Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,20

slave girl, pass out after being put in a choke hold by the Marquis de Sade, and my first instinct is to pull out my cell and dial 9-1-1. But as I start to do just that, Nydia’s head rolls to the other side, and she vomits.

I’m in shock. The players continue as if nothing has happened. I walk closer to where Nydia is now sitting up, and removing the leather straps which were criss-crossed around her hands, wrists and forearms. That’s when I see it.

On the inside of her wrist, I see the heart tattoo with the initials “JW” in the middle. I recognize that from my visit to The Sanctuary. The hand from the glory hole.

She works at The Sanctuary.

Nobody seems to notice that Nydia is leaving the circle, which now some of the bystanders have joined for a mass orgy. I feel sick to my stomach, but I know I have nothing left to heave.

I watch as she limps out of the room, and I follow her to see if she’s okay. She removes her mask as she heads into the downstairs bathroom, but I can’t see her face as she closes the door behind her.

So I wait. I need to know she’s okay.

Ten minutes later, she reappears. Her face has been scrubbed, and she’s clothed herself in jeans and a sweater, from where, I’m not sure. Unless this is all part of a routine that she’s used to, that she plans in advance knowing she’ll be needing to re-dress herself later, after ‘the show.’

She sees me and immediately a look of alarm crosses her young face. She can’t be over sixteen. I gasp as this registers in my mind. “Are you okay?” I ask her, going to stand close to her.

She nods tentatively. “I’m fine, really. It’s all good.”

“But . . .” I stammer, “You were bleeding, you were practically strangled, I mean, I don’t understand?”

She looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “What don’t you understand? This is how I make a living. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Wait,” I call after her as she heads into the kitchen and grabs a jacket that’s on one of the chairs. “How old are you?” I blurt. “Fifteen? Sixteen? Look, I can help you out of this shit. You don’t need to do this to survive.”

She turns to look at me with tired, soulful eyes, “Look,” she says, her impatience surfacing, “My ride is outside. I’ve gotta go. What do you know about survival? What do you know about me? It’s best you don’t ask questions I won’t answer. It’s safer for both of us, trust me.”

And with that, she’s out the back door to where a dark sedan is indeed waiting for her in the alley. As she gets into the car, another girl gets out and heads into the house, carrying a backpack. I duck back into the hallway near the bathroom and wait for her to come inside.

As she comes down the dark hallway towards me, she doesn’t notice I’m there at first, she’s tapping something into her cell. She’s another young one, I can see that already.

“Hello,” I call out softly, startling her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She eyes me cautiously, “So what’s your theme?” she asks looking at my stupid costume, “Man, this gig just keeps getting weirder.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I reply, grabbing the opportunity of allowing her to think I’m on staff as well since I’m now clued in. “I tell you, it’s my first party and I’m not sure I can hang with it.”

She steps into the bathroom, switching on the light. “Yeah, well I felt that way too when I had my first ‘party gig.’ But you’ll get used to it,” she continues, pulling a make-up bag out of her backpack. “At least Dan supplies the costumes they end up destroying with their debauchery.” She shakes her head and then starts applying make-up. “I’ve been doing this shit now for two years. Can’t beat the money, and hey, the scars usually heal up if you use the right antibiotic cream.”

“Two years?” I question.

She’s putting mascara on her lashes. “Yep. Almost three actually. I was fifteen when I got hired on at The Sanctuary. The Glory Hole. That’s where all the young ones start out. You done your time there?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m over eighteen,” I reply.

“Lucky you then. Kandy won’t let us do the better studios until we’re eighteen. Thank fuck