I glanced up at the clock mounted above the door—8 a.m. already, the numbers glaring back at me. Shit. My mind snapped to Aeri. She'd asked me to come home as soon as I could, and I'd promised to try.
I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table, the screen lighting up with 13 missed calls—all from her. My eyes widened, a jolt of panic hitting me hard.
"Damn it," I muttered, scrambling off the bed. I grabbed my pants from the floor, the fabric crumpled and stiff, and yanked them on quick, zipping up as I hopped on one leg. My black t-shirt was half under the couch—I snatched it up, pulling it over my head.
I ran my hands through my hair, brushing it back messy but good enough, and walked for the elevator, my boots thumping on the carpet. I pressed the button, the doors sliding open with a soft *ding*, and stepped inside.
The elevator hummed down to the ground floor, and I stepped out. The brothel was calm now, the wild energy of last night gone. A couple of bar girls were cleaning up—Amera, with her dark ponytail and a rag in hand, was wiping down the bar, while another swept the floor. The air smelled like lemon cleaner mixed with stale booze.
Amera looked up as I walked in, flashing me a tired but friendly smile. "Good morning, Ezra," she said, her voice chipper despite the early hour, her mini skirt swishing as she moved to polish a glass.
"Morning," I said back, nodding quick, my mind still racing. "Hey, where's Jonathan at?"
Before she could answer, a heavy *thap* landed on my shoulder—Jonathan's big hand, clapping down like he always did. I turned, and there he was, his yellow hair messy, still rocking that Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned and loud as ever.
"Good morning, our hero!" he said, his voice booming, a wide smile splitting his face.
"Good morning," I replied, rubbing my shoulder where he'd hit me. "You're way too awake for this hour."
"Gotta be," he said, shrugging.
"Mrs. Elora left?" I asked with a curious gaze.
"Yeah, about an hour ago," he said, leaning against the bar. Then his face lit up, eyes glinting with that smug look he got when he had good news. "And, man, she was *extremely* happy with your service. Couldn't stop raving about you when she paid up."
"Ohh... phew," I said, letting out a breath. "Good to know I didn't screw it up."
"Screw it up? Nah, you killed it," he said, laughing. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded slip of paper and handing it to me with a smirk, showing all his teeth. "Here—she left this for you."
I took it. "Hehe... thank you," I said, tucking it into my pocket.
"Worth every second, right?" he teased, nudging me with his elbow. "You're the man, Ezra."
I glanced at Jonathan, "I should go now," I said, shifting my weight toward the door. "Aeri's waiting for me—probably freaking out by now."
"Ohh, sure," he said, nodding quick, his grin softening a bit. "Take care on your way back home, man. And get some rest—you earned it after last night." He clapped me on the shoulder again, lighter this time.
"Yeah, will do," I said, giving him a nod before turning to leave. As I headed out, I caught the bar girls' eyes on me—Amera and the others, still cleaning, their stares lingering with that hungry edge. Like they were itching for a shot at me, a chance to fuck, their mini skirts swishing as they moved.
Nah, not my thing—not unless there's cash on the table. Pleasure's just business.
The morning sun hit me hard as I stepped outside, bright and unforgiving after the dim glow of the brothel.
The street was alive now—cars honking, people rushing past with coffee cups and briefcases, the buzz of the city kicking into gear. I trudged along, my boots scuffing the pavement, and made it to the train station.
I slipped into a car and claimed a seat at the back, sinking into the worn cushion with a groan. Alone now, I pulled the slip from my pocket, unfolding it slow.
A check slid out—50,000 USD, the numbers bold and real in my hand. Then I noticed something else—a smaller note tucked underneath.
I opened it, and there was Mrs. Elora's handwriting, neat and looping: *"Thank you for the night, Ezra. It was beyond pleasurable—best I've had in ages. 😉❤️"* A wink and a heart emoji stared back at me, and I let out a long *sighhh*, tipping my head back against the train's ceiling.
My eyes felt heavy, sleep tugging at me hard. After everything last night—the dancing, the fucking, the hours of heat—I was wrecked, my body aching in places I hadn't noticed till now.
When my stop came, I dragged myself up, shuffling out with the crowd.
The morning air was crisp, a faint breeze cutting through the warmth, and I finally reached our little house. I took out my keys from my pocket, and pushed one into the lock, twisting it slow. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, kicking it shut behind me.
"I'm home," I called out, my voice scratchy as I bent to untie my boots, tugging them off one by one.
I straightened up—and froze. A pair of legs stood right in my line of sight, planted firm on the hardwood. My eyes trailed up slow, and there was Aeri, staring down at me with a glare that could've cut glass. Her arms were crossed, her lips pressed tight, and she was pissed—beyond pissed. In her hand, she gripped that big steel soup spoon we used for stirring, holding it like a weapon, her knuckles white around the handle.
"Oh shit," I thought, my stomach dropping. "I'm dead." Her dark hair framed her face, sharp and unyielding, and the silence between us was louder than any yell. I swallowed hard, stuck there in the doorway, knowing I was about to face the storm.