“Not so fast, sweet thing. If Triver is expecting you, then I’m going to deliver,” he insists, as he drags me inside.
My survival instincts kick in, and I thrash and scream for help, but it does nothing as they drag me deeper into the building. We come to an elevator, and I try to grab on to the side, hoping to keep them from locking me in there with them, but they're stronger than me. One holds my arms while another holds my legs to keep me from kicking him.
They say nothing and act as if this is no big deal, like it’s something they do every day. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it is.
When the elevator doors open, we enter the club. No wonder it looked abandoned from the street, it’s all underground.
The place is packed with people, mostly men. I see some women dressed in skimpy, yet somewhat tasteful clothing.
I yell for help, but no one looks our way. I know they can hear me; my screams are loud. I start thrashing and kicking again, trying to get out of their hold.
“Stop moving!” an unfamiliar voice says, and I come face-to-face with a black-haired man. He then raises his arm to punch me in the face, but someone grabs it, stopping him.
“Do not touch her!” a voice hisses. Triver steps around the man and drops his arm, but I know he’s not here to save me.
“This one is gonna make me a pretty penny, and if she can dance, she’s gonna be a gold mine. If you damage her face or body, then I will lose money while waiting for her to heal,” he snaps at the black-haired man.
“Sorry, Boss, but she won’t stop fighting,” the black-haired guy replies.
“Then give her this,” Triver says, holding out a needle.
I panic even more, knowing that whatever is in that syringe isn’t good. “No, please!” I beg, feeling small and helpless. I never begged before, but I need to survive. Unfortunately, I don’t think Harlow will be making it out of this one.
“Hush now, My Little Hummingbird, so beautiful, so delicate. Such a rare sight to see. I’m gonna have fun with you, dear girl,” he says in a sickeningly soft voice, as he jabs me with the needle and empties the contents into my arm.
I start to lose consciousness fast. “Fuck you!” I manage to slur out.
He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I intend to, sweet one, I intend to.”
Then everything goes black.
MY HEAD FEELS LIKEsomeone took a jackhammer to it while doing an Irish jig.Where the fuck am I?
I try to sit up and open my eyes, but the dizziness is too much, and I fall back onto the bed.
“Wow, take it easy,” a sweet, feminine voice says. “You're gonna feel pretty out of it for a while, maybe even sick. What they gave you is some powerful shit,” she says. Hearing that word coming from her mouth with that voice sounds so wrong.
I pry my eyes open and try to focus on the person who's speaking. Sitting on the end of the bed is a beautiful, dainty, delicate looking young girl. She looks to be about my age. Her long ginger hair hangs down over her shoulders. Thousands of freckles paint her creamy pale skin. Her emerald-green eyes are filled with sadness and pity.
“Here, drink this, it will help,” she says, holding out a bottle of water. She sees my hesitation and giggles. “Don't worry, it’s sealed.” I take the bottle from her and check for myself before opening it and taking a sip.
“Thanks,” I say, swallowing the piss warm water gratefully. “Where am I?” I ask, looking around the room. It looks like I'm in a prison cell. No, wait, I am! There’s even a toilet in the corner, and it appears that I’m lying on the bottom bed of a bunk bed.
“Well, you are in a cell with me,” she smiles sadly. “Deep in the basement of the Diamond Night Club.”
My stomach turns, and I feel like I'm gonna be sick, and not from what they drugged me with. I refuse to give up, but who am I kidding, I’m not going anywhere.
“What do they want with me?” I ask, swallowing the bile trapped in my throat.
She grimaces. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” she asks.
I give her a funny look. “Is there even good news in a situation like this?”
She nods her head. “Good point. You are now the property of Triver Berk. You will be sold at auction to some rich creep who will probably rape and beat you, and once he has no more use for you, he will kill and replace you.”
My face pales and I have to swallow down another mouthful of vomit.
“Or, if you can dance, they will keep you here. They will make you dance for the richest and cruelest men in the country. Those men will pay to watch you and take you into a private room where they will fuck you. You won't have a choice, but at least you won't be beaten. Bruised women are ugly women, and they won't make any money off that,” she says, shifting on the bed so that she's facing me better.