CHAPTER THREE
"Myra," he whispered. "You awake?"
She considered pretending to be asleep, but knew he would only wake her up so there was no point going through the motions.
"Yes, I'm awake. What do you want, Hank? It's late."
"Yeah, I know. Time for bed." He crossed the room slowly and stretched out beside her. She noticed he was wearing only the pants of his new Armani suit and resisted the urge to jump out of the bed and run away from him. He slid one arm under her neck and the other across her middle, his finger tips stroking up and down her bare arm.
"Hank, I thought ya said I could have the night off," she protested, bracing her hand against his chest as he leaned closer.
"You had the night off. That don't include me."
"I'm real tired," Myra protested.
"Seems to me you're always tired or sick or somethin' when I wanna be with ya," he said. "It's been months; don't ya miss me?"
"Of course I do," said Myra reluctantly. "But I'm sure you'd have much more fun with Emma."
"I don't want Emma; I want you." He bent to kiss her and she turned her head so that his lips only brushed her cheek. She shivered and tried to push him away again.
"Hank, don't," she said as his lips touched her jaw, then her ear, his hand moving from her arm to her chin and forcing her to face him. She opened her mouth to protest again but anything she might have said was smothered by his kiss.
Myra knew there was no getting away from it now. As Hank's lips teased hers and his hands began to slide down her body she did her best to ignore her rising desire, but it was impossible. Hank always did this to her. She hated herself for it, but every time he touched her it was only minutes before she began to melt and give in. She was loath to admit it, but there was no denying he was an expert in the art of seduction and his body did things to her that no one else had ever come close to achieving. She would give in and respond to every kiss, every touch, giving herself to him, always wondering why he had to be such a bastard the rest of the time. If he had even one ounce of kindness in him, she could have loved him. In fact she had loved him at the beginning, until his cruelness had systematically destroyed her feelings and turned her into nothing more than a slave.
She had come with him from Denver with dreams and promises of a new life and business together and soon discovered Hank's ideas were very different from her own. She wasn't his lover or partner, but one of four whom he sold as often as possible and used himself when he felt like it. Rachel and Clare had gone some months back, past their best in Hank's eyes. Myra only wondered that he hadn't found their replacements yet. Meanwhile she and Emma remained although she knew the younger girl didn't hate the job half as much as she did herself. Emma saw it as a means to an end. For Myra, it was all there was. Or at least it had been until she met Horace.
'I hate you, Hank,' Myra thought to herself as she slid her arms around his neck and welcomed him into her bed and her body once more.
An hour later it was over. Myra heaved a sigh of relief, knowing Hank would now leave her in peace. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to go so that she could get in the shower and scrub herself all over again. He didn't move and she almost held her breath as she watched the luminous figures on the clock beside her bed count a minute, then another. Ten minutes passed and Hank still lay beside her, a heavy arm resting across her stomach.
"Hank," she whispered.
"Mmm. What?"
"I want to sleep now."
"Me too."
"You like to sleep alone," she reminded him.
"Yeah," he grunted, his arms tightening around her again. He pressed his face into her neck and she felt his warm breath on her throat, the slow thump of his heart against her breast.
"Hank," she protested, trying to push him away. Apparently he wasn't going anywhere. She glared at the top of his head.
"Let me stay," he said softly.
Myra sighed heavily. 'Damn you,' she thought. 'Why are you doing this to me?' It was almost as if he knew what she was planning and was trying to stop her leaving. He had never actually slept the night with her, or with anyone else so far as she knew, at least not since she'd known him. Now he had to go and be all nice and want to snuggle and make her feel like he'd actually be upset when she left. Resigned, she stroked her hand through his hair and closed her eyes again although she doubted she would be able to sleep.
Somehow Myra must have drifted into sleep. She woke some hours later and looked at the little clock again. It was six-thirty and much to her relief she was alone. She got up quickly and went to take a shower, Hank's odd behaviour immediately forgotten as she thought about walking out of the door for the last time with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She pictured the look on Horace's face as he opened the door of his apartment to find her standing there with her suitcase and she smiled as she dried herself and pulled on clean underwear, jeans, shirt and sneakers.
Myra pulled her battered old suitcase out from under the bed and began to pack what was hers. There wasn't much of it. She didn't want any of the sexy clothes Hank had bought her and packed only her jeans and t-shirts, the few summer dresses, plain bras and panties and a couple of pairs of shoes. The case was only half full, but there was nothing else she wanted. She took off the heavy gold locket she had worn for the past five years and placed it on the bedside table, then picked up the little luminous clock and tucked it into the case , covering the lot with the pink bathrobe.
She froze suddenly, her breath catching in her throat as there was a brisk tap on the door.
"Myra?"
"Oh shit," she whispered to herself. She had been hoping she could creep away without a confrontation, but it was too late. He was up and the door began to open as she looked anxiously at it.
Hank was wearing black jeans and an unfastened shirt, his hair wet from the shower. He stopped in the doorway and stared at Myra and the open case on the bed in disbelief.
"What the hell do ya think you're doin'?" His eyes narrowed.
"I'm leavin', Hank." Her voice sounded much steadier and calmer than she felt and her heart thumped as he walked into the room, making her feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
"You ain't got the guts."
"Watch me." She broke the eye contact and looked down at the case, closing the lid and zipping up the sides with shaking hands. "I can't work for you any more, Hank. I need my own life."
"You won't have a life without me," he said gruffly.
"I'll have the life I want." She left the case and picked up her brown leather jacket, sliding her arms into the sleeves.
"I won't let ya leave, Myra."
She took a deep breath and faced him again. "You can't stop me, Hank, not this time. I won't do this any more. Do what ya want."
"You know I could kill ya," he said under his breath.
"So what's stoppin' ya?" She held her hands out, palms up. "Go ahead. I'd rather be dead than be your whore any longer."
Hank didn't move and she dropped her hands and picked up the case, then glanced at him again.
"Well?" she prompted.
"Don't go," he said softly. "I love ya."
"You don't know what love is, Hank," she said bitterly. "What kind of a man makes a woman he loves sleep with other men?"
"That's different. It's business."
"Exactly, it's business. That's all it is. You don't love me; you're not capable. All you want is a slave you can sell and make use of whenever it suits ya."
"That ain't true. I don't wanna lose ya, Myra." Hank sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You lost me years ago," said Myra, carrying the case towards the door.
"What about this?" Hank picked up the gold locket from the bedside table and held it out to her. "I bought you this. Your twenty-first birthday. Don't ya remember?"
"I don't want it," said Myra. "Give it to whoever ya get to fill my place."
Hank's face darkened and suddenly he catapulted back up off the bed, hurling the locket as hard as he could across the room so that it smashed into the wall and fell down behind the television stand.
"Then you get out!" he roared. "And don't come crawlin' back when ya realise you ain't good for nothin' else!"
Myra took a step out of the bedroom door a second before Hank kicked it closed with all his strength. The door slammed in her face and then she heard his fist bang into the other side of it. Heart hammering, she dragged the case out of the apartment and closed the door after her, punching the elevator call button. The doors sprang open immediately and she ran inside and pressed the 'down' arrow.
Less than a minute later, Myra stepped out into the street, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of the suitcase.
"Myra!"
She looked up and saw Hank above her, hanging out of the window.
"Goodbye, Hank." She stepped forward to the kerb, her hand out just as a cab approached and it pulled in quickly. She dragged open the door, threw the case inside and herself after it.
"Grace's Diner," she said, leaning back in the seat, tears spilling down her cheeks. It was over. She was free.
