Chapter 3 New Job

Gwen's POV My heart pounded as Amanda tugged me forward. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the cramped office, curling in the air like a warning. "Madam, I got you a fresh girl," Amanda said, flashing a nervous smile. The woman behind the desk rose, sleek and predatory, her red nails glinting under the dim light. She pulled out another cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled right in my face. I coughed. "Well done, Amanda," she murmured, scanning me from head to toe. "Greenhorn. I can smell her innocence." A man's voice came from behind. "She's a virgin? Let me unwrap her." The woman replied to the man sharply. "You've had enough virgins this week. This one's not for you. I'll train her myself." My pulse raced. I didn't understand what they were talking about, only that I was in danger. "She's a minor, isn't she?" the woman asked. Amanda nodded. "How old are you?" The woman's tone was sharp enough to cut glass. "Eight....sixteen," I stammered, almost blurting out the wrong number. "Eight or sixteen?" she barked. "Sixteen," I said quickly, trembling. She hissed. "Two years before I can sell you." Sell me? My stomach twisted. "She's homeless," Amanda said. "No one's looking for her." The woman leaned back, exhaling smoke. "Good. Let her wash up and join the waitresses tonight. Let's see how she fits in." She shoved a paper towards me. "Sign this." "I can't read or write," I whispered. She grabbed my thumb, pressed it into an ink pad, and stamped it on the page. "That'll do. You belong to me now. I clothe you, feed you, and shelter you. In return, you work. I'm Madam Green." I nodded numbly, not understanding the weight of what I'd just agreed to. Amanda took me out, handed me a towel, and pointed to a small bathroom. After bathing, she returned with a skimpy bunny costume. My cheeks burned just looking at it. "Put it on, or die," she said flatly. The words froze my breath. I slipped into the outfit, tugging it awkwardly to cover myself. "Good. Now, remember," Amanda said, straightening my ponytail and placing bunny ears on my head, "you've signed your life away. The police can't help you." When we entered the club, my senses exploded: blinding lights, pounding music, and bodies pressed close. Some girls danced in cages above the stage, others swayed in bikinis. Men lounged on couches, hands wandering freely. Amanda strutted ahead like she owned the place. "She's the new waitress," she told the man behind the counter. I gripped my tray tightly, trying to stay invisible. "Hey, sugar, how much for the night?" a man shouted. Before I could react, Amanda blocked him. "She's staff, not stock. Respect the rules." The man backed away instantly. I blinked. How could such a tiny woman intimidate him? Amanda turned to me. "Listen carefully. You only serve drinks. Nothing more. If anyone touches you, say the words, 'Respect the rules, ' and threaten to scream. They'll stop." "And if they don't?" "Then scream. High-pitched. The snipers will take care of the rest." I looked up. The ceiling had a narrow balcony ringed with railings. Dark figures lingered there, half-hidden. "Some of those disco lights," Amanda added with a grin, "aren't lights. They're laser sights. Cross one, and you drop." I gulped hard. We began serving. Amanda's tray floated effortlessly on her palm while her hips swayed to the beat. She smiled at customers, teasing, charming. I tried to imitate her, but my tray wobbled. A glass slipped and shattered. A cleaner appeared out of nowhere, silently sweeping up the shards. I whispered an apology, but Amanda waved it off. "Hold it with both hands," she said. By the end of the night, I'd found a rhythm. I wasn't invisible anymore; people noticed me. Some smiled, some stared, but none dared touch. When the club finally closed, Amanda led me to a small room behind the staff quarters. "This is yours," she said. "Hide your tips. Don't trust anyone." She left, and I sat on the edge of the bed, counting the few crumpled notes I'd earned. It wasn't much, but it was mine. For the first time in months, I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Three weeks later, I was almost a pro. The bunny outfit no longer made me blush; I wore it like armour. The men knew better than to cross me. "Not all the lights are for show," I'd tell them with a wink. "You don't want to end up in a body bag." It worked every time. Jose, the bartender, became my quiet ally. He mixed drinks like a magician, flaming cocktails, bubbling brews that smoked and fizzed. I served them with a smile, collected my tips, and kept my head down. Life had settled into a routine. I cleaned after closing, slept for a few hours, then scrubbed the place again by morning. Madam Green provided one meal a day; my tips covered breakfast. It wasn't much, but it was better than sleeping on the streets. The only thing I hated was cleaning the private rooms. They were always messy, littered with strange rubber filled with cloudy liquid. One afternoon, curiosity got the better of me. "Amanda," I asked, holding one up, "what are these? Drugs?" She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Please tell me you didn't taste it." "Of course not," I frowned. "I did smell it, though. Kind of like strawberries, and rotten eggs." Amanda howled with laughter. "Do you know what condoms are?" she asked when she caught her breath. I shook my head. "Well, that's one. Used by men. For sex." My eyes widened. "They stop diseases and babies," she said, still grinning. "And what's inside? That's sperm." I dropped it instantly, disgust curling in my gut. Amanda laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. From that day on, I wore gloves for cleaning. A few days later, Madam Green walked in with her assistant, Jack, the same man who had spoken about "unwrapping" me my first night. My skin crawled at the sight of him. "Done cleaning?" Madam Green asked. "Yes, ma'am." "Good. Come to my office." I followed, hands trembling. "You're dancing tonight," she said the moment I stepped in. "Me?" "No, the Queen of England," she snapped. "Yes, you." She shoved a phone into my hand. A video played, a woman pole-dancing in a mask, moving like liquid fire. "Learn it. One hour. You'll perform tonight." My mouth went dry. "I, I don't know how." "Then learn fast," she said, lighting another cigarette. I sat on the couch beside Jack, watching the video over and over until I could almost feel the music in my bones. When Madam Green snapped her fingers, I jumped. "Show me." "Here?" "No, on Mars," she barked. "Of course, here!" I hesitated, and the phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor. The screen cracked. "That's coming out of your pay," she said coldly. "I don't get paid," I muttered before I could stop myself. "Exactly. I feed and clothe you. That's your payment. Now you owe me." "I'm sorry." "No lunch for a month. Sleep wherever you want. Unless," she leaned forward, eyes gleaming, "you give me a perfect dance." She pressed play on the stereo. Music flooded the room. "Dance!" I started awkwardly, my limbs stiff. "Better move, or I'll put a bullet between your eyes," she said, pulling a gun from her drawer. Terror gripped me. "Easy," Jack said, standing. "Let me handle her." He walked over, took out a handkerchief, and tied it over my eyes. "Now, imagine you're alone," he whispered. "Just the music. Just you. Don't take it off, or you die." I heard the door shut. My breath trembled. Then, I moved. Slowly at first, then faster. My body followed the rhythm, unthinking, unbound. I danced like my life depended on it, because it did. When the music stopped, a voice clapped softly. "Now that's more like it," Madam Green said. The cloth was lifted from my eyes. Jack was smiling faintly. "You'll dance tonight," Madam Green said. "Amanda will dress you." That evening, Amanda helped me into a white costume, tight, feather-trimmed, and dazzling under the lights. She brushed shimmer onto my cheeks, tied the mask around my face, and stepped back with a grin. "Look at you," she whispered. "A fairy in a cage." I stared at my reflection, barely recognising the girl in the mirror. She looked beautiful. Powerful. But beneath the glitter, I knew the truth. I wasn't a dancer. I was Madam Green's newest possession, shining, trembling, and trapped.