“This is fucked up,” he said.
“So say ‘no’,” Ángel countered.
“How much?” Sean didn’t like the challenge in Ángel’s tone, the implication that Sean didn’t have the balls.
“Five hundred for half a night. Each.” Ángel talked about that kind of money like it was his fucking weekly allowance.
“Wow,” Sean said, before he could stop himself.
“Well, you pay a premium for that kind of fucked-up shit, in this business. You should see how much I charge for daddy kink. The kind you need costumes.” He laughed, and Sean couldn’t help but join him. He didn’t know what it said about him, about Ángel, about this whole fucking city, that even knowing Ángel did that kind of depraved shit, Sean didn’t look down on him at all. In fact, he kind of admired him, like it was some kind of achievement.
“I guess ‘daddy kink’ is self-evident?” Sean said, when he’d stopped laughing.
When Ángel looked at him, his eyes were twinkling. Which was odd, because Sean didn’t think they were in that kind of light. “You’re cute,” Ángel said, slightly patronizing, but Sean took it as a compliment anyway. “We should tell him you’re a virgin.” A pause. “Are you... a virgin?”
“What? Shut up.” Sean shoved him on the shoulder playfully.
From the prequel story to our novel, "The Crossroads" (working title), a dark voodoo-influenced story about drugs and prostitution in pre-Katrina New Orleans, which will eventually be available for free on our website and on Goodreads.
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