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He didn’t answer.
He was younger than she’d expected. Good-looking, too. Clean clothes, strong jaw, nothing about him that would make anyone look twice if they passed him on the street. Normal. Respectable. She knew better than to mistake either of those things for safe, but she’d sat beside men who looked far worse and walked away perfectly fine.
“What would you like?”
Instead of answering, he put the car into gear.
She frowned as they rolled forward, and she twisted in her seat to look through the rear window. Her car shrank behind them, taillights swallowed by the darkness.
“Hang on.” She turned back to him. “Where are we going? We agreed here.”
He didn’t answer.
Her unease tightened. That little prickle Kayleigh had taught her never to ignore. So she reached for the door handle.
Clunk.
The locks dropped before her fingers touched it.
She froze, then slowly looked at him. “This isn’t what we agreed.”
His gaze remained fixed ahead. So she unlocked the door. He locked it again. She tried once more, only for another clunk to fill the car. It felt absurd, almost childish, until she realised he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t threatening her or shouting. He was perfectly calm, demonstrating without a single word exactly who controlled whether she got out of this car.
She, on the other hand, panicked. “Open the fucking door.”
He ignored her.
She glanced at the dark building and remembered more of those stories. Girls promised one man and finding several. Private parties. Places where the rules changed once they arrived and suddenly no stopped meaning what it was supposed to mean.
Some of those girls had come back.
Not all of them had.
“I don’t do parties.” She fought to keep her voice level. “Whatever this is, I’m not doing it.”
The car rolled to a stop. She tried the door again.
“Let me out.”
He didn’t move, and panic tightened around her chest. Somewhere beneath it came another voice, one she’d heard too many times from people who knew nothing about women like her. What did you expect? As if she’d chosen this moment simply by choosing the work. As if taking money from men meant surrendering the right to decide what happened to her afterwards.
They didn’t know how many cars she’d climbed into without anything happening. How many strangers had paid her, thanked her and driven away. How often it had been fine. More than fine, sometimes. Quick money that kept the lights on, food in the fridge and something resembling a life stitched together from whatever she could manage.
They didn’t know how hard she’d tried to make it safer.
She’d followed the rules. Learned which men to avoid, which numbers never to answer, which places not to go alone. She’d even let them put that stupid little mark on her skin because she’d been told it meant something. That the right people would know it. That girls like her got looked after.
Safe.
That was what she was supposed to be now.
She swallowed and forced the fear from her voice. “Fine. Forget it. Keep your money. I’ll go.”
Nothing.
The stillness frightened her more than shouting would have. So she leaned across him for the lock. His hand closed around her arm so suddenly she gasped, fingers digging painfully into her skin.
“Get off.” She twisted, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip only tightened. “Let go!”
