13. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Emery

Two hours, a little bit of grocery shopping, and one taxi ride later, I'm home and I have details.

Brat4Us: The Armitage Hotel. Check-in has been completed. There is a key card waiting for you at the concierge with some paperwork. Send us a message once you arrive. We will arrive at 7pm, sharp. Be ready for us.

My stomach flutters unexpectedly.

Just under six hours to go. Okay, then.

I toss the frozen chicken and veggies meal I bought into the microwave and do a search for the hotel they booked. It's twenty minutes by car. I tap the side of my phone as I think about options on how to get there.

Uber is out, no money in my bank account. And as much as I should be stretching my cash, I'm going to opt for a taxi over a bus tonight.

The microwave dings and I take my meal out. Pinching just the corners to avoid the steam, I carry it over to the couch and turn on the TV before going back to the kitchen for my phone, cutlery, and a drink. Then I go grab my charger from my room because shitty old phone is going to shitty old phone.

Back on the couch, I get comfortable with my legs pretzeled under my ass. My meal is actually half decent for a change, and I'm glad I went with the more expensive frozen option.

Once I'm all settled, I start flicking through the channels, but nothing holds my attention. Eventually, I give up and stop on a reality TV show that I don't even bother to try focusing on—I'm just too keyed up.

Seven .

What do I need to do to be ready by then?

I stroke my fingers through my hair. If I wash it, I'll need to dry it. And style it. That's an hour to an hour and a half. And while I'm washing it . . . yes, I need to shave my legs. A quick check under my arms and, yeah, there too. Then . . .

I peer at my denim short, covered crotch.

Would that be taking it too far? I mean, I'm tidy and all, but not bare. Does a baby girl need to be bare?

Another internet search later, and most forums say it's a personal preference, but being bare helps them to stay in the baby girl mindset.

So, shaving there too. And carefully. I really do not need razor rash or a cut in that particular location.

Okay so, wash, dry, and style hair, shave all the places.

I can decorate the room with the children's art supplies and toys that I bought when I went looking for the teddy bear in the window. Which I also bought. Oakley's loan is at about fifty percent of what I started with thanks to the daddy's paying for all the lingerie, and I'll definitely need to eat into the rest for the taxi.

I should be paid by . . . holy shit, I still don't know their names.

"Hey, Ems, how was shopping?"

I jerk in my seat, hand flying to my chest as I turn around. "Fuck, you scared the shit out of me."

Oakley shrugs. "Sorry? I wasn't exactly quiet. What's on your phone that has you so distracted?"

Buying myself time to answer, I stuff the phone into my pocket and clean up my mess from lunch. Should I tell Oakley my plans? We've lived together for a few days now, but up until yesterday, we've barely spoken.

If she reacts like a judgy bitch, then that's going to make us living together for the next nine months really fucking awkward.

But when I would do this type of thing for Tray, he would always be around if I needed him. Usually in the next room. I'd be busy with the man for ten minutes while he waited on the couch, and then when it was all over, we'd go out and get burgers or ice cream. Sometimes, he'd even buy me little gifts afterward.

All very similar to my plans for tonight.

But this is the last time. This will set me up for the rest of the year, especially if I supplement with a part-time job. It's my chance to actually make my life happen the way I want it to, rather than just letting the rest of the world use me.

Decision made. The added layer of security from telling Oakley is worth the potential of having a pissy roommate. This way, I won't leave the cops with zero leads if my dates chop me into pieces.

Not that they would expend much energy on a nobody orphan like me.

"I was thinking about the daddies I'm meeting tonight."

Nothing like ripping off the Band-Aid. And Oakley is quick too; she doesn't miss the plural.

"Daddies? Do you have more than one date tonight? Are they all on the phone?" she asks as she peels the skin off a banana.

"Uh, no. One date. Multiple daddies. In person." I refuse to blush over this. I'm not embarrassed. I'm just being efficient. And only putting myself through this one time.

The silence from the kitchen feels like a vise around my neck, slowly squeezing in an attempt to produce more words. I don't give them. I know not to. More words just lead to deeper holes and darker rooms.

Two chicks are getting into it on the TV, fake nails clawing at each other while stupidly long hair extensions are torn out. The noise of the bitch fight almost covers the quiet steps as Oakley comes to slip into the empty spot on the couch beside me.

I prepare myself for the lecture on safety and consent and not being taken advantage of and the potential threats and issues with this type of date.

But that's not what I get.

Oakley whistles, a long, drawn-out sound. "Way to jump into the deep end. I take it this is the red box that has been absent all day?"

I turn to her with an eyebrow cocked. "How do you know it's gone? I thought you stuck to the tamer date types?"

Oakley shrugs and takes a bite of her banana. "The forums have been buzzing all day."

Not sure how to feel about that. "What type of buzzing?"

"Just curiosity about whether the account is going dark or if someone finally accepted the date. Apparently the date has been up there for a while. A few babies have chatted to them, but didn't really make it past chatting."

I scoop up another bite of food and stuff it in my mouth, before pointing my fork at her. "You can't say anything. I don't want my business being blasted all over the internet. Also, the invites disappear?"

She mimes zipping her lips. "Yeah, when the daddy—or daddies—accept the sugar baby's request."

Nodding, I reach for my glass of water and take a sip, not really sure what else to say.

"From memory, that invite also included role-play—specifically, baby girl. Do you know what that is?"

Her voice is light, no hint of how she feels about it. Which is good, because I don't need her opinions on this. Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one, but no one wants to see them.

"Yeah, I do, now. I had to do a search about it. Seems pretty straightforward. They want to call me their baby girl and for me to call them Daddy. I need to act younger, be sweet and a little bratty." I shrug, trying to remain unaffected by my own words, even though my stomach is acting like I chugged a bottle of soda. "It's only for a couple of hours, and if I'm careful with the money, I'll be set for the rest of the year."

Oakley is gnawing on her lip when I glance at her.

I sigh. "Just say it."

She shakes her head. "Nope. I'm not going to do that. I barely know you. You've clearly done your research about what they want, and if you're comfortable with that, then who am I to tell you anything otherwise? But you're telling me for a reason, so maybe if you explain why you told me, we can work out what you need."

I stare at her. And blink. Then stare some more. The straightforward way she spoke makes processing the words a little harder, because honestly, I'm not used to them.

My entire life has been filled with social workers and parent-type figures all wanting to tell me how to best live my life. What I should do. What I shouldn't do.

Don't eat so much, you don't want to get fat. No one likes a fat girl.

Emery, you should smile more. Foster families don't want angry little girls.

Tray is bad news, Emery. You need to stay away from him.

Whatever you do, don't cry. It'll be over before you know it.

Narrowing my eyes, I examine her expression, trying to figure out her motives. Oakley stays completely still as I study her. For the first time in my life, I can't figure it out.

Either she has no ulterior motives, or she's a sociopath.

And since history tells me everyone has an ulterior motive, I land on sociopath. Because why the fuck would she care about me? Like she said, we've only known each other for a few days. I've known people for years and couldn't give a fuck about them.

She doesn't know me and isn't willing to get into my business, which works for me. I don't need nosy bitches in my shit. As much as I like Oakley—for a roommate, anyway—I won't hesitate to put her on her ass if she gets in between me and my goals.

And right now, my only goals are to graduate, get my CPA, and move an entire state away to escape my old life.

Excluding tonight, of course.

"I figure someone should know where I am, in case shit goes sideways," I finally answer her.

Oakley nods and takes a bite of her half-finished banana. "That makes sense. Okay, so text me the details, and then I'll have everything to give to the cops. What timeframe for return would you like?"

This chick. I just told her I want her to have the details of my definite gangbang and potential murder location, and she just rolls with it?

Fucking hell. A gangbang. That's what tonight is, isn't it? Four men, one hole. Well, three, really. I clench my hand around my glass and try to swallow around my tightening throat. Two, if they respect my wishes.

"If I'm not back by lunchtime tomorrow, probably best to make the call. Especially if you can't talk to me on the phone. Anyone could pretend to be me over text." It's her turn to stare at me for a moment, clearly wondering how I picked up that piece of life experience.

Slowly, she nods. "Okay, sure. So, you'll send me all the details for tonight, oh, and their username. That'll help track them. And if I don't hear from you before lunch time tomorrow, I'll call the cops and hand everything over to them. I can do that."

With a tight smile on my lips, I gather up my things while two overly tanned people kiss on the TV. "I'm going to get my stuff ready and go to the hotel now."

Her eyes hold concern, but she smiles. "Hey, just think. The next time we see each other, you'll be ten thousand dollars richer."

"Yeah. Minus five hundred. I'll get that to you as soon as I'm back."

She waves her hand at me. "No rush."

"Thanks," I reply before dumping my mess in the kitchen and disappearing to my room.

My heart is racing as I close my bedroom door behind me.

In twelve hours, I will be ten thousand dollars richer.

And I will have experienced my first gangbang.

Fuck me. Literally.