Page 10 of Taint My Soul

What if I become their personal pawn?

What if I’m never free?

I turn off the shower after I finish and step out of the bathroom, walking to the closet in my bedroom. I grip the handle and open the wooden structure, eyes falling over several pieces of blue suit, artfully arranged in the racks, and shoes tucked right under. Beside the shoes are shirts, jackets, sweatpants, underwear, and trousers, neatly folded.

Vincent spent a fortune putting this together for me. Going back empty-handed isn’t an option. Not with him. There will be consequences.

I pick out an outfit and put it on, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

It’s different compared to what I used to have.

I look different.

Like I belong in this dark world, even though every part of me has fought against it my entire life.

I don’t waste any more time. The sun’s already setting. I grab my phone on my way out of the apartment, locking the door and heading downstairs.

The driver presses the horn, hands tight around the steering wheel as he hollers at me to hurry up. I scamper around the hood of the vehicle and get in from the other side. “Where to?”

“Red Horn Club.”

The driver gives me a suspicious look before he presses on the gas, driving into the city. I have never lived in the city before. Everything here feels unfamiliar. The buildings, the noise, the people, the constant motion. It’s different. Jarring. As the taxi driver inches through heavy traffic, the sun disappears below the horizon, horns blaring and headlights glaring off the windshield.

My body remains pressed against the leather seat as my mind races a thousand miles per hour. Once I step into this club, going back isn’t an option anymore.

The car finally jerks to a stop at the destination, and I pay the driver and get out, facing the gigantic building before me.

At the top of glass and steel, a neon sign, a long, thin red tail with arrow-shaped tip curls around two red horns. I move toward the entrance, and I spot the same woman waiting at the double glass doors. I walk up to her, and she clears me with security and leads me inside.

The first thing I spot is the packed underground club and the DJ playing music on the stage. I don’t have the time to take it all in because the woman is in a haste to get to the next floor of the building. We head straight to the silver steel elevator, riding up to the third floor of the building.

The machine dings and opens into the hall, and we both walk into the dressing room with walls painted in deep, sinful burgundy and black marble tiles that reflect the gold lighting.

I don’t even have the time to take in the setup or look through the locker room because she drags me into her office and offers me a seat.

My eyes skim the office, catching the polished wooden table with files, books, and stacks of cash carefully arranged to her taste. She settles into the leather chair and pulls out a printed paper from her drawer, and hands it to me along with a pen. “Sign.” She commands, pinning me in place with her eyes.

My gaze drops to the paper. It’s a contract. “Do not waste your time reading that. Just sign.” She leans over and snatches the paper from my hand, placing it on the desk.

“Alright.” I whisper and sign my name in the required spaces, then I hand it to her.

“All you have to do is keep your clients satisfied.” She drags her gaze over me, unimpressed.

“Clients?”

“Did I stutter?” She regards me with a jaded stare.

“No, ma’am.”

“You’ll wear this.” She picks up a box beside her chair and hands it over. “Everything you need is inside, including the keys to your locker. Get ready, you’re meeting him in an hour.”

An hour.

Her words lodge in my chest as I leave her office. I sink onto a bench, open the box, and look inside. There’s a key, an enema bulb, leather straps, leather shorts, and a black mask. I find my locker in the space and open it, putting the box inside to prepare for the night.

After a while in the shower room, I get off and put on my shorts and leather strap, then I sit in quiet solitude with the mask firmly wrapped around my fingers.

“First night?” Some guy asks me. He’s already dressed and ready to leave.