Chapter Five
Morena
Ispent the final hours of the afternoon cleaning and getting ready for work. The lace, the heels, the cheap shampoo. My hands moved on autopilot, while my thoughts drifted to my sister.
Every time I looked at the empty corner where Camilla’s mattress wast, my stomach turned. I didn’t cry. I just kept folding the same black lace over and over until the fabric was warm from my palms.
If I chose Dario, I would see my little sister.
I would get daylight hours. I would be allowed to exist in the same space as the only person left in the world who meant something.
The cost was my body and whatever remained of my will.
I had spent three weeks learning how little those things protected me.
I could spend the rest of my life learning the same lesson under my stepfather’s roof if it meant she did not disappear into whatever dark place he had threatened.
I arrived at After Dark early and went through the motions of getting ready without looking at my own face in the mirror longer than necessary. The heels that made my ankles ache before the first set even started went on, locked in place.
When I stepped onto the secondary stage the dark presence was there, heavy in the usual place near the back column. I did not look for him. I did not have the space left inside me to wonder what the tall man with the tattoos wanted. Tonight only one man mattered.
Dario appeared near the staff door at the end of my second set, right on schedule. I walked to him on legs that felt disconnected from the rest of me and stopped an arm’s length away. None of it felt real.
“I accept,” I said. My voice came out flat and small. “I’ll come with you. I’ll do what you want. Just let me see her. Be with her. Please.”
Dario stared at me for a long second. Then he laughed, short, ugly, and delighted.
“There it is. I knew you’d break.” He stepped closer, eyes bright. “One mention of the kid and you’re ready to crawl. Needy little piece of meat.”
I forced the words out. “I just want Camilla. I’ll do anything. You don’t have to sell me.”
His smile faded. Something colder settled in its place.
He glanced toward the main floor, then back at me, voice dropping.
“I was going to keep you. I was. The idea of breaking that virgin cunt in myself had its appeal. But the man who’s been watching you from the shadows made it clear what happens if I don’t put you on the block.
You’re worth too much money to walk away from…
and I’m not interested in finding out how he finishes conversations.
So you’re going to the auction. Clean sale.
I get paid once. He gets what he wants. And I get to keep breathing. ”
The floor seemed to tilt. I reached for the wall without meaning to and missed. “No. You said…”
“I said you had a choice. I didn’t say I was required to honor the one you picked.
” He shrugged, the movement almost casual, but there was a tight reluctance under it that only made it worse.
“Besides, I don’t have to deal with your crying every time I want to use you. So you’re going on the block.”
“Please.” The word tore out of me raw. Tears spilled over before I could stop them. “Dario, please. I’ll be good. I’ll call you Daddy. I’ll let you do all of it. The cutting. The tattoo. Whatever you want. Just don’t take Camilla away from me. She’s all I have left. Please.”
Dario watched me fall apart with open satisfaction. Then he reached out and took my chin in his hand, fingers digging into my jaw hard enough to bruise, and turned my face so the nearest cluster of men on the main floor could see me if they bothered to look.
“Listen to you,” he said, loud enough to carry. “Begging in the hallway like a cheap whore who just realized the customer is done with her. You should see yourself. Makeup running. Ready to sell every hole you’ve got if it’ll get you five minutes with a kid who barely remembers your name.”
He gave my face a little shake. “This is what you are. This is all you are. A wet, desperate piece of meat that only has value when it’s scared and available. And in three weeks, a room full of men are going to bid on exactly that.”
I sobbed once, the sound ugly and broken. He let go of my chin and wiped his hand on his pants like I had dirtied it.
“Go finish your sets,” he said. “Smile. Look pretty. The higher the interest before auction night, the higher the opening bids. And Morena.”
He waited until I forced my eyes back to his. “If you try to run, or talk to anyone, or do anything that makes this harder than it needs to be, Camilla becomes a ghost. There won’t even be a body for you to cry over. Do you understand me?”
I nodded. I could not form words anymore.
Dario smiled, small and satisfied, and walked away toward the main floor.
I stood in the staff hallway with tears dripping off my chin and the taste of salt and panic in my mouth until one of the floor managers told me I was due back on stage.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, fixed the lace where it had shifted, and walked out under the lights with my vision blurred.
The dark presence was there in the shadows.
I did not look at him. I danced with the wet tracks of tears on my cheeks and the knowledge that in three weeks I would be sold to the highest bidder, and the only person left in the world who loved me would never know what happened to the sister who had promised to protect her.
Dario was waiting when I came off the stage, again.
He did not speak. He simply closed his hand around my upper arm and steered me away from the staff hallway, past the main floor, and toward the corridor that led to the private rooms. His grip was hard enough to leave marks. I did not fight it. Fighting had never changed the outcome with him.
The room he pushed me into was small and dim.
Black walls. A single low couch. A mirror along one side that made the space feel smaller.
The door locked behind us with a heavy click.
Dario turned to face me and pulled a folding knife from his pocket.
The blade flicked open with a soft, metallic sound that seemed too loud in the quiet.
He smiled when he saw my eyes drop to it.
“There it is,” he said. “That look. You’ve been giving it to me all week. Pretending you’re scared when we both know you’re wet for this.”
He stepped closer, turning the knife so the edge caught the low light. “I changed my mind about waiting for the auction. This is our chance to have a little fun before I hand you over. Get on your knees.”
I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall. My voice came out thin. “You said I was being sold. You said…”
“I say a lot of things.” He closed the distance and set the flat of the blade against the side of my throat.
The metal was cold. My pulse hammered against it.
“You’re going to take that lace off. Then you’re going to show me how grateful you are that I didn’t cut you up the night I took the kid.
And if you’re very good, maybe I’ll let you see a new picture of her before the auction. ”
His free hand went to his belt. He worked it open, then the button and zipper, and shoved his pants and underwear down just far enough.
The sight of him made my stomach turn so hard I tasted bile.
There was nothing in me that wanted this.
There was only the sick, sliding knowledge that he was going to take it anyway and enjoy the fact that I was trapped.
“Please don’t,” I whispered.
Dario laughed under his breath and pressed the knife a fraction harder against my skin. “Begging already. I knew you wanted it. You’ve been wet for Daddy this whole…”
The door opened.
Dario spun around, knife in his hand, pants open. The man who stepped into the room closed the door behind him with quiet precision and locked it again. He was tall. Dark hair. Sleeves rolled up over tattooed forearms. The same cold, focused eyes I had felt on me from the shadows for weeks.
The stranger. The presence.
He looked at the scene in front of him the way a man might look at a mildly inconvenient spill. No rush. No raised voice.
Dario’s face went red with anger and something closer to panic. “What the fuck are you doing in here? This is a private room. Get out.”
The stranger did not answer him. His gaze moved to me for a brief second, taking in the knife at my throat, the tears wet on my face, the way I was pressed against the wall. Then it returned to Dario. He held out one hand, palm up. “The knife.”
Dario stared at him. “Do you know who you’re fucking with?”
“Yes, and you’re nothing. Remember?” The stranger stepped forward, unhurried, and closed his hand around Dario’s wrist. There was a short, sharp movement. A grunt of pain. The knife transferred cleanly into the stranger’s grip. Dario stumbled back a step, pants open, eyes wide.
The stranger examined the blade for a moment, then looked at Dario again. “Come here.”
Dario did not move. The stranger waited. When Dario did not close the distance, the stranger reached out, caught him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him forward until the edge of the knife rested lightly against Dario’s own stomach.
“Closer,” the stranger said, almost politely.
Dario’s breath had gone ragged. He tried to lean back.
The stranger simply adjusted his grip and applied steady pressure until the tip of the blade parted fabric and then skin.
A thin line of red appeared. Dario made a choked sound and stopped resisting.
The stranger guided him forward another inch.
The cut lengthened. Blood welled and began to drip.
“You put your fucking hands on her,” the stranger said, voice quiet. “You put a knife on her. You talked about cutting her. Now you can learn what that feels like from the other side.”