One Night With The Wrong Brother

The silence in the narrow corridor was heavy, broken only by Katherine's ragged breathing. Gus didn't move. He kept her pinned, his body a solid wall of heat and hostility.

He stared at her tear-streaked face. He watched a single tear track down her cheek and drip onto her collarbone. His jaw clenched. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

Slowly, deliberately, he removed one hand from the wall. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out a slim, leather checkbook.

He slapped it against the wall beside her head. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Katherine flinched, her eyes widening in horror. She looked at the checkbook, then back at his face. "What is that?"

Gus used his teeth to pull the cap off a silver pen. He spat the cap into his hand. "Compensation."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple math, Kat." He used the nickname she hated, the one only he used when he wanted to be condescending. "Services rendered. How much is a night of pretending I'm him worth to you?"

Katherine felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall an inch before catching herself. "I don't want your money."

"Don't want money?" Gus let out a short, sharp laugh. "What do you want then? A ring? The Riddle name?"

"Stop it," she whispered. "Please."

"Stop pretending," he snapped. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper. "Five thousand? Ten? How much does it cost to buy your silence?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He scribbled a number. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was violent, aggressive. He ripped the check out. The tearing sound vibrated through Katherine's bones.

He grabbed her hand. His fingers were cold. He jammed the piece of paper into her palm and curled her fingers around it.

"Take it," he ordered.

Katherine opened her hand. The check fluttered to the dirty carpet of the service hallway.

Gus looked down at it. "Not enough? That's more than your father makes in a year."

Something inside Katherine snapped. The fear, the shame, the confusion-it all coalesced into a blinding, white-hot anger. She wasn't a whore. She wasn't a social climber. She was a girl who had made a mistake because she was in love.

She dropped to her knees.

Gus watched her, his lip curling. "Finally showing your true colors? Picking it up?"

Katherine grabbed the check. She stood up, her legs shaking but holding her weight. She looked him dead in the eye.

"You are disgusting," she said. Her voice was quiet, steady.

She tore the check in half. Then in half again.

The pieces fell like confetti between them.

Gus didn't blink. He stared at the torn paper on the floor. For a second, his mask slipped. His eyes widened, and there was a flicker of something that looked like... regret? Pain?

But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that impregnable wall of ice.

He stepped back, smoothing the front of his shirt. He adjusted his cuff, regaining his composure, regaining his control.

"Very noble," he drawled. "I hope that nobility pays your tuition next semester."

He turned on his heel and walked away, down the dark corridor toward the exit.

"Last night wasn't a transaction!" Katherine screamed at his back. "I thought... I thought you cared!"

Gus stopped. He didn't turn around. His shoulders were rigid, the muscles of his back tense under the fine fabric of his shirt.

"Whatever you thought," he said, his voice low and final, "forget it. It never happened."

He pushed the door open. A blade of harsh daylight cut into the corridor, blinding Katherine for a moment. Then the door slammed shut.

Katherine slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, burying her face in her knees. Her hand found a piece of the torn check on the carpet. She clutched it until the sharp edge of the paper cut into her palm.