Zarita’s sitting behind the desk. She’s alone, and she smiles when I enter. That’s my first indication that something terrible is about to happen, and I consider running. Maybe I can escape, but there’s nowhere for me to go. My father will hunt me down and kill me if I try anything.
I lower my head and try to look subservient. “Ben said you wanted to speak with me,” I say, my heart racing wildly.
“Come with me.” Zarita stands and walks into the back room.
I hesitate, but I follow. I’ve never been back there before. It’s the manager’s office and Zarita’s little haven from the madness. There’s a big desk against the far wall and shelves packed with files, folders, papers, and books. A filing cabinet is overflowing, and a big, dying potted cactus sits on top like a squat, rotting corpse. A small TV screen is perched on the corner of the desk showing a night scene.
I freeze, staring. I feel my throat tightening.
That’s a shot of the stairwell.
That’s a security camera.
Zarita smiles at me. “Close the door,” she says.
“Zarita,” I say, “hold on a second.”
“Close the door.” She hits play.
I can’t watch. I turn away and pull the door shut. When I look back, Maxim’s there, standing and staring at the steps, and then I appear. I can’t hear what we’re saying—I guess the camera doesn’t do sound—but then he’s kissing me, and suddenly we’re off screen, thank god for that. The shot’s empty for a little while, until I come back into view, adjusting my clothes.
My body drains of blood. I feel like I might fall through the floor and die right then and there. Why didn’t I think about security cameras? It’s a whorehouse, for fuck’s sake. Of course there are security cameras all over the place. The Velvet Rope is constantly under threat of violence, theft, and police raid, and my father isn’t stupid enough to leave the place undefended.
Zarita lets the video run as she crosses her legs and smiles at me.
The silence stretches. I say nothing. What can I say? I broke my father’s rules, and now I’m going to pay the price. I’m going to get sent to some backwater hellhole and my misery will only get so much worse. I’ll never see Maxim again because he’ll never find me—I’ll simply disappear into the city’s seedy underbelly.
“Now we understand each other,” Zarita says, still smiling. “I know your secret, which means you’ll do whatever I tell you to do.”
“Zarita,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I most certainly do.” She laughs as if she’s having fun. She probably is, the awful psychopath. “I own you now, unless you want me to show your father that video. I’d happily do it, and your father will make your life a living hell. But before you choose that route, consider this. Once you’re gone, who will protect your precious friend Mira? Or quiet little Lan? Or big, stupid Ora?” She grins, showing teeth like a victorious cat.
Tears roll down my cheeks. I hate myself for them, but I can’t help it. She wins, she got me. She knows that the only thing motivating me anymore is my love for my friends. I’ve only known the girls for a short time but I care about them and want to help them. I’m stupid, I’ve always been stupid, but I can’t help it.
My weakness got me into this mess to start. I betrayed my family by helping a girl just like Mira run away.
Now my weakness will drive me deeper into this pit.
“What do you want?” I ask through my crying. Fuck, I hate the way she seems to revel in it, like she enjoys my misery.
“You will work for me,” she says. “On your off hours, you’ll see clients. You’ll fuck them like all the other girls do, but you will tell no one, not Mira, not your father. You will give me the money, and if you make it easy, I’ll let you keep some. We’ll go into business together. You’ll spread those pretty legs and take as much cock as I can feed into you, or else I’ll make sure Mira dies a very painful, very humiliating death, and you’ll end up in some worse hell. Do you understand me now, Siena? I own you, and you work for me.”
I hug myself tightly, tears falling faster. I sob, and my mind flashes to Maxim, his strong arms, the way he makes me feel. I hate him for coming back, especially after I told him stay away. If he listened, none of this would be happening.
But he didn’t listen, and I’m too weak. I went to him, I kissed him, and now I will pay.
The irony isn’t lost on me. He came back to make sure I wasn’t actually a prostitute—and by doing that, he’s damning me to that life.