Page 12 of The Bronze Garza
She leans back against the headboard. “I couldn’t either when I first came. But the men don’t really care, to be honest. They’re just here for the nudity.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Just...be careful what you say or do, okay? William pretty much intimated that a lot of the men here, even the security they hired, are in Igor’s pockets. His spies.”
“William?”
“The tall, ill-tempered Brit.”
“Oh. Well, it makes sense,” I say with a shrug, “that Igor will do whatever to protect his ‘investments’. Making sure there’s no escape for us.”
“Yeah...” Her voice is sad and sorrowful, and it makes me happy. Her braincells aren’t lost after all.
~
Thethump thumpthumpof the music downstairs thrums through the building later that evening as we take turns doing our hair and make-up and get dressed in the usual attire of next-to-nothing.
To think, I used to be so prudish pre-abduction. Now being half-naked has become like second nature. Perpetual. I’ve grown so accustomed to perverted eyes and hands violating my body that my skin no longer crawls and I no longer drape my hands across myself to hide.
I’m forever changed. The old prudish, prudent, and positive me with dazzling hopes for the future died the night my virginity was violently stolen by Igor. To “break me in.”
We’re soon allowed out of the bedroom—aka holding cell—and ordered to get downstairs and start working.
Zoey leads the way, reminding us of the club rules and the prices for lap dances, basic versus private.
I peer down as we move along the corridor. Crawling with bodies and dazzling with a kaleidoscope of lights, the club is a stark contrast to when we came in this morning. On stage, two strippers grind against each other. And I’m so damn jealous of them. Jealous that they get to choose this life. That they can just quit if they feel like it. That they get to go home at the end of the night to their families and loved ones.
Kate and Zoey split away from us as soon as we hit the bottom of the stairs.
Simone wraps her arms around her bare mid-drift, seemingly intimidated by the crowd.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.
She looks at me and makes as if to say something, but then turns and walks away from me.
Oh well.
I weave through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar. Igor does allow me alcohol as well as those pills that make me feel like I’m floating on clouds, so that’s one thing I know for sure my system will keep down. When I get to the bar, I recognize the server behind it as the tall English man from this morning.
William.
I lean my torso onto the counter. “Hi!”
He pops a brow at me as he pours tequila into a shot-glass.
“Are we allowed to drink?” I ask over the music.
He slides the shot-glass of tequila to the waiting customer. “Yes, but with limits.”
“What’s the limit?”
“Two beers max, or one shot of hard liquor.”
“In that case, can I get a shot of the strongest thing you have behind there?” I say. “Something that will numb me.”
Though his gaze narrows on me, he nods. Pours me a shot, then slide it across the counter to me. “Spirytus Vodka.”
“Spasiba,” I say with a salute, then dump it down my throat.
