Bought
The cold night air stung Queenie's skin as she walked the empty streets. Hours passed since they threw her out like garbage. Her feet hurt from walking around with no place to go. Where was she supposed to go? The question kept coming back with no answer.
Her legs finally gave out. She dropped onto a concrete curb next to the road, her designer dress wrinkled and dirty now. The tears came then - hot, angry tears she'd been holding back. They ran down her cheeks as she put her face in her hands.
Everything was perfect before. Her plans to escape and expose Georgina were almost done. She'd found evidence, made connections, built a strategy. But now? Now everything was destroyed. Fifty thousand dollars. The number wouldn't leave her head. How could she get that kind of money in five days?
The evidence was gone. Destroyed. And she was homeless, broke, with nowhere to turn. It hit her hard - she really had no one. No family who cared, no friends to call, no safe place to run to.
But then a memory came back. A woman at a coffee shop weeks ago, friendly smile, expensive clothes. She'd given Queenie a business card and said something about making easy money at her club. Back then, Queenie threw the card away without thinking.
Now that conversation played back clear as day. The woman's knowing look. Her careful words. The way she'd looked at Queenie's face and body with calculating eyes.
The idea hit her hard. It was the only way she could get money fast. The only way to survive. She'd have to sell the one thing she had left - her body.
Her hands shook as she searched her pockets, finding only a few crumpled bills. Enough for cab fare, maybe. She stood on shaky legs and flagged down the first taxi she saw.
---
HOSPITAL:
"How are you feeling now?" Georgina asked, her voice fake sweet as she fixed the hospital room curtains.
Catalina smiled from her bed, looking perfectly healthy despite the IV in her arm. "Of course I'm fine. We both know that wasn't real poison." Her laugh was light, almost musical.
Georgina laughed, sitting in the visitor's chair. "You acted so good. I almost believed you were dying."
"Of course - I'm not called Catalina for nothing." She stretched like a satisfied cat. "The plan was perfect."
"But did Queenie really think she could outsmart me by gathering evidence?" Georgina muttered, her voice getting harder. "That stupid little girl thought she could bring me down."
"What about the evidence? What did you do with it?" Catalina's curiosity was sharp.
"I destroyed it all. Every photo, every document, every recording." Georgina's satisfaction was obvious. "She has nothing now."
"But fifty thousand dollars? She'll never pay that debt. That's more money than most people see in their whole life, let alone five days. Why didn't you just have her arrested?"
Georgina's smile was cold. "Exactly. She can never afford that money. So when those five days are up, the company and everything else will be ours. Legal. Permanent."
"I trust you, mother." Catalina's smile matched Georgina's perfectly - two predators happy with their kill.
---
The cab stopped in front of a building that pulsed with neon lights and loud music. The sign read "Paradise Club" in glowing red letters. Queenie's stomach turned as she paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk.
The bouncer barely looked at her as she walked through the entrance. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and perfume. Women in revealing outfits moved between tables where men sat with drinks and hungry eyes.
She made her way to the reception bar, her heart pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it.
"How can I help you?" asked the girl behind the counter, her voice bored.
"I'm looking for Beatrice," Queenie managed to say, her voice barely heard over the music.
"Queenie? Is that really you?"
She turned to find Beatrice walking up - a woman in her forties with platinum blonde hair and too much makeup, but kind eyes that remembered her.
"Come on, let's talk somewhere quieter," Beatrice said, leading her away from the main floor.
They walked through corridors until they reached a private office. The soundproofing made the music fade to a distant thump. Beatrice closed the door and pointed for Queenie to sit on a leather couch.
"So," Beatrice said, sitting behind her desk, "have you decided to become the stripper I offered you last time?"
"No," Queenie whispered, unable to look at her.
Beatrice's face changed to confusion, then concern as she took in Queenie's appearance - the expensive dress now wrinkled, the tear stains on her cheeks, the desperate look in her eyes.
"I'm in serious debt. I need to earn fifty thousand dollars quickly. Is there anything... Anything at all that could help me make that kind of money?"
Beatrice leaned back in her chair, studying her carefully. "Well, yes. But I don't think you're ready for what that means."
"I'll do anything," Queenie said, her voice stronger now. "I have no choice."
"You'd have to offer your body. That's the fastest way to make real money here. The kind of money you're talking about."
The words hit Queenie like a slap, but she didn't move. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
Beatrice was quiet for a long moment. "Then let's get you ready for tonight's bidding."
---
The private auction room was elegant in a twisted way - red velvet chairs arranged in a half circle, dim lighting that created shadows. Rich men filled the seats, their eyes sharp with want and desire.
The rules were simple, brutal: highest bidder gets the girl.
Queenie stood behind the curtain, transformed. The red dress hugged her curves perfect, her hair was styled in loose waves, and makeup highlighted features she'd never known she had. She looked like a different person - beautiful, seductive, dangerous.
But inside, she was terrified.
"Remember what I taught you," Beatrice whispered beside her. "Walk slowly, make eye contact, don't look scared. You're selling a fantasy."
The curtain opened.
Taking a deep breath, Queenie stepped onto the small stage. The walk felt endless under the weight of hungry stares. Every man in the room studied her like she was the meat they were thinking about buying.
Her legs shook, and for a moment she wanted to run. But she forced herself to remember why she was here. Fifty thousand dollars. Five days. No other choice.
"Calm down, Queenie," she whispered to herself. "You can do this."
"Twenty thousand dollars!" The first bidder's voice cut through the air.
"Twenty-five thousand!" another man called out.
"Thirty-five thousand!"
"Fifty thousand!"
The numbers climbed higher. Queenie stood frozen as men bid on her like she was livestock at an auction. Each increase made her stomach twist tighter.
"Seventy thousand!"
"One hundred thousand!"
The bidding continued, voices getting more aggressive, competitive. Finally, it stopped at two hundred thousand dollars.
"Two hundred thousand dollars going at once..." the auctioneer announced. The room fell silent. "Two hundred thousand dollars going twice..."
The man who'd won was in his sixties, overweight, with cold eyes that made Queenie's skin crawl. This was it. This was the moment she'd lose everything she had left.
He started walking toward the stage.
"Three hundred thousand dollars."
The voice came from the back of the room, smooth and dangerous. Everyone turned to see a figure in a black hoodie, smoke curling from between his lips. His dark hair fell across his face, but there was something magnetic about him that made the room hold its breath.
"The bidding is over, sir. You'll have to wait for the next round," the auctioneer said nervously.
"Five hundred thousand dollars for the girl," the stranger said, walking closer to the stage.
The hoodie cast shadows over his face, making him look mysterious and threatening.
"Sir, the bidding is closed. It's against our policy to continue—"
"I love breaking rules and policies," the man said with a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's fun for me."
He paused, took another drag from his cigarette, and looked directly at Queenie. "One million dollars for the girl."
The room erupted in whispers. The auctioneer had no choice but to announce him as the winner.
"I got the girl first!" the older man protested angrily.
"And the rule says the highest bidder gets the girl. So she's mine," the stranger replied, reaching for Queenie's hand and pulling her closer to him.
"You can have the girl," the auctioneer said quickly, wanting to avoid trouble.
The stranger laughed low and led Queenie away from the stage.
Part of her felt relieved that she wouldn't have to spend the night with the disgusting old man. But another part of her, the part that noticed how the other men had looked at this stranger with fear, screamed warnings.
She was walking away with someone who might be way more dangerous than anyone else in that room. Someone who bid a million dollars like it was pocket change. Someone who broke rules for fun.
As his hand gripped hers, leading her toward an uncertain fate, Queenie realized she might have just signed her soul away to the devil himself.