“Smart. Stunning. Clearly not from this world.” He gestures around the opulent bar. “This isn’t where someone like you ends up unless something’s gone very wrong.”
The alcohol is making me reckless. “Everything’s gone wrong.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Something in his tone breaks down my defenses. Maybe it’s the drinks, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had a real conversation with another human being in weeks, but I find myself talking.
“I have nowhere to go,” I admit. “No money, no family worth calling family. After this drink, I’ll probably walk out of here and…I don’t know. Figure out which bridge looks most appealing.”
Vincent’s expression darkens. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have left.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, turning his glass in his hands. “What if I told you there was another option?”
“Like what?”
“You need money. I occasionally have clients who need…companionship. Beautiful, intelligent women who can hold a conversation, who can make a man feel less alone in the world.”
The words sink in slowly. “You’re talking about?—”
“I’m talking about one evening. One client. Five thousand dollars.” His voice is gentle but direct. “Are you willing to do whatever it takes to survive, Kasi?”
I stare at the amber liquid in my glass. Five thousand dollars. That could give me a real chance to start over again.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Before my father sold me, I was going to be a teacher.
Now I’m seriously considering selling my body to a stranger.
But isn’t that what I was doing with Dante? Isn’t that exactly what I’d been—a beautiful object to be displayed, used, traded? At least this way, I get to choose. At least this way, I get paid.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Vincent nods once. “Excellent. Let’s get you prepared.”
The preparation room is smaller than I expected, maybe the size of a generous walk-in closet. No windows, just warm overhead lighting that makes everything look golden. There’s a single chair, a vanity table covered in makeup and hair products, and a full-length mirror propped against one wall.
Two women are waiting for me. One’s maybe forty, blonde, wearing a simple black dress. The other is younger, brunette, with efficient movements, as if she’s done this a thousand times.
“Arms up, sweetheart,” the blonde says, and they help me out of my wrinkled dress.
I catch myself in the mirror and freeze.
Jesus. When did I get so thin? Gas station food and whatever scraps I could afford have carved me down to nothing.
“You’re beautiful,” the brunette says, noticing my stare. “Just need to put some meat back on those bones.”
They guide me into a shower that feels like silk against my skin. Real soap, expensive shampoo that smells like jasmine. The hot water strips away the feeling of fear, leaving me feeling almost human again.
They dry my hair until it falls in waves past my shoulders, apply makeup that makes my eyes look mysterious instead of hollow, and paint my lips the color of red wine. The dress they bring is black silk, simple but elegant, cut to show the curve of my waist and the length of my legs.
In the mirror, I look like someone else entirely. Someone who belongs in a place like this.
Someone who might actually be worth five thousand dollars.
The small snake tattoo on my collarbone peeks above the dress’s neckline—a reminder of the woman I’m trying to become. I got it two days after I left Dante, a symbol of rebirth, of shedding old skin.
