Page 227 of Boyfriend of the Hour
His eyes met mine with a silent plea.
Shakily, I nodded and allowed myself to be towed away.
Kyle, followed by Shawn and Ares, led me through a corridor that looked a lot nicer than the room I’d been in. I was right—it was a spare utility closet in what otherwise appeared to be an enormous yacht. Outside that miniature dungeon, everything was plush—wood floors, plaster walls, a fully staffed kitchen, and multiple bedrooms dressed in luxe fabrics and custom furniture.
At the end of the hall, Kyle opened a closed door and shoved me inside. There I found a number of other girls in varying states of undress.
“Twenty minutes until we pick up the party,” he informed everyone. “Be ready.”
He turned and left without looking my way. Shawn, however, gave me one more smile that made my body break out in goosebumps.
“Last show for me, Sunshine,” he said as his gold tooth glinted like a star. “Better make it a good one. Otherwise, you don’t know who you’ll end up with.”
The door shut, and we all listened to the sound of a lock turning. I turned around to find six other girls, many eyeing me with similar distrust. Most of them looked like they couldn’t have even been fifteen, some even younger than that. Two sat on the bed, doing each other’s hair. One was lolling on a pillow, eyes glazed, likely due to some sort of substance. A few others were seated at a table, doing their makeup. All of them were dressed—if you could call it that—in different bits of lingerie obviously designed less for support and more for spectators.
They were all different, too. Different ethnicities, speaking different languages. Some of them looked like they could have been from my neighborhood. It was more the hollowness in their eyes I recognized than any particular ethnic features. The type that came from growing up in a place where you weren’t always sure someone would be able to take care of you. Too many kids from certain parts of the Bronx looked that way. Too many people struggling to make ends meet meant that too many children got left behind.
Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was that we Zolas had had a house to come back to. A soft place to land when our own parents screwed up.
Not everyone had that. I was willing to bet some of these girls fell into that category.
“Um, hi,” I said, waving to them. “I’m Joni.”
Two raised their hands and spoke in an unfamiliar language that sounded a bit like what I’d heard earlier from Antoni andhis cronies. Another girl, who looked like she was probably the oldest aside from me, got up from the makeup table.
“You’re the seventh?” she asked in Caribbean-accented English
“I guess,” I said. “What—what exactly are we doing here?”
A few of the girls shared looks. Others appeared utterly desolate.
“I’m Femi,” said the one who had approached. “They’re getting us ready to serve up.”
“Serve to…who?” I had to know even though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
“The big boys,” she said dryly. “I hear them talking. A party. They bring us up. The men, they pay for us to use. Some, maybe they watch. Some, maybe they play.” She looked me up and down. “You’re a bit old for this game, but pretty. If you’re smart, you make the big man like you. He don’t hurt his girls. He keeps their faces clean, don’t want the other men to touch what he wants.”
“And who’s that?” I asked. “Who’s the ‘big man’?”
Femi tipped her head. “Lis, of course. But we all want him. So, you better get ready, girl.” She dragged a hardened gaze up and down my body again. “Lis likes his girls clean. And you are dirty.”
I swallowed back an argument. Part of me wanted to say fuck it. That if I was going to be sold into a prostitution ring, I wasn’t going to do it on their terms. They could have me dirty and smelling like basement, after more than a day without a shower, unshaven and unmade up.
But Mike’s words repeated in my ear.You’re gonna do what he says. And then you’re gonna run.
Twenty minutes, Kyle had said. The boat was stopping in twenty minutes.
And one way or another, I was getting off.
I straightened and turned to Femi. “Where’s the shower?”
FORTY-NINE
WHAT EGOT STANDS FOR
#3 Oscar
Iwasn’t sure exactly what time it was when the engines of the yacht stopped, but at some point, the yawning of the vessel was even more pronounced. I was already showered, my hair dried and teased into a showgirl-style ponytail, a solid mask of makeup layered on my face, when I put on the bright red teddy that wrapped around my body like it was completely made of ribbons.
