spend his money on, like his latest fix.

More than likely the two of them would brush her absence under the rug somehow and get themselves another foster kid. Then Kim would have somebody new to clean up after her and Jimmy wouldn’t need to worry about dishing out any cash to satisfy his urges. . .

She shivered.

“Cold?”

“No, I’m good,” she said. “It’s pretty warm in here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” The corners of his mouth arched, ever so slightly. “Still, I’ve never quite adjusted to central heating. It is efficacious, no doubt, but it does lack ambience.”

Autumn nodded. She’d never heard the word ambience before but she got the general gist.

“A roaring fire, now that would be more the thing. I wish I could take you home and give you a proper meal. You certainly look as if you could use one, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I don’t mind,” she said quickly.

“Well, your cocoa should be here any minute. That should tide you over until it’s time.”

 Time for what? she wanted to ask but kept silent. Maybe he was going to fuck her after all. Her stomach fluttered. What would it be like, to be with someone so . . . she searched for a word that would capture him, couldn’t find one. 

He had just the trace of British accent, which she couldn’t help thinking was sexy. His clothes were kind of weird—the puffy-sleeved shirt looked girly and the scarlet gold-buttoned vest was definitely over the top—but she’d seen worse since she’d started working for the agency.

            Plenty worse.

There was something odd about him though, even aside from the outfit and the unnaturally pale shade of his skin. When he showed up at the designated meeting spot she’d thought he was LARPing[ll1]  but after spending a couple of hours with the guy she couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t just playing some role. And now that she’d gotten a closer look at him she could see he wasn’t wearing stage make-up, as she’d guessed. His skin really was that white. Ghostly white.

Someone knocked on the door, softly, almost hesitantly.

He uncrossed his long legs and rose out of the wing-back armchair he’d been lounging in. “Ah,” he said, gliding toward the door, “at last. I was beginning to wonder what was keeping them.”