I grab the mop from my cart and charge him. The guy doesn’t see me coming. He’s wearing his boxers, white and blue stripes, and these disgusting brown socks. He’s hairy, but he’s not very big—maybe a couple inches taller than me. But he’s huge compared to tiny little Mira. His shoulders are covered in curly black hairs and he’s grunting with each punch.
I hit him as hard as I can with the mop handle. He staggers and turns as I slam the end of it into his face. I feel his mouth flop open and something crunches as his head snaps back and slams into the wall.
Mira crawls away. She’s bleeding from her face. I hit the guy again, but he catches the handle and won’t let it go. “You little cunt,” he growls, yanking me toward him.
I don’t let the mop go. If I do, he’ll have me. I wrench and fight him, buying time, and I start to scream. I scream my head off, wailing like a dying banshee, and nearly trip over a bunch of discarded beer bottles. I smell the alcohol on the guy’s breath, and curse inwardly. They’re not supposed to be allowed to have alcohol in the rooms. That’s Zarita’s job. She’s supposed to make sure the clients follow the rules.
The guy flings me around and I bash into the wall. I gasp, and he lets the handle go. I stumble backwards and fall, hitting the back of my head on the nightstand. He glares down at me, his thick chest rising and falling.
“You stupid bitch,” he says, slurring now. His mouth is crooked and filled with blood, and he kicks me weakly in the side. I wave the mop at him, but it’s useless.
Two people storm into the room. Ben and Renato, The Velvet Rope’s bouncers. Ben hits the client first, a stocky guy with thick fists and a wicked streak. He throws the client to the floor as Renato starts kicking him savagely. Renato is taller, wiry, but the more dangerous of the two, with a horrible temper.
They drag the cursing client away and I crawl over to Mira. She’s cowering next to the dresser, her hands over her head. “It’s okay, baby girl, it’s okay,” I say, grabbing her and pulling her against me. “You’re okay now.”
“Fucking asshole,” she whispers, tears running down her cheeks, mingling with the blood. “He was drunk. Fucking asshole was drunk, and when I wouldn’t let him shove a bottle up my cooch, he got pissed.”
“Oh, god, Mira.”
“Nobody pays me enough for that, okay? Fuck doing that. God damn it, that asshole.” She sobs against my chest and I hold her tight as Ben and Renato beat the hell out of the client and drag him into the parking lot.
Ora and Lan come in and take over. They coax Mira down and into the back as I stand up on shaky legs. Zarita appears, frowning into the room, her head held high. She wears dark jeans and a black t-shirt, with her hair in a tight bun.
“You’d better clean this up, Siena,” she says, staring down her nose at me.
I glare back. I pick up one of the beer bottles and brandish it at her. “Did you know he brought this in? Huh, did you?”
She sneers at me. “Not my problem.”
“You’re supposed to keep the girls safe. No drunks. No drugs or alcohol. You know the rules.” This is supposed to be the upscale whorehouse. The girls are supposed to be protected.
She steps closer, head tilted to the side. “And what are you going to do about it, Siena? Do you think your daddy protects you? He’d be glad if I gave you a few scars and taught you to keep your mouth shut.” She grabs the bottle from my hand and tosses it over her shoulder. It shatters on the concrete outside. “Clean that up too. We wouldn’t want another accident.”
She turns and leaves. I watch her go before I slump down onto the bed.
Did she do this on purpose? She knows I’m close with Mira. Would she send a dangerous client to my friend just to hurt me?
I put my face in my hands and sobs tear themselves from my chest. I indulge in some crying for a minute or two, but I know I don’t have long. Zarita will expect this place straightened up and cleaned, even if I feel like I just got pummeled half to death, and that glass needs to get picked up before someone steps in it.
But fuck, I feel so broken and betrayed. Mira didn’t deserve that. None of these girls do. And I don’t know how to help them, much less how to help myself.
I suck back the tears and calm myself with deep breath. I stand up slowly, wincing a little at the pounding headache tearing through my skull, and I get back to work.