Chapter 11 Thea
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEA
Gold. They dressed us in gold sequined lingerie.
I stare at myself in the mirror as the plump woman who preps me finishes applying the rouge lipstick to my lips.
She’s blown out my hair and curled it in thick beachy waves instead of the tightly wound spirals that come naturally.
Makeup sits dewy on my face, pressed into every crease and smoothing out every imperfection.
Dark lines carve the edges of my eyes, and a smoky blend of gunmetal-gray and metallic-bronze eye shadow shimmers under the lights of the prep room.
Unlike the concrete box we live in, this room is vast and white with prep stations lined up one after the other, like a hair salon. But instead of chairs, there are tables. Long stainless-steel gurneys, padded with red tufted cushions.
I’ve been waxed, scrubbed raw, tweezed, and shoved into a color that doesn’t belong on me. Red, burgundy—those are the colors associated with EV and the club. Between the leather and velvet, the club is draped in a fitting color.
I’m ushered to stand in the line of girls who are also confused and studying the gold outfits they’ve squeezed us into. Sarah stands beside me, and Tonya is on my other side.
Where Sarah garnishes an updo to rival all updos, Tonya’s hair is down, like mine.
“Tonight must be a special occasion,” Sarah mumbles, smirking down the line at the ten-plus girls in front of us.
“I-I-I can’t do this.” Tonya clutches her stomach, and I can count the ribs showing on her side.
She’s refused to eat this week, and her already tall, lanky frame has shrunk further.
Her dirty blonde hair is pin straight, grazing her shoulders—they’ve cut it.
It’s been wavy all week, but even then, it hung past her shoulder blades.
A tear trickles out of the corner of her eye, pooling in the sunken hollows underneath. Her face has been plastered with makeup, but I can still make out the bruising on her cheekbones and the pigmented blue hovering above them.
“It’s okay,” I say. But it’s a lie. It’s not okay. I can’t keep the wavering out of my voice, or the golf ball–sized lump in my throat from sending a shudder down my spine as I swallow.
“No talking!” A guard marches up and down the line of us like we’re some sort of criminals. “I don’t want to hear another word from you all. In fact, don’t squeak a peep until you’re crawling back tomorrow.” He laughs, and several more do as well.
My jaw locks and I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms. Heat floods my face.
Tonya lets out a loud whimper that makes me wince and glance toward the nearest guard.
“Shhh,” Sarah whispers.
A faint ding sounds, and, like last time, we are led out of the room and down the hall. There aren’t any windows. No doors to plan an exit. They make us follow them this way, and by now, I’ve realized we are for sure underground in an inescapable labyrinth.
“Oh God, oh God. I’m going to throw up,” a girl whispers from somewhere ahead of me.
The hall becomes narrower and darker. Bass, so heavy it’s as though it thuds in my chest, rattles my ribs. The space between each of us closes, and as we’re led backstage, we’re shoulder to shoulder.
Clammy hands grab at my forearm, and I spin to grab Tonya’s hand. It’s so dark, the only light a deep crimson that makes everything look like it’s bleeding, and I shift my bra to adjust the vial inside.
It wasn’t as hard as I thought. I noticed two other girls doing the same.
I kept it under my bed until it was time to go, pretending to tuck in my sheets when they came to get us.
Sneaking it into the sports bra wasn’t the problem; getting it out undetected once on the table was.
Luckily, they allowed us to get dressed ourselves, so it was a simple switch from my sports bra to the sequined bustier.
Now, the smooth and sweaty glass vial is tucked under my right breast.
I keep my eyes forward as they herd us behind the velvet curtain and fashion chains around each of our ankles.
I can’t help but wonder why they do this.
If we’re so buried underground, why chain us?
Part of me hopes someone got away once. I can imagine her darting off stage and getting lost in the sea of men, then navigating her way out.
The emcee rattles off the rules for the night, his shadow twitching across the wall while the men’s laughter fades into rough snorts and shuffling feet.
My skin prickles and my gut twists. The only saving grace I have for tonight is this bottle of GHB. Get through this. Find a way to get it into his system. Edmond said he’d be out until it was time for them to return me to the society. I can only hope that’s the truth.
Though even with the knowledge I have a weapon to fight back, my chest tightens, and a creeping ache settles in my belly. Eyes cast downward, I tilt my head at Tonya’s trembling frame. She doesn’t have any.
She went through all that last week, and her only saving grace is that she gets someone else. Someone gentle?
Shame burns behind my eyes, and I blink fast, hoping it’ll pass. I can’t look at her. Can’t see the gouges in her wrists from being bound, or the slashes in her thighs.
Breathe, I remind myself. Get through this.
But something coils around my ribs. My mother’s words …
Bloom.
I—
The velvet curtain drags apart, and the cheers of the men in the crowd are barely audible over the pounding in my ears. Blinding lights hit, shifting the mass of faces into a blur.
Men with women attending to them sit in the crowd with Os of pleasure seared into their parted mouths. Movement. Noise. Gold. Wait—
Gold.
Balloons, bunches tied around chairs. Gold chalices raised in appreciation at us instead of glasses. As the sea of eyes comes into focus, so do the outfits of the members. They all wear gold ties, and the dancers are dressed in gold bottoms, breasts dotted with two gold coin pasties.
There’s a gasp from one girl, and when I follow her attention to the ceiling, I want to vomit. Massive gold cages hang down, but inside. Women. Handfuls of naked women.
I shouldn’t look, but I do. I count the women—those dancing for them, and the naked ones posed above us. Over twenty. There are over twenty women here, complacent and uncaring that we’re here against our will. What happened to women protecting women?
Cologne clings to the musky air. It’s expensive, suffocating, and mixes with the bile burning in the back of my throat. Sucking in a breath, I inhale as the emcee begins bidding with Mercy. She’s ushered forward, taking the gaze of the crowd with her.
I glimpse Tonya, shaking hard beside me; the chains at her ankles rattle. Fear etches itself onto her sunken pale face. The other girls’ eyes dart around the room, but hers stay unfocused and bloodshot, like she’s forgotten how to breathe.
She wobbles, and when the bids top fifty thousand, I can’t take it anymore.
I reach out, my fingers grasping hers, and I yank her into me. Murmurs ascend from the crowd, and the emcee’s voice fades. “Give us one second.”
Two guards step onto the stage toward us, and I quickly pull Tonya into me, using her body to block my hand. It isn’t far-fetched; anyone with sense could tell she was on the verge of fainting. I’m helping her. At least that’s what it looks like.
Fast, I shove a hand into my bra and pull out the vial of GHB, placing it in her bra. When she feels the cool glass, her eyes snap to mine and widen. “Put it in his drink, mouth, anything. It’ll knock him out.”
I nod at her as two deft hands rip me from her and drag me center stage.
“Since seven-fifty-five is so eager this evening, we will move on to her.”
Sweat clings to my forehead as the reality of what I’ve just done settles over me.
I’ve given away my lifeline.
“Biding starts at twenty thousand, do I have twenty grand?”
“Thirty,” a man’s voice shouts, and my breath falters. What have I done?
I glance back at Tonya, her stance surer. When our gazes connect, her eyes soften, glassy with emotion, and the corners of her lips lift in a trembling smile. She dips her head so slightly, I’m sure no one’s seen.
They’re so wrapped up in the numbers creeping up. No one knows they saw a girl helping another for several seconds. They don’t know.
“Seventy-five thousand. Do I have seventy-five?”
Raw and utterly terrified, I steel my face and scan back over the crowd. But when I do, I land on a stone-cold glare. It cuts through the crowd like a sharpened blade and stops me in my tracks. Those blue eyes. Even with bodies shifting around him, I know them.
Slade’s brows are drawn down, jaw ticking, while he tracks his stare toward Tonya and then back to me. He dips his head in a silent shake.
“Eighty-seven thousand. Going once, twice, sold!”