She shouldn't. She shouldn’t believe me. I’m lying to her about almost everything—who I am, why I'm here, what I want. But in this one thing, I'm telling the absolute truth.
Chapter 4
Kayla
I study my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror of Midnights. My cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from biting them, and my eyes look different somehow—wider, brighter. My body still hums with aftershocks of what just happened in that private room.
An orgasm. That's what the man—Mr. Torrino—called it.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to cool the heat that hasn't fully subsided. My thighs still feel shaky, like I've run a mile.
I've never felt anything like it before. That rush of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. The way my body seemed to know what to do even though my mind had no clue. The way I'd ground myself against him, chasing something I didn't understand until it crashed over me in waves.
And he just... let me. Didn't try to touch me. Didn't demand anything in return. Just talked me through it with that deep voice that made my insides melt.
He was so nice.
It must have been an act, because men aren't really nice. That's one of the first lessons Jason taught me after Mom died. The lesson usually came with his fists or his belt.
"Men only want one thing," Jason would say after catching me looking too long at a boy at school. "And once they get it, they're done with you. You'll be trash. Used goods.”
The bruises from those lessons have long faded, but the fear remains, burrowed deep under my skin. Jason's methods were cruel, but maybe he was trying to protect me in his own twisted way. The world is full of men who see girls like me as disposable—men like Alonso and the rest of the cartel.
Yet for thirty minutes tonight, I felt…good.
The door bangs open and Scarlett strolls in, her crimson lips curved in a knowing smirk.
"Well, well." She leans against the bathroom counter. "Somebody made quite the impression on Mr. Torrino. Alonso says he paid thirty-five grand for your wiggling amateur ass."
I stare at the sink, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Don't get cocky," Scarlett taps a long nail against the counter. “Soon you'll be gone, and he'll move on to the next shiny toy."
My head snaps up. "What do you mean, gone?"
Her smile widens. “The auction’s coming up. You and the other merchandise will be sold to the highest bidder. "
The room tilts and spins around me. I grip the edge of the sink to stay upright.
Scarlett pushes off the counter and heads out the door. I'm alone again with my reflection, which now looks pale and terrified.
I know what the auction means. Carmel, one of the girls I live with, explained it once, "They sell them the virgins to the highest bidder. Rich men who want something nobody else has touched."
The memory makes me gag. I barely make it to the toilet before I'm retching, emptying my stomach of the single protein bar I'd managed to eat today.
When I finish, I wipe my mouth with trembling hands. There's no way out of this. No escape. The doors at our apartment always have someone watching. My ID is locked away, my phone confiscated.
Even if I could run, where would I go? I have no money. No family. No friends—Jason made sure of that.
An hour later, I'm escorted to the apartment by one of Alonso's goons. It's a prison disguised as housing—a tiny one-bedroom I share with three other girls who are rarely there at the same time because of our staggered shifts.
The man shoves me toward the building entrance. "Be ready at seven tomorrow evening. Don't make us come looking for you."
Inside, the apartment is mercifully empty. The other girls are still at the club or wherever else the cartel sends them. I peel off the hated uniform and pull on an oversized t-shirt—one of the few items I managed to grab from my old place.
I curl up on the thin mattress that serves as my bed in the corner of the living room. Through the window beside me, I can see a slice of night sky and a peppering of stars.
As a kid, I believed in wishing on stars. Mom and I would sit on our tiny balcony and make wishes together.
