Private Rooms

[Ava’s POV]

The second I push through the back door the noise hits me like a wall. Bass thumps so hard I feel it in my teeth. Colored lights sweep across bodies that move too close together. 

Women in dresses that barely reach mid-thigh laugh too loudly. Men watch them with eyes that stay too long. I keep my head down and walk faster, the change of clothes clutched tight against my chest.

In the staff room, I strip out of my ordinary jeans and sweater and pull on the uniform they make us wear. 

The top is lower than anything I would ever choose. The skirt sits higher on my thighs than feels safe. I stare at myself in the cracked mirror for one second, then look away. 

Staying home will not pay for Theo’s medication. Staying home will not keep the lights on. I push the door open and step onto the floor.

Two of the other girls are already stacking trays. One of them glances up and grins.

“You’re a little late today, Ava. What’s wrong?” she asks, tilting her head.

The second girl leans on the counter, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe she was waiting for her man to drop her off.”

I force a laugh that almost turns into a choke. The joke lands too close to the truth, even if Kyle West is not my anything. 

I ignore both of them, grab a tray and an order pad, and move toward the first table like I have done this a thousand times, because I have.

“One bottle of the house whiskey, coming right up,” I say, writing as the man speaks. He barely looks at me. I clear the empty glasses from the next table, wipe the surface clean, and carry everything back to the bar. 

One of the older waitresses starts packing the new order without being asked.

I am still waiting for the drinks when Mimie comes flying down the narrow staff stairs, her face pale.

“Ava, please.” She grabs my wrist with both hands. “My mom just got taken to the hospital now. I need someone to cover the private room on the second floor. Please.”

Before I can give a reply, she is already pulling the keycard from her pocket and pressing it into my palm, her eyes turning wet.

“I will owe you forever,” she says, her voice shaking.

I have covered for her before. She has covered for me too, so I don't see anything wrong with it. I nod once and she squeezes my hand, thanks me again, and disappears back up the stairs, probably to change. 

The bartender slides the loaded tray toward me. I settle the glasses carefully, slip the keycard into the front pocket of my skirt, and start walking.

Behind me I hear the usual banter.

“Oh my god, did you see that guy who just walked in?” Lina whispers.

“Please, he is way out of your league. Look at the way he carries himself,” I hear Lucas scoff at her.

“Nobody is out of my league.”

I shake my head at their voices and keep moving. Private rooms are always a different kind of trouble. 

Rich boys come here to spend money and forget rules exist. My palms are already damp by the time I reach the correct door. I balance the tray on one hip, whisper a quick prayer under my breath, and knock.

Five seconds pass with no answer. I slide the keycard, push the door open, and step inside.

Three men sit in deep leather chairs. Their clothes look expensive even in the low light. A fourth man I did not notice at first stands near the far wall. I walk forward and set the tray down on the low table.

“This is your order for the evening,” I say, keeping my voice even.

The man on the right raises an eyebrow. “Who said we ordered drinks?”

“This is what was requested,” I answer.

He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t order drinks. We ordered someone to keep us company. Didn’t the other girl tell you? She said she would send someone up.”

My stomach drops. Mimie’s emergency suddenly feels too convenient. I take a step back.

“I wasn’t told. I’ll go get someone who can—”

The fourth man is already at the door. I hear the lock click into place. My heart freezes.

One of the seated men stands. “It’s too late, sweetheart. You’ve already been delivered. Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“There are cameras in this place,” I say. “This is a civilized establishment.”

They all laugh like I have told a good joke.

“Are you trying to talk rules with us?” the first one asks, still smiling. “Laws we can bend whenever we feel like it?”

They move closer. I inch backward until I remember the locked door is behind me. The man who spoke steps in first.

“If you keep us happy,” he says softly, “we can change your life. You wouldn’t even have to work here anymore.”

The others chuckle.

“You’re always sweet-talking them,” one mutters.

Every word makes my skin crawl. My hand finds a heavy porcelain ashtray on the side table. I lift it, arms shaking but steady enough.

“Don’t come any closer.”

They treat it like a game. They take another step. I back up again and feel the door against my spine. My free hand fumbles for the handle. It turns uselessly. Locked.

The nearest man lunges at me. I duck under his arm. He crashes into the door face-first. When he turns around the playful look is gone. His eyes are pure anger.

“You don’t know what you’ve just done.”

He comes at me hard. I have nowhere left to go. His hand closes around my wrist. At the same moment glass shatters somewhere outside the room, loud enough to make every head turn. 

Seizing the momentary distraction, I rip my arm free and swing hard at the man. 

My open palm connects with his cheek so hard the sound cracks through the air. The other men suck in sharp breaths. 

When he turns around, a dark mark is already spreading under his eye.

He raises his fist with enough anger and fury. Seeing nowhere else to go, I close my eyes and brace myself for the impact.