Chapter 2

The following days were a blur of whispers and sideways glances. The madam had taken his words to heart, and the woman in the fourth room was treated with a newfound gentleness. The town, ever eager for gossip, buzzed with rumors about the change in the Red Lantern’s demeanor. Some said it was a sign of a softening heart, others claimed it was fear of the law. But Smokes knew the truth, and it felt like a small victory in his otherwise hollow existence. Each night, as he lay on his bed of straw, he could almost hear the faint notes of the piano, a lullaby of hope in the endless desert of despair that was Dreadworth. And for the first time in a very long while, he felt a spark of something that resembled pride. He’d done something good, something that mattered. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of a new chapter in his sordid life.

One evening, as the moon began to rise, casting its cold, pale light over the town, the woman from the fourth room stepped out onto the balcony of the Red Lantern. She spotted Smokes below, his figure unmistakable even in the gloom. She leaned over the railing, her silk robe fluttering in the breeze like a crimson flag of rebellion. “Thank you,” she called down, her voice a soft caress that seemed to carry on the very air itself. He looked up, his heart racing, and nodded, not trusting his own voice to convey the depth of his feelings. “You didn’t have to,” she continued, her words a whisper that seemed to carry a universe of meaning. “But I’m grateful.”

Her name was Sue, and she was unlike any other woman in Dreadworth. Her skin, a canvas of ink and bruises, told a story that no one else could read, a story of survival and pain. But her eyes, those stormy blue orbs, held a reservoir of strength that belied her circumstances. She beckoned him upstairs, and with trembling hands, he climbed the stairs, each step feeling like a lifetime of regret and longing.

In the dimly lit room, she sat on the bed, her robe hanging open to reveal the intricate tapestry of tattoos that adorned her body. “Why do you like peeping?” she asked, her voice a curious blend of anger and curiosity. “What pleasure do you find in watching the misery of others?”

Smokes shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. “It’s ... it’s all I got,” he finally managed to croak out. “Ain’t got no family, no friends. Just ... just the streets and these walls.” He took a deep breath, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “It’s like ... it’s like I’m part of their lives, ya know? For a moment, I ain’t just some old beggar.”

Sue studied him, her gaze piercing through the layers of dirt and deceit that had accumulated over the years. Then, with a suddenness that took him by surprise, she began to strip off her clothes. The room was bathed in a soft, red glow from the lamp, casting flickering shadows across her body. She sat on the bed, her tattoos rippling like dark rivers over her skin, and gestured for him to come closer. “Watch me,” she whispered, her voice a seductive challenge. “But this time, it’s on my terms.”

Smokes felt a familiar stirring in his loins, but there was something different about this moment. The power had shifted, and he was no longer the invisible observer. He approached the bed, his eyes transfixed on her body. The bruises that marred her flesh were a stark contrast to the intricate designs that adorned her, a map of pain and resilience that spoke of a life he could never truly understand.

As he reached the bed, she took his trembling hand and placed it on her thigh, her skin hot and smooth beneath his rough, calloused fingers. “Look at me,” she said, her voice a soft command. “See me.” And so he did, his eyes locking onto hers, the blue of them stormy with a mix of anger and defiance.

With deliberate slowness, she began to touch herself, her movements fluid and practiced. Smokes’ breath hitched in his throat, his hand moving in response to the silent symphony she conducted. For once, he didn’t feel like the predator; he was the prey, caught in the crosshairs of her gaze. Her eyes never left his, a silent communication that pierced through the years of his isolation.

The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the only music the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. The air was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and desire a heady mix that made him feel alive. He watched as she took control, her body arching and writhing in a display of raw, unbridled passion. It was a dance of power, a declaration of ownership over her own pleasure, and he was merely a witness.

And as he reached the peak of his own climax, something within him broke. The dam of his detachment gave way to a flood of emotion, a catharsis that left him trembling and exposed. He realized that in all his years of peering through cracks and spying on others, he’d never truly seen anyone, never truly felt anything. But here, in this moment, he was seeing and feeling more than he ever had.

Afterward, they lay in silence, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Sue’s hand found its way to his, her grip firm and comforting. “You ain’t just some old beggar,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his bruised soul. “You’re a man, Clifton. And you got a heart, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

Smokes felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He’d never been called by his name with such kindness, never been seen with such clarity. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply held her hand, the connection between them more profound than any he’d ever known.

Sue looked at him, her expression unreadable. “You don’t need to keep peepin’,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “If you want to see a body, just come to me. You can look all you want, and I won’t charge you a penny.” She paused, her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. “But you have to promise me something.”