“I think he was kind of turned on by it, honestly,” another server said. “Did you see the way he was staring?”
“I mean, we were all staring. No one even paid attention to the stage all night.”
“I was supposed to be dancing, but even I was gawking from the wings the entire time!”
“So the new owner made you do that?”
“But he seemed nice.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I groaned. The servers went silent, staring at me. Normally, I didn’t care when everyone turned to stare at me, because I was used to being the server they looked to for guidance. But this? This was different. They were judging me for my decision to obey him. “I know,” I said. “It was weird that I was bottoming. I get it. But trust me, I had a good reason. Can we move on now?”
I turned to the pantry. I still had a shelf labeled there, but I poked through the other servers’ shelves. An instant box of noodles. A cereal bar. A chocolate bar on Kendall’s shelf. Which would be delicious, and sweet revenge, but it wasn’t what I needed right then.
“So a good reason, like he was paying you big bucks?”
I huffed. It was none of their business, really.
“I would kneel all night if it meant not sucking needle dicks in the Terrariums.”
There once was a time when we kept those activities private, denouncing the sex workers who actually did that stuff on the streets or in hotel rooms. But a while ago, Dahlia had told us that we had to ‘work harder’ to pay our debts, so a lot of the servers stopped caring about saving face. I used to be one of those servers, pretending like I never broke the rules, when really, I used those rules to my advantage. You want me to knee you in the balls? That’s a ten percent upcharge. Insert a catheter and screw you with it? Twenty-five percent. Gloves mandatory.
But Dahlia telling us to have sex for money, plain and simple? That was the first time I had realized that the Dahlia District wasn’t doing well anymore.
“She’s going to suck his big dick the next time he’s here anyway,” Kendall muttered. “Cock-sucking bitch.”
I faced her. Kendall was bigger and stronger than me; that’s the way it had always been. But I was stronger now than in my teens. And yet, I also knew better. Messing with her, whether it was fighting her, or telling her boyfriend the truth about where she was on weeknights, wasn’t going to change our situation.
She was an asset to the club. I had to remember that.
“And you wouldn’t suck his dick?” I tilted my head. “I saw you talking to him. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Shut the hell up.”
I asked one of the servers if I could have her granola bar, and after she said yes, I said goodnight to the servers and went to my apartment. It was cold. Most of my stuff from years of living in the Greenhouse was piled up on the floor in the living room. One messy pile of crap. It was jarring, suffocating too, like the room was getting bigger and my stuff was shrinking, me along with it, because this was too much. All of it was too much. My chin started bobbing, a stupid, nervous habit that started when I was a kid. I stared at the granola bar in my hand, trying so hard to make the nodding stop, to lower my heart rate, to breathe.
But Price had the ability to walk in here any minute. He had disappeared earlier, but he had access to the surveillance footage room, and therefore, to all of my apartment. All it would take was one more ridiculous command, and I would lose my mind.
Nope. To hell with that.
I switched into black sweatpants and a black shirt, throwing a hoodie on top, then put on some sneakers. I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to get out of there. The cool breeze tickled my bare neck. I zipped up the hoodie, though that didn’t help much, and crossed my arms over my chest. My footsteps echoed through the parking lot, and right as I reached the car, I heard another pair of feet behind me. No, two pairs. I whipped around.
“Can I help—”
A hood slammed over my face. I balled my fist and aimed for the men—I think they were men. Two of them?—and hit one on the mouth.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I yelled.
“Shit,” a male voice mumbled. The man grabbed my arms and held them behind me, and I reeled my legs back, aiming for anything, hoping to kick his cock. He moved out of the way, giving me as much space as he could while still holding me tight.
“What the hell? We gotta lock this bitch up.”
“Order said no restraints.”
“Let go of me!” I yelled. “Security! Help!”
They ignored me.
“Boss was okay with that?”
“An order is an order.”
Boss? Order? I writhed, wriggled, cursed louder than a siren, tried anything I could to get loose, but then both of their hands were on me, pulling me up and taking me somewhere.
“You fuckers,” I hissed, trying to snake out of their grasp. “Let me go!”
“That’s not part of the deal.”
“Should we use the cunt before we hand her over?”
“Nah. Boss wants first dibs.” A shudder ran through me. They were treating me like a product to be conquered. What the hell? “Besides, the cunt’s not my type. What about you?”
“Not my type either.”
I bit my lip so hard it bled, trying not to let myself get transferred back to those memories of being in that old house, looking at my foster dad, but it was too late. You’re lucky you’re not my type, he had said, as if my alternative style, even then, had saved me from his wrath. But my foster sister didn’t have that protection.
You’re a monster, I had said as I shielded her body with mine. She’s just a kid. But we were both kids. I was barely twelve years old.
Are you sure you want to do this, Iris? he asked, the spark of violence flashing in his eyes. It’s a large price to pay.
I hadn’t been able to get out the words. All I could do was nod. Bob my chin. That frantic bowing of my head so that he got it over with already. Because no matter what the price was, I wasn’t going to let her take his cruelty ever again. He had kicked and punched me until he grew bored of it.
My foster sister was put into a new foster home. DCFS put me in a group home then, saying I had ‘behavioral issues’ that would benefit from a group setting, all because I stood up to my foster dad.
But at least that fucker went to jail.
This was different. If I could survive that as a kid, I could get through this now.
A car door opened. They slung me inside. The metal creaked, dull pains coursing through my back, sharp jolts each time my knees touched the surface. I sat up and pulled the hood off, but the doors slammed shut, the click of the locks heightening my senses. I had to get out. The rush of the engine. The icy metal on my hands. My chin bobbing. Always bobbing. How could I self-soothe now?