It didn’t make sense. We were sold for sex all the time. It was never a fancy show. A few times Nate had a new customer see us before taking his pick, but it was informal and done at the house.
Another girl, numbered 259, took the stage. She was short and tan and was wearing a sheer black nightie. The stage lights caused her nipple piercings to sparkle. She stared straight ahead, appearing emotionless, and walked the catwalk. She stopped in the center and slowly turned around before taking a place next to 258 on the side of the stage.
The remaining three girls repeated the process and then lined up along the stage. Zane moved out of the dressing room and quietly closed the door behind us. We stood at the back of the stage, just behind the curtain. I could see the men get up from their seats to inspect the girls.
The large blonde man pointed to 261. She nodded and quickly got off the stage and went over to him. She held her arms out a little at her sides, giving him a view of her entire body. He cupped her breasts and jiggled them. He frowned and turned her around. He said something to the man next to him, speaking in a language that I didn’t know. He had her bend over and inspected her rear end.
“How much is this one?” he asked in a thick Russian accent.
“She starts at $15,000,” Nate told him. “They all do.”
My eyes bulged. $15,000? Holy shit, that's a lot of money! Since when did … oh. The girls weren’t being sold for just one night. They were being sold for good. I felt dizzy and suddenly cold, so cold. What were these men planning on doing? It wasn’t like they could take home their new sex-slave and show her off as if it was a new puppy. No, she would have to stay hidden, locked away like I was, only coming out to do her deranged master’s bidding.
The men bartered and haggled with Nate. A burly, black man in a gray suit asked if he could take number 260 to one of the private rooms for a ‘test ride.’ Nate quickly nodded, saying yes, but only if he paid. The man handed Nate a handful of cash. He licked his lips and whisked 260 away.
The large blonde man finished inspecting another girl. “They pretty, no?” he asked his companion, who nodded in agreement.
“Do you see one you like?” Nate asked, standing with his hands behind his back. He gave the blonde man a pleasant smile and reminded me of a used car salesman who would do anything to make a quick buck. Only worse. Much, much worse.
“All pretty. Very pretty,” he said.
“Yes, they all are,” Nate replied with another smile. I wanted to slap it off of his handsome face. “Any one of them will make a great present for your son.”
“But they are all same.” He shook his head. “No spark.”
Nate’s smile momentarily faltered. “No spark is a good thing. These girls know their place. They will do what they are told.”
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The blonde man ran his hand over his thinning hair and said something that I couldn’t hear. I took a tentative step forward. He turned and inspected the girls again. Then his eyes landed on me. I froze as fear sliced through me. Then anger took over, and I flashed him a look that I hoped conveyed my disgust.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Zane demanded and grabbed my wrist. I twisted my arm and pulled back. “You can’t go out there looking like that!”
“Let me go, asshole,” I spat. Zane yanked me behind the curtain. “Let me go!” I repeated and swatted at him. Zane blocked my blow and retaliated by hitting me across the face. I tumbled back, tripping over my own feet. I put my hands out as I fell and landed on the other side of the curtain.
“That one,” the large blonde man excitedly spoke and pointed at me. “Show me that one.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE SMELL OF bleach hung heavy in the stagnant air, burning my nose and causing my eyes to water. I sat on the edge of the cot with my bare feet planted on the cold cement ground. My hands were folded in my lap, and I stared straight ahead, looking at the bottom of the basement stairs.
I slowly blinked; my eyelids threatened to shut. My stomach twisted with hunger. I was so thirsty that my lips were dry and sticking together. It had to be well past midnight, and I had been sitting on the edge of the cot ever since I returned from Paradise.
A sharp click came from the stairs. I didn’t allow myself to feel anything. Another lock opened. Still nothing. The third lock shot back. I was empty inside. I imagined the oval knob slowly spinning as someone opened the door. The hinges creaked, and the wooden plank of the top step protested under someone’s weight. Then the door clicked shut. My brain wouldn’t allow me to process any emotions. It had switched into survival mode, and I couldn’t handle anything else. Cold and numb, I kept my eyes on the base of the stairs.