Caught Up (Into Darkness Trilogy)

by Navessa Allen

I wondered if my father ever felt like this. If our “work” weighed on him in the same way. Unlike me, Dad hadn’t been born into the mob.

A humorless grin tugged at my lips. Of course our work didn’t weigh on Dad. He wasn’t the one doing it. I was. Well, me and my brothers. We bore the brunt of everything. The risk of getting caught. The risk of getting hurt.

The risk of never being able to sleep again because every time we closed our eyes, images of the things we’d done swelled to the surface and threatened to drown us in the depths of our own memories.

The sights and sounds of the city reminded me that the world kept turning. That people were out here living their lives, blissfully unaware of the darkness that seethed just beneath the surface.

It gave me hope, reminded me that there was more to life than death and destruction and the constant threat of spending the rest of my days behind bars.

Well, Tommy was no longer around to follow through on his, and I didn’t fear my old man as much as I used to. I was done fucking around. I was done waiting. I’d spent nearly a decade keeping my distance from Lauren, and god help anyone who tried to get between us this time.

Ryan turned even redder. Tormenting them was as easy as it was enjoyable.

And NT95 was a day-one subscriber, my very first, in fact, signing up almost as soon as I announced my Me4U page on social media. We’d spent countless hours sexting.

I knew about his horrible father and the constant pressure he was under at work. He sent me congratulatory notes every time I won a new politician over, asked me to please be safe when I attended public rallies.

He wasn’t just some faceless sub anymore. He was important to me. Hence me hovering over Ryan’s shoulder instead of le...

The three of us had the perfect setup. Taylor and I were the on-screen talent, and Ryan was our background magician, editing our videos and even stepping in to help film complicated shots like the one I’d agreed to prep Taylor for.

I pulled up short and tried to sound stern. “That is not a toy, Walter. Drop it.” “Technically …” Ryan began. I pointed a finger in their general direction,

I was still riding high from swaying Councilwoman Blackwell over to our side. With her vote secured, the legislation had a good chance of passing, and soon the sex workers of this city would be able to report any assaults that were committed against them while working without facing solicitation charges.

Love that she's passionate about this!!

I’d pulled in fifteen grand this week. There was so much good I could do with that kind of money that it left me feeling giddy.

It took me two solid years of posting to get to this point, but now I was making so much that I’d only need to work for a few more before I was able to comfortably live out the rest of my days doing whatever the fuck I wanted.

Go her!!

The thing was, this work was what I wanted to do. I loved what I did, and the fact that I got paid so much for it still felt surreal.

Journalists and therapists and politicians and keyboard warriors bent over backward analyzing sex work and why people did it, and while they had good right to because it was a large and very complex issue with so many problematic and dan...

I found camwork both liberating and healing. I’d been raised Catholic in an incredibly patriarchal Italian neighborhood where shame was a large part of the culture, where any woman who lived outside of the strict, unwritten code of norms was ostracized.

I can see it being liberating for certain people. Reading romance + smut definitely helped me heal from purity culture.

Over the past decade, I’d reclaimed my agency, my power, and I lived my life out in the open for all to see, embracing my sexuality, encouraging others to do the same,

fighting for those who were still shamed, still pushed to the edges of society because so many people refused to see that sex work was valid work and should come with the same protections as any other career.

Camwork was what I loved, but advocacy work was my passion in life. Even if all my Me4U subs disappeared tomorrow, I would spend the rest of my time here on earth making sex work safer for everyone who came after me.

My eyes dropped to the scars riddling the rest of my torso. They stood as a stark reminder of how many close calls I’d had over the years, how a split second of distraction could have ended with me in the hospital, or worse.

“I’m fine,” I bit out, refusing to let the concern in his tone soften me. He wasn’t worried about my safety, not really; knowing Dad, he was more concerned with how my death would impact his life.

:(

Men like my father were why patricide was a thing.

A fight had been brewing between us for years, and not just your run-of-the-mill yelling match, but the big one. The one where I told him I didn’t want to do this anymore, that I didn’t want to end up like him, which was where I was going if I continued down my current path.

I’d learned all her sounds, studied the way she made herself climax. It might have seemed obsessive, but it wasn’t; it was strategic. One day, I would use everything I’d learned against her, make her come faster than anyone else had, convince her that my hands and my tongue and my dick were made to get her off.

I wanted her to crave me, need me. Was it manipulative? All kinds of messed up? Absolutely. I didn’t give a single, solitary fuck.

She’d probably clocked my impatient streak from past sexting sessions and was now using it against me. I’d have to find some way to pay her back later, once she was mine.

“Do you like how wet I got for you?” she asked. “Yes,” I ground out. “But I want you wetter.”

She sounded so free, so happy. I would have killed, literally, to feel that alive for once; I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d laughed.

I wanted to crawl on top of her and make her come again. And again. Until she was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then would I let her sleep, and only for a few hours before I woke her for more.

No, I hadn’t figured out how to get free from my father yet, but I needed to find some way to do it. And fast. Because it was time for a new chapter of my life to start.

I was done fucking around on the internet like some weirdo; I needed to see Lauren in person.

Guilt washed over me. Fuck. How could I get away from Dad without risking my relationship with her?

“Unfortunately, I’m taken,” I lied through my teeth. “But Alec isn’t.” Putting my hands on his shoulders, I shoved him forward like a sacrificial lamb.

lol

My gaze zeroed in on Lauren. Need and possessiveness roared through me at the sight of her, and I briefly entertained the idea of striding down the center aisle, throwing Lauren over my shoulder, and walking out to the sweet sound of her startled shriek.

I wanted to see her up close and personal, study that split second of recognition and gut reaction before her brain caught up to her eyes and she schooled her face or tried to hide her feelings. That tiny moment of time was where the truth lived.

From the unbothered way she lifted her head and scanned the people around her, she either didn’t notice the way they stared and whispered, or she didn’t care. Which meant there was no need for me to be bothered by it.

What pissed me off more than anything was the hypocrisy. Half these assholes had family members in the mob, men who’d committed innumerable crimes, done unspeakable things to other humans. I was one of them, and they were fine talking to me, but take your top off for money and you were shunned.

Hypocrisy makes me so mad

but her gaze tripped sideways, landing on me, and I finally got to watch that split second of recognition wash over her. Hello, beautiful.

Something dark, hungry. Ravenous because it had barely gotten a taste ten years ago and had been starving ever since.

I should probably look away from her—people were starting to notice my staring—but for the life of me, I couldn’t tear my gaze free.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her sneak a quick glance my way, and I grinned to myself

The memory of Lauren’s latest video was seared into my mind, and I couldn’t stop replaying it. What I wouldn’t give to see her come in person, to make her come, using my tongue to drive her over the edge.

Yeah, that’s what I’d do first, drop her onto whatever flat surface was closest and shove her knees wide before burying my face in her cu—

Oh, so she wasn’t afraid; she was pissed. It was good to know what I was working with. I’d rather have her angry at me than afraid. Coming back from fear was difficult. But rage? Rage could turn into desire if you knew what you were doing, and I liked my odds.

Being stupid wasn’t a luxury I was allowed to enjoy. I always had to be “on,” always had to be ready in case the shit hit the fan.

That sucks

Oh, this wasn’t good. I hadn’t seen Nico “Junior” Trocci in ten years, yet all it had taken was one shared glance across the aisle to set my blood on fire.

Thank god for the setting, because if I was that turned on under those circumstances, who knew what would have happened if I’d run into him in the wild somewhere.

But, really, who could blame me? Junior looked good. Like the third deadly sin had sat down in the middle of Mass...