Blow Softly (Red Light: Silver Girls #1) Read online

  When she'd arrived at Red Light, she'd been surprised to find Tiff involved with a man, and had him living in the building. In all the years she'd traveled around working in bordellos, not one madam had a permanent relationship.

  Granted, she doubted Tiff had ever spread her legs for a quick twenty dollars. Something told her Tiff used her head and built the business from the ground up.

  "I'm out of here, too." Sunny stood and stepped away from the table.

  Marci picked up the used napkins. "Put your dishes in the dishwasher, please."

  Sunny mumbled under her breath. Madison picked up her plate and silverware. Waiting her turn, she rinsed off the dish and loaded the extra plates that only made it as far as the sink. Then, she smiled at Marci and went to her room.

  She stopped outside the Blue Room, fingered the painted door, and warmth filled her. Indigo.

  Each of the Red Light ladies had a private room with a different colored door. Hers happened to be the blue one and had fate smiling down on her. The different colors represented each girls' specialty and made scheduling appointments and organization easier.

  Sunny stayed behind the Red Door and catered to passionate sex, where she loved noises and talk during the act, participated in mutual rough play, and remained open-minded to anything offered on the menu at Red Light.

  The Yellow Door, where Paige stayed, catered to customers looking for a Frenchie— what normal people called blow jobs. The job of getting on your knees involved more than opening Paige's mouth. Her customers enjoyed her dressing up in nurse costumes, even paid to have her act like a teacher or the girl next door.

  Aubrey stayed behind the Green Door. Upon arrival, Madison pegged Aubrey wrong. The way she talked on and on about senseless topics, Aubrey turned out to be the best actress out of all of them. Men visited her because they enjoyed being with a woman who dominated them.

  Madison pushed open her door and locked the handle. Men requested her because she couldn't talk. They wanted a quiet, submissive, and willing woman. Her personality came naturally, but everyone had a bit of an actress in them. A façade kept people away.

  She opened the nightstand drawer and turned on her cell phone. Tiff let them keep their electronic devices, unlike some madams she'd worked for who removed all ways of communicating to those outside the bordello.

  Tapping her email icon, she pulled up her inbox. Empty.

  She slipped one earbud into her ear and brought up her latest playlist. The sound of Staind filled her head. For the next hour, she stretched to keep herself limber and lost herself in other people's stories. Some people read books. She listened to lyrics of all types of music, fascinated at experiencing a life she'd never know.

  Men would never fight for her or go on a drinking binge if she walked away. Nobody would bring her flowers or get down on one knee. Strangers never fell in love with her on a train or slipped away from her to graffiti her name on the side of a building.

  She pulled out the wire to her earbud and tossed it on the bed. The beat of the music from downstairs at Silver Girls wafted into the room, and she opened the sliding door to the balcony, knowing Tiff gave her permission to go outside.

  Overlooking the alley, she gazed at the four other balconies on the second floor of the building. She sat down in the chair and put her phone on the small, round table. None of the other women were outside unless they sat up on the roof out of her view. Between the noise of the occasional car going down the street, the music from inside, and a loud rumble behind the building, she could escape from the women's incessant chatter and the memory of her day.

  A slow whistle came from below Madison's wrought-iron balcony. She leaned over the arm of the chair and peered down through the black grates underneath her. The whistling grew faster following the beat of the music coming from Silver Girls and yet she couldn't see anything in the dark. She pulled her legs up and put her feet on the chair. If someone snooped around in the alley, she rather go unnoticed, even though Tiff promised the ladies they were safe on the second floor of the building.

  When one song ended another song began, the whistler outside switched, too. She wrapped her arms around her upturned legs and laid her cheek on her knee. After two more songs had serenaded her, she relaxed and closed her eyes.

  The cool night.

  The music.

  The presence of an unknown man out of her reach, and yet obviously within her private space with no intention of leaving, somehow gave her comfort. She listened and found herself smiling. Her company for the night a nice surprise after spending all day behind the Blue Door.

  Chapter Two

  Bear waited behind the Sterling Building while Johnson and Gunner from the Moroad Motorcycle Club walked through the back door to enjoy the show the Silver Girls performed every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. He paced from one corner to the other corner of the building.

  His chest pounded, fueling him with adrenaline. Not used to biding his time, he fought against breaking the rules set by his motorcycle club to stay away from the ladies of Red Light and forced himself to wait.

  Ever since he'd spotted one of the Red Light ladies two nights ago when he met with Jeremy, his president, in the upstairs hallway all he could think about was the woman who'd slipped inside the Blue Room.

  The upstairs ladies were off limits to Moroad members, and he respected his club. But, no one said he couldn't hang out in the alley under the pretense of guarding the building, a job his MC brothers and the Bantorus Motorcycle Club performed every night the Silver Girls opened for business. He walked around the corner and gazed up at the four balconies—no bigger than an escape to sneak a cigarette or enjoy a coffee in the morning.

  He stopped under the last balcony, only thirty feet from the sidewalk on Cedar Street. He pushed his luck coming back for the second night in a row, but he needed to find out more about the woman. The way she'd stopped in front of her room and stared at the door in wonder fascinated him.

  Only able to see the side of her face, he'd watched the color drain from her cheeks, and her body tilt forward until she caught herself on the doorframe. He thought she'd fucking pass out and then the whole scene before him changed. She'd smiled.

  A smile like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was if she'd stepped out into the sunlight after years of living in a dark cell.

  She radiated happiness.

  He leaned against the brick building and dragged both hands down his beard. Last night, he'd hung around outside letting her get used to him standing under her balcony. He knew her position at Red Light. Not interested in paying for sex, he only wanted a conversation with her and to see if she'd smile at him the way she had at the door.

  Unless by coming here, he'd scared her off and she made the decision to stay in her room until he went away. His large size, long hair, and bushy beard he'd ignored for fifteen years tended to frighten most people. He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. If his looks passed the test, his patch on his vest kept others away.

  His shoulders tensed, and he moved his head side to side, stretching his tight muscles. He hoped the late hour, and the darkness would work to his advantage. People tended to open up more when their defenses were down, before they woke up the next morning and regretted talking.

  Once he satisfied his curiosity, he'd leave her alone.

  Curiosity had put him in prison the first time and stupidity got him locked up the second time. He tapped the back of his head against the bricks. He'd never learn.

  He held no preconceived ideas she'd find him equally fascinating. His criminal past, including twelve years in prison, and his current status of living in a motel room owned by Moroad would only warn her away. Not to mention, he guessed her age twenty years younger than him.

  But the memory of her smile she'd unknowingly shared with him refused to go away.

  Somehow, she'd found a way to preserve simple pleasures in the life of prostitution. He dug the heel of his boot against the asp
halt. She wasn't so different than him in the fact they'd both chosen a way of life others deemed criminal and maybe she'd see the similarities.

  The whoosh of the sliding door signaled the woman's arrival. He gazed up through the slats of the balcony floor. Her body a mere shadow in the soft glow of the streetlight.

  She sat in the chair and jerked forward. A clank against the iron slats followed by a projectile object sent him into motion. He caught the object falling in front of him.

  A phone.

  He held the cell phone, rubbing his thumb along the edge, and caught the woman peering down at him. Her lips formed a perfect circle, and her eyes widened.

  "It's okay. I caught your phone. It isn't broken." He eyed the distance from the ground to the balcony.

  At six foot two inches, he still fell too short to reach her. He watched her carefully, afraid she'd try hanging over the railing and topple to the ground if she tried reaching for her phone.

  The woman stood and paced back and forth. He glanced down at the phone. He'd saved her phone. Why wasn't she saying anything?

  He pulled up her phone information. 208-555-1201

  Before he had time to think what to do next, he took his cell out of his pocket and entered her number. He wasn't going to lose his chance if she disappeared back into her room without talking to him.

  The woman hung over the edge of the balcony and waved her arm. He stepped farther out into the alley to peer up at her.

  She stretched out both arms and wiggled her fingers. He tilted his head. There was no way he could reach her.

  Her shoulders drooped, and she put her hands together under her chin and then repeated the action of holding out her hands for him.

  "You want me to throw the phone to you?" he asked.

  She nodded enthusiastically. He grinned. For all he knew, Tiff had a house rule that the ladies weren't allowed to talk to any men when they weren't working. He'd heard Jeremy's woman kept her employees from Red Light under tight control.

  He moved closer. "Okay. Get ready."

  She nodded.

  He tossed the phone underhanded, prepared to jump forward if she missed.

  She caught the phone and stared down at him. Her victory smile left, and she tilted her head, studying him. A deadpan expression hid everything, and she gave him nothing in return. No thank you. No excuse. No acknowledgment.

  Used to loud and vocal women who belonged to the club, he had no idea on his next move. If she expected him to pay for her time, she'd wait forever. He never bought sex. All he wanted was conversation while he burned hours waiting for Silver Girls to close.

  One second she stood outside on the balcony and the next, she'd disappeared inside. Not a word uttered from her lips; she took all his options on how to keep her outside with her.

  He stepped back into the shadows, leaned against the wall, and lowered himself into a crouch. He'd put his club first in his life since he became recruited in Cell Block C of the Idaho State Penitentiary. Women came to him. Money floated his way. If he wanted something bad enough, he took it.

  He held his phone and typed out a text. "I saved your phone. Now give me your name."

  "I'm a fucking asshole," he muttered, deleting the last sentence and retyping. "What's your name?"

  He hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for her to answer. When the screen shut off from inactivity, he looked down the alley blinded to the darkness. He blinked letting his eyes adjust. What the fuck was he doing hanging around hoping a woman who sold her body for money would want to talk with him?

  He pushed away from the wall and walked to his Harley. The backroads called his name. He had, at least, three hours until he needed to escort the Moroad women who danced at Silver Girls back to the motel and he'd better get his riding in before the weather changed.

  Chapter Three

  "My name is Madison." Madison hit send and hurriedly put her phone back in the drawer of her nightstand.

  Last night, she'd ignored the man's message asking for her name.

  This morning, she'd turned off her phone determined to follow the rules of no contact with anyone outside of the Sterling Building because she needed the job at Red Light. But, as the day wore on and the evening came, she decided he made her free time more relaxing with his presence and his whistling. Besides, he only wanted to know her name. He hadn't asked for free sex or for her to run away from Red Light.

  She rushed into the bathroom, removed the lubrication warming in the holder and using two fingers, spread enough between her legs to make sex more comfortable and to fool the customer into believing she desired him. Then she washed her hands and went into the bedroom to put the throw rug on the end of the bed.

  Ready for her last customer, she arched her back.

  Tiff knocked and swung open the door. Madison put her feet together, her hands behind her back, and lowered her lashes as the customer entered the Blue Room.

  The door shut. Her customer requested she not look or acknowledge him inside the room. She stared at her bare toes. The man scheduled doggy style sex without any talking.

  He'd only paid for ten minutes.

  The rustle of him taking off his clothes filled the room. She stood in a nightgown that hit below her knees and had tiny, pale-pink flowers on a white background. The sleeves went to her wrists, and she'd closed all three buttons at the front of her neck.

  Proper.

  Meek.

  Obedient.

  Just like a normal woman. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. Men were strange creatures. Some came to Red Light to find a wilder woman than the one they had at home while others requested...her.

  The man cleared his throat. "Assume the position."

  She crawled up on the bed on her hands and knees, yanking the nightgown out from under her knees.

  He flipped her nightgown over her ass. Facing away from him, she rolled her eyes. At the rate he moved after requesting such specifics, he'd only last thirty seconds, which was fine by her.

  Marci had promised all the Red Light ladies pizza for dinner. She swallowed at the invasion of the man's cock in her pussy. Braced on the bed, she imagined sinking her teeth into a thick crust all-meat topping with mushrooms. The last time she ate pizza, she'd been sixteen years old and dated a boy named Tommy.

  Most madams supplied a kitchen where the ladies lived off sandwiches, Ramen, and the occasional salad. At Red Light, dinner came catered by local restaurants. She only had to fix her breakfast—if she got up in time, and she made her lunch from the fully stocked kitchen.

  The man's grip on her hips dug into her skin. She let her head fall between her arms and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  His strong touch a reminder of who worked behind her and the vulnerable position she maintained. Her skin heated. Boxed in between headboard and the customer, she worked hard to keep the panic at bay.

  A grunt of pleasure ended his session before the man pulled out of her. Her chest expanded in relief, and she scrambled off the bed, grabbed the wastebasket, and approached him with a bowed head.

  He disposed of the condom, and she set the basket down.

  By the time he'd tied his shoes, Tiff had opened the door and escorted him out. Madison scooped the throw rug off the bed and tossed it in the laundry basket. Pumped at the thought of the hours she'd have alone and if telling the man who hung out below her room her name meant something or not, she couldn't wait to call an end to the day.

  She wanted nothing from the whistler, except his quiet company. His appearance at Red Light came as a surprise, considering she hadn't seen him upstairs as a customer. Used to everyone wanting something from her, usually sex, she couldn't figure out the man's agenda. He kept a safe distance, unable to get on her balcony.

  Because she looked forward to finding out why he wanted to know her name, she sped through her shower and thoroughly washed away any lingering evidence of her customers' touch. A quick blast with the hairdryer, minimal makeup, and her lou
nge-around clothes, she left the Blue Room and followed the tangy aroma of pizza into the kitchen. She smiled at the other ladies seated around the table, sharing her good mood and hoping they left her alone.

  "What do you have to smile over?" Sunny picked a mushroom off the pizza and set it on her napkin.

  Madison shrugged and placed two pieces of pizza on her plate before sitting down between Aubrey and Tiff. For several minutes, Madison enjoyed eating in the quiet. Everyone determined to appreciate the rare chance at splurging and not worry about how many greasy calories they consumed.

  "What are the little pink colored things on the pizza?" Aubrey plucked the object of interest into her mouth. "It's delish."

  "Tiny shrimp. That one is the miners special and the most popular pizza in town." Tiff wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  Jeremy strode into the room. Madison inhaled deeply, letting her stomach settle. She'd eaten too fast in her rush to get to the part of her night where she could pretend to have a normal life.

  Jeremy snatched a piece of pizza out of the cardboard box and leaned down beside Tiff and said, "Bear and Johnson are coming in from a ride. I need to talk with them after we close."

  "Okay." Tiff hooked her hand around Jeremy's thigh and tilted her head for a kiss, which Jeremy seemed more than happy to give her. "I'll go ahead and lock up tonight. I'd like to see how things are going downstairs without me being there every second anyway."

  "You can stay up here. I'll talk to the guys after Silver Girls closes instead of going to the motel," said Jeremy.

  Madison followed the conversation with interest. Was the man who stood under her balcony named Bear or Johnson? She decided he fit the name Bear. His heavy beard and large size reminded her of a fierce bear. She bit her lip. A whistling bear sounded more like a gentle giant.

  She rolled the name around in her head.

  Bear.

  Bear.

  Bear.

  The more she thought about the names, she decided Bear fit him. While his text came across as an order and rather abrupt— his rudeness at stealing her phone number had her double and triple thinking over whether to reply —she threw the rules out the window and decided a man who whistled along to the music without bothering her wasn't a serial killer or a rapist.