02- SOLD OUT.

02- SOLD OUT

Roxanne Flair.

The chilly night air hit me the second I burst through the club’s back exit. I was shivering, my skin still flushed, and every step I took sent a sharp, throbbing reminder of the man in the VIP booth straight up my spine.

My pussy was incredibly swollen, and I could feel the warm, sticky evidence of his cum trickling slowly down the inside of my thigh.

I threw out a desperate hand as a yellow cab rounded the corner. It screeched to a halt. I yanked the door open and dove into the backseat, the cracked vinyl sticking to my bare legs.

"Twenty-four Crawford Street! Fast!" I screamed.

My voice cracked, jagged and loud in the cramped space. The driver’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with genuine shock in the rearview mirror. I blinked, realizing how manic I sounded, my chest heaving under my thin jacket, mascara likely still smeared down my cheeks.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I muttered, pressing a hand to my racing heart. "Just... please hurry."

He grunted, shifting into drive and pulling away from the neon glow of the club. I collapsed against the seat, my mind a chaotic blur. Panic wrestled with a sudden, bitter wave of regret.

Why the hell had I let that stranger completely wreck me when I knew after Richard's call, it would be Kelvin blowing up my phone? I had been reckless. I’d let a massive cock and a dark pair of eyes make me forget the volatile landmine waiting for me at home.

Desperate for a distraction, I zipped open my handbag. Inside, resting right beside my spare makeup, was the folded slip of paper. I pulled it out, my fingers trembling as I smoothed out the edges. The numbers written on the cheque made my breath hitch.

It was more money than I’d make in two years of dancing.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and a strange sense of relief washed over me.

‘No matter what kind of hell Kelvin is raising tonight,’ I thought, gripping the paper tightly, ‘I’m ending tonight on a win. I can pay off whatever debt he'd be whining about tonight.’

But the universe loves to laugh at a stripper’s optimism.

When the cab finally groaned to a halt outside the dilapidated, grey apartment building I shared with my stepfamily, my stomach dropped.

Parked directly in front of the cracked walkway was a sleek, pitch-black sedan with tinted windows. It practically screamed old money and violence—whichever came first.

‘They must have the wrong address,’ I reasoned frantically. ‘Nobody with a car like that lives in this dump.’

I didn't even wait for the driver to count out my change. After I shoved a crumpled fifty-dollar bill into his hand, I threw the door open, and zipped off toward the building, completely abandoning my balance.

The stairs felt steeper than usual as I limped up them, my sore muscles protesting every step. When I reached our door, I braced myself for the usual darkness—the heavy silence of an apartment fueled by cheap beer and resentment.

Instead, light spilled through the bottom crack.

I pushed the door open. The small, dingy sitting room was brightly lit, and the sudden glare made me squint. But it wasn't the light that made my breath catch in my throat. It was the three heavily built men sitting on our sagging sofa.

They wore pristine, tailored dark suits, their expressions carved out of granite. They looked terrifyingly out of place, radiating a cold, quiet menace that made my heart slam violently against my ribs.

On the stained carpet lay my battered suitcase and a bulging duffel bag. I recognized the zipper—it held the few meager belongings I actually owned.

"What... what is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

I scanned the room, my eyes landing on my stepbrother, Richard. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a sickening, triumphant grin plastered across his face. He actually raised a hand and gave me a mocking little wave.

Then, Kelvin walked out of the hallway.

For the first time in the eighteen miserable years I had known my stepfather, he wasn't scowling. He wasn't drunk, and he wasn't looking for something to throw at me. He was smiling brightly. It was a grotesque, terrifying sight.

I instinctively braced my arms, expecting him to scream, to raise his hand, to punish me for ignoring his forty-nine calls.

Instead, he casually gestured toward the three suits on the couch. "Ah, Roxanne. Good. You're finally here. These gentlemen are here to take you to your husband's home."

A sharp, breathless chuckle burst from my throat. I shook my head, my ears ringing. "My... what? You're drunk. Go to bed, Kelvin."

"He's not joking, big sis," Richard chimed in, stepping forward. He began clapping his hands together in a slow, theatrical rhythm, cheering mockingly. "Congratulations! You're moving up in the world."

I knew Richard. I knew his cruelty. This applause wasn't coming from a clean heart; it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

Anger, hot and blinding, surged through my veins, temporarily drowning out my fear. I violently threw my handbag to the floor. The cheap zipper split, and the contents spilled across the linoleum. My makeup rolled away, the thick cheque fluttered into the dust, and right there, in plain sight, fell my torn, soaked thong and the crumpled lace bra from the VIP booth. I didn't care. I didn't give a damn about the modesty I had left.

"What the fuck do you mean, my husband's house?!" I screamed, stepping into Kelvin's face.

Kelvin’s bright smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a ugly, sneering snap. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me, you ungrateful bitch! How long did you think you were going to stay a cheap sex worker? Huh? How were you planning to feed us and pay the upcoming rent with just the petty bucks men give you for using your body?"

"Petty bucks?!" I snapped right back, my voice vibrating with years of suppressed rage. "I pay for everything! You and your pathetic son are lazy, useless parasites! Where in the world is the daughter the sole breadwinner for two grown, able-bodied men?!"

Before the last word could fully leave my mouth, a heavy fist cracked across my jaw.

The force of Richard's punch sent me crashing to the floor. My cheek smacked against the hard ground, a sharp, metallic taste of blood bursting in my mouth.

"Shut your whoring mouth!" Richard roared, hovering over me, his face twisted in anger. "Every fucking girl in this city would die for the offer to get married to a billionaire, and here you are crying about it like a brat! You should be thanking us!"

"A billionaire?" I cried out, tears finally spilling over my burning cheeks. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, looking between the two of them. "You sold me. You actually sold me!"

When I realized my screaming wasn't changing anything, absolute desperation hit me. The anger drained out, leaving me entirely hollow and terrified. I dragged myself to Kelvin’s feet, grabbing at his pant legs, kneeling on the cold floor.

"Please," I sobbed, begging the only people I had ever called family, even though they had never once seen me as one. "Please, Kelvin, don't do this. Look," I pointed a shaking finger at the floor, "look at the cheque! I made money tonight! Serious money! I can pay the rent! Just don't sell me off to some stranger!"

Kelvin let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "You think this is just about rent money, Roxanne? I did this to save our lives." He knelt down to my eye level, his breath smelling of stale cigarettes.

"I took out a million-dollar loan to invest in a friend's tech company. The bastard scammed me. He vanished."

Kelvin stood back up, pointing dramatically at the three scary-looking men who hadn't moved an inch.

"His creditors came knocking. They told me I had to offer up something I loved so dear as collateral until the debt is repaid, or they'd bury us. You're our currency, Roxanne."

A dry, hysterical laugh forced its way out of my throat. I looked from Kevin's smug face up to Richard's cold eyes. "Something you love so dear?" I choked out, a tearful, mocking smirk cutting through my panic.

"You are a fat, pathetic liar straight from the pit of hell, Kelvin! Since when did I ever become something you valued, other than a goddamn money machine?!"

Kelvin’s face turned purple with rage. "You little piece of shit!"

He lunged forward, his heavy boot catching me sharply in the ribs. I gasped, curling into a ball as he began hitting me, his fists raining down on my shoulders and back. I shielded my head, crying out in pain, the ache in my ribs blooming instantly.

"Hey. That's enough."

The voice was deep, flat, and carried the weight of an executioner's axe. One of the men in suits had finally stood up from the sofa. He didn't look angry; he looked bored.

He checked his expensive wristwatch, completely ignoring the domestic violence that had just occurred.

"Our boss will be home shortly," the man said smoothly, looking down at Kelvin. "We need to leave. Now."

"No! No, please!" I protested, trying to scramble away toward the bedroom, my body aching, my pussy throbbing painfully from the club, my jaw stinging from Richard's punch.

Before I could even find my footing, a massive, heavy hand gripped my waist. In one terrifying motion, the man hoisted me off the floor and flung me roughly over his broad shoulder like a sack of laundry.

The air rushed out of my lungs as my stomach pressed against his hard collarbone, my view restricted to the dirty linoleum floor and my spilled handbag fading into the distance as he turned toward the door.