Yo nunca fui la elección

Chapter 001

Nicole

The Infinite Hotel and Casino, one of the town's budget-friendly gambling spots, was, if I remember correctly, an unlicensed joint in New York. Unfortunately, I worked there as a cocktail server.

 As I pulled down the hem of my black mini skirt to cover more of my thighs, I scanned the room with squinted eyes. The lights above were low, creating a glow from the many twinkling slot machines, which made me cringe at the noise. 

I started working here three months ago because my stepmom insisted; if I had said no, they would have stopped funding my niece Andrea's leukemia treatment. Andrea, my late sister Camille's daughter who died in an accident, relies solely on me. So, I was determined to do everything I could to help her fight this serious illness. 

Getting used to the lively colors and the constant buzz of the slot machines was tough—I can't really describe the sound. It wasn't music, but it wasn't just noise either. It was like a mechanical symphony—tinkling, clanking, with random beeps and short tunes. It was the sound of a hundred slot machines in action. I made my way to the center where the craps tables, poker, blackjack, and roulette were buzzing with activity. 

There, I noticed the old man who had asked for his vodka for the sixth time. He looked pretty drunk and wobbly. His bloodshot eyes were glued to the cards in his hands, and he had an angry look on his face. After all, gambling was no joke.

I hesitated to hand him his order, but then he caught my eye with a tilt of his head. "Come over here," he beckoned, waving me closer, and with a trembling hand, I complied, delivering his order. "Sit beside me. I need a lucky charm right now." he said.

Obediently, I took the seat next to him. He slid a glass toward me, filled with an orange-colored liquid, and urged me to drink. I refused with a shake of my head. "No, thanks, Sir. But we're not allowed to drink while working."

"Oh, come on. It's just an orange gin spritz. It won't make you drunk." he chuckled, but his laughter was cut short when he lost a bet. "Damn it!" he cursed, and in my fright, I grasped the glass and took a sip. He was right; it tasted like an ordinary orange juice, yet so addictive that I hadn't noticed the glass was now empty.

The old man grinned when he noticed that the glass in front of me was already consumed. ‘‘Come and sit on my lap,’’ he commanded again, tapping his thick thighs, and I shook my head, refusing this time.

‘‘I’m sorry, sir, but I won't sit on your lap. It's not a part of my job.’’ I whispered softly, lowering my gaze on my lap. His hand started to move on my thigh, traveling its way up to the hem of my skirt. I dodged his hand as I abruptly stood up from my seat.

‘‘Bitch!’’ He gulped down the vodka I had served and seized my arm, causing me to wince from the pain.

‘‘Let me go, you pervert!’’ I pulled my hand away from his grasp, and immediately after, the sound of shattering glass and scattering gambling chips filled the air as he hurled curses in my direction.

‘‘You’re just an employee here, so you have to follow every client’s request, do you understand?’’ he growled, his gaze piercing through me. ‘‘Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of my friends, or you will regret not following any of my orders!''

I stayed quiet, staring at the ground. This wasn't the job I signed up for. I accepted this job for my niece, even though the situation was risky. Every night, I dealt with annoying customers, but I usually managed to dodge them. Yet, this old man was particularly nasty and hard to deal with. 

When I finally looked up, he was towering over me. His breath reeked of alcohol and hit me in the face as I tried to get help from the other patrons. But they just watched us like it was some kind of show. The old man's words were slurred, clearly showing how much vodka he had consumed.

‘‘Answer me, you fucking bitch!’’ He demanded in a bellowing voice that made me flinch away.

‘‘Y-yes, Sir…’’ I stammered and internally reprimanded myself for showing him how scared and nervous I was, and for agreeing to what he wanted to do to me.

I was suddenly taken aback when his hand moved and slapped me on the face, and his large hand gripped my throat and throttled me, causing me to gasp in horror. I clasped my hands around his arm in a desperate bid to pull it away and began to desperately inhale for air.

Tears welled up in my widening eyes as I stared into the raging dark eyes of the pervert old man.

"What's happening here?" a voice echoed across the room. It was unmistakably my manager's voice. She hurried over, and rather than defending me, she grabbed my hair and pulled me away from the old man, causing me to cry out in pain. "You, bitch! Apologize to him, right now!" she demanded.

I shook my head in disbelief. She expected me to apologize to him without even understanding the full story.

"So, what’s your plan with her, Mr. Pariscova?" Debra asked, holding my hair tightly as she spoke to the unpleasant old customer.

"I won’t take this any further if you let me spend the night with this gorgeous lady." he said with a wicked grin, his gaze scanning my body, making me feel a wave of revulsion.

His eyes were filled with dark desire, and as he walked closer to me, I stiffened. I hitched my breath when I felt his hand squeeze my asscheek.

I couldn't shake off the intense feelings of disgust and filth. My thoughts drifted to Homer, my ex-boyfriend who had been seduced by my stepsister. What would he think of a woman he saw as tainted and dirty? But honestly, it didn't matter anymore. He fell for Kendra's trap, and now he was definitely my ex. 

“You,fucking pervert!” My anger towards Homer just kept growing, and before I knew it, my left foot shot out, kicking the old man right in the groin. He yelped in pain, clutching himself, and shot me a furious look.

The pain in my scalp grew as Debra pulled my hair harder, and then she started to drag me out of the room. ‘‘You’re going to pay for this, you slut!’’ she roared on my face.

"Help!" I cried out, but the onlookers, as usual, just watched. "Please, help me!"

Yet, no one stepped forward to prevent my manager from pulling me towards the elevator. My vision blurred with tears, and I couldn't see which floor we had reached. As the doors opened, she shoved me into a dimly lit corridor.

“You can't force me to do what you want!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling as I retreated a few steps from her. "I'm quitting. I don't want to be here. I don’t want to work in this illegal casino anymore!"

"Really?" Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk as she pulled out her phone from her pants’ pocket and dialed a number. "Sylvia, your stepdaughter wants to quit her job. What do you think about that? What do you want me to do to her?"

Debra activated the speakerphone, and my stepmother's voice boomed through the halls. 

"You want to resign from your job? Fine, go ahead! And I'll cut off your niece's treatment!" she threatened, her voice loud and furious.

"No, please!" I pleaded into the phone. "Mom, please don't do this to me!"

But the call had already disconnected. Debra spun around and strode into the elevator, and I chased after her.

"Wait!" I shouted, but a wave of dizziness overcame me. I became acutely aware of my racing heartbeat and the excessive sweat on my skin. My muscles tensed, and my jaws tightened.

"Wait for your client, my dear." Debra's voice echoed, growing fainter. With my vision blurring, I watched as the elevator doors shut, and she vanished from view.

"No!" My voice emerged as a hoarse, barely audible whisper. The sound of my breathing grew louder in my ears, and I closed my eyes, desperately trying to understand what was happening.

‘‘How do you feel, sweetie?’’ the voice of the old man echoed in my ear, and when I opened my eyes, they expanded when I spotted him standing right before me. ‘‘How do you feel about the drug I mixed in your drink?’’