Bitter Sweet Read Online Free PDF

fuck do you want?’ I yelled.
    ‘Big man , where?’
    ‘He’s not here,’ I gulped.
    The Albanian’s grey eyes, glinting like pearls, bored into mine. He had the perma-tan look of southern Europe, his head almost clean shaven – the three millimetre look of stubble. And the hard body, the stringy muscles, paired down, efficient.
    ‘Where?’ he asked.
    I fought the desire to look at Ivonne, knowing that if I did , the Albanian would know that I knew.
    ‘I don’t know,’ I stammered. ‘I was doing a duo with Ivonne.’ I avoided looking at her. Being ultra nervous I started to babble. ‘I had a late night, I crashed here—’
    ‘Shut up. Where is big man?’
    Shit. Why hadn’t Ivonne just told him?
    ‘How the fuck should I know, he’s her boyfriend,’ I said, pointing at Ivonne.
    The grey eyes became smaller.
    I held his gaze. Somehow, he had guessed the presence of another person in the apartment. Maybe an instinct thing. Maybe he’d thought that Markus had been in the spare bedroom. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
    Mike and Markus could hear what was going on, but the way the camera was positioned they couldn’t see anything. If Markus came rushing in through the front door someone was going to get cut. And Markus wasn’t going to be able to rush in; he’d have to unlock the door.
    I didn’t doubt for one moment that the Albanian would use the blade, and ruthlessly.
    ‘Look, can we all relax, there’s no one else here,’ I said, deciding to babble on, hoping to play on the man’s prejudices. ‘I had a late night, then the appointment with Ivonne. We’d been using this room.’ I saw the knife point move, downwards. ‘I didn’t even know you were here. That bitch didn’t tell me.’
    That got through to the man. He shoved Ivonne straight at me. She crashed into me, the momentum driving us both on to the bed, her elbow landing on my stomach. I let out a yelp of pain.
    The Albanian closed the knife and grunted. Said something unintelligible. Laughed once, at his own humour and slammed the door shut.
     
    ‘Christ almighty,’ Mike said, pacing about the room. ‘Did I have a job keeping Markus in here? We could hear everything. Damned glad he couldn’t see what was happening; he’d have barged straight in.’
    My mind had shut down. I lay on the sofa staring at the glorious ceiling of my own apartment, feeling secure, only half listening. I was just glad that it was over. The cut below Ivonne’s eye didn’t even need a stitch. It was the emotional trauma – that’s why I just lay there in a daze.
    ‘ Nina,’ Mike said. ‘You were magnificent, you really were.’
    That brought me out of my daze. Mike had shown concern for both of us as soon as the Albanian had gone, then he had rabbited on about our lucky escape. Now, finally, he began to see the courage it had taken to diffuse a situation which had contained violent, if not lethal, consequences.
    ‘Thank you, Mike,’ I said. Then it dawned on me: he had probably wanted to rush in and play the hero and save me from danger. His emotions were now settling down. ‘You’re a real gentleman, Mike. A sweetheart.’ That sounded slushy, but well, I meant it.
    ‘Come here and sit down,’ I said, patting the sofa beside me. ‘Give me a big hug.’
    He did so. It felt good to be in his arms. I ignored all the client-escort rules and savoured the moment; drawing strength and comfort from a truly shared intimacy. Boy did that feel good.
    Then it became too much. The nature of the business reasserted itself. Anything which took place in the apartment was business, only. I lived the lie, denying myself the tenderness of a permanent relationship outside of the job – enough lying went on just to maintain my anonymity as a sex worker.
    I looked at Mike. ‘So, what’s this little gadget of yours going to do?’ I said, pointing at the memory stick which lay on the table next to an overlarge smartphone.
    ‘Record every SMS and every conversation. And will