Golden Trail
Page 137
“I see. You find out I sucked dick for the cameras, you got that on me, now I got no choice but to be your rat,” she snapped.
“That’s not the way it is,” Layne told her.
“Looks it to me, ass**le,” she shot back.
Layne kept his position, back to the truck and kept his eyes locked to hers. “You read me yesterday, you read me right. Listen to your gut, woman. Like I said, this is important.”
“Yeah, and in a couple weeks, it’ll be important again and then a month later it’ll be important again and I’ll live that shit over and over because you bought yourself a sneak. Well, I’m not a rat and that isn’t my life anymore so you can go f**k yourself.”
She turned to leave and Layne spoke.
“My guess is, there’s a racket in the ‘burg, fourteen, fifteen year old girls, modeling or filming.” She stopped and turned back to him. “It’s either happening now or it’s gonna happen. One thing I know for certain is they’re recruitin’ through the church.”
Marissa stared at him.
“You know anyone into that shit?” Layne asked.
Marissa didn’t speak.
Layne pushed away from the truck but didn’t move toward her.
His voice got soft when he said, “Marissa, I haven’t seen your work, don’t want to, but Dev says you were underage. Who do you know that’s into that shit?”
She looked away but she still didn’t speak.
“A woman,” Layne prompted, “a woman who runs the show.”
Marissa’s eyes snapped back to him, her face had bleached entirely of color and Layne took a step toward her to get into her space.
“They’re recruitin’ from a Youth Group, Marissa. You got anything, you gotta give it to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can, you don’t want girls travellin’ down that road you were forced to take,” he replied.
“She’s,” Marissa swallowed and leaned into him, “she’s a nasty piece of work, Tanner. Listen to me, do not go there.”
“Let those girls swing?” Layne growled, glaring at her.
“No.” She shook her head and did it hard. “She’ll have a front, a guy, probably not too smart, definitely hot. He lines ‘em up, pulls ‘em in. You take him down, she’ll move on.”
“Not too far considerin’ you know her,” Layne noted. “Means she’s worked Indy at least, what? Ten years?”
“You want your reunion with your sweetheart to last more than a coupla weeks, you steer clear and let the next place she hits deal with her.”
“What do you know about her?” Layne pressed.
“She’s a nasty piece of work,” Marissa repeated.
“What do you know?” Layne pushed it.
“I know you do not want to go there.” She wasn’t giving him anything.
“God damn it, Marissa, what do you know?” Layne bit out.
“I know she’s got two markets but only one she takes real good care of. That one, the girls are fresh and young. Fresh and young. She didn’t want me for that, she wanted me for somethin’ else. I did not like it but I did not do shit about it because I learned early how to stay in one piece. Another girl with me who was in her stable, she wasn’t so smart. This bitch cut that girl up, Tanner, cut her up on the inside. Cut her up so bad, nothin’ll feel good down there. Ever. Not in her life. She did it herself. She didn’t get one of her boys to do it. She did it herself. The girl was thirteen and even after she sliced her, she pimped her.”
“Jesus,” Layne whispered.
“You do not want to go there,” Marissa reiterated.
“How’d you get out?” Layne asked.
“She worked the foster home angle then, got me through that then I hit sixteen, too old for her clientele,” Marissa answered. “I made no trouble, I did my job, I didn’t complain, I gave good head, I did as I was told and she let me loose when she couldn’t use me anymore. Let me loose as in sold me, Tanner. She sold me to the producers who’d work me until I was eighteen. And I got outta that because I give great head, I’ve had enough practice and a lotta men get stupid when they get great head. I wanted a boob job, I asked right before I made him come, I got a boob job. When I wanted to move on, I asked right before I made him come, I got to move on. Then I took off some weight, changed my hair, gave more head to get a new identity… exit Anita Dewmeyer, enter Marissa Gibbons.”
Layne looked over her head and he did this in an effort not to touch her. It wasn’t his place. He didn’t know her. That was not where their relationship could ever go. But he reckoned she’d never been held in an act of kindness, not in her life. And knowing a lot more about her life than he ever wanted to know, none of it good, all of it the worst it could be, he felt compelled to kindness.
He beat back the urge and looked at her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered, he meant his words and her torso lurched like he’d punched her, sock to the gut.
Nope, Marissa Gibbons hadn’t experienced much kindness.
Layne ignored the look in her eyes that seeped into her face and went on. “If you gave me names, would your ass be out there?”
She sucked in breath and answered quietly, “They found out it was me, my ass would be in the White River.”
“Then get the f**k out of here, now,” Layne returned just as quietly and her look intensified.
“What?” she whispered.
“Go, now. And you let it be known to someone who talks that all you got from me is coachin’ to f**k over Astley. What you do not know is dick about what’s goin’ on in the ‘burg.”
“You…” she paused, took in another breath then asked, “you’re gonna leave it at that?”
“Right now, I’m spread thin. I don’t have the resources to watch your back, not in the short term and not in the long term should something blow back on you and anyone else in that business thinks to f**k with you. So, yeah, I’m gonna leave it at that.”
She held his gaze and she did it too long.
“Go,” he ordered then turned toward his truck.
“Nicolette Towers,” she called and Layne’s head turned to her.
Fuck.
“No more, Marissa,” he warned.
“She’ll be usin’ another name. Her rap sheet, though, will be under Nicolette Towers.”
“That’s not the way it is,” Layne told her.
“Looks it to me, ass**le,” she shot back.
Layne kept his position, back to the truck and kept his eyes locked to hers. “You read me yesterday, you read me right. Listen to your gut, woman. Like I said, this is important.”
“Yeah, and in a couple weeks, it’ll be important again and then a month later it’ll be important again and I’ll live that shit over and over because you bought yourself a sneak. Well, I’m not a rat and that isn’t my life anymore so you can go f**k yourself.”
She turned to leave and Layne spoke.
“My guess is, there’s a racket in the ‘burg, fourteen, fifteen year old girls, modeling or filming.” She stopped and turned back to him. “It’s either happening now or it’s gonna happen. One thing I know for certain is they’re recruitin’ through the church.”
Marissa stared at him.
“You know anyone into that shit?” Layne asked.
Marissa didn’t speak.
Layne pushed away from the truck but didn’t move toward her.
His voice got soft when he said, “Marissa, I haven’t seen your work, don’t want to, but Dev says you were underage. Who do you know that’s into that shit?”
She looked away but she still didn’t speak.
“A woman,” Layne prompted, “a woman who runs the show.”
Marissa’s eyes snapped back to him, her face had bleached entirely of color and Layne took a step toward her to get into her space.
“They’re recruitin’ from a Youth Group, Marissa. You got anything, you gotta give it to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can, you don’t want girls travellin’ down that road you were forced to take,” he replied.
“She’s,” Marissa swallowed and leaned into him, “she’s a nasty piece of work, Tanner. Listen to me, do not go there.”
“Let those girls swing?” Layne growled, glaring at her.
“No.” She shook her head and did it hard. “She’ll have a front, a guy, probably not too smart, definitely hot. He lines ‘em up, pulls ‘em in. You take him down, she’ll move on.”
“Not too far considerin’ you know her,” Layne noted. “Means she’s worked Indy at least, what? Ten years?”
“You want your reunion with your sweetheart to last more than a coupla weeks, you steer clear and let the next place she hits deal with her.”
“What do you know about her?” Layne pressed.
“She’s a nasty piece of work,” Marissa repeated.
“What do you know?” Layne pushed it.
“I know you do not want to go there.” She wasn’t giving him anything.
“God damn it, Marissa, what do you know?” Layne bit out.
“I know she’s got two markets but only one she takes real good care of. That one, the girls are fresh and young. Fresh and young. She didn’t want me for that, she wanted me for somethin’ else. I did not like it but I did not do shit about it because I learned early how to stay in one piece. Another girl with me who was in her stable, she wasn’t so smart. This bitch cut that girl up, Tanner, cut her up on the inside. Cut her up so bad, nothin’ll feel good down there. Ever. Not in her life. She did it herself. She didn’t get one of her boys to do it. She did it herself. The girl was thirteen and even after she sliced her, she pimped her.”
“Jesus,” Layne whispered.
“You do not want to go there,” Marissa reiterated.
“How’d you get out?” Layne asked.
“She worked the foster home angle then, got me through that then I hit sixteen, too old for her clientele,” Marissa answered. “I made no trouble, I did my job, I didn’t complain, I gave good head, I did as I was told and she let me loose when she couldn’t use me anymore. Let me loose as in sold me, Tanner. She sold me to the producers who’d work me until I was eighteen. And I got outta that because I give great head, I’ve had enough practice and a lotta men get stupid when they get great head. I wanted a boob job, I asked right before I made him come, I got a boob job. When I wanted to move on, I asked right before I made him come, I got to move on. Then I took off some weight, changed my hair, gave more head to get a new identity… exit Anita Dewmeyer, enter Marissa Gibbons.”
Layne looked over her head and he did this in an effort not to touch her. It wasn’t his place. He didn’t know her. That was not where their relationship could ever go. But he reckoned she’d never been held in an act of kindness, not in her life. And knowing a lot more about her life than he ever wanted to know, none of it good, all of it the worst it could be, he felt compelled to kindness.
He beat back the urge and looked at her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered, he meant his words and her torso lurched like he’d punched her, sock to the gut.
Nope, Marissa Gibbons hadn’t experienced much kindness.
Layne ignored the look in her eyes that seeped into her face and went on. “If you gave me names, would your ass be out there?”
She sucked in breath and answered quietly, “They found out it was me, my ass would be in the White River.”
“Then get the f**k out of here, now,” Layne returned just as quietly and her look intensified.
“What?” she whispered.
“Go, now. And you let it be known to someone who talks that all you got from me is coachin’ to f**k over Astley. What you do not know is dick about what’s goin’ on in the ‘burg.”
“You…” she paused, took in another breath then asked, “you’re gonna leave it at that?”
“Right now, I’m spread thin. I don’t have the resources to watch your back, not in the short term and not in the long term should something blow back on you and anyone else in that business thinks to f**k with you. So, yeah, I’m gonna leave it at that.”
She held his gaze and she did it too long.
“Go,” he ordered then turned toward his truck.
“Nicolette Towers,” she called and Layne’s head turned to her.
Fuck.
“No more, Marissa,” he warned.
“She’ll be usin’ another name. Her rap sheet, though, will be under Nicolette Towers.”
