Chapter 9
I looked around, taking in the familiar faces. I raised an inquisitive brow at Bombshell. Her face had gone pale against her blonde hair, making her look almost ghostly.
"All of you," Ethan sneered, "your names haven't been called. You're all washed-up and no good for business." His tone was harsh and unyielding, revealing him to be the kind of person who would shove his opinions in your face without a care for the consequences.
His gangly fingers pointed us out in the corner. "What are you waiting for? Get the hell out!"
"No!" I shouted, my voice booming despite its smallness. This job might be terrible, but I was willing to fight for it and for the other helpless girls here. The expressions on their faces told me that this was their only option, just as it was mine.
His eyes scanned the crowd, and his fangs glinted menacingly. "Which one of you bitches said that?"
"I'm no bitch," I declared, stepping forward.
"Then why did you step forward?"
"Because I'm not afraid of you. We deserve to be here."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Well, the bosses..." He hesitated. "I don't want any old dogs around. Old dogs are too set in their ways, and I can't bend bitches like you. You're already giving me a problem. What's your name?"
"Snow Bunny."
"I bet you're one of Cloney's sluts." He nodded as he glanced at the chart.
"Or maybe not. I called your name, little girl.
You little girls always have such big mouths, huh?
" He grabbed my face roughly, causing my hair to tumble into my eyes.
I glared at him with venom, hoping my gaze carried more poison than his fangs.
"Weren't you listening? Are you deaf, bitch? I called your name. You're the only one of the old pussies still here. I guess that's what I'll call you—old pussies."
I pushed his hand away, and he chuckled. "Go on. Be the slut you are."
"I'm not leaving until the other girls get a piece of the cake."
"A piece of the cake, huh?" He let out a booming laugh. "You should try stand-up comedy. Listen up, old pussies: the cake is gone. If you want cake, go to the bakery and get the hell out of my club."
The girls began to walk away, and I grabbed Bombshell's arm. "Don't go."
She smiled gently. "It's alright. We can apply to another club. Who wants to stay at this place anyway?"
"Me," I whispered. I cherished the nights when she was the bartender, pouring drinks and trying to down more liquor than she could handle, her mindless rants filled with laughter and little jokes. I loved her. We had built a little community together.
These new girls had nothing like we did. We were family. We were one.
"Get out." Ethan approached Bombshell and barked the command.
"Don't talk to her like she's some animal."
Bombshell quickly hugged me before rushing out. "Well, old puss—"
"That's not my name, cocksucker!"
His speed knocked me back against the wall.
Despite his ragged appearance, he had an ugly handsomeness about him.
"I can call you whatever I want. Bitch. Slut.
Whore. Old pussy. Old hag. Cum face." Each insult tried to burrow under my skin, but my resolve felt as solid as titanium.
"If you want this job, you better get used to those names. "
He tucked my hair behind my burning ear from our earlier tussle. I wished I had the strength to fight back. He balled his fist against the side of my head. My eyes flared with anger as his breath brushed against my ear, his fist tightening as he leaned in closer.
"You even smell like old pussy."
"Is it because you spent all eternity smelling your mother's?"
He smirked. "Sweet. You've got a mouth on you. I suggest you zip it and be grateful the bosses have you here."
"I don't give a fuck." I pressed my palm against his chest, pushing him back. He stared down at my hand, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Tonight, I want whatever you make."
"Eat my old pussy," I growled. "You're not getting anything from me."
"You either give me all your cut or don't bother coming back tomorrow."
"Don't forget you have two bosses over your shabby little head." My fingers dug into his chest, his gaze still locked on my hand. I wished it could turn into a serpent and strike him dead. "You still work for someone."
"And that someone makes sure I can do whatever the hell I want. And I say I want all tonight."
"And you're not getting a dime."
"You forget that things change, right? I pay you, so your pay goes in my pocket." He gestured to his pocket, and my heart sank. I had forgotten.
"Fine, then I won't work," I challenged, dead serious.
"You better work."
I smirked. "If my money is already there, then just take it."
He grabbed my face again. "Because I want you to earn it.
Walk until those little feet give out, and then come crawling for that money.
Five thousand, to be exact. I want you to go home with a long face and that bag empty.
I want you humans to suffer." His breath brushed against my skin, pooling spit around his thin lips.
A cold shiver raced down my spine. His eyes were a chilling blankness, like fresh-fallen snow, concealing the danger lurking beneath.
"By 3 a.m., I want my money, or I won't work. So, what's it going to be?"
"You'll work, and you won't get a dime."
I managed to free myself from his grip.
"Then I'm not working," I muttered.
"You better!"