Page 81 of Spades

She bites her lip. “Bread and circuses…”

I chuckle. “That term usually refers to politicians pulling the wool over civilians’ eyes. Not the opposite.”

“But still, it’s ethically dicey at best.”

“And what in this worldisn’t?” I take another sip of my drink. I learned a long time ago from my old man that ethics come at a high cost sometimes. “The people who work as waitstaff here might die in poverty otherwise. And they’re here legally. Rouge sponsors their green cards herself. They’re told in no uncertain terms exactly what they’re signing up for before she brings them over. Five years of service in exchange for room and board and Rouge covering all their immigration expenses.”

She raises a finger. “But does she pay them?”

“I told you, I don’t know. But yes, I assume she probably does. How else would they save up to get out and make something of themselves?”

“But how can they know any of this? May barely speaks English. I assume that’s the case with some of the other servers.”

“Rouge has a genius IQ. She speaks multiple languages fluently, and if she doesn’t speak a certain language, I assume she hires an interpreter. She’s an excellent pianist and violinist, has an art gallery downtown, and runs multiple businesses outside of Aces. She even has a law degree.”

Alissa narrows her eyes. “A law degree?”

“Sure.” I laugh. “You have to know the law to skirt around it.”

I’m kidding—mostly—but Alissa doesn’t seem amused.

“Where does she find these people?”

“Foreign countries. She travels a few times a year.”

“How does she decide who to choose?”

I clear my throat. “Well, they have to be attractive. Healthy. In good shape.”

She scoffs. “So the uggos don’t make the cut?”

I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t say it was fair. But Rouge is the one putting her money up. It’s not as if she’s running a charity. She also covers their medical expenses while they’re here, so anyone with a chronic condition probably won’t be chosen. She’s running a for-profit business.”

“And they have to be nice-looking, too.”

“She wants the waitstaff to look good, yeah.”

“So she can whore them out to the patrons?”

I shrug. “Like I said, it’s all consensual. They all know what they’re signing up for when they come.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “These people have their whole lives ahead of them. They can make something of themselves. And five years of service to the club is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

27

ALISSA

I tentmy fingers in front of my nose, close my eyes, and take a deep breath in.

I’m trying to make sense of what Maddox just told me.

Five years of service in exchange for housing, food, medical and immigration expenses.

It’s unclear if they get paid. But I did fill out a tip line when I closed out my tab this afternoon. There was a separate line for service and for bar staff. I’d ask one of the waitstaff if they’re allowed to keep their tips, but none of them will talk to me.

The world can be a cruel place. An unjust one.

I didn’t exactly grow up rich, but we were comfortable. There was always food on the table, always petrol in the car.

Mum was an absolute nightmare at times, but I had a roof over my head.

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