House of Pleasure: There Was a House, #1

By Caddy Rowland

There Was a House saga is a gripping story about a very real crime taking place all around us.

Set in the dark, depraved world of sex-trafficking, this epic continuing psychological thriller and drama spans four novel-length books, digging deep to tell the in-depth story of six victims and their hope for revenge and redemption. 

Book One: House of Pleasure

BRUTALITY

Fueled by rage and disgust, Phoenix runs away from home. The situation there had become unbearable. In fact, things couldn’t get any worse.

BETRAYAL

But they do. Trusting a boy who she thought was a new friend, she finds herself taken prisoner by a low-class pimp. Then, when she thinks she's on her way to her first seedy trick, Phoenix winds up locked in a limo with no way out. She wakes up in an illegal brothel in New Orleans.

BACKLASH

Phoenix vows she will find a way to destroy Antoine, the owner of the brothel. Instead of being Antoine’s prostitute, she’ll become his lover, his confidante, and pretty soon, his manager. And then, when he least suspects it, she’ll bring the entire house down.

She better be damn good.

There will only be one chance.

Sometimes all you have is hate. Sometimes that’s enough.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caddy Rowland
• Release date: Mar 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497784475

Caddy Rowland

The drama of humanity. We live, die, love, hate, win and lose in a never-ending variety of ways. Often those ways are heart-wrenching. Other times they are not. Why do people make the choices they do? Why do some abuse power? How do the powerless learn to survive? Why do a few dare to be different, while others conform—and why are so many disturbed by those who don't? These are the questions that have always haunted author Caddy Rowland. Those questions keep her pounding away at her keyboard, creating novels showcasing the sublime joy and bitter tragedy of being human. Caddy has always been a nonconformist. She likes to push the proverbial envelope when it comes to characterization and world building. Heroes have warts; villains have soft spots. Main characters don't always learn their lessons because all too often we don't, either. There isn't always a happy ending, but sometimes there is. Otherwise she'd be predictable. She writes for readers who like to think and feel; who like their stories to be raw, graphic, unpredictable, "real" and sometimes brutal. For readers who like their boundaries challenged; to be shown how rarely life decisions are truly black and white, but instead shades of grey. Think of a carnival midway with books instead of rides. She asks you make sure you're the minimum height if you plan on riding alone. You must also leave prejudices and inhibitions behind the entry gate. If you can’t, Rowland's reads might be a tad much for you. Don't worry. There are plenty of safer reads out there. Just step out of the line and find a more appropriate book for your reading enjoyment. No, Caddy Rowland's novels aren't for everyone. But then again, they just might be for you. Sign up for new book release information by copying and pasting this in your browser: http://eepurl.com/rfjaX

Book preview

There Was a House

Episode 1

House of Pleasure

By Caddy Rowland

Book Description

Fueled by rage and disgust, Phoenix runs away from home. The situation there had become unbearable. In fact, things couldn't get any worse.

But they do. Betrayed in New York by a boy who she thought was a new friend, she finds herself taken prisoner by a low-class pimp. Then, when she thinks she's on her way to her first seedy trick, Phoenix winds up locked in a limo with no way out. She wakes up in an illegal brothel in New Orleans.

Phoenix vows she will find a way to destroy Antoine, the owner of the brothel. Instead of being Antoine’s prostitute, she’ll become his lover, his confidante, and pretty soon, his manager. And then, when he least suspects it, she’ll bring the entire house down.

She better be damn good.

There will only be one chance.

Episode 1 of There Was a House saga, a continuing story of revenge and redemption.

To all the girls out there who ran because they felt it was their only option.

Author’s Note

According to the FBI, hundreds of thousands of children are at risk for being trafficked or exploited for sex. Many people think only poor, hungry immigrants—desperate for a home or food— are forced into prostitution. The facts tell a different story. Of the sex trafficking cases confirmed during the period of January 2008 through June 2010, about eighty-three percent of victims were American citizens. Additionally, 40 percent were children. Most were female, and the average age of these girls was twelve to fourteen years old.

The bottom line is this: child sex slave trafficking is alive and well in the United States of America. It isn’t just a problem of other countries. Additionally, the children who end up in this lifestyle in the United States are seen as whores instead of victims.

I realize the story I am telling has little chance of coming true for any of the real victims of these crimes. Regardless, the fact that underage girls are for sale in my country angers me, making me wish the victims could have a mighty form of revenge. With this in mind, I created There Was a House, where at least in fiction, somebody pays for their sins.

I in no way take the pain and abuse countless girls have suffered after being trafficked lightly. No one really ends up at a Rêve nor would they find the owner of such a house as easy to manipulate or as lax as my character Antoine Chevalier.

Regardless, fiction gives us a chance to hope. My hope is for our country to start acting much more aggressively toward traffickers. Until then, we have to open our eyes and realize this is happening here, every day. The girl may not end up in a limo on the way to New Orleans, but somewhere out there, maybe right now, a young girl is being taken. She won’t become a prostitute because she enjoys it, is stupid, or has no morals. She will become a prostitute because she has no choice. Many are runaways, who saw running as their only option. Unfortunately, they end up simply trading one form of hell for another.

Once we all wake up and realize the value of these girls, things will change. Until then, I dream. Until then, I pretend by writing this saga. Until then, the vast majority of the time these girls only revenge will be—unfortunately— fiction.

House of Pleasure is the first book in this saga. That is how the johns see a house of prostitution. In reality it is anything but. Step inside of this world with me for awhile. Take a good look. The pleasure these men find comes with a very high price: the pain and torment the girls endure both while being forced into working as a prostitute and prior to becoming one.

-Caddy Rowland (October 2013)

Prologue

New Orleans, LA 2003

––––––––

Never trust a whore. They’ll trick you, sweet talk you, and make you feel like a king—only to rob you blind.

Phoenix stiffened, but kept her face carefully composed. Gary Kaufman, a well known defense attorney, was offering his sage advice to the much younger man walking next to him. The young one looked regretfully similar to Gary—hooked nose, acne scars, and all. Obviously it was his son. What a wonderful way to bond, taking your son to a whorehouse, thought Phoenix sarcastically. But of course, like father, like son, right?

Kaufman blathered on, Right when you’re at your most relaxed, your most vulnerable, a whore will find a way to stick the knife in deep and take you for all you’re worth. They can’t help it, really. They’re born that way.

His son brayed a high pitched laugh. Good Lord, Kaufman must have bred with a donkey. The snarky thought made her eyes sparkle, bringing a smile to her lips.

Good evening, Phoenix, Gary grinned at her, circling his son with his arm.

Mr. Kaufman! What a delight to see you here tonight. And who is this handsome young man?

This is my son, Harold. Gary pushed the red-faced young man toward Phoenix. Harold, say hello.

Harold’s face grew even more scarlet. H-hello.

Phoenix offered her hand. She managed not to flinch when his sweaty hand soaked hers. Hello, Harold. Welcome to Rêve. It’s a real pleasure having two Kaufman men present tonight. Are you here to give your father a few gambling tips? You look like the type of man who would be deadly at the card tables. The lies flowed easily from her lips. After all, they had been uttered many times over the past couple of years.

Harold brayed another donkey call. Me? Um, no. My father says I have no card savvy. He hopes to teach me some skill at the tables tonight.

Phoenix squeezed the young man’s shoulder. Well, you just be careful, Harold. Don’t sit down at those tables until your cagey father is sure you know what you’re doing. I don’t want your first experience at Rêve to be an unpleasant one.

Gary winked at Phoenix. I doubt it will be anything close to unpleasant. I’ve booked Angel for him tonight. It’s his twenty-first birthday.

Phoenix nodded. Oh, I bet Angel can hardly wait to service this dope. Hopefully he wouldn’t start braying when he came. Well, what a treat—for both of them! Let me see if Angel is ready for you, sweetie.

Harold wiped his palms on his pants, once again turning red. I...um...I’ve never—

Phoenix put her arm around him, winking at Gary. I understand. Don’t be nervous. From what I hear, good sex runs in the genes. The girls tell me few satisfy them like your father. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Angel will put you right at ease. Once you’re relaxed, inherited natural talent will kick in.

As they walked the old wooden floors squeaked, reminding Phoenix of bed springs and what the girls had to endure behind those closed doors. It didn’t matter how luxurious the sheets were or how much money men paid to be here. Underneath it all, she was sure the girls could smell the cloying stink of abuse and perversion, just like she could.

Depositing Harold at Angels door, Phoenix turned, running smack into the attorney.

Oops! He giggled obscenely. Didn’t mean to follow quite so close.

His smarmy smile made her skin crawl. When his hand reached out and smoothed her upswept hair, she almost shuddered. Catching herself just in time, she stepped back.

No problem, Mr. Kaufman. I’m sure you’re anxious about your son. She gave him another wink. Don’t worry. He’s in good hands.

Oh, I know, he drawled, refusing to give Phoenix leeway to escape back into the casino. I’ve had her often enough myself. I have to confess, though, it’s you I’m most intrigued by.

In your fucking dreams, jack-ass.

Phoenix widened her eyes. You flatter me!

I’d like to do more than flatter you, he whispered. If you know what I mean.

She gave him a coquettish smile. I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Kaufman. Unfortunately, although I can only imagine how much pleasure you would bring me, it can’t happen. As the manager here, I’m not allowed to ‘fraternize’ intimately with customers, regardless of how tempting men like you might be.

Surely Antoine can make an exception. After all, a woman has needs. He traced her jaw line with a pudgy finger. Do you mind if I ask if we could set something up for next week?

I’d sooner stick a knife in my gut and eviscerate myself.

Mind? Of course not. Unfortunately, I doubt you’ll get very far.

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. Oh, don’t be so sure. I have a thing or two I hold over ol’ Antoine. I just might call in the favor. You’d be worth it.

Fabulous. I look forward to hearing the decision. She reached out and smoothed his suit coat. You do cut a fine figure in your designer suits. Makes me wonder what’s underneath.

He moved to kiss her, but she turned her face. Now, now. As I said, until Antoine says otherwise, our interlude will have to wait—painful as it may be for both of us. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to get back to work. I can’t chance any customers needing assistance and finding none.

You’re a tease, Phoenix, which will make the interlude all the more satisfying, he promised as she passed.

Yes, indeed, she called over her shoulder.

Phoenix wondered how many times she had skillfully dissuaded randy men, built up sagging egos, and listened to customer’s braggart stories of glory in boardrooms and bedrooms. Too many, she knew. Just like those words Kaufman had uttered before introducing his son to her. Why did men think whores couldn’t be trusted?

She had heard different versions of those words so many times over the last couple of years she was almost starting to believe it herself. Never mind the same people who quietly murmured this advice through the side of their mouth, while sporting superior looking faces, were usually either getting ready to get laid by a whore or had just finished their clumsy rutting.

Those same men also believed the woman whose mouth or other orifice they paid money to plunge themselves into found their artless screwing stimulating; the woman was a whore because she enjoyed it. Oh, some of them were smart enough to realize the women who opened their bodies for money were jaded and didn’t like it much – but those same men believed themselves to be the exception; the woman may not find most johns pleasurable, but how could she not find him so?

Phoenix snorted. As far as she was concerned there wasn’t a cliché on earth that had earned its standing more than the cliché "men are pigs." At least, most of them were. There must be some who were honorable and loving, some who knew how to pleasure a woman and cared to take the time. So far in her young life she had never met any. Then again men who actually cared about women wouldn’t be frequenting a whorehouse.

Nodding at another customer who had just entered the foyer, Phoenix called, Good evening, Mr. Clemmons. Good to see you again! She glided up to him and patted his arm, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Mr. Clemmons was harmless enough. He never whored, only belonging to Rêve for the prestige of membership. He came to eat, drink, and—once in a great while—try his luck at baccarat. She and Antoine were always grateful when he did so. Phoenix wondered if there was another man on earth as unlucky at gambling as Mr. Clemmons.

Phoenix moved to the dining room, but not before seeing the homely face of Tash’s john as he walked by. She wondered, as she had so often in the past, how men could not only be stupid enough to believe they were found desirable by someone they had just paid to play-act, but also how they could stand living with themselves knowing they had just used someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, like a garbage receptacle. And that really was how a whore was used. She was simply a hole to shoot their wad in and feel like a stud for a few minutes, and then be on their way.

Afterward, they may stay to drink, talk, and perhaps gamble, but eventually they went home to wives and children. Many of them had daughters of their own, daughters old enough to work as whores themselves. If fate suddenly turned unlucky, and circumstances caused those daughters to end up as pawns in the power game of flesh for hire, Phoenix often wondered if their fathers would still continue to frequent houses of ill-repute.

She shook her head slightly to clear it. It was a busy night; she needed to keep her mind on the house. It was becoming more difficult to do with every passing day. As the night of reckoning neared she had to consciously keep reminding herself to relax her muscles, keep the nervousness from showing on her face. It was imperative for none of the customers to notice anything which would tip them off. She and the others had worked too hard, for too long, to blow it now.

She smiled at Senator Billwart and gave him a knowing wink. He returned the smile and then went back to boring the whore sitting next to him into a stupor, by endlessly talking about his power plays in Washington. Phoenix wondered how he would like it if he knew those days would soon be ending, only to be replaced by endless days of humiliation and shame.

It had taken several years, but finally—finally—she was going to see her vow to herself come true. Three years to be exact. Three years of plotting, planning, acting, and waiting. The day she had been sold to Antoine Chevalier she had made a silent promise to herself. Antoine would rue the day he had bought her from that two bit pimp in New York City in order to make her a star attraction in his New Orleans brothel.

Oh, yes, "there is a house in New Orleans," but the only thing that rose there were the dicks of the men who could afford to pay the price—and were high enough in the food chain of humanity to be invited to the secret club which was only a secret to those not rich or powerful enough to come by the information.

Phoenix smiled. Soon those words would be right, except they would be past tense. This house had provided so much pleasure for many, at the cost of immense pain to those forced to whore there. It would soon change from a brothel that is to one that was. She had deceived Antoine Chevalier every day since her arrival, planning the downfall of both him and his infamous house.

She had decided three years ago she was going to win the trust and love of Mister Chevalier. And then she was going to take him down. At the time she didn’t know how or when, but she knew she was going to do it. She had looks and time on her side. She also had hatred. Hatred would trump the best laid plans of any man.

Oh yes, she had vowed as she cowered under his ruthless stare that day, I am going to take you down. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you had never stepped inside of a whorehouse, let alone ran one.

Coming back to the present, Phoenix walked to the back room, where the security cameras for the casino were housed. There she could let herself fully think back for awhile without other eyes possibly noticing she was barely holding down her excitement. It was hard to believe the night had finally arrived.

Your stomach as tense as mine is? inquired Jamie, his aquamarine eyes searching her face for assurance.

Phoenix hugged him quickly. It sure is. We’re so close, Jame, so very close to seeing all of our plans become reality. Now that the end is finally here, I’m scared to death something will go wrong. So many things could.

She was the only one he allowed to call him Jame. The shortened version of Jamie seemed too personal, too intimate, to let anyone else in so close.

He looked at her worriedly. I know. I keep going over every detail in my mind; sure I’ve overlooked some small thing which will make it all come crashing down. If it goes wrong, Tink, we’ll both end up whored out to some slummer or dead.

You haven’t overlooked anything. You’re the most detail-oriented person I know besides myself. She took a long, steadying breath. Let’s just sit together and try to keep each other from throwing up. We both know everything is going as it should. There’s no reason to panic.

She reached over and began to massage Jamie’s neck. His delicate bone structure was a close match to hers. Even though they had different hair and eye color, people could easily mistake them for brother and sister. In a very real way they were. Maybe they weren’t related by blood, but the bond between two people both taken into captivity to be used as whores was stronger than any blood tie could ever be, especially when they had both been underage. They had both sworn long ago nothing would separate them except death.

I love you, Jame.

He turned to her then and gifted her with one of his all too rare pixie grins. He didn’t smile often, but when he did it seemed he was closer to twelve than sixteen. And I do you. Hell, if I weren’t gay, I’d marry you just as soon as this is all over, regardless of my age. He turned serious. Actually, I don’t think I’m either gay or straight anymore. I feel like if I ever attempt to do anything sexual again I’ll run screaming out of the room. I wonder if those feelings will ever go away.

Phoenix smiled sadly. I don’t know, sweetie. I wish I could offer you hope, but I find myself in the same frame of mind. I know I’ll never want another man to touch me again.

Jamie nodded, helping himself to a cup of java. In went three heaping spoons of sugar, which always made Phoenix want to gag. If Jamie didn’t end up with diabetes from all the sugar he put in his coffee it would be a miracle, she thought.

Pouring herself a cup, she stirred in some cream. Jamie winked at her. He always teased her, pointing out she would get a fat ass from so much cream. So far it hadn’t seemed to affect her hips, quite likely due to the stress she lived under.

As she sat down, she gave the casino another once over by view of the security cameras. She noticed Jamie was doing the same. Satisfied everything was in order, Jamie opened a book, pretending to read. She leaned back and allowed herself to once again remember exactly how it all began.

Road to Despair

New York City (March 18, 2000)

I

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With shaking hands, Phoenix Brennan tried to adjust her ridiculously short skirt to cover more of her thighs. The attempt was futile, as had been the other several dozen attempts. It was still chilly in New York; she was going to freeze her ass off if she had to wait for her john long.

Gazing in the mirror, she was surprised to see she still looked like the same sixteen-year-old who only a week ago had a home and hot meals to look forward to. No hardened face. No dark circles under the eyes or lines etched around her mouth. She knew it wouldn’t take long, though, and she would have the worn, knowing look which all cheap whores wore by necessity. How could it take long, when you were subjected to the vilest acts humanity could possibly think of?

Phoenix fought the tears threatening to erupt. This would be the last time she could look in the mirror and not call herself a whore. Oh, the long, wavy auburn hair would still be there, the same large green eyes would peer back at her, the tall, svelte figure with the long legs and somewhat large breasts would still be there. It would just be different because starting tonight all of those things would simply become commodities.

It wouldn’t take too many years before those commodities began to be worth less and less, until she would practically have to give it away in hope of earning enough money to barely eat. For now, though, she should be able to make enough to satisfy her pecker-face of a pimp, Stan, and still have a decent enough share to hole up in a clean room with a television and heat. If he gave her the share he had promised. Seeing the shape of some of his other girls, a beating was more likely than a fair share.

Phoenix had met a boy named Randy shortly after arriving in New York City. He had seemed friendly enough, and it was nice to have someone to meet for dinner in the cheap, dirty diner every night. As she rapidly ran out of money, Randy was also gracious enough to buy her a meal. Then he invited her to a party, telling her it was at friend’s house, who happened to be looking for a roommate. He also mentioned the woman would be very flexible in regard to Phoenix not paying rent until a job had been secured.

Phoenix couldn’t believe how lucky she had been to meet Randy. She had heard horror stories about how cold and unfriendly people in New York City were, and how men took advantage of young girls who were foolish enough to arrive alone in the city. Randy had been just the opposite. Never over the top in his speech or actions,