Mamai snorts and walks toward the door. As he passes Leilani, he looks her up and down and winks. She balls her hands into fists and looks away. The very smell of his cologne makes her want to vomit.
“The car is ready for you, Mrs. Clifford,” a servant announces from the door. “Your husband is waiting for you out front.”
Bella pauses and looks at Andrew and then at Leilani. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but then thinks better of it and closes her mouth again. She grabs Caitan by the wrist and pulls her out of the room, shooting one last glare at Leilani before she leaves.
Andrew wraps Leilani in his arms and kisses the top of her head, but she pulls away. She scowls at him, feeling guilty and ashamed of what she did with Waylen. His forehead creased with worry.
“Honey, where have you been?” he asks. “How did my mother and Mamai end up in your room?”
“I think I’m the least qualified person to answer that,” she snaps. “Why don’t you ask your mother, or Mamai, or even your sister?”
“Honey, why are you angry?” he asks, reaching up to stroke her face.
She swats his hand away and says, “Don’t touch me.”
“Okay, sorry,” he says. “Let’s leave this place.”
He snaps his fingers and orders his bodyguards to investigate the room. Then he walks into the hallway, letting Leilani follow at her own pace.
“Where are you taking me?” Leilani asks. “Back to your parents’ house?”
Andrew arches an eyebrow and asks, “Do you really think that’s a good idea? My sisters seem determined to ruin your life. No, I’m going to take you somewhere else—I will never forget my promises.”
Waylen leans back on the sofa and exhales a cloud of cigarette smoke. His navy blue robe is open at the waist, exposing some of the love bites and scratches. Leilani left on his torso. He runs his finger along one of the red lines and smirks.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bamford,” Robert says. “The men have just told me what happened next door. Apparently, Bella Clifford and Mamai Abraham were found sleeping in the same bed. I got the video footage from the secret cameras you installed just in case you want to see what happened.”
Waylen extends his hand, and Robert passes him the tablet. Waylen clicks the play button and fasts forwards through the grainy footage until he sees Leilani enter the room. She collapses on the sofa and seems about to pass out when Mamai comes in. He watches as Mamai forces himself onto Leilani. He stubs the cigarette out on the arm of the sofa.
I’m going to kill him, Waylen thinks. How dare he! But wait, if he r.a.p.ed Leilani, why did she come to me looking for release? Once the victim of the drug gets satisfaction, the urge goes away pretty quickly.
He watches as Leilani bares her b.r.e.a.s.ts to Mamai and the glass screen of the tablet cracks beneath his fingers. He’s about to rush out of the room, hunt Mamai down, and kill him when he sees Leilani stab him in the chest. Mamai collapses with Leilani on top of him, and Waylen exhales.
Damn, she’s smart, he thinks. She never loses her head in bad situations. How can I do anything but love her?
He watches as Bella comes in and gets into the bed and sees Leilani drag Mamai into bed with her. He laughs under his breath. She’s such a schemer, he thinks. He tosses the tablet back to Robert, and Robert catches it seconds before it crashes to the floor.
“Delete it,” he says.
“Got it, boss,” Robert replies. “Anything else?”
“Keep an eye on everything,” Waylen says. “Including her—understand?”
“Her?” Robert asks.
“You know who,” Waylen says.
Leilani gets into the car, relaxing into the plush leather seats. She looks out the window, but the windows are tinted, and the night is dark—it’s impossible to see anything but her own reflection.
“Where are we going?” she asks Andrew.
“You’ll know when we get there,” Andrew answers.
She sighs and rests her forehead against the cold window. They pull off the highway and turn onto a spiral path, and then the car stops, and the engine dies. She looks down at her phone—three hours have passed.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“Come see,” Andrew says.
She steps out of the car and sees a large building with gray walls and a black tile roof—it looks Chinese in style. Andrew leads her to the door, where a small gold plaque bears the name of the building: Top Girls Club. It’s a lot subtler than Leilani expected—she thought there’d be neon lights and photos of n.a.k.e.d girls everywhere.
There’s a quiet buzzing sound, and then the door opens. Andrew takes her hand and tugs her into a beautiful courtyard garden. Rare flowers bloom in every corner, and trees bend gently in the breeze. Winding cobblestone paths disappear among the bushes, and Leilani can hear the giggles and satisfied m.o.a.ns of several pairs of lovers. Red lanterns bob and sway from a thin string overhead, casting a soft, magical glow over everything.
“Where’s Gabrielle?” Leilani asks, looking around for her sister.
A drunken man in a rumpled suit stumbles toward them with a girl on his arm. The man is fat, and his face is as wrinkled as his suit, but the girl is thin and lovely. In the dim light, she looks like Gabrielle. Leilani rushes forward and pulls the girl out of the man’s meaty hands.
“What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you?” the girl shouts.
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Leilani mutters.
The man looks up and grabs Leilani’s arm. His hands are clammy and warm, but his grip is surprisingly strong. She tries to pull away.
“Not so fast, s.e.xy,” he says. “Tell me, what level are you? I’d pay extra for some time with you.”
“She’s mine,” Andrew snarls, shoving the man.
The guest stumbles backward and asks, “Mr. Clifford, is that you?”
Andrew ignores the man and dr.a.p.es his arm possessively over her shoulders. She doesn’t want him to touch her, but better him than the gross drunken man and others like him.
“Honey, have patience,” Andrew says. “Gabrielle isn’t down here, but I’ll take you to her.”
Andrew leads her to a dark room. Smoke hangs thick in the air, and the heavy scent of tobacco mixes with whiskey and wine. The walls are lined in red velvet, and black silk sofas and chairs are scattered throughout the room. Women sashay across the Persian carpets; some are dressed in fishnets and lingerie, and others wear nothing but n.i.p.p.l.e tassels and thongs.
Leilani reaches into her bag and pulls out a tissue to cover her nose, but her eyes water from the smell. Andrew leads her to a black sofa in a small alcove. A curtain rod hangs in front of the alcove, and a red velvet curtain dangles to the side. She looks down at the sofa and wrinkles her nose.
“Is it safe to sit on that?” she asks.
Andrew laughs and pulls her down beside him. She squirms against the silk, wondering what dirty acts have taken place on top of it. She looks around the room, scanning the faces of the women. But the club is dark and designed for privacy—it’s impossible to tell if any of them are Gabrielle.
Andrew leans back on the sofa, spreading his arms out on the hardback. A short, curvy girl wearing a school uniform pops her head around the curtain. She winks one bright green eye and twirls her curly, blonde pigtail around her finger.
“Mr. Clifford, I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” she whispers. “I need you to punish me.”
She turns around and flips up the back of her plaid skirt, revealing a pale pink thong between two round ass cheeks. She wiggles her ass and spreads her legs, and Leilani notices that the girl has dark purple and blue bruise marks all over her ass. Clearly, other men have been punishing her too.
Leilani hides her face behind her hands and waits for Andrew to get rid of the girl. Bile and anger churn in her stomach—is Gabrielle out there dressed the same? Has she been suffering the same kinds of humiliations as the schoolgirl?
Andrew grabs her arm and points toward a stage. The red velvet curtain is closed, but two golden spotlights are pointed in the middle.
“Is there going to be a performance?” Leilani asks.
“Not just any performance,” Andrew says. “Tonight the girls are competing to get to jasmine level. Each girl has to do a performance, and audience members will bid on her for the night. If a girl can get enough money, she’ll get promoted.”
“Jasmine, what?” Leilani asks.
“Shh, it’s starting,” Andrew says.
The lights go black, and Andrew flicks his lighter and lights a cigarette. The small orange ember at the tip of his cigarette is the only light in the club. Then the spotlights click back on and slow, sultry music begins to play. The curtains sweep open, revealing a slim, graceful figure with long, dark hair.
Leilani jumps to her feet—it’s Gabrielle. She’s halfway out of the alcove when Andrew’s hand closes around her upper arm. He drags her back to the sofa and pushes her down.
“Honey, this place is full of armed bodyguards,” he says. “You don’t stand a chance—not yet, anyway.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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