“Yo, Midnight Rose!”
I blinked a few times, bringing into focus the girl who had called my name. When she noticed that she had my attention, she tapped the bangle bracelet on her wrist, letting me know that I was going to be late for my shift.
Keeping the rose and glass dagger with me, I started toward the back of Club D. I’d place the rose and glass in my locker, and then bring them home with me in the morning, saving them with the rest.
3
Rosalia
The Vestals, or Vestal Virgins, came to mind every time I walked through the doors of Club D.
In ancient Rome, the college of the Vestals were priestesses of Vesta, goddess of the hearth. It was believed that they were fundamental to the safety and continuation of Rome by not allowing the sacred fire to go out. The Vestals took a thirty-year vow of abstinence, which freed them from marrying and having children, since back then it was the norm, something expected.
The Vestals no longer belonged to their fathers once chosen, becoming daughters of the state.
As such, punishments were doled out if any woman allowed the fire to burn out. It was a direct offense, because it meant that the woman had neglected her duty to keep Rome safe. The woman would take a beating to remind her of what she’d done.
There was no punishment worse than what the woman would suffer if she broke her vow of chastity, though. The Vestal Virgin’s purity was a direct link to Rome, they believed, and the offense of being intimate with a citizen was punishable by death. It was a form of treason, and the treasonous woman would be sentenced to immurement.
She was buried alive with only a day’s worth of food and water.
Spilling her blood on the soil was forbidden, so it was the only way to kill her without shedding a droplet of it.
None of the women who worked here were required to be virgins, nor did we have to take a vow of chastity, but everything else rang true.
We were required to take vows, and no two were more important than our promises of silence and of not falling in love with any man who belonged to any criminal organization—anywhere in the world.
The men who had founded Murder for Hire, Inc. believed that our silence and loyalty was a direct link to keeping their subsociety safe, and in doing so, the fires of hell would stay at bay while keeping the internal flame stoked on the inside.
If we spoke to the wrong people, or fell in love with one of them, both were acts of treason and were punishable. The level of severity directed the outcome of the punishment.
We were constantly being watched, too, by the powers who paid our bills—just as the Vestals were.
The men who belonged had to adhere to rules here as well. They were expected to treat us as respectfully as they expected another man to treat their mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters.
The women who worked here were all unique and beautiful in their own ways, so if relationships started, which they inevitably would, it could take down more than just Murder for Hire, Inc., if the woman felt scorned and decided she wanted payback in the form of ratting. Not to mention the fact that most of these men were powerful and could take advantage.
Lust was always heady in the air, as strong as perfume some nights, so it was clear to see what would happen if those laws didn’t exist. Constant trouble.
We could have relationships outside of work, but we could never give much more than a basic explanation of what we did to whoever we dated. If the woman was smart, which most of these women were, they kept the description of their job true but simple.
“I work for a bunch of rich guys at an exclusive club owned by rich guys.”
Yeah, that was about it. No matter how social this place seemed, it belonged to criminals, and the good of the organization was the number one priority.
We were free to marry, though, either before or after our time was up. If we married, we were dismissed from our duties. Sometimes even arranged marriages were set up between the women who worked at the club and men in politics who helped things run more smoothly for the powers that be.
No matter what, though, we all had an expiration date. The age of thirty was when retirement came calling. To encourage us to stay the entire time and put off marriage and kids (if wanted) until later, our severance package was outstanding. We were set for life if we retired. It was an incentive that most women couldn’t pass up.
Marriage was shaky business. This one was not.
Two men passed me, smelling of cigar smoke and whiskey, and I fell into step behind them.
The men who frequented Club D didn't keep normal hours. The place was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Murder was a job that didn't sleep, and neither did a lot of these men, apparently. Especially the men of Murder for Hire, Inc. If anyone kept up with the nocturnal, it was them.
If I had a watch, I would’ve checked the time. Clocks didn’t exist inside the doors, and we were not allowed to wear watches or keep on us anything that kept time for “security” purposes inside of the building.
