Page 74 of Broken Princess

“Well, okay then,” is all she can muster in response, and the silence that settles between us is comfortable again.

As we enter through a shabby side door, we’re given the once over by a sorry excuse for a doorman who takes one look at my size and instantly decides it’s easier just to let me through than to hold me up.

I inform him I’m escorting a replacement for one of the girls, and he checks a clipboard on the desk in front of him, nodding when he sees a name crossed out. We paid Cherry a boatload of cash to make sure she wouldn’t be here tonight. After seeing this place, I hope she takes the money and runs as far away as she can.

From the building plans we’d figured the front-of-house would be a strip club and as I follow Aurora through a threadbare red velvet curtain, we’re greeted by a gloomy room full of half-empty seating arranged around a stage that’s seen better days. Half of the bulbs are blown in the lighting rigs and the spotlight hardly has enough lumens to highlight the barely-legal stripper doing her best to enthral the lacklustre audience. As fronts for brothels go, this one is piss poor.

Everything about this place feels dirty and the stale smell turns my stomach as we head towards the bar.

I take out my phone and send a text to the group chat.

Gonna be hard to blend in with the clientele.

Boss-Man:

Shit.

Bambi:

Do I need to solo it?

Boss-Man:

No.

Sin:

No, you won’t.

Fuck no.

Bambi:

Thanks for the faith in me.

Boss-Man:

It’s not that, and you know it. You’ll only have one exit route and that’s got the only security.

Bambi:

Fine.

We stick to the plan. Sin goes with you. Zo, we’ll meet you out back with our passenger.

Boss-Man:

Agreed

Aurora finishes up with the barman and hands me a bottled beer. She grabs hers and sidles up to me, reading the group chat to catch up. Bottled beer is a wise choice in this place. I don’t trust that there’s a single clean glass behind that bar.

We’re early so we can set up in the room before Marco arrives. I nod towards the door to the left of the bar. It’s covered by a grotty grey-black curtain as tattered as the one we entered through.

This place is just fucking delightful.

We move leisurely and I make a show of running my hands over her in a lascivious manner while she plasters the fake smile of an indentured woman on her face. She’s able to channel it far too easily, and it makes my already sickened stomach roil.

The stiff curtain scrapes against me—so stained in fuck-knows-what it barely drapes any longer—and we pass through into a dimly lit hallway. According to the layout Benny showed us, there are six rooms back here and our target is the last one on the left, closest to the fire exit. The fact there’s no security strengthens my disdain for the place. Anything could be happening to the girls. There aren’t even cameras in the hallway.

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