And I hear him curse under his breath. I smirk, feeling powerful.
He may not be able or willing to save me. But someday, I’m going to find a man who can—a man who is willing to risk everything for me. Then I will have all the power.
I walk back to the cage where the other eleven women sit. This time, none of us are handcuffed. We are all wearing robes covering the intimate pieces of our bodies that will eventually be exposed. Every woman’s hair is styled, her face painted. Each looks a little different. Some look like innocent angels; the youngest woman even has pigtails to make her look younger. A couple of the women have dark red lips to make them look older and more mature. But all of the women look more terrified instead of determined.
The apparent man in charge enters the cage with two of the guards. One of the guards has a notebook and pen in his hand. The boss takes his time walking around the cage, studying each of us like he’s trying to determine how much we should go for.
I want to stick my foot out and try to trip him, but I resist the urge as he starts pointing to women and assigning each a random number. I realize he’s deciding the order in which we will be trotted out on stage. He’s starting with the women he thinks will go for the least and ending on the most expensive.
He hasn’t pointed to me yet. Maybe because he’s forgotten I exist as he walks around the circle.
I swear my foot sticks out on its own accord. Next thing I know, he stumbles over the heel of my foot.
I pull it back to my body quickly. I’m afraid, but knowing if I’m punished, it will be minimal. They don’t want to damage me right before the show.
The man squats down in front of me, looking me in the eye. I think he’s going to yell at me. Punch me. Make me feel some pain for tripping him.
Instead, he grins crookedly, a toothpick sliding out between his yellow teeth.
“Twenty,” he says, looking at me. “She will easily go for five mill. Maybe more, she has a fight to her the men can’t resist. They will all want to be the one to break her.”
Five million dollars, holy hell.
Maybe the advice the woman gave me was bad? If I give them too much hell, then they will want to break me.
The man walks out and through a door to what I realize is a stage.
I can hear the sound of music playing in the next room. The show is about to start. And I can practically feel every heart in the room speed up at the sound.
A few minutes later, one of the guards is dragging out the woman labeled number one. She’s one of the youngest. I would guess seventeen or eighteen. She’s still a baby in many ways. And she’s about to be thrust on stage and sold.
The guard pushes her out and leaves the door to the stage open so we can all see to the stage. I don’t know if it’s meant to intimidate or encourage us to be able to see how the previous women are treated. But the first woman stands in the middle of the stage, gripping her robe nervously as men yell out numbers in the crowd.
After a few minutes of her being on stage, the man in charge asks her to disrobe. But she only grips it tighter.
He snaps his fingers, and two of the guards rip the robe from her body. She crumbles to the floor in tears, trying her best to cover her almost naked body.
All of the women in the cage turn away, looking away from her humiliation.
One by one, each woman is dragged to the stage and faces the same fate. Most sell for between one and three million. Each is forced to disrobe. Each is humiliated and frightened beyond possibility.
But I won’t be. Give. Them. Hell.
I plan to.
The guards outside the cage start drinking, enjoying the fun and amount of money their boss is making, which will obviously trickle down to them.
And then I’m the only woman left in the cage.
My heart speeds uncontrollably as I prepare for my turn. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I won’t cower. I won’t let them have my power.
Finally, the man who has been my guard walks to the entrance of the cage. He motions for me as I stand.
“Your turn.” His eyes light as he says it, as if he wishes he had enough money to bid on me.
“Give me a shot of tequila.”
“What? No.”
“I’ll go for more than double any other woman here if you give me a shot. You can tell your boss it was because of the shot of liquid courage that helped me to perform. You will have gotten your boss more money and maybe a new strategy to help future women.”
He frowns but hands me a shot glass. He grabs a bottle as all eyes of the other guards focus in on us. He pours the tequila into the shot glass and fills it to the rim.
“You owe me, and don’t worry. I plan to collect on my debt,” he says, threatening me.
But I won’t be threatened. He can’t hurt me. No man can. I know what it’s like to be betrayed by a man. And the only way a man can hurt me anymore is if I give them my heart—something I will never do again.
I throw the shot back into my mouth.
I feel the warm liquid trickle down my throat and warm my stomach.
It’s my last moment of happiness, the last moment that is truly mine before I walk on the stage.
I hand the shot glass back to my guard, and then I strut up the stairs to the stage. I’ll give them hell alright. The men will wish they never captured me.
Because I’m about to tap into my power tonight. I may not win the fight, but by the time I’m through with them, I will drain them all of their power.
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
6
Zeke
This is my nightmare.
Men are sitting at small circular tables scattered throughout a dark floor. Each table can sit three men max, but only a couple are filled. Most men are sitting by themselves with a phone in one hand, a drink in the other, and cigar puffing out of their mouths.
Each man is assigned a scantily dressed waitress to do more than just serve drinks. They are here to tease the men before the show, so maybe they will open their bank accounts wider.
“What can I get you, sugar?” The waitress assigned to me asks.
“I’m good,” I say, lifting my barely drank scotch.
She gives me a knowing look as she eyes the scotch.
“Got a weak stomach, sugar?”
I growl—she’s just trying to goad me into drinking more so I’ll be more hasty with my money. But I need my wits about me tonight.
A man at the table over must hear our conversation because he starts murmuring to the man on his right.
Great, I’m going to be known as a pussy.
Fuck—I can’t let that happen.
Not because I care what people think of me, but I can’t draw any suspicions. I need Julian to think I’m an equal to him. And if Oscar thinks of me as a pussy, then he’ll tell Julian.
I down the expensive scotch.
“Another,” I say.
She picks up the glass, her eyes brightening, and her hips swaying as she walks away from me to retrieve another drink.
The lights dim even more, until the only lights left in the room are the single candles on each table.
Oscar walks out onto the stage as a spotlight follows him.
“Welcome, friends. I have quite a show for you.”
Some of the men applaud and hoop excitedly, while others stare at their phones like they couldn’t be more bored.