My stomach churns as I notice another couple on a chaise lounge, his hand sliding beneath her dress, pulling her hair with his other hand like a leash, while three observers sip champagne and nod approvingly. Some kissing, some watching, and some fucking—all of it a performance.
My eyes scan the perimeter until they land on what makes my blood run cold of a row of chairs arranged in a semi-circle. Each one holds a young woman, all wearing identical masks. They sit perfectly still, like dolls on display, their hands folded in their laps as if… They're being auctioned. Each one is more beautiful than the last yet sharing the same vacant stare with an emptiness that comes from being dead inside.
I'm still frozen taking it all in, when I feel something soft brush against my face from behind and delicate fingers slip a lace masquerade mask over my eyes, tying it with practiced gentleness.
This is really happening.
“There,” whispers a feminine voice, the sound silky and practiced. “Much better.”
A cloud of her rose and something darker perfume engulfs me, I try to turn, to see who's adorning me like a sacrifice, but her hands glide down my arms, fingertips barely touching yet somehow controlling my movements completely. She steps around to face me, and I stare at a woman in black lace lingerie that leaves little to the imagination. Small crystals adorn her mask, catching the purple light and making her face shimmer. Inarrow my eyes to explore more of her, but she lets her gaze drift to the side as she takes my hand.
“Come with me,” she says, her voice like honey laced with poison.
She leads me through the crowd, my feet moving while my mind screams to run. As we weave between masked figures, I notice other women in lingerie like hers scattered throughout the room. Some carry silver trays of champagne flutes, their eyes vacant too behind jeweled masks. Others drape themselves across the laps of men in expensive suits, writhing to the music now playing “Supermassive Black Hole” from Muse.
These are the men with wallets fat enough to buy a human being. God, they watch them like they’re selecting cuts of meat. These must be the buyers. The traffickers. The monsters who see women as commodities. It’s all a grotesque showcase of appetizers before the main course. My stomach lurches at the thought of their hands on me, on any of these women, and I imagine the sheer satisfaction of throwing up all over their polished, expensive leather shoes.
She guides me to the row of chairs where the other women are sitting and gestures to an empty one in the middle. My legs feel like lead as I sink into it, trapped between the ghosts of two women who seem to wish they were dead. How long have they been here? How many 'parties' have they endured, or worse… Where do they end up after these parties?
My attention snaps back to the woman in black lingerie now standing before me, caressing my hair, and her fingers trace down my cheek, leaving goosebumps of discomfort in her wake.
She turns around, surveying the room with practiced nonchalance, and then moves in front of me with a graceful, predatory motion and sits on me. Her body moves against mine, giving me a lap dance, and my breath hitches, unable to move nor know what to do with my hands.
She’s hypnotic, beautiful even. I wonder why she’s here, how she got entangled in this world, and if she’s begging to escape it as much as I am. She brushes her hand to her breast seductively until I notice her reaching for something in her bra and places it between her teeth. With deliberate slowness, she leans closer, her lips softly kissing mine. I almost get caught up in the feel of her when her tongue parts my mouth open, letting whatever she holds between her teeth drop onto my waiting tastebuds…
I jerk my face away, about to spit it out, but she instantly whispers in my ear, “Swallow, Sara. They will inject you with something, and this will counteract it.”
I stare at her masked face inches from mine until her eyes her bright blue eyes strike me with a recognition so fierce, I get whiplash.
Mimi.
Her words slice through my panic, and I swallow the small pill.
“Good girl,” Mimi breathes against my ear. “Now listen carefully.”
I discreetly nod and she shifts on my lap as she continues her performance, making it look like she's dancing for me and for the entertainment of the masked audience.
“Don't react.” Her lips brush my skin as she continues. “Keep your face neutral. They're going to take you to a private room soon. Don't fight it. I'll let Liam know you're here. I’m hoping they don’t take you on the yacht.”
My eyes widen behind my mask. "Who Mimi? Who’s going to take me?”
She doesn't answer my desperate questions. Instead, she slides off my lap with grace, her fingertips trailing across my shoulder as she slinks into the crowd. Her hips sway to the music as she disappears, leaving me alone in the row of women.
Whatever she made me swallow sits heavy in my stomach. My head swims, vision blurs at the edges, spreading warmththrough my limbs that quickly turns to heaviness. I grip the arms of the chair, trying to anchor myself as the music distorts…
Is this what she meant by counteracting what they'll inject me with? Or did she drug me like everyone else here?
The purple lights stretch into smears of color. Faces around me melt together, becoming unrecognizable blobs behind their ornate masks.
Liam… What have I done?
A man in a black suit and silver mask appears before me, his features unrecognizable even if I tried. He extends his hand, and I take it, rising from the chair on unsteady legs. My body feels disconnected, as if I'm piloting it from somewhere far away.
I try to focus, but the red lights blur into a haze as we walk. Suddenly, I recognize the line of doors. This is where Tyler cornered me, where I escaped him. The second we reach one of the doors, I fight to wrench my arm free.
No, no, no.
My nightmare seeping into my reality and being locked into one of those rooms is making me feel like I’m going to die. He unlocks it with a key card held around his neck, the mechanism clicking as it disengages.
