3

Azalea

“You’re going to regret this,” she seethed, her voice trembling. 

I leaned in close enough to catch the scent of her expensive perfume. “I already regret a hundred things every day. But standing up to you won’t be one of them.” 

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned sharply on her heel and stormed away, her heels clicking against the marble floor like war drums. 

I remained frozen, rooted to the spot. My hands were still shaking.

That stranger.

Just thinking of him made my stomach twist into painful knots.

I forcefully shoved Sandra from my mind. That wasn’t the war I needed to fight. Not today. Other demons awaited. 

As I made my way behind the counter, I pulled out my phone. A new message blinked at the top of the screen. Unknown private number.

“Is it done?” 

But I didn’t need a name to know who it was. 

I reread the message three times. Each time, the same wave of nausea rolled through me. My hands clenched around the phone. 

How on earth did he know my number? How on earth did he send the private message?

He might know I failed. The thought sent ice through my veins. My hands trembled violently as I reread the message once more.

“See you at the bar. Tonight?”

What kind of nightmare had I walked into? How could I possibly explain my failure after pocketing his money?

What if he does what he said he’d do? Can he really pull a trigger in my head? My mind races to the cold image of death—a cold, final thing that could erase me in an instant.

And what about Amira? I can’t afford to die. Not now. Even if the darkness sometimes whispered that I should.

I clung to a desperate hope—maybe he would offer one last chance to make things right, to explain why my life, as worthless as it felt, deserved to keep going.

I forced myself to move. Work, for the next eight hours, was a blur. Smiling at customers, folding clothes, pretending to care.

My body was there, but my mind kept drifting—to Amira, to the vault, to that man with his sharp eyes and colder voice.

The hours crawled by. When my shift finally ended, I left without a word. Sandra shot me a glare, but she didn’t say anything this time. Not with the memory of my slap still fresh on her cheek.

It was almost 9 when I got to the bar.

“Go change,” Joy, our female manager, barked as soon as she spotted me, her eyes cold and assessing. “Now.”

I quickly hurried to the back room, where we usually changed our dress. I quickly stripped and pulled on the bar’s uniform.

“What are you still doing in there, Kerah?” Joy’s impatient voice sliced through the door. Kerah; the fake name I wore like armor. None of them knew me as Azalea, which is what sent icy fear through me when that stranger knew my real name.

“Coming, please,” I responded. I hurried up and packed my things in order before stepping out.

“Take this.” She handed over the tray of alcohol she was holding. “Room 25.”

“Room 25,” I muttered, my voice shaking slightly. “You mean that place?” 

I could see her face in the dim light, satisfaction twisting her features as she witnessed my fear. She scoffed, enjoying my discomfort.

Joy had harbored a burning hatred for me since the day she introduced me to one of her sugar daddies who had taken an unwanted liking to me.

Her hatred had festered when I refused her degrading offer.

“Yes, that place.”

“Please,” I whimpered. “I don’t want to go.”

That room was hell incarnate. Two girls who worked here had died after being assigned there, and both cases were buried. No one investigated or arrested their killers.

“You don’t want to go,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Then quit.”

“What?” Shock jolted through me, leaving me breathless. “Quit?”

“Yes,” she repeated. “You heard me right. Quit if you can’t serve. No one needs your type here.”

I wanted to scream at her, to rage against her cruelty, but survival instinct clamped my mouth shut. I needed this job. Amira needed me.

“Fine,” I muttered in defeat. “I’ll serve them.”

I gave her one last glance, letting her see the contempt I couldn’t voice, before making my way to Room 25. Silent prayers tumbled through my mind with each step, desperate pleas for safety.

I sighed deeply when I reached the door, gathering the tattered remains of my courage before knocking. With one final breath, I pushed open the door and walked in.

I expected this place to be bad, but it was darker and worse than I had imagined. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and lust, making it hard to breathe. I looked around the room and saw a scene of seduction unfolding before me.

Bodies were intertwined everywhere, shamelessly indulging in their desires. The music was loud, but couldn’t mask the sounds of moans and cries that made me uncomfortable.

I gasped, horror washing over me in nauseating waves. What fresh hell is this? I stood there, speechless.

No one had noticed my presence. None of them. I needed to escape, to run from this den of sin and danger.

With shaking hands, I placed the drinks on the nearest table.

“Please don’t see me,” I prayed silently. “Don’t notice me.” My heart raced—it felt like it wanted to jump out. After making sure the drinks wouldn’t spill, I turned my back to leave.

Just as I reached for the door, a hand clamped around my arm. “Do you need something?” I asked professionally, but deep down, I was scared. This was my first time experiencing this since I was born twenty years ago. “Sir.”

“Of course, beauty,” he replied, standing shamelessly before me in all his naked glory. His gaze scorched my skin, undressing what little the uniform still covered, making my soul shrink under his predatory stare.

“Is that drink not to your taste?” I asked.

He licked his lips, more beast than man. “Yes, but I have seen my taste.”

I understood exactly what he meant—but I wasn’t the type to dance to anyone’s tune.

“I need to go, sir,” I said. “I need to get back to work.”

Without warning, he grabbed my waist, pulling me against his bare chest. I was stunned and short of words.

“What the hell!” I screamed, summoning strength from somewhere, pushing him away with all my might. Freedom—I needed to escape before others noticed the commotion.

“How dare you?” he roared, rage contorting his features as he raised his hand to strike. “How dare you look down on me?”

Instead of cowering and accepting what seemed inescapable, I channeled every ounce of fear and fury into action.

I kicked him—hard—right between his legs.

His agonized scream followed me as I bolted for the door, his words chasing me like demons.

“Someone! Catch that bitch for me!”

I didn’t wait to see if he fell—I just ran. Because in places like this, heroes didn’t exist. You had to save yourself.