Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

KIERRA

S omething funny happens when people try to exit a bus. Everybody scrambles to be off first and right now I really don't understand it. The bus is air-conditioned so it would make sense for everyone to wait in the cool air patiently. Instead, people push each other as they pack together like sardines. The teenage girls in front of me argue about who is wearing what to the Usher concert tonight. I roll my eyes. If only I had wardrobe problems instead of hoping I'll be alive this time next week.

I step off the bus into the hottest heat I've ever felt. It's like I stepped into the world's largest hair dryer. It's not humid, but it's hot with a capital ‘H'. As I leave the bus station, I watch all the cars zooming by. People stand around staring at the neon signs. It's really something. There are large groups of tourists all taking pictures, with one person in the group holding a sign in a language I cannot read. So many hotels. There are a ton of different themes, New York, Paris, a Circus. It's like the entire world in one spot. A man hands me a flier and I look down at it while I blush. I can't see my face, but I can feel the burn. It's a listing of girls offering services and a few sex clubs. I stuff it into my blue backpack instead of throwing it away because I don't want to be rude.

Las Vegas is huge. Okay, not exactly new information, but until you see it with your own eyes, you don't realize what it's like. I sit in the back of the cab while staring in awe out the window at the millions of lights on the strip. There's one sign that causes emotion to bubble up in my chest. Cirque du Soleil's Kà is at the MGM Grand and instantly makes me think of my mom because she swore up and down she'd see that show before she died. Sadly, she didn't. Because of them. The sadness turns to anger, but I have to squash it down because it won't keep me alive. Maybe I'll get lucky in Vegas and make enough money to get the hell away from these madmen. I nearly laugh out loud at myself because that's exactly what every gambler thinks when everybody knows the house always wins. Another sign catches my eye. It's the same place that was in that flier.

Den of Sin. Our Business is Your Pleasure.

Cute.

I grab my phone and pull up their website out of pure curiosity.

Virginity Night. Bidding starts at $10,000! Members only.

It seems like a small amount to me but it says, starts at. So maybe it'd be more? Regardless, Ten-Thousand dollars is exactly what I've estimated I need to at least get to Canada. I need it to be an English-speaking country because I don't want to be stranded somewhere and unable to even speak the language.

I'm staring at the website as my driver pulls up to my hotel for the night. It's off the strip and I already contacted the manager and asked if I paid double if he'd let me pay in cash, because using my card is not an option right now. The quickest way for them to track me is probably through credit cards. Thank you true crime tv shows.

I walk into the hotel that probably should be called a motel because it's not nice. It's small, smells like body odor, and could use a cleaning. Maybe a fresh coat of paint since the white walls are marked with more than one layer of dirt. Beggars can't be choosers, I remind myself. If it's this or a bullet in my head, I choose this.

The desk clerk glances at me with annoyance as I hand over the cash for my room.

He hands me a key card. "Room twelve. Second floor. Ice maker is at the end of the hall."

I force a smile on my face, "Thank you," and nearly shiver from his unwanted gaze. He appears to be in his thirties with an eyebrow piercing and clothing that might be two sizes too small. If the eyes are the window to the soul, he doesn't have one. I turn away from his dead stare and go back outside.

Three floors of outside rooms. I make my way to the stairwell and climb to the second floor, constantly observing my surroundings. A dim light flickers above me, beer cans and cigarette butts litter the ground. I glance around me to make sure no one is following me because I'm always on the lookout for the men.

I have wracked my brain trying to figure out why they killed my family and are now after me. Whatever the reason, I still haven't figured it out. My father was an accountant for wealthy people and there were a few men that had problems with him, but it's hard to imagine it would be serious enough to kill him and his entire family over. My mother was a dedicated housewife and an absolute angel. There's no way someone would have wanted her dead. It drives me crazy, but of course finding out the reason won't change anything. I'd still have men hunting me. Men that I know with no doubt will kill me if they get to me.

I step into my room and close the door behind me, locking myself in and turn with a crinkling of my nose. The room is basic with a queen sized bed with a red comforter, matching the carpet that is heavily stained, there's a black chair on the other side of the room, a white nightstand with chipped paint, and a brown dresser. Whoever set this room up didn't even bother attempting to color coordinate.

The blinds covering the large window are filthy, covered in at least three layers of dust, along with the small television directly across from the bed. I place my backpack on the end table, figuring it's likely the cleanest surface in this room.

Reluctantly, I walk over to the bed and pull the comforter down and spot several stains on the sheets. Are they stains? Or have they not been washed? I don't think I want anything to do with sleeping in this bed, so I take a seat on the chair instead while I pull up the website I was looking at earlier.

Out of curiosity, I look at their member page. I quickly find out it's a private BDSM club, and the application is lengthy and with it, there's a fee of one hundred thousand dollars. Application fee. Non-refundable. Wow. I can't imagine paying that kind of money to get a membership and then not getting in and losing the money. These men must have more money than sense because that's insanity. That's just for men, though. There is no fee for women to join, but there is an application process.

My fingers tremble as I dial the phone number to find out more information. I don't know why I'm so scared of a simple phone call. A deep smooth voice answers the phone, "Den of Sin."

I cringe at the sound of my own shaky voice as I ask, "I saw your website about the umm, virginity auction and I have a few questions."

While he doesn't laugh, I can tell he wants to. "I'll put you through to Belinda. She oversees our auction nights."

Without waiting for me to respond, he puts me on hold. Sexy music plays through the phone, causing me to giggle when a female picks up the line, "Den of Sin. Belinda speaking."

"Hi. I just wanted to ask a few questions about the virginity auction."

"What is it?" She asks in an annoyed tone.

"What are the requirements?"

I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes. "You have to be a virgin. You can email me a picture at [email protected]. We require all girls to go to our doctor for STD testing, virginity verification and birth control. The doctor's visit is at our cost."

I can't even believe I'm considering this, but I ask, "What if I get there and change my mind?"

"The money normally ensures nobody changes their mind, but of course, if you decide it's not for you, there's no pressure. Everything we do here is consensual. You will have a list to go through and mark what you're willing to do and what you're not willing to do. If it's checked off as a hard limit, the man who wins you cannot ask you to do it. Our rules are strict and enforced. The safety of women in our club is our highest priority."

I wonder if this is all a spiel she's required to say when she sighs heavily into the phone. "Anything else?"

"No. Thank you."

Before she hangs up, she gives me the location of the doctor's office and the cutoff time to still be considered for that week's auction night. I still don't know if I'll go through with it, but figure it can't hurt to send the picture to her. It's nice to have options if I can't find a job quickly.

The website said all the men are also tested on a monthly basis to maintain their membership. I'm guessing that means they aren't wearing condoms. I shake my head at myself because am I actually considering doing this? Could I sell my body to the highest bidder? Under normal circumstances, definitely not. This, however, is far from normal.

I have enough money for two more weeks in this shit hole they call a hotel. After that, I'll be homeless. Staying put for too long means I'm a sitting duck for the faceless men hunting me. Every time they find me, it's nighttime and I can't get a good look at their faces. It's terrifying that they know who I am, but I don't know who they are. One day, running will no longer be an option, but I won't go down without a fight. Will the little pocket knife I carry in my backpack save my life? Maybe. Maybe not, but I won't just die. However, I'd prefer not to find out. I'd like to get far away, so I'm out of their reach. It's not like I have anything left for me here, anyway. My family is dead. I have no home. So, if I have to sell my body to get enough money to leave, I will. There was a time I thought I'd save myself for my future husband. However, now I know he doesn't exist. How can you possibly have a relationship when you never stop running? You can't, so there's nothing to save myself for. It seems like a lifetime ago when I was a bright young girl full of hopes and dreams. If you told me back then what my life would look like now, I wouldn't have believed you. I was going to college, making something of my life. Not running, barely affording enough food to survive. Wondering every day when I wake up if this day will be my last. They say, ‘age ain't nothing but a number' and I believe it because, of course, twenty-one is young, but I'm so tired and feel so damn old. Traveling the country with a backpack with three changes of clothing and the locket around my neck that has become the most prized possession. I smile as I touch the gold heart, remembering my mother giving it to me on my seventh birthday. The chain has changed as I've gotten older, but I still wear it every day. It's all I have left of her. Everything else is gone.

I look up BDSM on google trying to get more information on the subject I know little about.

BDSM

noun

bondage, discipline (or domination), sadism and masochism (as a type of sexual practice).

Of course I've heard of it, seen it in movies, but my knowledge is limited. Is it like in the movies? Or is that all made up? Will whoever wins me tie me up and beat me relentlessly? They said over the phone that everything was completely consensual. I wonder what's even on the list. The lady on the phone told me if you check no the men are not even allowed to ask you to do it. Of course, I have no idea what I would be into because I've never even masturbated. One kiss my freshman year is the extent of my experience with the male species. I had offers, boys asked me out, but I always declined because I was focused. I had goals.

I was going to be a doctor. Was. Everything changed in my second year of my bachelor's degree program.

I walk into the financial office after receiving an email stating that it was urgent that I speak with Ms. Hyde, the financial counselor. She waves to the chair on the other side of her desk and I take it while she walks around and takes a seat in her black rolling chair.

"Ms. Carter, there seems to be a problem with your tuition payment."

I stare at her with confusion, but there must be some sort of mistake because my father pays my tuition and there's never been an issue before.

"I don't understand."

Folding her hands over her desk, she says, "The check bounced." We'll need to ask you to leave the campus. There are scholarships you can apply for next semester. However, you've been withdrawn from your courses for the current one."

That is the only reason I walked into the room where my parents were being murdered. I never should've been there to witness the most horrific thing my eyes have ever seen. You see it in horror movies, but watching it on a screen is nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand. The stench of blood stays in my nostrils. The sounds of my mother's blood-curdling screams. My father's lifeless eyes staring back at me. People say all the time, ‘ I'll never be able to unsee that' but in this case it's the truth.

I walk into my parents' house to find out how the hell my tuition payment bounced. I'm pissed off because one of them could've at least let me know there was a problem rather than me finding out the way I did.

Stepping into the living room, I gasp when I first spot my father's unblinking eyes right in front of me. His dead body sits on his favorite chair, his head slumped to the side, those brown eyes open, unmoving, sending a chill through me. A bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. I glance towards the sound of my mother's screams and see her on the couch, fighting against a large bald man who has a gun pointed at her head. He fires once, blood splatters all over the cream-colored sofa, and he turns to me. My blood turns to ice, as the fear has me in a chokehold. My head screams, ‘run, run, run'. The fear nearly has me chained to the floor. My limbs are heavy and stuck in place until he raises the gun he now has pointed at my face. This is a fight-or-flight decision. Flight is my only option. I shriek as I turn and run.