I watched the stage from a high-backed chair, something meant for a degenerate CEO or a Bond villain, and ran my finger along the cold rim of a whiskey glass. First round of auditions and already the place felt like mine. The promise of money and notoriety had drawn the usual horde: girls with dead eyes and worse stories, predators looking to be put on salary. I’d told Rook to bring only the ones who could handle real work. I had plans for this particular business. None of them involved a nice night out.
Vex stood to my left, clipboard in hand, her bleach-blonde hair tied off in a scalpel-sharp bun. She wore leather pants and nothing above the waist but a men’s undershirt, rolled so tight around her chest it could have doubled as a tourniquet. The way she ticked off each girl’s “stats” was both clinical and faintly gleeful, like she’d finally landed a job that let her be herself. I’d have to keep an eye on her, but for now, she was useful.
First up: a bottle-blonde in stripper heels so tall they made her knees wobble. She stepped onto the stage and tried to make eye contact, which was mistake number one. Her name was Cherry, or Cheyenne, or some other C-word; it didn’t matter.
“Walk to the pole and back,” I said. She did, but even from here I could see the tremor in her calves, the way her knees threatened to pop inward with each step. I looked at Vex. “Two months clean, tops.”
Vex snorted, jotting it down. “Could do private rooms, if you want high turnover. She won’t last a week.”
The girl reached the end of the runway and looked down at us, waiting for her instructions. I held up a finger, savoring the pause. “Take off your top,” I said. “Slowly.”
She obeyed, but her eyes never left the exits. The breasts were work; the rest was luck and genetics. There was a patch of bruising on her left hip, the kind you get from either a lover or a fall. I preferred not to guess. She tossed the top aside, revealing a tattoo of a pistol over her ribs. I liked the art, hated the skin. I beckoned her down off the stage.
She shuffled over, past the pit, to where we sat. I waited until she was within reach before speaking.
“You’re new,” I said. “Probably hoping this is just another club, and the worst thing that happens is some asshole grabs your tit.” I drained the whiskey. “But this isn’t Bumfuck. And I am not some asshole.”
She made a noise, not quite a question.
I gestured for her to turn around. She did slowly, revealing the knife-edge of her back. I reached up and gripped her by the wrist, pulling her closer.
“If you want to work here, you will do everything I tell you,” I said. “There’s a room in the back for customers who want more than a dance. You will not say no. You will not cry. You will not threaten to call the police.” I squeezed her wrist harder. “If I catch you skimming, if I catch you lying to me, I will break your fingers one at a time. Do you understand?”
She nodded, just once, but it was enough. I let her go. She stumbled back, mascara threatening to run.
“Now,” I said, “pull down your panties. Let’s see if you’ve got anything worth selling.”
She hesitated. Vex’s pen tapped the paper, then stopped.
“Do it,” I said, voice low.
She obeyed, tugging the flimsy string of black cotton down her thighs. The skin underneath was pale, marred by a strip of scarring high on the inside, maybe from a childhood surgery or something less accidental. I stared for a moment, then gestured for her to put them back up.
“Not bad,” I said, though I didn’t mean it. “Go wait by the bar. If you need to call your sponsor, now’s the time.”
She pulled her clothes back on with shaking hands and hurried off, eyes locked on the floor.
Vex looked at me, a question in her expression.
“Too soft,” I said. “We’ll keep her for numbers, but she’s not the type I want.”
The next girl came in before I finished the thought. Taller, brown hair, straight and sharp. Eyes so dark I couldn’t place the color in the light. She wore a cheap dress, but it fit her body like she’d been sewn into it. She walked to the center of the stage and stopped, waiting.
“Name?” I asked.
“Alexis,” she said, voice level.
I gestured her down. She took the stairs two at a time, confidence in her stride. This was better. Vex grinned, showing too many teeth.
I looked her over, arms crossed. “What did you do before this?”
“Waitressed. Drove for Lyft. Nothing steady.”
I nodded. “Drugs?”
“No.”
“Busted for anything?”
