Page 4 of Vicious

“No, don’t be?—”

Giulio hangs up and stares at me. “A rich friend, huh. He got a name?”

“May—”

I ignore my father when he tries to speak up, interrupting him to tell Giulio with more certainty than I feel, “His name is Chase Vicious. He’s a lawyer. He’ll help me.”

I hope.

Giulio drums his fingers on the table. “Chase Vicious. Chase Vicious…” Then he grabs his phone and stands up. “Nah. Way too much trouble. Craig, Louis, grab the girl and take her to Ntimacy. Standard procedure for new dancers. Simon, you should probably get that ear looked at before it gets infected.” He stares down at his phone. “Hey, do you think I have time to grab dinner before my meeting?”

Standard procedure.

Ntimacy.

A casual mention of getting dinner after cutting off a man’s ear and stealing away his daughter.

I don’t want to know about this place, or what the standard procedure for new arrivals might be. “No,” I squeak. “I’ll come… dance. Just please let me take care of my father first. Then I’ll come. I promise.”

Craig grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward him. “You don’t have time for dinner, boss.”

“I do! I think there’s a place with good pupusas around here.” Giulio starts fumbling with his phone. “Oh, yeah. Just a ten-minute drive.”

“Please!” my father cries out, his voice ragged with pain. “Please, leave her alone!”

Giulio glances down at him. “Simon, you really should be more concerned about your ear. And, y’know, it should go without saying: you better tread carefully from now on, or your baby girl might not enjoy her time at Ntimacy.”

No one’s listening to me. No one’s paying any attention to me. Craig is able to manhandle me like I’m a child, and before I can even look back at my father, the thug is dragging me out of the kitchen.

Out of my home.

“Behave,” Craig mutters in my ear. “Get in the car.”

No one is paying any attention to us, and I understand that if that changes, they’ll take it out on me—or my father. So I get into the back of the car, slumping back in the seat.

And that’s it.

My life as I know it is over.

CHAPTER 2

May

I wince as the man slaps my ass, but he sticks a few bills into my g-string too, so overall I guess it’s a win.

“I might come back for you,” the man says, his fingers brushing against my thigh. “You Asian chicks are so much better than mouthy American ones.”

The retort is on the tip of my tongue that I am American, but one of the Latina girls had told me the best way to make money here was to go along with the fetishists and prejudiced assholes who think they’re getting something exotic. Before this, I never would’ve stooped that low, but the reality of the situation is that the more I get paid, the better my situation here is.

I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll pay Baba’s debt off, but the better earners around here seem to get better treatment. I don’t want to end up in the back rooms.

I shudder, quickly shoving that thought out of my mind. There are women who are less fortunate than even me here, and that’s what makes me smile at the creep instead of snapping at him.

“I’d be happy to see you again,” I say, and for all that I’m trying to indulge his kinks, I can’t bring myself to force an accent or broken English. My pride just won’t allow that much.

The only thing I want to do now is go back to my pathetic excuse for a room—a cell, really—and wash off the man’s touch, but my shift is far from over. I need to dance for more men, collect more tips, and deliver all my takings to Donny and Elena.

When it’s all over, I make maybe ten percent of what I actually earned. No wonder the girls are stuck here forever. There’s no way I’ll ever pay Baba’s debt off, not with the creative accounting they do around here.

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