The wooden stage beneath me creaked under my weight. My body moved of its own accord, repeating the same dance I performed every night until the Madam sent me into a room with whichever sadistic bastard paid the highest price. The bruises from the men who had their way with me these past few days still decorated my skin. The finger shaped marks on my waist and hips itched beneath the shimmering gold glitter that hid them.
You'd have thought it'd be illegal, but sin isn't a thing in Vegas. And sex trade was almost as normal as having breakfast on a sunday.
The cheers filled my ears, nearly deafening as my fingers seductively roamed my nearly naked body, the flimsy bra and panties barely covering me. Every attempt to block out the screams proved futile.
My eyes roamed the crowd, spotting different kinds of men until they landed on the Madam, the owner of this brothel and my current monster. A man stood next to her, frowning slightly. Already his gaze was on me. Those eyes seemed to make the bronze walls close in, almost suffocating even.
No part of me dared to stop dancing as they approached me, but my knees nearly buckled from anticipation. Madam's corset dress shimmered as she walked, her lips moving as she kept staring.
"Come here girl." The Madam ordered. Ignoring the groaning men begging me not to stop, I climbed down from the wooden platform.
Standing infront of him now, the intimidating presence seemed to grow tenfold. His crisp black suit looked like it cost more than every dime this brothel made in a decade and his large frame towered over me.
Her arm extended, gripping my chin harshly and forcing me to meet his gaze. "This is Mr Morozcov. He paid a hefty sum to have you, so you're going to be good for him. Won't you girl?"
Nodding shakily my eyes bored into his cold grey ones. He still hadn't said a word, and that dug a pit deep in my gut. Men who didn't tell you what they wanted were dangerous, especially for people like me.
He was handsome, not that it mattered. I've been forced to be with ugly men, average men and unfairly attractive men. Looks don't matter in my world, but the thought still echoed in my mind, sticking to me. This man, Mr Morozcov, was very handsome.
Her fingernails dug into my skin, snapping me back to reality. "I'll be good." The words came out soft, barely audible but she accepted it regardless.
"Be respectful girl. Say hello to your new owner." Her words were like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. New owner?
My mind raced, still struggling to comprehend what she just said. Trading isn't unusual in this business, and it's happened to me a few times already, but the shock was still there, just like it had been all those years ago when I was a child and sold for the first time.
"H_Hello sir." The uncertainty of not knowing what he might want from me, his expectations and demands, was probably the most fatal position possible.
"Are you OK?" Mr Morozcov spoke for the first time, causing me to flinch back. His voice had an accent to it. Probably Russian considering his last name.
Nausea climbed up to my throat, my head pounding from the effort it took to Nod.
"She's fine. You know how_"
"I wasn't speaking to you." My eyes snapped up, the confusion growing even more. No one had ever dared speak to Madam like that, yet here she was, smiling like he didn't just shut her up. Who was this man?
"I'm fine sir." My head fell, bowing to appear more submissive. That was something men tended to like, girls who obeyed without question because the price of rebellion was too high.
"I had one of the girls pack her things and leave it in your vehicle as requested. If that is all I will take my leave." Her fingers detached from my chin, and with a final pat on my back, she's walking away. Each step seemed to signify the finality of my situation.
The hope that filled my chest when she turned around disgusted me. "Oh, and if she gives you any trouble, just place a call to me. I'll handle her for you." And then she's gone.
My eyes tore away from her receding back to stare at him, his eyes were already taking me in fully. My arms made their way around my body, trying to cover myself and create some sort of illusion of warmth as safety. It was fake, safety hadn't been a word in my dictionary for years now, and there was no deluded reality where this man changed that.
"You are cold?" Without waiting for my answer before he shrugged off his suit jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. His touch, light against my skin, caused me to shiver.
"Thank you sir." Still unsure of what to call him, 'Sir' seemed to be the safest option. After all, he hadn't complained.
We made our way out of the brothel. The moon provided what little light it could, casting a shadow over the large building that was no longer my home. It was still dark. The streets lights that adorned the littered sides of the road were mostly broken.
Chest pounding, my feet barely managed to keep up with Mr Morozcov. He stopped walking infront of a nice black car. An expensive car.
He was clearly wealthy. What was a man of his status doing in the slums of Vegas?
He pulled open the passenger seat for me, staring expectantly.
My skin prickled when my weight settled in the crisp black leather seat. The interior of the car had an all black aesthetic, from the tinted windows to even the car rugs.
The door to the driver's seat pulled open, my eyes dropped to my lap instinctively, fingers trembling. The glitter covering my bruises had began to fall off, and the black and purple marks left a permanent remainder of my miserable reality.
My lips remained firmly shut while he started the car and drove away. If he wanted me to speak, he would have said so. The awkward silence carried for a long time, until he chose to break it.
"Do you remember me?" His voice was sharp, almost desperate.
Was this a game? Should I play along? Some men like playing games. It usually ended with me bleeding on a stone floor. My body ached from just the thought. "Should I?"
He scoffed. Not mocking, more like disbelieving. "Tell me your name."
"J_Jane?" The lie came out as more of a question, and the point of it still eluded me. It's not like my name mattered, most of my former owners didn't even know it. The madam definitely didn't.
"Don't lie to me girl." Even with my efforts, hiding the flinch at his harsh words was impossible.
"It's Ella. Ariella." My body was visible shaking now, vision blurring with tears.
He grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the road. "You're sure? That's always been your name?"
My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. This had to be some kind of game, and there was never going to be a right way to play it.
"Hey? Are you sure you're ok?" He finally looked away from the road.
"I'm ok sir." My shoulders curled forward, shrinking deeper into his jacket.
"You're hurt." It wasn't a question, and even if it was, the lump growing in my throat wouldn't allow me to give him an answer. "I'll have a doctor come to check you up. Is there any injury you think might be infected?"
"I_I don't know." The girls at the brothel got checkups occasionally, but my last one was over a month ago. There was no way to know for sure.
"Are you... clean?" He cleared his throat, clicking his tongue after. "I mean do you have any sort of sexual disease?"
"Not that I know of." Maybe a lie would've been a better response to that, after all sex was probably what he bought me for. Its what all of them bought me for. But he already proved that he could tell a lie from the truth.
"I'll get you tested." He turned the wheel, driving the car into a fancy looking parking lot that belonged to a large, cream coloured, building. "We're here, Ariella."
My name sounded so strange coming from someone else. He pushed the car door open, stepping out.
There had been no order for me to follow. Yet he might want me to. The decision was made for me when the door next to me got opened.
Mr Morozcov extended his arm to me. "Let's go. I'll have someone bring your bag up."
Taking his hand quickly, he pulled me out of the car seat with a grunt. We entered the large building, the white walls seemed to be impossibly tall, the smell was something sweet but foreign to me. The inside was busy, filled with people dressed in gowns and suits.
Some of them greeted Mr Morozcov but he ignored them, instead leading me to a blonde woman sitting behind a golden counter table. A telephone and a monitor were arranged on the right side.
My feet tripped over each other in my chase to keep up with him, buttoning up the suit jacket to cover myself up.
"This hotel is secured, you have nothing to be afraid of." He whispered to me right before we reached the woman. "Killian Morozcov. My assistant already booked a suite for me."
The woman, who's probably the receptionist, looked almost bored when she acknowledged us, but the moment his name left his lips she suddenly became the sweetest ass kisser in history. "Mr Morozcov, you're here. Yes I did receive a call. You're in the top floor. The elevator is this way. Your bags were sent in earlier today."
My confusion was replaced with irritation when she peaked behind Mr Morozcov and gave me a disapproving glare. "Is this lady bothering you sir? I don't know how she got in. Let me call security." She said, reaching for the telephone. If my future wasn't already completely undetermined, this lady might've actually gotten a fist to her jaw.
"She's with me. And if anyone bothers her you'll find yourself to blame for what I do." Her fingers froze halfway to the phone then pulled back like they were on fire.
"I apologise sir." She plastered a fake smile to her face and gestured to the general direction of the elevator. "You can go up to your suite now, I'll make sure your dinner is sent up timely. Both of you." She handed him a gold card, still smiling.
We moved to the elevator, and it became more and more evident how much attention people would give to a girl wearing a bikini under a suit jacket in such an elegant hotel.
My face burned with humiliation, vision blurring once again with the tears that would cost too much to be shed.
The elevator was empty and once again we were together in a confined space. The silence so thick yet completely fagile. The elevator doors pulled apart, revealing a wide hallway painted a warm shade of blue. A plush teal rug spread out across the length. It was probably softer than the cot I used to sleep in.
My heart pounded against my chest. The reality of my situation never seemed more dire than it did in this moment. Because once he pulled thay door open he would expect things from me. This wasn't some guy in madam's brothel. He owned me now. Which meant there was no one to stop him or hold him back. My lips quivered at the image my mind painted.
Killian approached the single door on the right side and tapped the card to the little black box decide it.
The door unlocked with a click, startling me. Killian glanced back at me, his expression cryptic.
My heart was still heavy when he placed his hand on the knob. My lip dropped, a silent plea for him to not hurt me.
He opened the door.