He is ruthless I got in a deal with him

Chapter two

Jane's POV

I walked up to the brothel, red and pink lights illuminating the street as I reached it. A gatekeeper manned the gate, asking my identity before letting me in. I'd worn my comfiest clothes, hoping this would be a short night of washing cups or playing stagehand, so I could go home, and maybe, just maybe, I could go to work tomorrow and run around my excuse for today.

It had reached sunset by the time they released us, driving us back where they met us and taking us into our house before untying us. He'd reminded me to show up before ten, as it would be a long night for me. I'd nodded, agreeing with him and setting my father down on a chair as I rushed get water in a bowl, and bandages to cover the wound so I could rush him to the hospital by morning. By my return, they'd left just as they came, the house reeking of death.

Loud music blared in the distance, strippers lining the stage on three different poles. Men gathered around the stage like dogs to raw meat, throwing money at them, and drooling as they shook their assets. They all rode the poles like their lives depended on it, which I presumed it did, considering the circumstances with which I'd been hired. I watched them, wondering if they all had gambling addicted fathers as I thought of my own, set to sleep, grunting painfully as he slept.

I walked past the bar man and made my way to the main office on the second floor, as directed by a waitress. She wore a tiny black dress, stopping just short of her bum, a white frilly apron tied to her waist, walking shakily in her very high heels. She was probably new too.

I knocked on the office door, greeted by a beautiful woman, who's curves were spellbinding. I stared for a moment, taking her in as she let me through the door, taking a seat as she directed from her own chair. She looked like a boss, all on her own, her stoic demeanor only pushing that narrative as she watched me watch her. She picked up a clipboard, assigning me to the top floor and then turning to me.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was stern and feminine, jolting me out of my reverie of admiration. I looked down at myself, tugging at a loose thread on my large cotton sweater in shame.

“Oh, I assume the top floor is the kitchen area? Don't worry, washing is my forte.” I reassured her, setting my hands on the desk to further convince her how good I was.

“That isn't what I asked.” She interrupted me, her expression unwavering, if not getting worse, as I ranted on about how spick and span I could get her cups and trays. I stopped, looking back at her, then down at my clothes, and laughing lightly in embarrassment.

“Oh, these? They are my comfiest clothes, as I wouldn't want to be handling soap in a work dress.” I answered, this meeting fast feeling like an interview. I didn't want to be here, but I had to adapt quickly or my father would be taken away again.

“Get your silly ass to the wardrobe and have them style you. You're going to be meeting billionaires, we don't want you looking drab and worn out.” She instructed, waving a shiny black pen at me. I was confused. What billionaires? My mind began racing as realization came to me. I didn't want to believe what I was thinking. It couldn't be.

“What billionaires?” I asked, a similar fear to that which I had this morning as the suited man walked up to me, rising in my stomach, and tying it in knots. I watched her expression as she tapped her pen on the large, mahogany table, polished to the tee, it's shiny surface almost distracting. She was getting annoyed, very very fast.

“What do you think you're here to do? Wash cups? With those curves? Come on. Get over it. I see your bum fighting for space in those sweatpants. I see you bosom calling for me beneath that sweater. I know you wore this drab getup to distract me from what you can actually do. Sadly, you've already been assigned.” She said finally, hitting the table with her hands and pushing her wheels backwards, towards the large, princess like window behind her, turning and looking out onto the night sky.

“But-”

“Get out. Off to wardrobe with you, there's lots of money to be made tonight. You'll be directed on what to do in every situation once you're done with wardrobe.” She interrupted again, leaving me breathless and confused. The suited man never said I was going to work as a prostitute. Was that his plan all along? To have me sleeping with men? I couldn't believe it.

“Wow.” I looked beautiful. I'd met a lady who'd brought me here, pushing me a dress as soon as we settled. My black hair rolled in waves, covering up the open cleavage, the dress revealed. It hugged in all the right places, the dress, the fringes jingling with each little move I made. I looked good, there was no doubt about it. I turned from side to side, checking myself out, the mirror reflecting back a beauty.

“Exactly.” And with that, she walked me back to the vanity and sat me down, getting to work on my face and hair. She brushed out my waves, smiling at me throughout the process as she rubbed this and dabbed that. By the time she was done, I was looking like her, silvery eyeshadow gracing my eyelids, every eyebag and bruise I had from all the crying, hidden, tucked away under all that powder.

The room felt ethereal, calm purple lighting filling the place as I sat down. The king size bed was intimidating, a pole on one side of the room, shimmering under the light. An ice bucket lay on the bedside table, a bottle of wine sitting prettily in it, wine glasses set beside it. The floor was tiled, prompting great care as I walked for fear of falling. I was hungry, I needed a drink, and most importantly, I needed to get away from here, and quickly. The sheer thought nauseated me further.

Fighting back tears, I picked a wine glass, pulling the wine from the ice bucket and peeling off its covering, struggling with the cork. The cork popped off, the wine gingerly swirling in the wine bottle and then the glass as I poured, pondering upon my life's choices.

It was sweet. Extra sweet, the alcohol blending easily with the sweet to give an exquisite taste that felt far away. I smiled as it greeted my taste buds, sizzling a little in my mouth. I got a kick from each swig I took, pouring myself more, and more and more till things began to ease out, sending me into disorientation. The wine bottle sat in the ice bucket, empty, as I drank the last of it in my glass. I smiled again, laying back on the bed and sinking into it, songs from my childhood playing easily in my head, my mother's face clouding my vision under the now red lighting.

Footsteps rang loudly in my ears, shaking me out of my reverie, and I remembered my bidding in the room. I got up, swinging repeatedly and trying to adjust my dress downward. A large figure approached me, my vision blurring a little as I watched. His hand sat firmly on his suit jacket, stopping short of my standing form.

“You are beeeuteeful.” I slurred, struggling to catch his expression with the dimness of the light. And he was, with facial features for days. His hand fell on my waist, holding me up, sparks rushing all over me. I struggled to keep my head straight, so he could compliment me too, or at least kiss me. I waited, puckering my lips after a few minutes of him not getting the hint when I'd finally managed to keep my head straight.

“Are you drunk?” His voice was masculine and boisterous, sending shivers down my spine. I ran my hand through the hair at the back of his head, giggling childishly at it's feel on my hands. He was wasting too much time. I raised myself and forced my lips on his, the sloppy kiss gett

ing a response from him as soon as it began.