"Racheal!" Noah shouted toward the woman standing beside the grimy window. She turned and walked over to the table where he and Osa sat in the dim haze of the strip club. She was tall—six-foot-one—and slender. Her dreadlocks cascaded down to her chest, brushing against her firm breasts.
Noah leaned in. "You think she's hot?"
Osa's mouth watered like a bloodhound. He wanted to rip off her leopard-print dress and bury his face in her softness.
"How much is she?" he asked.
"You've got the money," Noah said with a grin. "She's good at what she does. Two thousand dollars gets you the whole night—at your place."
"Here's your money," Osa said, pulling a wad of bills from his jeans and handing it over. He took Racheal's hand. She followed him out of the door and into the streets of Zo-Zo city that were dimly lit by streetlamps. If money weren't a concern for Racheal, she would let go of Osa's sweaty hands and run away.
—
Merlot stepped away from the typewriter and stretched his legs. He felt a pang of guilt for Rachel. She was being exploited by Noah, who had no moral compass.
Two weeks ago, Alan had warned him, 'Your story's too confusing.' Kill some of your darlings.
So he did. Ethan, James, Dan, Tobias, Tucker—all gone. And more would follow. He had no regrets. Dan had begged for more chapters, but Merlot knew better. If readers wanted blood, then no character was safe.