3. Evelyn
It was a Wednesday night, and it had been two weeks since I had seen those silver eyes. I was rushing to work, chilled from the spring air and my lack of a jacket. I needed to buy one, but even those at the thrift store were out of my budget.
I wrapped my arms around myself tighter, glad to see the gold lights of the Gilt and Gloam’s marquee when the hair on the nape of my neck prickled and my body went stiff in warning.
An angry male’s shout echoed in the alleyway between me and the club. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, bitch!”
Eyes wide, knuckles white, I didn’t dare breathe.
“I know more than you think I do, Ty. You should watch your tone if you want me on your side.” I recognized Fiona’s voice, but it trembled, lacking its usual confidence. My body screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t, and instead it glided toward them.
I wasn’t like what a girl was supposed to be. Too hard-headed and stubborn, always sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. You are just a female. My mother’s derision echoed in my skull. Let the men handle their women as they need to.
The two of them were bathed in shadow, but Fiona heard my heels, and she spun towards me. Her hand angrily swiped tears away, and they steamed in the cold air.
The man she called Ty was unfamiliar, too broad and stocky to be the one I’d seen the other night. His chuckle was vicious, cutting through my tattered bravery. “Isn’t it a bit late for you to be out on a school night, sweetie? Run home to daddy and let the adults talk.”
I stared at Fiona. I couldn’t leave her alone with him.
“Are you okay?” I heard myself ask.
He was a foot and a half taller than me, broad as a door, and I couldn’t take him in a fight. But all I knew was that she wasn’t safe, and I had to do something.
“We’ll talk later,” Fiona hissed at him, pushing past me on her way back into the club. Ty sauntered in my direction, but I didn’t stick around. My body moved on autopilot, bringing me into the warmth of the bar, where I found her in the dressing room.
She was a stranger, but there was a thread that bound us together. Fear, vulnerability, helplessness. It was an instinct to huddle with her, comfort her, offer solace.
When I reached out to touch her shoulder, she jerked away. Her face was puffy and filled with fury, and I shrank under the weight of it. My fingers absently found my grandmother’s crystal in my purse, and I squeezed it for comfort.
Then my palm reached out, and in it sat the cloudy crystal, as if my hand were an altar displaying it.
“This always gives me good luck. Protects me from harm,” I blurted out, offering her my most prized possession without thought. It was one of the few things I owned, a memento from the only person who ever loved me, but she needed it tonight.
“Mind your own business, new girl,” she snarled.
I gasped at the malice in her tone, struggled to make her understand that I wanted to help her. “It’s a chalcedony crystal, one of God’s chosen stones!”
“Great. You’re a Jesus freak too.” Fiona rolled her eyes, and I reclaimed my offering, squeezing it harder so I wouldn’t cry. “You know what those guys are here for, right?”
Fiona stood, towering over me in her heels. She was tall, thin, with large, fake breasts that pushed towards my face. I backed up, almost tripping on the stairs behind me. She bared her teeth, as feral as the men had.
She would devour me just as easily.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Roxy arriving at work. She wore a smile that was as radiant as her hair and lifted her hands in the air like a celebration when she spotted me, then stopped short. She looked between Fiona and me, her perfectly shaped brows unmoving despite her frown.
“What’s going on, Fiona?”
“Your little friend is a nosy bitch, that’s what’s going on.”
Roxy snorted, and Fiona’s indignation burned on her cheeks, her lips twisted into a sneer. “You’re a fucking cunt, you know that, Roxy?”
“And proud of it, babe,” Roxy laughed, and Fiona stormed off, leaving us alone in the dressing room.
I was still shaken up, and Roxy rubbed my shoulders.
“You okay?”
“I… I don’t know. I saw her fighting with a man in the alley, and I wanted to help.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Roxy said with an exaggerated pout. “How are you this pure? You make me worry about you.”
I was worried about me, too. My instinct was to help Fiona, and I was lucky all that got hurt were my feelings. The adrenaline waned, and I clutched the crystal in my hand. Maybe I could turn it into a necklace and keep it close to my skin to ward off this bad luck.
“I’ll be okay. I just want to focus on getting ready for work now. Do you have a brush I could borrow? The drizzle is giving me frizz.”
Roxy pulled a brush out of her purse, turning me around and starting to brush my hair for me. I relaxed into it, pulled into one of the few soft memories of my past. Of the other girls brushing my hair.
“I can’t believe this is your natural colour. It’s, like, the perfect shade of blonde. Almost gold in the right light. Gorgeous. Isn’t it heavy, though? If my hair was down to my knees, I’d have headaches constantly.”
“It’s not so bad. I’m used to it now. We never cut our hair back home.”
In the mirror I saw Roxy tilt her head like she always did when I said something confusing. I was glad that she did me the favour of ignoring my oddities, unlike the customers.
“You’re so cute. I wish I had your nose. Mine was like that until I got it fixed. Funny how much I hated it at the time.”
I didn’t think my nose was anything special, but Roxy was gorgeous in that almost inhuman way. Since I started at the club, she took me under her wing. She was everything I wasn’t, and I hoped her charm and easy charisma would rub off on me.
“I love the red on you,” I said.
She ran her hands down her cherry red dress. It was short, hardly covering her behind, and had a cut-out to show off her flat stomach. Her cleavage was the prime show, and she wore a gold necklace that was the ideal length to draw attention to it.
“Thanks. I bet red would look great on you too.”
Red was forbidden for the Children of Aer. It was the colour of the flames that surely awaited a heathen like Roxy.
Like me.
“Do you think he’ll be back tonight?” I managed, and she knew who I was talking about.
“You’re still thinking about that? Well, fuck Jimmy. They all call him the Crab, you know, because of the red hair? But I think it’s also ‘cause he’s crabby. You obviously don’t look like a boy.” She stared at me with maternal affection, easing my insecurities.
“Your tits are natural, and you’re not a pornstar. So what if you’re not the VIP’s taste? Your hips are fucking gorgeous, and your face? Girls would pay a fortune to get your face. Girl-next-door aesthetic.”
“Roxy…”
“I know, Belle.”
When Mr. Cabot hired me, he insisted I select a fake name. It was still strange hearing other people call me Belle, but we had to keep our real names secret. If a client overheard, they could use that information to find out the personal details. There was an ever-present threat lingering over us.
But I also knew that the VIPs went beyond that. Beyond stalking, harassment, and assault. There was something larger about their power, something institutional and codified. Instead of the heat of passion, they were cold, calculated.
It was familiar to how things were on Mount Aer, driven by something beyond mortal desires.
That made it dangerous.
Her arms wrapped around me, drawing me into a hug, and I sobbed. She rubbed my back, cooing at me, comforting me.
“Stick to the regular customers. It’s not as much cash, but you can get by on it,” Roxy said.
“They don’t like me much either. I’m always saying weird things, asking them strange questions.”
Roxy sighed and nodded, and I was embarrassed that she had noticed.
“You’re stubborn, coming back night after night. A survivor. You can do this. You have to figure out your own hustle. Find the guys that aren’t fucking idiots and can see what a gem you are.”
I swiped the last of my tears away. “My mother used to call me bull-headed.”
“Nothing wrong with a girl having dreams. I have big ones! I want to own my own place. Roxy’s Red Room,” she said, gesturing as if drawing the marquee with her hands.
“I’ve been saving up for it, investing, and Gorky’s been helping me.
He’s surprisingly good with money. Got me 10% returns last month! ”
I frowned, and she seemed to remember what he’d said about me.
“Sorry. He’s a pig. I needed some help, and he offered.”
I squeezed my protection crystal, rubbing my thumb over it as I tried to calm my nerves. My anxiety dimmed around the edges.
“There you go, sweetheart. Come on. Let’s get you a prosecco and we’ll hustle together.”
Friday arrived with a slam of the door and the crackles of a coming storm. An electricity clung to the men. Laughter boomed like thunder around us.
My guts twisted.
I never wanted to see any of the VIPs again.
If the floor opened up and swallowed me, I’d welcome the descent into hell.
There was something different tonight, an almost imperceptible shift in the energy.
I didn’t know what it meant, and my anxiety spiked.
Red hair peaked from behind the group, and I flinched away, only for my gaze to land on a much more terrifying sight.
Mr. Bodrov’s arm was slung awkwardly over the shoulder of a much taller man I’d seen once before. The group fanned out around him.
He was the reason things were different.
Everyone was in a great mood because of him.
Everyone except me.
He was taller than I thought he’d be when I first saw him lying on the ground underneath the car. Stylish clothing gave him more bulk than the slim turtleneck he’d been wearing.
His lashes were dark, framing those piercing eyes… I could never forget them.
His thick brows were perfectly shaped into a precise angle, and he had a patrician nose, the edges smooth.
His long, black hair was healthy, shining, ending just above the collar of his heavy coat.
His cheekbones were sharp, his cheeks concave.
His features came together to form something otherworldly, more akin to a model than a man.
There was one exit out of the bar, and to flee, I would have to go right past him. Then he’d know I recognized him.
Could I convince him I didn’t? That I was an innocent, awkward woman that no one paid any positive attention to? I embraced my role as a lonely outcast. I prayed my face was placid, even if my palms were sweating.
What would he do if he thought I suspected him?
Kill me.
That’s what guys placing car bombs did.
“First pick, Laszlo, my boy!”
Laszlo. I’d never heard that name before, and it suited his unique aesthetic perfectly.
But him being told to pick first was a deviation in the order of things. Mr. Bodrov always picked first.
The hierarchy was disturbed, and my fear grew to a klaxon siren. The others fell back as he walked down the line.
A dozen women were dismissed in his wake with little more than a glance.
Further down the line was whispered chatter.
“You gotta pick someone, baby,” Fiona purred, her voice sultry and smooth. Her long lashes fluttered. Just like the others, he disregarded her.
He had the aura of male beauty. None of his cohorts, with their brutish dispositions and ape-like physiques, could compare to his pleasing features. His languid steps took him gliding down the bar, as if he were strutting a runway.
He was so attractive, and I was wearing the same cheap halter top and skirt, too poor to afford even ‘new’ thrift finds. Shame burned in my cheeks. It was a confusing heat, my heart racing because I cared what he thought about how I dressed.
His gaze landed on me with a physical presence, and I shrank into myself. He’d been looking for me. Expecting me.
My skin tingled as he peered into my soul. His tattooed hand extended, waiting for mine.
“I want you.”