CHAPTER FORTY
The next day, I was told to present myself in the parlor.
It was a grand room, wide and gleaming, where men lounged in deep leather chairs, boots propped on velvet footstools, polished glasses of dark liquor resting easy in their hands.
Their suits were expensive, sharp cuts of black and charcoal and midnight blue, silk cravats or ties tucked neatly at their throats, and gold watches glinting at their wrists.
Predators at rest.
Their eyes found me. Of course they did.
I was dressed in pink chiffon so sheer it might as well have been nothing.
My hair had been curled into soft waves, my face covered in thick layers of makeup.
I walked past them, holding a tray of drinks in my trembling hands.
Their stares followed, crawling over me, through the lace, the silk, the skin.
We were far from Vestance. Far from the Vultures. But I recognized that look. I’d recognize it anywhere. The kind that stripped you bare—and ate you alive.
The girls had told me to look pretty. To save my tears for the next day. All new girls were sold at auction, they told me. The first night with a new girl was always special, and that auction would decide who got the honor of breaking me.
I had to get the message to the boys, they had to be there.
They had to win.
I clutched the tray tighter, the glasses rattling faintly as I moved between the furniture. One night. I just had to survive one more night. I kept my head down and my steps careful and I weaved through the labyrinth of velvet and smoke and men, until I saw him.
Will.
He sat on a brown leather sofa near the center of the room, half-shadowed by heavy crimson drapery.
A glass of whiskey dangled from his fingers, the light catching on the deep amber swirl.
He lounged with his boots crossed, posture loose and careless, like he belonged there.
When his eyes lifted and met mine, I nearly dropped the tray.
My legs kept moving only because I forced them to, but before I reached him, I saw her.
A woman whose body curved into his, slowly and deliberate, every movement practiced. She straddled him like a horse, her smooth thighs sliding over his. Her lips brushed his jaw as she whispered something I couldn’t hear.
And Will smiled. A soft, detached smile.
It cut deeper than any blade.
I didn’t see the edge of the rug, but my foot caught and the tray slipped from my fingers.
Glass shattered across the floor, a bright, violent sound that sliced through the smothering air.
A man barked something sharp and shoved a rag and broom into my hands.
I dropped to my knees, heart hammering, gathering up the shards as fast as I could.
The glass bit into my finger, but I didn’t feel it.
All I could feel were Will’s eyes on me, burning from across the room.
He couldn’t save me. Not yet.
When the floor was cleared and the last shard scraped away, I rose to my feet. I had to get closer, I had to find a way.
Will was laughing, and I stumbled—deliberate that time—catching the edge of the sofa and crashing forward. I landed in his lap in a clumsy sprawl, and the men around us roared.
“Looks like this one’s already sweet on you,” one of them cackled.
Will didn’t react, he caught me on instinct, wrapping his arms around my waist. His eyes met mine. I leaned in, close enough that only he could hear.
“I’m being auctioned tomorrow,” I whispered, breathless. “You have to be there. You have to win.”
His lips parted like he might say something, but I was already being yanked away. A hand clamped down on my arm, dragging me backward. Past smoke and velvet and glittering eyes, and through the heavy curtain.
And then it came. The back of his hand cracked across my face, the blow so hard it snapped my head sideways. Pain burst across my cheekbone, hot and blinding as the jolt rattled down my spine, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I didn’t make a sound. Not a gasp. Not a whimper. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But, for a moment, everything blurred and I had to hold the monster inside me back. I could feel it clawing at my skin, begging to be let out, to get to tear the man who hit me to shreds.
“Drop a tray again,” he said with spite, “and I’ll break those pretty little legs.”
His fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my head up. I tasted blood, but swallowed it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m dizzy.”
“Dizzy, huh?” His voice dipped, mocking me. “I’ll show you dizzy.”
His fist clenched, knuckles popping as he raised it toward my face. I wondered how much pain I’d be able to take before I lost control and he’d be nothing but a bloody pulp on the floor.
“It’s the mist,” a woman’s voice cut in, saving me.
I blinked, my vision swimming, and saw her step out from the shadows. The same woman Aran and I had seen at the door. Her face was all angles and quiet defiance, the kind of face carved by years of surviving men like him. Faded scars mapped her jaw and nose.
“Some girls take to it better than others,” she said, tone smooth as glass. “Let me take her. Let her rest it off.”
His rage whipped toward her, eyes narrowing. “Did I ask for your opinion?” he snapped, spit flying. “Keep your mouth shut.”
She didn’t flinch. “I beg your pardon,” she said, still calm. “Thought you might want her in one piece for tomorrow.”
He stared her down, then shoved me into the wall.
“Fine. Take her,” he snapped. “Useless little bitch.”
He turned his gaze back to me, something cold and gleeful burning in his eyes. “Next time you embarrass me out there,” he said. “You won’t be walking for a week.”
I nodded, quick and small, agreeing.
The woman caught my arm, and I went with her.
She brought me back to a bedroom. At least five girls were inside.
Two sat cross-legged on a bed, one weaving cloth into the other’s damp hair to make curls.
Another leaned over a low vanity, dabbing berry-red stain onto her lips with a fingertip.
It wasn’t the room from the night before, or the same girls.
It gave me hope. If there were more than one bedroom, maybe Licia was in one of the others.
“You should rest. I’m sure you’re tired,” the woman said, her voice soft, almost motherly. Chestnut hair fell in soft, glossy waves, framing her face perfectly. She sat beside me on the edge of one of the beds and placed a light hand on my back.
“I’m Hana,” she said gently, her voice dipping low, like it was just for me. “If you need anything... come to me. Okay?”
I nodded again.
“Don’t worry,” she added. “They won’t do anything tonight. They’ll let you adjust. You can sleep.”
Before I could respond, a voice drifted from across the room.
“First night?”
A girl perched on a stool near the vanity, her bare feet tucked beneath her. She turned a small tin of kohl between her fingers, as she dipped a finger in and smeared it along her lashline.
“Poor thing,” another girl muttered. She was blonde with bruised skin beneath her powdered cheek. She sat on a bed, dipping a linen handkerchief into a glass of rose colored water and patting it over her neck. “They always look like that the first night. Like lambs bound for slaughter.”
“Or like they still think they’ll get out,” another girl added, braiding her long braid into a silk ribbon.
“You're lucky it’s slow tonight,” said the girl brushing her hair. “They’re still at the tables drinking, or gambling. You get one night to pretend it’s not real.”
Across the room, another girl hummed softly while spritzing perfume all over her.
“One night to lie to yourself,” she said.
The door opened, and a another girl stepped in, her black curls tied back with a red ribbon.
“Siena,” she called. “Fat guy’s here. Already asking for you.”
She stifled a laugh.
The blonde girl groaned. “Ugh, not him again. Last time he made me sit on his lap and sing him a lullaby.”
The room cracked with soft laughter.
“You brag,” said the perfume girl. “Beats my last one. He kept sticking his fingers down my throat, making me gag.”
“You think that’s bad?” said the girl with the braid. “At least it wasn’t ’the Hunter’. Yasmin said he want to pay extra to break her bones.”
Siena froze mid-step.
“Break her bones?” she said. “What the fuck?”
“Where is Yasmin?” the girl at the vanity asked quietly.
No one answered.
“Well, I’m just saying,” Siena said, making her way toward the door. ”If I have to do the baby voice one more time, I might actually die.”
“I hear they charge extra for that,” the girl at the door said “Last guy I had started crying halfway through.”
“Oh nooo,” said the braid girl. “You got a weeper?”
“A sobber,” the girl with black hair corrected. “Ugly one. Kept calling me mommy.”
“Who sold you?” The girl with the braid asked me, tossing it over her shoulder.
“A friend.” I swallowed. ”Well, not anymore I suppose.”
Hana nodded slowly. “You’ll hate him eventually.”
Then I felt something strange creeping into the room. The air thickened and my head began to swim again.
I pressed a hand to my temple. “What’s happening?”
“We call it the mist.” Hana said. ”It’s in the air. Keeps us calm.”
My stomach clenched. They were drugging the girls. Keeping them docile and obedient, too weak to fight back.
I glanced down and saw thin white lines etched across Hana’s thigh.
“Are those… scars?” I asked as mist started to fog my mind.
She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was hollow.
“This isn’t a normal brothel, you know. It’s the worst kind. There are no rules here.” Her eyes met mine. “They can do whatever they want.”
My voice dropped. “They hurt you?”
“They did,” she said softly. “And they’ll hurt you too.”
The mist curled tighter around me, thick and slow, like warm smoke in my lungs, and my limbs began to soften.
“Rest now, sweetheart,” Hana whispered beside me. “You’ll need your strength.”
I tried to stay upright, tried to keep my grip on the world. But it blurred, edges softening, warping, slipping sideways. And before I could fight it, darkness reached for me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was on my side.
Panic flared. I shot upright, heart pounding as my gaze swept the room. No one stood over me. There were no strange hands. No unfamiliar faces. Across the room, Hana caught the movement, she rushed to me in quiet, urgent steps.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “No one’s been here. Just us. She leaned in closer. “Are you scared? You’re not a virgin, are you?” Her gaze searched mine, sharp and critical. “You could tell them you are,” she said. “They might go easier on you for a little while.”
“Ready in ten,” A man shouted through the door.
“Shit,” Hana muttered. She scrambled toward a vanity, grabbing powder, patting down her robe, smoothing her curls with her hands. “Sorry, we’ve got to go.”
One by one, the other girls slipped out, the low pulse of music bleeding through the walls. I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore, then I slipped out of the room. My head was still spinning, getting used to the mist, but I still recall glimpses.
I passed an open room. A round table sat at the center, crowded with men laughing over cards and piles of coin.
One of them raised a glass, another slammed his hand on the table with a bark of victory.
Laughter, shouting, the clink of glass. And at their feet, barely noticed, a girl knelt.
Her hands fumbled clumsily with the belt of the man closest to her, shoulders trembling as she kept her head bowed, her long hair hiding her face.
He barely looked at her, only leaned back in his chair and sipped from a crystal glass, candlelight flickering off the gold of his cufflinks.
One of the other men tossed a card onto the table and made a joke about keeping her mouth full.
The table erupted with laughter.
I kept walking, fighting the urge to incinerate the men.
Behind a half-shut door came quiet sobbing, muffled and strained.
And I remember a man in a long coat, walking past me without sparing a glance, reeking of cologne and wine.
I rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a girl wiping something red from the corner of her mouth.
She turned away when she noticed me watching.
I moved like a shadow through the corridors, silent and compliant, trying not to be seen. I had to find Licia. She was somewhere in that place, and I wasn’t leaving without her.
I pressed forward, peeking into every open room, praying for a flash of strawberry-blonde hair, and a familiar face. But none of the girls were Licia. None of them even looked like her. Just painted strangers with hollow eyes drifting through the haze.
I turned a corner and nearly slammed into a man.
“You!” he barked, sharp and sudden.
He was broad-shouldered, his shirt half-buttoned and stained, eyes glassy. He jabbed a thick finger toward a door behind him.
“Get in there, now” he growled.
I didn’t move. Before I could react, his hand shot out and grabbed my arm, yanking me forward, towards him. Panic surged hot through my chest.
“No,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Let me go.”
His face twisted, lips curling into something cruel. For a breathless second, I thought he was going to hit me, but then a new voice cut through the air.
“This one’s just for show tonight.” It was the beast. The mountain of a man who had carried me upstairs the other night. “If you’re interested, come to the auction tomorrow,” He said.
The man released me, disappointment flashing across his face. He gave me one last dark look, then turned and walked off with a muttered curse. The beast stepped forward, his lips curved in a grin.
“You’re this eager to start working?” he said. “That’s new.”
Before I could speak, a scream ripped through the walls, sharp, piercing, real. The man’s grin vanished, then he turned and walked toward the sound.
I followed. The halls twisted again, no longer quiet. Boots pounded the floors. Someone shouted and something shattered somewhere ahead.
I rounded a corner and stopped dead. A man was on the floor, held down by three guards. His face didn’t look like a face anymore—just blood and bone and flesh. And then I saw them. The girls.
Carrying someone.