Episode 1: Walking Into The Devils Den
1152 Words
Sophia’s POV
‘I hope this text finds you before I do! Pray that your silly games do not cost my company, else...’
“Damn you.” I groan, staring long enough at the message from my father.
I am done, tired of being controlled like a doll.
Charlotte, my elder sister, is the perfect daughter, one that my father wishes that I emulate. I had run away from home, Connecticut, to New Jersey, refusing to be his pawn.
He chose the college I attended, gave me a job in his company, and boom, one day he gave me a suitor and announced that my wedding would be in three months.
Who freaking does that?!
It's been two weeks since my disappearance, and I changed my identity so he wouldn't trace me.
"Ava, are you okay?" Emily leans closer.
Her voice, coupled with the blasting music from the speaker, almost burst my ear drums.
“Yeah,” I flash a fake smile and slip my phone back into the pocket of my black pants.
The blue club light settles on her face, showing the worried look in her eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
“Not really,” she itches the back of her neck.
It's obvious that something is off. Scared that she has discovered I'm an imposter, perhaps my father has gotten to her, I set the mapping down.
“Emily?”
"Okay,” she sighs softly. "The manager wants to see you.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. "Why?” I stutter after a while.
“I don't know,” she shrugs. "But I know it isn't good.”
“Piña colada.” A client says his order, distracting us for a moment.
“I'll handle it, you should go now.”
Barely nodding, I untie my apron, set it on a bar stool, and walk to his office that's on the first floor. The club is a two-story building, with the second floor used as the section for VIPs, they get to be entertained by the best strippers and served lots of crazy things.
Tap.
I step back a little, waiting for him to respond.
“Ava? Come in.”
In his office, Mr. Thompson is sitting in his arms chair, the huge desk successfully burying his pot belly.
“Good day, sir, you sent for me,”
"Do you even know your math?" He grunts, his eyes gazing at me furiously.
“I...” I swallow dryly. Emily is right, this isn't good at all, matter of fact, it is terrible.
“I don't understand, sir.”
“From your records,” he turns a big journal to me. I recognize the book, it's my sales book. "You are several dollars short, missing drinks...” he stands up and approaches me, "coupled with the poor review from clients.”
Right.
I knew it had to do with the ugly old man I punched last night. He almost assaulted me, using his drunken state as an excuse.
“Sir, he was at fault...”
“No one cares, clients are always right.” He smirks, sitting on the desk, with the bright light settling on his bald head, and his knee grazing my bosom.
I adjust a bit, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“Just one report and you will be back on the streets.”
"I'm sorry,”
Even though this isn't my dream job, it puts food on my table at least, until I'm done processing my documents and leaving New York for good.
“You don't have to be, I can make you start on a clean slate if you give me what I want.”
Unexpectedly, he caresses my neck and touches my collar, about to rip off my buttons.
“Stop!” I smack his hand off.
“Quit acting innocent...” He stands up, coming hard on me.
“Get the f**k off me!” I push him forcefully, sending him tumbling off the desk.
I don't need to be told to run.
“What did he say?” Emily asks curiously when I return to the bar.
Does he abuse you? I swallow my words, not wanting to put her off. She goes to his office most times and returns with a gloomy look... Jeez!
“Just something to do with missing funds,” I dismiss her subtly.
While I serve customers for the rest of the night, the awkward touch of Mr. Thompson's hand on my neck, makes me cringe.
I pour a shot of tequila, and down it with a gulp. I need to forget it.
“Ava?”
“Hmm...” I take another, ignoring Emily.
“What's wrong?”
“Never mind...”
“No, we work together and your problem rubs off me...”
"Well, pretend like I don't have one.” I flash a fake smile again.
“Vodka.”
The cool voice of a client pulls us to the counter. It blends so well with the background music, and even though he said one word, his voice oddly keeps replaying in my head.
Pulled in his charm, I abandon Emily and walk to the counter.
“Here,” I slide the glass of vodka to him.
Honestly, this has nothing to do with trying to forget Mr. Thompson’s touch, I just can't get off the grip of his sexy green eyes.
Sensing my lust from miles off, he smirks and gently strides away.
Picking his dollar note, I find a card underneath it.
20/21 Room B.
It's the hotel just opposite our club.
He sets the glass down and winks at me before disappearing.
It seems like he made my night chaotic. Trying to not indulge him, I dry the glasses.
“Easy.” Emily groans.
“You know what, this isn't working.” I throw the napkin aside and loosen my apron.
“Where are you going?”
“Cover up for me, I'll be back in a minute.”
Rushing out of the club, I rush to his den. When I ring the doorbell, he is waiting for me, stalk naked.
Damn!
Pulling me in, he plasters me to the door, taking my lips in bouts of sizzling kisses, leaving me breathless.
My phone rings in my pocket, and he traps my hand to the wall when I try to get it.
“Don’t.”
A prisoner to his charm, I obey. He peels off every layer of my clothing until we're even, and leads me to his bed.
His groin settling in between my thighs, he rides me slowly and sensually, each thrust getting harder as he drives us to c****x.
“Huh.” I catch my breath, rolling to the other side of the bed and picking up my phone from the stand.
There is a message from Charlotte. I open it to read.
‘Father found you!’
- Writer
