Page 14 of Doxed

I have to admit, I’m more than a little disappointed when I finish curling my hair and am sliding the strap of my bra over my tan shoulder.

Carlos isn’t here tonight. I have to go back to entertaining normal clients, and I guess my time with Carlos showed me I don't really enjoy my work.

I want something more than this. This constant disconnect.

I can't remember the last time I actually made friends. I don't even talk to the girls from the club outside of work. I don't go out when I'm home to meet new people. Carlos is the first friend that I've made in years and the first person I've opened up to in my adult life.

The foster care system shuffled me around so often that I didn't have time to make connections.

Maybe Carlos doesn’t think it’s appropriate to meet here after we drew the line at being friends.

Shoving my makeup back into my LV makeup bag, I zip it roughly, cleaning up the bathroom sink as the last step before going down to the lounges.

Thinking about this again aggravates me.

I'm not used to dealing with emotions in my life.

I rarely have any, and my clients don't either, so to have to work around someone else’s, and mine being so simple yet complicated, irritates me.

We’re friends, so why can’t we just skip over the sex? It’s just sex. It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to. It's easier if it doesn't.

Carlos and I seemed to go back to how we were after our talk, but I haven't heard from him since I landed yesterday. We spent the rest of the morning walking in the town he lived near, shopping in a small market and laughing as friends would, but maybe he reconsidered after I left.

Is this what it’s like to have a friend? To worry over their feelings and wellbeing? It's exhausting.

I open the closet door and place my duffle on the bottom before closing the door.

Two quick knocks sound on my door, and I glance down at my heels. I'll leave them for now.

Carlos stands on the other side of my door, his signature suit in place and his hair slicked back. This is the Carlos that I'm used to.

A small smile pulls at my pink lips and I step aside, making room for him to enter.

“I didn't think you were going to come anymore.” I close the door behind him, paying no attention to the guard that always stands outside of my room while we’re in here.

“We’re still friends, aren't we?” he asks, slipping out of his shoes and climbing onto my bed.

“Always.” I crawl up onto the foot of the bed and sit down opposite of him.

Carlos leans against the headboard and clears his throat, shifting in his place awkwardly. “Actually, I had a question about your family.” He licks his lips, looking up at me from under his lashes as he lowers his head slightly.

My eyebrows scrunch together. “My family?” I ask. “We already talked about my family. I don’t have one.” My spine straightens. This topic makes me uncomfortable.

He reaches forward, placing his large hand over mine. “Tell me about your family, please?” His caramel eyes are soft and they relax me. His warm hand over mine feels like a comforting blanket, and my guard drops immediately. This man is my friend. The closest one I've had in years.

“My mom was sick, and she died when I was young. I didn't have grandparents or aunts or uncles, so I went into the foster system. That's it,” I answer, crossing my legs in front of me.

“What about your father?” Carlos asks, his head tilting.

I bite my tongue in my mouth, keeping my face neutral. “I don't want to talk about my dad. He caused all of this.”

“Caused all of what?” His eyes narrow. “You going into foster care? Did he leave your mother?”

Shaking my head, I look away from him. “I don't want to talk about him right now.” I don't budge. I refuse to think of that man. What he did.

“Okay,” he relents, softly. “What was your dream when you were growing up?”

“You mean, did I always want to be a sex worker?” I cock my eyebrow, challenging him.

Carlos chuckles. “I know you didn’t choose to be a sex worker at a young age.” He rolls his eyes. “But how did you end up here?”

“No, I guess I didn't,” I agree. “I went to school to be a teacher, and I worked here on the weekends to pay for my tuition and rent, and then I realized I could make more money doing this.” I shrug one shoulder.

“I was working at a restaurant while in school and I had heard a businessman whispering about the club to his buddies, so I came and auditioned.”

“This was better than being a teacher?” he asks, his voice void of judgment.

“I can afford to live in a waterfront apartment. I only wear designer items, and I can buy nice things. I go on vacation whenever I want, and I only work when I want to. I can take better care of myself than most men. There was no reason not to stay.”

“All of that sounds fine, but it sounds like you’re missing someone to share it with.”

“I’m sharing it with you right now,” I coo, smirking.

Carlos tsks, “Not me, Hermosa.” He rests his head against the headboard and crosses his ankles.

“You need someone younger, someone who excites you, and chases after you.” His eyes drift off, something taking hold of his thoughts and running with it.

“You need someone safe, someone—” a sharp knock on my door interrupts him.

He leans forward, kissing my temple. “Someone who doesn’t have to leave to deal with business all the time.

You deserve someone who will put you first, Briar.

” He stands and slides his feet into his shoes.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, Hermosa, but you can call me anytime.

” Carlos takes my hand and squeezes it before he places a familiar wad of cash at the end of the bed and then leaves.

The door closes softly; the room falling into a deep silence, and I pick up the folded bundle of bills, flipping it over between my fingers and thinking of what Carlos said.

Am I missing something? Do I want someone to share my life with?

Things are so much easier when you're alone.

I think about the last few years of my life.

How much time I spend in silence alone. The only time I spend with people is when I'm at work.

Do I truly enjoy that?

I don't know. I've never been able to depend on people, so when I became an adult, I never even tried to.

I guess, in reality, I don't even know what I'm missing. I've always been alone.

Sighing, I slide off of the bed and grab my bag out of the closet. I want to go home.

I pull my thick, curled hair back into a pony and change out of my lingerie and into an oversized sweater and shorts. Lifting the strap over my shoulder, I reach for the handle and open the door.

I walk down the quiet hallway to the elevator. All the girls are already downstairs waiting for clients.

Pressing the button, I wait for the elevator to come. It dings a moment before the steel doors slide open.

My eyes widen as a crying Serena almost tramples me as she rushes through the metal doors. She grips my arms tightly as she stares into my eyes.

“Hide, Briar. Go and hide,” her voice trembles.

As I shake my head, I stare at the large smear of blood on her cheek, and then I notice her wet hands my arms. “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking down at the blood she's leaving behind on my sleeves.

Serena lets go of one of my arms and starts dragging me away from the elevator. “There are men downstairs killing our guards and taking the girls. Go! Hide! Someone saw me get in the elevator.” She pushes me away, but I grab her arm.

“What about the clients?” I ask. What the fuck is going on?

She shakes her head, looking down the hallway. “No one was here.”

Footsteps pound in the emergency stairwell and Serena and I jerk away from each other.

She runs toward her room, and I run down the opposite way to mine.

There are two sets of stairs at either end of the building.

The stairs near my room are the ones that lead straight outside, but I’m not sure if I should try to leave the building.

We’re on an island. I can’t run anywhere.

I’m not sure what is going on, but Serena looked horrible, and I’d rather hide and be safe than not believe her and walk right into whatever the fuck is going on downstairs.

I close my door as quietly as possible and flinch when I hear the stairwell door slam against the wall and echo down the hallway.

With the lights off, I shove my bag under the bed and then shimmy underneath it as well. There are very few places to hide in here. Either under the bed or in the closet.

I try to calm my heartbeat so I can hear if anyone walks outside of my room.

I wait in silence, my heart beating a million times a minute and my palms sweat against the plush carpet.

A door slams open outside and Serena’s screams pierce my ears a moment later. I want to vomit from fear, but I choke it back and rest my forehead against the floor. I’m next in whatever the fuck is going on.

This can't be a joke, right? Why would they do this to me? This has to be real, but why?

I hold my breath, waiting for them to check the other rooms or to leave. I hope they leave.

I feel like I'm watching my life tick down on a clock as I hear door after door burst open, one by one, down the hallway. They're getting closer.

Finally, they smash the door next to mine open, and my heart sinks to my stomach. Silent tears fall down my cheeks. They've reached the end of the hall. I'm next.

I hear heavy steps outside of my door before a muffled male voice says something and then a loud thump.

My door opens quietly, not like the rest, and I put my hand over my mouth to keep my cries silent. A flashlight flashes across the floor of my room as they check the closet and in the bathroom before coming back into the bedroom.

The light stops by my bed and the person kneels down. The flashlight rests on the floor in one hand and shines on a knife covered in dripping blood in the other.

I whimper. I can't help it, and what does it matter now? He's going to find me, regardless.

“Briar?” the person whispers.

How does he know my name?

The flashlight shines in my face and I close my eyes, my sobs no longer contained. I'm going to die.

“Shut the fuck up, Briar,” he snaps. “Look. Look at me.”

I can sense the light leaving my face, so I open my eyes and suck in a relieved gasp when I see the shining silver skull mask.

Dox.

“Come on. Get the fuck out. We have to go!” he hurries, pushing up from the floor and leaving me to scramble after him as fast as I can. I rise from the floor, my knees burning from scraping against the carpet. “Don’t make a fucking sound and follow me closely,” he says harshly.

I don't even care right now. I just nod and grip the back of his black hoodie tightly in my fist. He slowly walks to my door, clicks off the flashlight and slowly opens it.

He peeks his head out and looks around before quickly darting out of it and across the hall. Opening the stairwell door that leads to outside and we step in. He stops, listening in the stairwell before he hurries down them, with me one step behind him.

I hold on to the railing with one hand and his hoodie in the other, making sure he can’t leave me behind.

I have no idea why he’s here, but for now, I'm going to let him rescue me and I'll ask questions later.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, his hands pressed against the door leading outside. He turns around, his silver mask glinting in the bright lights of the stairwell. “When we open this door, there's no waiting. You have to run as fast as you can with me, okay?”

I nod quickly, my tears from earlier dried at this chance of survival.

He lets out a deep breath and then pushes the door open and sprints outside.

I follow behind him, keeping good pace, and I don't dare look around for fear of tripping or losing him. But I hear girls screaming even from around the building. I block it out.

He leads us to the back of the island, at the backside of the club. The sky is a dark gray, a storm coming in from the mainland.

There's a rocky drop off, maybe four feet, and he clears it without thinking, jumping down and landing on the sand. He turns around and looks up at me, his death moth tattoo showing proudly

“Either jump or die here, Briar,” he states, and I finally look behind me. I can't see anything from here, but I can still hear the screaming of the girls. I have to go.

I jump and land on my feet next to Dox. He strides toward a speedboat, and I chase after him.

He helps me onto the boat after he’s got on and I sit in the seat next to the wheel as he unties us from a large rock and sits behind the wheel.

We hurry across the water away from Martin Island.

“What was happening?” I ask finally, as we've gotten a good distance from the club.

Dox makes his way back toward Seattle after making a huge loop so we wouldn't be seen.

“The cartel was raiding your club. They were killing all the men in the club and taking the women,” he says all of this with such little emotion that it’s concerning. This is serious, and he’s talking about it like it's the weather.

“To do what with them? How do you know all of this?” I ask, watching Dox closely. Who is he?

He shrugs one shoulder. “Probably to sell them in the skin market. Maybe they were tired of having to share the earnings with you guys.”

I lean forward. None of this is making any sense. “Dox,” I say sternly. “How do you know all of this? Why were you there tonight?”

He glances at me before focusing back on the water. “I’m a hacker, and I tapped into the Cartel’s shit. I found out what they were doing tonight, and I came to get you.”

What!?