Page 5

Samantha

As soon as the scream leaves my mouth, I know it’s a mistake to make any more noise, so I clamp my lips shut. I may not understand what the heck it is that I’m looking at — except that it’s all kinds of messy, looks like it hurts like hell, and one guy looks like he might be really attractive if his face didn’t look like a steak that had been tenderized by a butcher with a rage problem — but I know I should not attract any more attention to myself.

“Good move,” the man with the battered beef face says. “Keep quiet.”

“I… I’m just trying to find the champagne room.”

“I’d love if this were the champagne room and you were coming here for me, and everything that implies, but this isn’t the champagne room.”

“Everything that implies? I’m just bringing ice and champagne… to the champagne room.”

The man with the hamburger face blinks his black-and-blue eyes and gives me a perplexed look. “Is this your first day? Do you really not know what happens in the champagne room?”

“It is my first day, yes. And I assume the champagne room is a room where they keep champagne, or maybe customers go to drink champagne.” I answer slowly, because I still don’t like the idea that I’m actually working here — the outfit sucks, the customers stare in a way that makes me feel inhuman, Grub makes my stomach turn every time he looks at me, and, despite everything Grub said about letting me work off this debt as a waitress, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they try to force me to be a stripper… or worse — and the fact that I apparently don’t know what really happens in the champagne room makes me feel incredibly insecure. “Is that not it?”

He blinks again. A smile slowly dawns on his face, and he looks about ready to say something, but his companion — a man who looks shockingly unbeaten in comparison — opens his mouth first. “Lady, this is above your pay grade. Also, the champagne room is where sex happens. Now, take your ice and forget you ever saw us.”

But I haven’t moved. I can’t. I’m frozen in place by the horror in front of me and the trauma waiting for me back on the main flo or of the strip club.

“Lady, what’s your name?” Says the other man.

“Samantha.”

“Samantha, I’m Diesel. This is Hunter. Now that we’ve been introduced, let me speak to you like we’re friends: you need to get the fuck out of here before the asshole who was beating the shit out of us comes back. Save yourself and forget you ever saw us.”

“But…” I stammer.

Even though I know I should leave, it’s hard to walk away from people who so desperately need help. What if they end up getting killed? I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do something. Anything.

“Samantha, get the fuck out of here now ,” Diesel says in a voice that has so much brute command in it that, before I know it, I’ve spun around and taken several steps toward the door.

Then I remember who I am.

Who I am, what I’ve seen, and who these men are — people who need help. I may not be able to do much, but I can do something.

First, I approach and set the bucket of ice and champagne on the floor.

“Samantha, what are you doing?” Diesel says, both angry and surprised that his military-style command didn’t work on me.

“I can’t do much. I can’t stay long. But I can’t just walk away. So shut the hell up and let me do my thing, OK?” I say.

While they stare at me in surprised silence, I work as fast as my twitchy, nervous fingers will allow. First, I take a couple of ice cubes out of the bucket. “Open up. You two both need water,” I say and, when they obey, I plunk a couple ice cubes into their open mouths. Then, I rip a piece off of the cheap daisy duke style shorts they’re forcing me to wear. It makes no discernible difference in how the shorts look, because they already make me look naked, anyway. With the piece of cheap denim fabric, I take a few more ice cubes and form a crude ice pack, which I hold against Diesel’s battered face. “Hold still for a few seconds and keep sucking while I take care of you.”

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Diesel whispers.

I roll my eyes at his flirtation, but I can't help but smile a little. Even in this dire situation, he's trying to lighten the mood, and I don’t think I’d be nearly so brave as I feel right now without him. I move to Hunter next, creating another makeshift ice pack for his bruised jaw.

"You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," Hunter mutters, wincing as the cold hits his skin.

"Probably both," I admit, glancing nervously at the door. "Now, is there anything else I can do quickly before I have to go?"

Diesel shakes his head, his eyes suddenly serious. "You've done more than enough. Now, get the fuck out of here."

My head is spinning as I walk away, my heels clicking on the cheap linoleum floor. The image of Diesel's battered face is seared into my mind; I want to turn back, to help them some more somehow, but his words echo in my ears. Get the fuck out of here .

As I round a corner, wrapped up in my thoughts about Hunter and Diesel and how to help them, I nearly collide with a mountain of a man. His suit stretches tight across his massive frame, and a scar runs from his left eye to his jaw.

Just as scary are his large hands, which grab hold of me by my shoulders. They squeeze me tight, and he lowers his scarred face until it’s level with mine. Bloodshot eyes stare into me, and powerful fingers dig into the flesh of my shoulders until I want to scream.

“You’re in the wrong place, bitch.”