Who the fuck else? His was the only name she knew besides Andros’s. If she hadn’t been too impoverished to save Holly’s life on her own, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Rather than pointing out the obvious and bitching, she poured on the charm. “Yeah. He’s good. Thanks.”
“Welcome. But as a newbie, you’ll have to wait several eons before he’ll put you on his schedule…if he does.”
A shriek caught in her throat. “I can’t stay here.”
He snapped his fingers. A paper bearing the word Contract at the top materialized next to him. He scanned the document. “Are you saying this isn’t your signature? If it’s not, then you do have a valid complaint. Take a look. Please. Let me know.”
The paper flew her way. She skittered away from it. “What if it is mine? That jerk demon promised—”
“Yeah, I got that.” He stood, his black dress pants hugging his powerful thighs. “Is your sister getting the treatments she needs?” Genuine concern rose in his eyes. “Is she better? Will she survive?”
His questions and unexpected worry touched her. “The docs swear she is and will, but—”
“Uh-uh.” He wagged his finger as he might to a rebellious child, his previous consideration gone. “We met our end of the bargain, and now it’s time for you to do the same.”
Her blood ran cold. “This is where the boiling oil comes in?”
He blinked. “What?”
She couldn’t believe he needed an explanation. “You’re going to torture me?”
“Torture? Like pulling out your fingernails or hammering spikes through your eyeballs?”
Sweat poured down her face and chest. She pressed her lips together, not wanting to give him any ideas.
Understanding sparked in his eyes. The emotion didn’t last. “Moving on, let’s focus on your duties here.” He rounded his desk and leaned against it. “Given your wait experience at Sally Jean’s, you’ll serve drinks in Hard Lust, the gentleman’s club I own along with Racan and Vespar, who you’ll meet shortly.”
She didn’t understand. “Gentleman’s what?”
“Club. It’s where the commotion is coming from.”
The wall trembled, pictures and mirrors jounced, crappy music swelled, and women and men bellowed in either pain or ecstasy.
He smoothed his pants. “You’re on duty twenty-three-seven and—”
“What? Wait.” She wasn’t staying, but if she couldn’t find a way out she wasn’t putting up with that shit. “Are we talking hours and days here, or is there another way you measure time?”
“We use eternity as the standard. Endless. Ceaseless. Infinite. Or whatever term you prefer.”
The room swam. This couldn’t get worse, unless he shot spikes at her as she schlepped booze to who-knew-what in the club. “You’re saying I get one freaking hour off each day?”
“You sound surprised.” He lifted his chin, dimples gone, manner wounded. “No matter what you’ve heard concerning this place, we’re not bastards. We care about our condemned.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. It died on a whimper. “I. Do. Not. Belong. Here.”
His demeanor cooled. “We don’t get involved in contract disputes. Be grateful your sister’s on the mend.” He tapped his thumbs against the desk. “About your clothes…”
“What about them?”
“They need to go.”
“What?” She stepped back and ran into the ornate door, which had returned without a handle or knob. “No. Damn. Way.”
He glanced to the side and then back, his commanding stare hardening. “You can’t wear what you have on.” He gestured to her running shoes, jeans, and tee then wrinkled his nose at the message on it: Feminist as Fuck. “Hard Lust is the ultimate experience down here. Our patrons expect a certain flair. Quality if you will.”
Song lyrics poured in, each word more obscene than the last. The images in the porn pictures came to life, the same as the statues, the guys balls deep in females and males, the mirrors reflecting everything.
She clenched her jaw.
He put out his hand. Several leather straps, similar to narrow belts, appeared and hung over his palm. “Your uniform…and shoes.” Five-inch stilettos took form, dangling from his fingers.
The uniform had less material than the heels. Dental floss would have covered her better. She wanted to barf and resist, settling on the latter. “As I’ve already stated, no damn way. You forcing me isn’t—”
“Forcing you?” He looked perplexed. “You made the bargain, my partners and I didn’t. Now that you’re here, our job is to run this place. Like working in Hard Lust is yours, while you’re in uniform. Which the other women have worn without complaint, question, or comment.”
“They’re not me.” She arched an eyebrow. “I still say no.”
He swung from confused to annoyed to pensive. “Look, we use dim lighting in the club, except for the exhibitionist, voyeur, and discipline areas…and the spotlights, which you’ll see when you get there. If you’re sensitive as to how you’ll look in your uniform, you’ll—”
“Seriously?” For the first time, she approached him, frustrated and tired of men objectifying and marginalizing females so they could rule the world. They were almost as bad as the beauty industry getting rich off women’s insecurities that they caused. “I’m not ashamed of my looks. I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of my appearance, including you. As far as going topless, I don’t see the problem. How come guys get to strip down, but women can’t? I’d guess it has everything to do with men’s inability to control themselves.” She breathed hard. “Don’t ever think I have issues with this, because I don’t.”
He offered a sympathetic look. “Sure about that?”
In a perfect world, she would have slugged him. Being here, she pulled off her tee and bra, tossed both aside, and cupped her boobs. “I dare you to tell me anything is wrong with these babies.”
He stared at her tightened nipples, his lips parting. “Now that you’re on board, I say ditch the rest.”
Right. She shouldn’t have expected a different response, but was surprised she’d stepped into his trap so easily. However, what he wanted wasn’t happening. Capitulation had never been in her nature, not even down here. “You first.”
He pushed away from the desk.
Although tempted by his raw magnetism, and hating herself for it, she stepped back and bumped into something.