Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BAILEY - BEFORE
I don’t know what’ll happen tonight. There’s been murmurs between Yuri’s men… Mentions of King showing up. Hearing his name has me on edge.
Rain streaks down the window of the high-rise hotel suite where they’ve put us, the summer storm turning the city below into a blur of neon and headlights.
Me, Cat, Lydia, and the new girl, Katie.
They moved her in shortly after Cat tried to kill Elise in her sleep.
She still won’t talk to Lydia for stopping her.
I wonder if she ever will again. I can’t say that I miss Elise, I’ll always hold a grudge for what she did, even though I know it was her sickness and fear that poisoned her…
that she regretted making the call the moment she did it.
It’s better that they moved her. Hopefully, she’s okay wherever she is.
“I refuse to play nice,” Cat says as she shoves expensive cocktail nuts from the minibar into her mouth by the handful. “Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t fucking drugged me yet. When Yuri comes back in, I’m gonna ask for extra.”
“You don’t mean that,” I say, coming to her side.
“The fuck I don’t. Why would I want to be aware of what these fucks will do to us tonight. There’s no way out… We’re stuck here, monsters are coming, and I’m just so fucking done.”
“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” I say, knowing I’m full of shit the moment the words leave my lips.
Cat scoffs. “Don’t be naive. If I were you, I wouldn’t put up a fight with the needle. There’s no point.”
Katie, who’s been sitting on the edge of the bed watching our exchange, folds her legs against her chest. Her expression of shock, of fear, reminds me of how I must have looked that first time we “entertained” for King.
Lydia’s busy downing mini bottles of booze before someone comes in and catches her. I guess numb is the theme of the night.
“Maybe some of the staff noticed us,” I offer. “I tried to signal to that housekeeper in the hallway. Gave her a look. Maybe—”
“A look?” Cat shakes her head. “Maybe I should do Morse code against the walls too? Or what about smoke signals from the bathroom? Fuck, B, no one’s coming. No one cares enough to look past the money these fuckers are throwing around.”
Her words hit like a slap to the face, but I can’t be angry.
Cat’s just saying what we’re all thinking.
What I’ve been trying not to think for months.
With each passing day that Cat gets more desperate, more despondent, I’ve had to find tiny kernels of hope.
One of us has to keep pushing, or we’ll both give up. “I don’t know,” I say.
“I do. They care about keeping us quiet and compliant,” Cat continues, her tone clipped. “That’s it. That housekeeper? She’s probably seen dozens of girls like us. You think you’re the first one to give her a ‘look?’”
Katie makes a small sound from the bed—something between a whimper and a sob. I want to go to her. To comfort her. But really, what’s the point?
“Jesus, Cat,” Lydia slurs from her spot by the minibar. She tosses another lipstick-stained empty bottle, adding it to the pile scattered around the black marble counter. “You don’t have to be so fucking brutal about it.”
“Brutal?” Cat paces in front of us.“You want to know what brutal is? Brutal is pretending we have any control here. Brutal is giving Bailey false hope when I know—”
The door clicks. We all freeze.
It’s Sweeper that steps in. He hasn’t shown his face in months, not since that night with Jasmine.
My heart thuds faster. He inspects the area, from the oversized sitting room to the open bedroom, checking us over.
Behind him stands a man who towers over him, built like a brick wall with a large scar down his cheek, and a woman, not as tall but equally built with black hair twisted into a tight bun on her head.
They’re both dressed like they’re waiting to break up a fight at any moment.
“Ladies,” Sweeper says, sounding bored. “Time to get ready. You have important guests arriving soon.”
He tilts his head, speaking low to the two people behind him, and they position themselves in the corners of the open space. They must be some kind of guards.
“Where’s the meds, asshole?” Cat blurts out, hands folded at her chest.
Sweeper steps into the bedroom. There’s no hint of amusement on his face. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.”
“Well, you hoped wrong,” Cat snaps back.
He sighs and brings his face inches from hers. “You do not want to play with me tonight, Catalina. One call and you know what will happen to your family.”
I don’t realize I’ve moved closer to Katie until her hand wraps around mine. We watch their standoff, Cat’s defiant seething, Sweeper’s exasperated authority, until he finally gives in and pulls a syringe from his inner pocket.
I close my eyes for the rest of their exchange, having seen enough needles for a lifetime.
“Anyone else?” Sweeper asks, his eyes darting between the rest of us.
I shake my head and so does Katie, but Lydia steps forward, offering him her bicep. Maybe it means something about the situation that the two newbies refuse the drugs… Maybe Cat’s right, I am naive.
It hits Lydia right away, and she staggers to the bed. Sweeper curses under his breath and calls the female guard over. “Watch this one carefully. Check her vitals every so often.”
“On it,” she says. Now that she’s closer, I can see the way her shirt barely contains her biceps. “And the clients?”
They step away from us, but I hear Sweeper reply, “Let them do what they want to her. I don’t care.”
She nods and takes up her place at the side of the room again. I want to vomit right here on the expensive carpeting. How could these people not react? Is everyone in the world a monster?
Sweeper walks to the door and as his palm reaches the handle, he stops. “I’m going to warn you again. You step out of line and I’ve given the guards permission to deal with you. These guests will get what they’ve paid for. I’ll be back shortly. And Catalina, freshen up. You look like hell.”
He’s out the door as Cat lunges for the nearest object, the jar of nuts. She tries to throw it but her drugged limbs don’t obey. It drops out of her hand, scattering nuts all over the floor. “Fuck,” she slurs. “You freshen up, you piece of shit.”
I’m at her side before the nuts stop rolling, guiding her toward the couch. “It’s okay. Just rest.”
“Fuck him! Fuck them all!” She gives the guards watching us the finger and then slumps back against the cushion. “Give you what I paid for,” she mimics, her voice barely audible.
I smooth my hand over her hair, telling her it’ll be okay all while bile rises in my throat from Sweeper’s threat. Maybe I should have taken the drugs.
There’s six of them in total. Six pairs of leering eyes. Six raucous voices. Six reasons my hands won’t stop shaking. Six reminders that this night will be endless.
But so far, no one has touched me. I’ve served drinks, listened to long-winded stories about people I don’t know, flinching every time one of them shifts in their seat.
Right now, I’m perched on the edge of the sofa where one of the men told me to sit after asking if I’d turn around so he could “get a proper look at me.”
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
For the moment when they decide to abandon their pretense of civility and become the monsters I know they are.
At least the other girls seem okay for now.
Lydia’s still passed out on the bed and Cat’s halfway there on the couch next to a man who looks so ancient, I’d bet he has grandchildren older than me.
The man next to me, the one who looks like he’s too sophisticated to be involved with this kind of thing, places his hand gently on my thigh. I go rigid. He notices immediately and gives me what seems like a genuinely concerned look. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says softly. “What’s your name, darling?”
I know he’s not a nice man. Logically, he’s a monster like the rest of them. But his voice is kind, his smile friendly. And when I look closely into his eyes, there’s something familiar about them.
“Bailey.” I drop my gaze down to the floor and hope that he’ll get sucked back into conversation.
His hand reaches out to cup my chin, tilting it so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
Here it is, the moment his fingers will slide down to my neck, squeezing, as harsh words leave his lips. I brace myself for it as best as I can.
One heartbeat passes, then two, and he releases a hum from low in his throat. A sound that makes me cringe. I knew it, he’s no different.
His thumb brushes against my trembling lip, once, twice, before he drops his hand.
“Perfect, absolutely perfect.” He stands from the couch and finishes the last sip of whiskey in his glass.
I notice how tall he is, how strong looking.
His eyes meet mine again. “Do be a good girl until I see you again, yeah?”
I don’t know how to respond. He doesn’t wait for one anyway. He adjusts his cuffs and buttons his jacket before walking over to the huge male guard. They glance at me and go back to their hushed conversation. What are they saying? I know it’s about me, it must be.
In my periphery I notice one of the men, tall and rail-thin, leave his chair and go into the bedroom, shutting the double doors behind him. Lydia.
I bring my attention back to the corner where the man pats the scarred guard on the shoulder, then turns and walks out. That can’t be it. His attention was on me all night. He must be planning something. He’ll come back, drag me out of here into another room, separate me from Cat and the others.
Before the door fully closes, I feel the couch dip beside me. I don’t want to look him in the eye, but I catch a glimpse of his meaty hands with gold rings on every finger. Maybe if I keep my head down, he’ll lose interest. “How old are you, pretty girl?”
My stomach lurches.
When I don’t respond immediately he asks me again, this time dropping the sickly sweet tone. “I asked you a question.”
“Nineteen,” I whisper.
He snickers and reaches for his glass. Those rings clink as he wraps his fist around it. “And your friends?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
The scarred guard crosses the room and places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Not her.”
The man slams his glass down, sloshing amber liquid across the table. “She’s too old anyway.”
It takes everything in me not to lunge for him, to spit in his bloated face. Whatever made that guard intervene, I’m grateful. Until he points across the room to Katie, who’s sitting uncomfortably in the lap of a middle-aged man in an expensive suit.
“That’s the one you want,” the guard says.
He huffs. “I’ll have to settle for Fairfax’s sloppy seconds then.”
I flash the guard a pleading look, silently begging him to help us, but his gaze slides past me like I’m a ghost.
The next hour crawls by in a haze of careful movements and averted eyes. I serve more drinks, dodge wandering hands from the two unoccupied men, and try not to think about the closed bedroom door or Katie’s terrified eyes. Cat fell asleep hours ago, and blessedly, they’ve left her alone. For now.
Finally, when their laughter grows louder and their words more aggressive, the scarred guard appears at my side.
“Time to go,” he says quietly.
“Where?”
He ignores my question and grabs my wrist to pull me up. My eyes meet Katie’s and try to convey a silent message. It’ll be okay. I’m still here.
The last thing I see before he shoves me into the hallway, is the man with the rings stumbling toward Katie. Tears stream down my face. Please let her come out of this in one piece.
He leads me down the dim hotel hallway to another room. It’s standard size, just a bed, a bathroom, a chair in the corner, and heavy curtains drawn tight. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but I can’t stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks.
“Wait here,” he says, then locks the door behind him.
I could try to run. Try to get help. But there’s no chance in hell he left me unguarded. Instead, I search the room for a phone, and only find a cord hanging from the bedside table. There’s nothing useful in here. They made sure of that.
The soft bed pulls me in. I’m so exhausted, so done with this life. I curl up on top of the comforter and wrap the edge around my exposed legs. My puffy eyelids droop and in seconds sleep pulls under.
I wake to the sound of the door closing. It could have been hours later, or minutes. I’m too disorientated to tell. Sweeper walks across the room and drags the curtains open, letting soft light into the room. I squint against it, rubbing my swollen eyes.
“You’re one of the lucky ones,” he says without turning around. “Time to go.”