Some of the girls idling close by shoot curious glances in our direction, but I can't find it in me to care. All this is too absurd to process.
"I need to leave," I tell her.
"You cant."
"What?" My voice rises. "Why can't I?"
"The establishment prides itself on formality and absolute discretion. You cannot back out unless Leo retracts you."
Again with that, "What does a retraction mean?"
She shakes her head, straightening her posture. ''All that is irrelevant. Your first paycheck is already set; you have to see it through. If you wish to discontinue after, you can. Your membership will be collected, but for tonight, there's no backing out."
The payment.
The entire reason I even signed up for this job in the first place. Those numbers made me see stars, and now they're all starting to make sense.
Were being auctioned. For what?
My silence seems to satisfy her; she lets go of me, making her way to another door, different from the one we came in. "Girls, get ready; it's time. Once you've picked your outfits, take a number and line up. Your audience awaits you."
The girls scamper around; I'm the only one not darting around to get myself situated. I don't want a part in any of this; the reserved, shy girl inside of me could never accept this. But the money...
The goddamn paycheck is the solution to almost all my problems. Those numbers have me asking, What's the worst that could happen?
I swallow hard. Walking up to the racks, my eyes rove over the lacy, revealing materials. Brand new, their lapels still on. My hands move over some of the pieces, and slowly, I pull a sheer black set off the hangers. It's barely any material, barely anything, but funny enough, it's the most coverage I can find in the options provided.
I can't believe I'm doing this.
There's no room for privacy; I have to take off my clothes on the spot and put on the sheer fabric. It's delicate and thin, not covering anything. Following the other girls lead, I reach into a clear glass bowl of folded papers, taking my spot as number three on the line.
Show time, girls."
She picks up the microphone from the table, opens the door, and then walks out. Sultry, soft music pours into the room from the open door; her voice echoes loudly, "Gentlemen." A smile touches her voice. "And ladies. Your prizes are here!" She drags out the last word, like the fact is the greatest piece of information to ever be conveyed. "We have much to show you. You have much to choose from; the night seems promising.
"Now, for our first prize of the night," The girl standing at the front of the line reaches behind her back, slipping the clasp out and pulling it off completely. "Crimson Rose!"
She struts out, and my heart plummets. From what I can see, she makes a show of shaking out her arms, her tits bouncing with the movement. There are no cheers or vigor from the crowd; it's quiet as she makes an absolute show of herself, stepping onto the circular stage beside The Mistress and twirling a full circle for all to see.
"Saucy, confident." The Mistress' voice turns deep and enticing: "It's no mystery the desires one like her could fulfill behind closed doors."
The girl starts making her way back toward us. My mouth hangs open as she sways her bare chest in our direction, cupping her chest just before she makes it back into the room.
"Purple Star!" The girl in front of me struts out. She takes off her heels once she gets to the stage, making a show of walking around the edges so close that one wrong move and she would fall off. The mistress' eyes follow her with a saccharine smile. The girl caresses her waist as she walks to the center, gripping onto the silver pole and lifting herself into the air.
The mistress whistles, "Flexible. Need I say anything else?"
Purple Star performs the kind of acrobatics that make her seem boneless; my eyes follow the lithe, practiced movements. It seems impossible for a human to do, but there she is, bending and arching with a sensual grace that makes my cheeks flush.
It feels like I'm dreaming, and I need someone to pinch me awake. Once she's through with her performance, the mistress begins speaking again: "Our third prize of the night, Blue Ivy!"
Slowly and hesitantly, I step out the door. It's dim, much darker than the room all the other girls are waiting in, but it's bright enough for me to see the litter of people, men and women, sitting in rounded booths, most of them in pairs, and very few sitting alone. More than half of the crowd wears masks of their own, but there are still a few leaving their faces open for all to see. It must be optional for the guests.
Under the bright stage lights, I feel more exposed. It takes everything within me to not lift my arms to cover myself. I'm in nothing but sheer stockings, a matching thong, and a bralet. Almost nothing is left to the imagination.
I step up to the podium, feeling multiple pairs of eyes following my every hesitant move. I can't do this.
I'm on the stage, trying my best to maintain my composure. They can't see my face. They don't know who I am.
The reassurance does nothing to calm me down.
My eyes dance over the crowd, squinting underneath the spotlight for better vision. Every single person in the crowd is dressed immaculately: expensive suits, sweaters, and elegant dresses for the ladies. The audience oozes wealth. My eyes stall on a table right in the center of the room, a broken gasp slipping out of me.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
They're sitting right next to each other, both of their gazes locked on mine from across the large room. Neither of them have masks on; it's too easy to recognize them, even at this distance.
My heart hammers against my ribcage.
Rune and Kane.