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I manage to blink my eyes open, finally, and sit up. Those same gentle hands help me, and I muster a smile at whoever this is sitting next to me on the low stone wall. “Thanks.”
She scrunches her face and eyes my appearance. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
I almost laugh. “Yeah, well… just got back.”
Her cornflower blue eyes soften with pity. “Hate to break it to you, but I think you actually slid into a deeper circle.”
I look around the room to see what she means. We’re inside The Meridian’s atrium—I recognize the exotic flowers Demyen pointed out to me the last time we were here. Back when we actually spoke to each other and shared our secrets with each other.
This time, he’s not here. Instead, the place is filled with beautiful women in sparkling gowns and various forms of sensual evening dress, their hair all perfectly styled and makeup flawlessly applied. No one seems happy.
‘What’s going on?” I whisper my question just in case it’s not as bad as my gut says it is.
My new companion sighs. “Fuck. You’re not here willingly, are you?”
That’s a weird question to ask. “Is anyone?”
Another woman slides into our conversation, her voice chipper even though her face is etched with worry. “Oh, you know how it goes. You try to make a livin’, get arrested for it, cop strikes a deal with you. Suck him off, maybe let him bang you on the interrogation table, then go play dress-up for some high rollers at a club.”
“And then, when it’s auction time,” adds my pseudo-friend, “we play nice and do our best to not get sold to a complete asshat.”
I swallow the dry lump stuck in my throat. “‘Sold’?”
They both frown at me. “Yeah,” the second woman says. “Didn’t you know?”
The first one sighs and looks at the other. “I don’t think she’s here on her own.”
“Well, fuck. That sucks.” She folds her arms around her waist. “I’m so sorry.”
I can’t wrap my mind around what’s going on. It’s throbbing a little too hard to make heads or tails of it, anyway. “I need to get out of here. I gotta go find…”
Ugh, fuck me.I’m just now realizing that the person who could and would actually get me out of here is the same guy I just cold-clocked in the face back in that lounge room.
“Everett. I need to find my dad, Greg Everett.”
The second woman, a stunning brunette beauty with track marks on the insides of her arms and signs of early aging creeping around her face, lofts a dark brow at me. “Everett?DetectiveEverett? He’s your father?”
I nod, then instantly regret it.Ouch. “Yeah. You know him?”
Both the blonde and brunette scoff and roll their eyes. But I can tell it’s not directed at me.
“Yeah, we know him. Fucked him, too. Or, well, I should say I sucked him and then he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Man is a beast between the legs and just as sloppy.”
Ew.I don’t need to hear this about my own father.
But the blonde who helped me nods her agreement. “Yeah, for me it was either face twelve-to-twenty behind bars, or get on my knees and beg him to sweep it all under the rug.” She side-eyes me. “Without words.”
Nausea blooms in my stomach.
“I guess he uses that as some sort of tryouts, ya know? Like, if you can suck his soul through his dick, he’ll save your ass from the judge and get you set up with a nice owner at auction.”
“Well, ‘nice’ isn’t the right word. More like, the least dickish. Some buyers actually do take care of their women, and I’m counting on landing one of those.”
Merchandise.Dad was talking about merchandise, about having something the Yakuza wanted to buy…
My stomach churns when I look around again.
Slavesis a better word.Dad had sex slaves to sell. An endless, endless supply.
