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Zephyr followed the other woman as Alpha went to talk to another guy behind the bar, maybe the manager.
The two seated women, maybe a little older than her, studied her inquisitively.
“You’re not what we expected,” Katelin stated, looking her up and down but not in a mean way. “You’re… small.”
Zephyr laughed. “I am. I’m Zee.”
"Nice to meet you, Zee," Irina said with a heavy accent. "I must say it is unusual for you to meet us."
Zephyr shrugged. "I just wanted to learn about this place, and about AV from you ladies. Understand the business better since I'm an outsider, you know."
If they found her weird, they were polite enough not to let it on. She spent the next few minutes talking to the women, understanding the inner workings of her husband’s empire, getting most of their stories, and realizing how glad they were to work under AV’s security.
Jasmine, she learned, had been pimped by her father since she'd been twelve for almost a decade until she tried to leave and he beat her to the brink of death. Alpha found her and sent her to SLF, and made her his eyes on the streets afterward for pay.
Irina had been a freelancer and had been raped by two men who’d taken her in a car. She had jumped out of the moving vehicle when she'd realized she needed protection but didn’t want a pimp. So she’d come to AV.
Katelin had been with The Syndicate, working as a human slave since she was eight up until a wealthy gentleman bought her. She killed the man, changed her name, and escaped to AV.
Zephyr also realized while talking to them that not all sex workers worked the same. Katelin, for example, had one man she spent her time with for the money, and then she was free to enjoy life as she pleased. Irina, on the other hand, came to the club twice a week to pick up clients. Jasmine didn’t work sexually at all.
“On fight nights,” Irina told her, sipping iced water, “it’s especially good for business. The arena is just next door. After the fight, people want to drink, to talk, spend more money. It’s a full house during that time.”
Damn.
Zephyr wondered if all people in the industry had such horrific backstories, if they were all survivors of immense trauma that they masked with the business of sex. It made her realize how lucky she had been in her life, how privileged to have been born to good parents who had taken care of her, to have a sister who loved her, and then to find a man who liked her well enough to miss her when she was gone.
The extent of what Alpha had done for them hit her then. He had given these women a choice, but more importantly, he’d given people who’d constantly looked over their shoulders safety and hope. And she couldn’t even fathom what that must feel like, of being able to sleep at night without worrying about physical safety, of knowing there was an exit if they wanted it.
She was lucky and sitting in the company of women who hadn’t been, made her want to do something for them. But she didn’t know what she could do. She had no skills except hairdressing, and to an extent, baking. What could she do for them that would give them a little joy, a little happy memory? She didn’t know.
A muscular hand slid around her waist, the height of the stool putting her on an almost similar level as her husband.
“Are you done?” he asked, his voice deep and dark.
She nodded, giving the ladies a small smile. “Thank you for talking to me.”
They gave her nods and waves as Alpha picked her up by her hips again, putting her on her feet, and led her outside.
“Satisfied?” They exited into the parking lot, a lot more crowded with people on the other side now. Zephyr watched curiously.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s a fight night,” Hector piped from the side, joining them. “They’re finishing up the semi-finals before there’s a final showdown.”
Wait, it was like a tournament? “Is it for a title or something?” Zephyr had never really watched sports on TV so she didn’t know how this worked.
Hector chuckled. “It’s for survival. Most guys who fight aren’t there willingly.”
Wait, what? She looked up at Alpha, his eye on the entry to the arena. “What does Hector mean?”
Alpha sighed. “The fighters are owned by… people. They train them and then bets are placed at each fight. Since there aren’t any rules, death is usually how it ends.”
Her stomach sank.
She watched the men outside the entrance, trying to see if she could see any of that dynamic. She recognized the guy they’d called the Ravager the other night, the one who’d snapped a boy’s neck in a few seconds. He stood to the side in boxer shorts and vest, his ice blond hair out of place in the tropical city, his eyes on something in the distance. Another fighter in shorts stood next to two men in a suit, looking subservient.
“That boy wants death,” Hector pointed to the quiet fighter. “The Ravager is one of the most brutal killing machines in the circuit. And with the way the boy is standing, he knows it too.”
