She told the whore that she'd lost her cherry back home.

Truth was, she didn't remember where. Or when. Or whom.

She knew he'd been quick. And then he was dead.

The whore put her arm around Flora, who thought about turning over in her sleep and biting a hole in the whore's lip.

But Flora liked the feather pillows and perfume scent well enough to let the whore feel her up.

Dyke, she thought.

But Flora liked it.

Would Joanie be dead in the morning, too, like that first john?

Flora thought about her knife while Joanie squeezed her nipples. She thought about the shine and glitter of it when it was wet with blood while Joanie twirled her fingers over Flora's pussy.

Flora was wet and she thought about the way the knife slid through flesh.

Joanie kissed her neck, biting just a little, and Flora thought about Miles. Would he understand if Flora stuck the knife in this whore's neck, if she cut and run right now, tonight?

She could do it. She could slip out that window while the blood still ran, soaking these feather pillows and mixing a metallic tinge into that sweet, expensive perfume.

She could steal a horse, make a run for it. Into the woods and away from this infested hellhole and every other damned thing. Away from the Bella Union, from responsibility, from careful planning and away from Miles.

Miles liked it on his back. He liked it when she sucked his cock.

And Flora liked it when he let her do it all.

The whore's hand was cupped over Flora's pussy. Flora nudged Joanie just a little and moaned. Why not?

Joanie slipped her hand under Flora's undergarments. Two fingers would do it, but Flora liked it rough.

Joanie used a third finger and Flora bit her own lip to keep from crying out.

She liked the way the blade glittered afterward.

Joanie blew out the lamp and held Flora close.

Who do I remind you of, bitch? thought Flora as she gave into sleep. Do I remind you of your little girl?

Do I remind you of you?