After Midnight

Chapter 1

"Any woman can sell pussy. But it takes a special woman to sell an experience."

Ronnie rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Girl bye,” she muttered under her breath beside me. “She tryna romanticize this shit.”

I nudged her sharply and whispered a quick shhh, but it was already too late.

Madam’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “Is there something you ladies would like to share with the class?”

The room went still.

Five of us were sitting in a semicircle of plush velvet chairs.

The lighting was low and warm, soft enough to flatter but bright enough that Madam could see every twitch of our faces.

She stood in front of us like a headmistress—tall, curvy, gorgeous, and wrapped in a fitted black dress that hugged her hips.

Her hands settled on those hips as she waited.

I opened my mouth to smooth things over, but Ronnie’s messy ass beat me to it.

“You said we’re selling an experience, right?” she asked.

Madam lifted one perfectly sculpted brow. “Yes. What about it?”

Ronnie shrugged like she wasn’t two seconds away from getting us both thrown out. “I mean that’s cool and all…but at the end of the day, we just selling pussy, right?”

Lord. This damn girl.

The air got tight.

Madam’s eyes narrowed even further. The almond nail on her index finger tapped slowly against her arm. “It’s not just selling pussy, little girl,” she said calmly.

The calmness was what made her intimidating.

She continued, “If you want to do that, you can take your young ass out on them corners and sell it with the dope boys.” She stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

“But in my establishment, my girls sell an experience.” Her nail lifted and pointed directly at the door.

“And if that’s not for you, you can get up right now and walk out.

The choice is yours.” There was deathly pause before she added, “You have five seconds.”

Shit. This woman wasn’t playing.

Before Ronnie could open her mouth and make things worse, I jumped in. “My apologies, Madam,” I said quickly. “She don’t mean no harm. Her mama dropped her on her head when she was a baby.”

A small smirk tugged at Madam’s lips.

I smiled politely. “We understand. Thank you.”

Silence stretched across the room while Madam studied us like she was deciding whether we were worth the trouble. The other women glanced over, curiosity all over their faces.

Finally, she nodded once. “I like you,” she said.

I blinked.

“You’re amiable.”

I had no idea what the hell amiable meant in this moment, but I wasn’t about to ask questions. “Thank you,” I said instead.

Madam’s gaze slid back to Ronnie. “Control your friend,” she warned. “Or she’s out. There’s a line of women waiting to take her place.” Then just like that, she turned and continued the speaking to the group like nothing had happened.

I felt Ronnie's heated glare on me. I turned my head to look at her. Her mouth was set in a straight line and her pretty face was all twisted. I placed my index to my lips for her to stay quiet. She pinched my exposed thigh in response. I pinched her back. Harder.

"Bitch," she hissed under her breath.

My lips quivered as I held in a chuckle. I loved his bitch, but she was a menace sometimes.

Madam continued her introduction before those sharp eyes landed on each one of us for a moment.

"Before we get into the orientation, let's do some brief introductions.

" Her gaze landed back on Ronnie. "Starting with you since you were so eager to share.

" There was a hint of edge in her tone but warmth in her eyes, nonetheless.

Ronnie's charming ass rose dramatically. "Sorry, Madam. I'll be a good girl from now on," she teased playfully.

Madam rolled her eyes and smirked.

Ronnie pressed her hand to her chest. "Veronica, but everyone calls me Ronnie."

I shook my head, smirked, and stood next. "Gianna or GG for short."

Madam’s gaze shifted to the three women sitting beside us.

A tall caramel-skinned woman with body for days stood first. Her locs were piled high on top of her head and she carried herself like she already knew she was the finest thing in the room.

“Wisdom,” she said smoothly. "Call me Wisdom."

Oh, I liked her already. I smiled and our eyes met. She returned it.

Next to her a petite woman, brown-skinned with big brown eyes and a nervous smile stood.

“Hi. I'm Lena,” she said softly with a small wave before sitting.

Then the last woman stood. Long straight hair. Bronze complexion. Perfect makeup. The kind of face that probably never heard the word 'no' a day in her life. Her eyes swept over me and Ronnie like she was already sizing up competition.

Ronnie reared her head back. My brow rose.

“Bianca,” she said.

Her tone was sweet, but her expression wasn’t.

Ronnie muttered underneath her breath. “I can tell she gon' piss me off.”

"Agreed," I mumbled.

Bianca smirked at me before sitting back down gracefully.

Madam launched into her orientation spiel. “…Clients are vetted before they ever step foot inside,” she said. “Background checks, financial verification, and health screenings. Any client who violates my rules is removed permanently.”

And when it came time for the rules, we all straightened in our seats.

She waited, her sharp eyes landing on each of us for a few seconds before she continued.

“Listen carefully ladies and commit these rules to your memory.

" She held up one finger. "Rule number one—no drugs inside my establishment.” Her gaze swept across us again. “If a client arrives intoxicated or under the influence beyond reason, security removes him.” She raised another finger. “Rule number two, protection is mandatory. Every time. No exceptions.” A third finger lifted. “Rule number three—discretion. You will never discuss a client’s identity outside these walls. Many of the men who come here have reputations to protect.”

Ronnie leaned closer to me again. “Translation—married men be in here.”

I elbowed her lightly.

Madam lifted a fourth finger. “And the final rule,” her voice hardened. “You do not become emotionally attached to clients.”

The room went quiet.

“Clients come here for the fantasy,” she continued. “Not love. If you forget that, you will lose money… or worse.”

Something about the way she said it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

She clapped her hands once, the sharp sound echoing through the room. “Alright, ladies. That concludes orientation. Now let’s take a look at where you’ll be working.” She turned on her heel and we all followed.

This wasn’t my first time doing sex work. This work wasn't for the faint of heart that's for sure. But it paid the bills and the money was fast. Me and Ronnie had been in the game about five years now.

We started out small—online content only. We progressed to stripping at parties for the dope boys and ballers over on the Westside of Vegas. The kind of parties where the music was too loud, the liquor was too strong, and niggas were always throwing money like they had something to prove.

We progressed from that to more elite parties—white collar types who were fans of our online content.

One of our regulars—a dude who liked to talk more than he liked to touch, told me about this place one night while we were smoking on his balcony.

He said his auntie ran an elite brothel tucked away outside the city in Nye County called Siren House.

Legitimate. Members only. Clean. Discreet.

Everybody who worked there got tested every thirty days. Same for the clients. No randoms walking in off the street either. You had to know somebody who knew somebody to even hear about Madam’s establishment.

Soon as he said that my ears perked up. Because the one thing about this line of work, safety was priceless. Of course I had to bring Ronnie with me. We’d been moving together since freshman year of high school. Wherever I went, she went. Package deal.

Madam agreed to interview us. The moment we walked into her office I could tell she liked what she saw.

Ronnie looked like a video vixen on her worst day, and I’d been blessed enough to never have to struggle for attention either.

But Madam wasn’t sloppy about her business.

Our looks might get us through the door, but they wouldn’t keep us there.

She asked about everything—specifically about our history, boundaries, and health.

Sexual history was the first concern. We had to consent to a physical exam and get tested before anything else moved forward. That part didn’t bother us. Me and Ronnie didn’t play about protection.

Then Madam hit us with what felt like a damn psychological evaluation. Question after question about our mental health, how we handled difficult clients, whether we could keep our personal feelings separate from the job. Basically, making sure we weren’t crazy or clingy.

We signed a ton of paperwork. And once our background checks were cleared and the test results came back clean, Madam finally gave us the green light.

The set up was simple. Sixty percent of what we earned was ours to keep.

And in exchange, we got access to a roster of elite clients and a controlled environment where we didn’t have to worry about being drugged, robbed, or assaulted by some dude who thought a stack of twenties meant he owned you.

Compared to the chaos we’d been dealing with before…it felt like an upgrade.

So yeah…me and Ronnie were more than on board.

I looked around in admiration as Madam led us around the brothel. The hallway outside the lounge was dim and warm, lit by gold wall sconces that cast soft shadows along the velvet wallpaper. Everything about the place felt quiet, expensive, and controlled.

Ronnie leaned toward me. “Girl,” she whispered. “This place is luxurious. I'm 'bout to be rolling in money like Scrooge McDuck.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing.

Madam continued walking. “This establishment operates under three principles,” she said. “Discretion. Safety. Experience.”

We passed a set of heavy double doors where a tall security guard stood like a statue in a tailored suit.

Madam pushed open a door to our right. Inside was a suite that looked like something out of a luxury hotel.

A massive bed sat in the center of the room surrounded by sheer curtains.

The lighting was low and golden, and a marble bathroom glowed softly behind frosted glass.

“This is one of our VIP suites,” Madam said. “Each room has its own atmosphere. Some clients prefer soft intimacy. Others prefer fantasy.” She gestured down the hall. “We also have themed rooms.”

She opened another door. That one was darker—black satin sheets, mirrored walls, and soft red lighting that made the room look sinful.

Ronnie’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay now,” she murmured in approval.

Madam continued, “You will be assigned rooms based on client preference and availability.”

Madam continued walking. “There is one more person you should be aware of—”

We followed her down another hallway that felt even more exclusive than the first.

“This establishment has a top earner,” she continued stopping outside a set of double doors. “And she has maintained that position for three years.” Madam pushed the doors open.

Inside was the most luxurious room we’d seen yet. Cream silk curtains. A fireplace. A massive bed draped in champagne-colored satin. And lounging across the edge of it like she owned the place, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

Skin the color of rich, Godiva chocolate. Long black hair cascading down her back. Legs for days. She stood slowly. She looked like a life size Barbie with bigger boobs and fatter ass.

She tilted her head slightly, glass of champagne in her hand and smiled slowly. “Well,” she said lazily. “Fresh meat.”

Madam gestured toward her. “Ladies… this is Monroe.”

Ronnie leaned toward me again. “Damn,” she whispered. "This bitch is bad. I see why she the top earner.”

Monroe’s eyes slid across the room… and landed on me. Her smile faded just a little.

Interesting.

Madam’s voice cut through the tension. “Monroe is the most requested woman in this house.”

Monroe lifted her glass slightly. “Until further notice,” she said.

Something told me that she didn’t like sharing the spotlight. And judging by the look she was giving me…she had already decided she didn’t like me either.