Sweet Georgia Belle:
Peaches and Cream
Chapter 4
[Jobs]

Well, fuck.

Half way into the drive to his private home, he began feeling conflicted about the entire situation he was in. He practically just bought a prostitute from her pimp—essentially. Doesn't this make him her new pimp?

The very thought was laughable, out-worldly ridiculous. A part of him seethed when he offered the asshole ten thousand dollars to keep him out of this girl's life. He didn't even know the girl, not in a friendly way at least, so why did he do it? He felt sorry for her though. No woman should live a life like that. And he'll be damned if he went around freeing prostitutes from their pimps. That shit's probably illegal too.

He groaned in annoyance at the impending headache that began to throb in his head. He hated these selfish thoughts running through his head. He should feel be glad that she was no longer a sex slave—which he was glad of, but he didn't need another burden in his life.

Women were nothing but nuisances and trouble. He has had enough of them for the rest of his life. From the way they only wanted him for his money to the way they schemed to become his next wife. It was ridiculous what women wanted from him. No, he had to make sure this girl was out of his life as soon as possible.

Daryl peeled into his driveway once he passed his security gate. The car jerked into an abrupt stop when he slammed on the breaks and shifted the gear to park.

The woman in his passenger set jerked away, shocked. Her eyes caught the scene outside the car—huge modern built house, a fountain in the front yard with neatly trimmed grass and hundreds of trees surrounding the property. She turned then, to look at him in question – fear apparent in her eyes.

He fought the urge to scoff; did she think he was going to eat her or something? With a sigh, he exited the vehicle and walked around to the passenger side to help her out. He knew she had questions, tons of them but he was in no mood to answer her.

In a business stand point, he was out of ten thousand dollars, which wasn't a great deal of money according to his profits. Then again, he wasn't the one to splurge or waste money on drugs and women like Merle did. Although, he had a feeling that this little lady wasn't going to let that go.

"Come on," he called over his shoulder and headed up the stairs and disappeared into the front door, leaving her behind. He didn't bother waiting for her—for a reason he didn't know, the sight of her unnerved him. The first aid kit was easy to find, but it was odd being in this house. He hadn't gone home very often since his last wife left him.

That was a story for another day, it was too long and exhausting to retell. He exited the first floor bathroom and found Beth standing very still in the middle of hall, looking like a lost and frightened puppy. He softened just a bit at her wide, sad eyes.

With a defeated sigh, he headed to Beth and began to reach out to grab her arm. She flinched away with her eyes clenched shut.

"I ain't gonna hurt you," he gruffed out, somewhat annoyed that she thought he was going to hit her. He couldn't blame her at all. Who knows how long she lived like a slave, subjecting herself to such horrors and torture. No woman should be subjected to that shit.

He studied her when she uncoiled from her grimace, standing in front of him with her head bowed. Her messy blonde hair was covered with dirt and dried leaves, her face had makeup smudged all over with black streaks of dried salty tears. Her clothes were less than decent—torn and exposed in places that should be covered.

Then he felt like an asshole, one just as big as the one who imprisoned her. He had no right to judge her. Not when he didn't know her. If anything, since he got her out of that situation, it was his responsibility to make sure she could stand on her own two feet and not fall back into that kind of shithole again.

"What… what would you like me to do?" her fearful voice might as well just grow arms and punch him in the gut.

She made it sound like he wanted her to have sex with him. Just what happened to this poor girl?

Daryl hissed, upset at her question. "I don't want you to shit to me. You need to go in that bathroom," he pointed at the room he just exited. "Shower, clean yourself up and let me know if you need to go to the damn hospital. I ain't going to let someone die in my house," he barked at her, none too kindly.

He saw her nod her head after a brief moment of hesitation. Without a word, she slipped past him and disappeared into the bathroom. What an asshole, he couldn't help but berate himself. He didn't mean to be, but the way she asked that question, it made him want to throw something. Break something only to break it some more until it turned into a pile of powder.

His nostrils flared from his agitated sigh. Was he too harsh on her? Damn it, he didn't mean to be. There was something about this woman that drove him nuts. With a groan, he stalked into the living room and tossed the first aid kit onto the white cushions of the sofa, not caring that it clattered loudly onto the floor.

This was a time as good as any to focus his frustration on his endless piles of work and not at a helpless, defenseless woman. He needed to clear his mind anyway. Shoving his hands in his pant pockets, he walked into his private study at the other end of the first floor and made himself busy.

-0-

Beth felt numb. She was grateful to be rescued, for a lack of a better term, from Jeff. What will she do now? She was sure Dixon wanted her to return his help—after all, weren't all men like that?

Then again, not all men would pay ten thousand dollars to save a girl. Her fingers gripped at the metallic knobs of the sink until her knuckles turned white. When did she start thinking that everyone around her wanted something from her? Oh that's right, from the year of being a sex slave. Pity. She had a long, hard look at herself.

Her reflection disgusted her. To say the least, she looked like a wild child. Crazy, frizzy hair, dirt covered face, black rimmed eyes… blood seeping from a cut above her cheekbone. She looked crazy—insane. A part of her wanted to hide in the corner and step out into the light. After all that she went through, after all that she had endured to keep her miserable life, could she ever live a normal life?

Her eyes peered deeply into the eyes that stared back through the mirror.

Lost. Alone. Helpless.

She had lost herself, truly. When was the last time she knew what she wanted from her life? When was the last time she believed she would find true love, get married and have little ones running around the house? The sad thing is, she couldn't remember herself.

The steam emitting from the hot shower she had turned on obscured her reflection as it fogged up the mirror. A soft sigh escaped her lips, it was inevitable. She had to clean herself up so she can face her judgment from Dixon. Somehow though, in the back of her mind, she knew there was a difference on what was about to happen between her and her rescuer and what she assumes will happen.

Dixon won't hurt her. He doesn't seem like the type, no matter how rough he looked on the outside. With her worries slightly alleviated for the moment, she stepped into the steaming hot shower, not caring that her cuts burned from the treatment and tried to scrub all remaining traces of her past from her body.

-0-

A soft knock of the door frame of his study pulled his attention away from his computer.

His eyes narrowed at the woman in front of him as she fidgeted under his gaze. He could feel the bile bubbling up throat at the sight of her current state.

Battered, bruised, abused, neglected.

From the mirage of bruises that covered her face to the bruise that surrounded her neck—he pitied her greatly. He was silent as he studied her, chewing on his bottom lip, deep in thought. Some of the bruises on her face held a tinge of yellow, some a deep hue of purple, telling him that there must not be a day where she was not been beaten. He would hate to see the rest of her body.

This isn't right. She didn't deserve that, she didn't deserve any of that.

He pushed himself off of his chair, sending it flying behind him before it was stopped by the bookcase. She jumped at the sound when a few books fell off the shelving and sprawled onto the floor. He didn't say a word to her; instead he grabbed her wrist and led her back into the large living room.

He retrieved the fallen first aid kit, and with Beth in tow, he sat her down on the couch.

His shoulders were tense—he felt frustrated for reasons he knew not. There was a scowl on his face and he didn't know how to stop feeling so agitated. He tore open an antiseptic ointment packet before dabbing it on a cottonswab and was about to dab it over the cut on her cheekbone until she stopped him.

"I… I can do it," she whispered, her trembling hands reached for the cotton swab.

Daryl swatted her hands away, ignoring her request and touched the tip of the swab on her cut. He gripped her chin to steady her head when she hissed and flinched away from the stinging pain. "Hold still," he ordered as he continued to apply the ointment on her cut. From what he could tell, she actually listened to him and stiffened like a rock as he checked over her face for other cuts.

Without all the makeup and hair products, he saw an ordinary girl. Even with the bruises marring her face, she was pleasing to the eyes. Without all the bruises on her face, he imagined her to be a church-going daddy's girl with straight A's and is on the honor roll. How did a girl like her get trapped as a sex slave?

With no other visible bleeding cuts he could see, he applied a Band-Aid over her cut and pulled back. It was then that he noticed she was wearing one of the white guest bathrobes from the bathroom. Ah, he thought. Her clothes were probably too dirty and damaged to be worn again.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he told her before he hurried up the stairs and into the master suite. It was odd being in this room—he hadn't stepped foot in here since the last time he spoke to his wife. Crossing the room to the closet, he pulled out one of his wife's tank top, black sweatpants and a t-shirt. Hell, he didn't know what to get her—these were basically the basics, right?

He returned to Beth shortly after gathering the articles of clothing, "They might be a little big on you. It's better than nothing." He placed the clothes on her lap, and shoved his hands in his pockets while waiting for her response.

She didn't say a thing. She simply stared at the clothes as if it'll grow teeth and bite her head off.

Finally, after an awkward minute of silence, she whispers, "Thank you."

He could hear the tears in her voice. Not again. He didn't know how to deal with crying women and prayed, prayed she wouldn't start crying.

Well, his prayers weren't answered when he saw tears splattering onto the fabric on her lap. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes—after all, he knew she wasn't crying to gain pity. She didn't seem like the type.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together before taking the seat next to her, unsure what to say to comfort her. "Uhm… are you… okay?" Fuck, that didn't sound awkward at all…

She nodded her head, wiping away the streaks of tears on her cheeks.

"So… uh…" he wasn't sure how to continue.

"How can I repay you for your kindness?" she whispered; her voice barely audible to his ears.

Daryl swallowed, a bit stunned at her forwardness. "I don't need payment. I just wanted to make sure… you got cleaned up before you left. I-"

"That's not what I meant," she interjected, looking up and staring into his eyes. "The ten thousand dollars… I… I need to return that money to you somehow."

"That's not important."

"Yes, it is. To me, it is. I can't—I can't live knowing that I owe someone that insane amount of money… it's not right," she sounded so dejected, defeated.

Daryl sighed, knowing this moment would come. She didn't seem like the type of girl to take the money and run. "I don't want anything from you," he offered. "You can leave through those doors without any obligations towards me," he pointed at the front door, his steel gaze never leaving hers.

"I'll return the money to you somehow."

He scoffed, "How? Where can you go? Back to that asshole? Do you have jobs lined up? Going back and screwing men for money ain't something I want to hear right now. "

An onslaught of new tears fell from her eyes; she looked to be hurt by his words. Damn, he felt like an asshole. Shit, he felt the urge to apologize. "Look… I-"

"I never said I was going back to that," she hissed. "I never asked for you to give that bastard ten grand so you can tell me how awful I've lived my life. I never asked for any of that! You have no right to judge me!"

Daryl held up his hands in defeat, "I'm sorry… I—I didn't … sorry."

A long, tense silence fell between them. He wanted to help her and that's the genuine truth. He worried though; that she would return to that life because that's probably all she has known for the past several years if not longer. He'll help her find a job…. Within his company if need be. Anything to help her get onto her feet. It was the only way to relieve his guilty conscience.

"Do you have any skills?" he started his questionnaire.

She shook her head, "Hardly… no. None that would deem me a good worker."

Things aren't looking up for her. "How old are you?"

She paused a moment then, her fingers fidgeted against each other on her lap. "Twenty…"

He resisted the urge to curse. She was so damn young—haven't had the chance to experience life and yet she had to live through all that shit. The more he knew about her, the more he felt he should see to her future. Damn his protective instincts. He sighed once more, perplexed. "Are there things you liked to do? I can see if I can get you a job for something you might be familiar with."

"Cook… I loved cooking when I was back home… I did the cleaning and cooking when Daddy was still alive," her voice trailed off into nothingness. Her eyes glazed over as she recalled those memories in her mind.

He saw the solemn smile that graced her swollen lips, it was so sad… so alone. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and pat her hair and to tell her everything will be alright. That's the thing though, he wasn't sure if things will ever be 'alright' for her ever again. Not since she lived through all that shit.

Well, a plus side is that she had a skill. Certainly, she was in no shape to join a culinary career and vaguely wondered if she wanted to work within a restaurant. Then again, she probably wouldn't want to be around people for a while.

He blew a sigh from his lips and bent his head towards his knees, rubbing his hands on his face. Cooking for her dad, huh? He couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. For the past five years, he'd been dining out or ordered catering. It wasn't as if he couldn't cook, just that he had no time with his busy schedule. He hardly came home—that was the major reason his marriages failed.

Then it dawned on him. It was an outrageous idea to trust a stranger like her, but there was no reason for him to distrust her. Not yet at least.

"Would you… like to work for me?"

"What?" her eyes widen as his words settled.

"Would you like to work for me, as a cook… housekeeper. You said you know how to cook. Without any other skills, you can live here with a regular salary as you work and build up your resume until you're ready to get back out in the world."

"Why… why are you doing this? You don't have to help me," she looked away from him, finding the coffee table more interesting than him.

Daryl shrugged, he didn't answer her. Truthfully, he didn't know the answer himself. The setting sun casted an orange glow into his living room, signaling the end of the day. He got up from his seat and turned the lights on, pausing there momentarily to catch his thoughts.

He offered her a genuine job, with no gimmicks of course. It was an outrageous idea, but damn, it was a hell of a lot better than the thought of her selling her body again.

"It's getting dark. There's a couple of spare bedrooms upstairs, take one of them and rest for tonight," he crossed the room and gripped the railing. "I'm serious about offering you a job as my housekeeper. This house… I don't have time to keep it clean and I can't trust others to keep it clean. You don't have to take it if you don't want to. But, at least sleep on it tonight."

He finished his words and headed up the stairs, leaving Beth sitting on the white sofa, dumbfounded. He caught her whisper as he reached the top of the staircase.

"Why would you trust me then…?"

A humorless smile adorned his lips, and he shook his head. He headed to master suite's bathroom and prepared for to shower as he mulled on her question. What compelled him to do all that for that one little lady? Why should he trust her? Was it her sad eyes, or her bruised face?

'I don't know … All I know is that… I don't want to see you hurt anymore…'

/

J.R.- Another chap done! I still can't figure out if I want this to be fast paced or not. I know that my supernatural fic (Into the Light) will be fast paced, and my Canon universe (Take Me as I Am) will be a slow burn.

It's hard to decide!

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review!