Page 5 of Merciless Sinner

I’m in enough trouble as it is. The kind that might mean I have to run again if things don’t work out for me by the end of the month.

It would be a shame to leave. I’ve been in Monte Carlo for a little over a year and held down this job for near enough the same time. It’s just not enough to pay my extortionate debts.

The only job I could get that could help me is one where I have to sell my soul to the devil. I officially start tonight.

“Hey, Alice, come on, get your head out of the clouds!” Louis yells at me. “The customers need you.”

I turn to find his stern face and the disapproving way he shakes his bald head. He’s the supervisor here, but he thinks he owns the place.

“Sorry. I’ll go take more orders.” I nod, but before I move, I look back at the handsome man outside just before he disappears from my sight.

It was nice of him to help me.

Whoever he was.

* * *

The bright flashing lights of Club Montage bounce against the inky night sky in a cascade of colors.

The vibrant sight reminds of films I’ve seen of hotels on the Las Vegas Strip.

The club is enormous, elegant, and extravagant enough to blend right into the same decadence you’d find in Las Vegas, which makes it perfect for Monte Carlo.

Except Club Montage isn’t exactly a hotel.

Sure, it has rooms like the surrounding hotels and resorts where you can stay, and it also has a casino with live burlesque shows.

But beneath all of that, it’s really a high-end sex club. A playground for the wealthy billionaires, and the resting place for dignity for girls like me who’ve reached the end of the line and have no other choice.

My soul feels just as dirty as it did days ago when I made my way up these steps to sign my contract to be one of their Angels—a VIP escort.

Basically a whore. The Angels are the girls who are reserved for high-profile clientele. I got selected because of the color of my hair and the size of my breasts.

At two grand a night, an Angel is expected to do whatever is required of her. That means everything, including sleeping with said high-profile clientele if that’s what they require.

I was told that most girls work here because they obviously love the money, but also because they actually love the job. It appeals to their wild side.

Unfortunately for me, I’m just desperate and have reached a new low in my life.

I’m a soon-to-be whore who landed herself in a death trap when she got mixed up with the wrong kind of man who then got her mixed up with the worst kind of people.

I met Flavio when I first came to Monaco. Even in my amnesiac state, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. But I was lonely.

Lonely and tired of moving across Europe when I felt trouble was following me.

Things moved fast. Way too fast. Before I knew it, we were living together and taking out loans in each other’s names. The loan was to open a water sports shop. Because he was a surfer and we live in a place where people worship the beach, I thought it was a good idea. I also love anything to do with the water.

But there was no business. It was all a sham.

I thought he cared about me, but he was just using me. We were together for a grand total of four months before the asshole left me without a trace, emptied my bank account, and left in debt for seventy grand to a bunch of cartel drug lords who didn’t hesitate to beat me black and blue.

When I walk through the staff door, I have the same thoughts I had the other night. That this is one of those times when I’m grateful I don’t remember who I am.

I’d like to believe that in my other life, I was better than this.

But just like the other night, my thoughts are chased away with the one warning I was given to never trust anyone who recognizes me from wherever I originally came from.

That’s the one solemn truth I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life and run as soon as I feel like my life is in danger.

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