Aaron, the bouncer, opens the rope tie with an apologetic look as Briggs throws a half-naked male past me, and out onto the curb. He must’ve become too much of a liability to the other Thur tonight; otherwise, Jack wouldn’t risk anyone’s ire at throwing his patron out. They can be defensive, even though the races hate each other. I spot the Darkmires lined up down the opposite side of the block, dark clothes matching their charred, gleaming eyes. A few have the tell-tale black lines bleeding down from their hairline. I don’t have time to glimpse anything more before I head through the rope.
“Too much Lithe?” I ask over my shoulder, moving along the doorway in perfect practice like I already know the answer.
Mid is only known for two things. \*_Lithe\*,_ which is a drug that gets the Thur higher than anything. And \*_sex\*_, which sells insanely well when everyone’s high.
“Ain’t it always? Jack’s looking for you, Devi.” Aaron grimaces, glancing around the smoky hallway as if Jack’s disgruntled face would part the fog and surprise me. It doesn’t. Of course not. Time is money, and he wouldn’t waste it on me.
“Office?” My stomach knots, but it’s my fault for being late.
“Yup,” Aaron confirms, giving me a mock salute. “Good luck.”
The smoke hits me first, a hazy mix of oxygen and some denser gas the Thur prefer when they're indoors. Oxygen works just fine for them, but they consume so much of it indoors that it poses a safety risk. So they supplement. The additional gas is dewy and moist, a proprietary saturation they provide for us, along with the oxygenator that balances the levels. It’s always slightly denser than breathing outside, but a quick exhale has me acclimating.
Is it strange that I like it?
Light shows play along the walls on either side of the hallway, disjointed lines coming together to form a woman blowing a kiss or a man winking, waving each patron deeper into the club. When the display turns into an innocuous pattern, it reveals two female Thur tucked into the wall depression. They gently lift their forearms to their tongues as I pass. One lick, then a second to gather any residue. One Lightfleck with blond braids holding back a curtain of silky hair, one Darkmire with a spiky dark cut that frames her eyes. Metal glints off their fingers as they intertwine with a gentle look.
It feels invasive to watch. Being high is the only time their kind doesn’t seem to be at odds. They don’t notice me as I pass, lost wherever Lithe takes them. I imagine how those bitter droplets would feel on my tongue. Then I remember they only make middlings sick.
Clearing the hallway, I enter the central part of the club where the regular girls, Lexi, Cherris, and Eve, are dancing nude on stage. I move around the boisterous crowd of bodies, watching as the women dip. The platform is suspended above the dancefloor, where everyone can get a clear view of their bodies. They’re so practiced that their expressions make it look believable. Like they might come down here and lick me from navel to nose if I’m a good girl.
I lock eyes with a few of the men Jack has employed as entertainment. Their enticement comes from working the crowd, moving through it with glistening bare chests and tempting eyes. Obvious, straining erections draw every eye and prove that the rumored pre-work ritual is true. It’s hard not to appreciate their bodies alongside the male and female Thur that reach out to touch as they pass.
It perfectly illustrates the promise of the Mid. Attraction, pleasure, and entertainment.
Of course, I only handle the VIP area, where Jack hosts his most prestigious clientele. I dance, clothed most of the time. I sling drinks and bring them all the Lithe they can afford within the limit—because there has to be one. I don’t know how Lithe is made but I do know Jack prefers if the Thur think the supply is limited. Something about the price he can charge for scarcity. If they want more than what I’m supposed to offer, I buzz one of the working girls or guys, whatever they prefer, and make myself too busy cleaning up to watch them have sex to take the edge off. Then I get paid and head home. It’s an easy enough life, and compared to others from the orphanage, I’m doing well for myself.
Compared to the others here, even, I’m doing well.
I ignore the handsy males as I pass through the crowd. They’re probably Darkmires, ever the primal, physical ones, though I don’t turn back to check. Sometimes, the Lightflecks surprise me. Mostly, Thur are consistent. Ignorant and without a single care in the world, but captivating. Driven by base needs and an escapism I recognize all too well. I don’t know exactly what they’re trying to escape from, but I know Thur have jobs, too. Maybe their jobs are stressful.
Someone shoves a hand against my bare stomach, reaching lower. Metallic claws pinch the skin and sting. \*_For fuck's sake\*_, I growl to myself as I snap my wrist in the way, moving into an opening between bodies. On the other side of the dancefloor is a set of double steel doors. I pry one open and shove through.
Down the stale hallway, I head for Jack's office and soothe the scratches on my stomach with my palm as I pass the first door. It’s for his working men and women, who primp themselves while they wait for the others to finish their dancing so they can swap out. Luxurious costumes and bare bodies greet me as they turn to see who has wandered past their door.
Most are just trying to stay above water, like me, and just as his mother once helped me in her orphanage, Jack helps them with a job. Only it’s not so selfless with how many are sleeping with him. That distinction matters.
My stomach prickles enough to tell me it’s bleeding.
The second door I pass is for security. Inside, they study a collage of camera feeds around the club. Thomil shoots me a sly grin, and a few of the overnight hires pinch their brows. Jack isn't known for hiring the best contractors. He's known for hiring the cheapest. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about taking one or two back to my place because I’m not above it.
And sometimes, the only way to wash away a taste is to change the flavor. But everyone is too afraid of Jack to agree to defile his adoptive sister. It’s why I haven’t even bothered with the working men, no matter how appealing I find their bodies.
Finally reaching Jack’s door, I knock twice, then wait. It's our usual routine, so he knows it's me. I knock three times after a beat, as per our code, and when I hear nothing except the latch sliding free, I open it and slip inside before it can lock shut. He might yell, but there shouldn’t be a punishment waiting. We’ve done this enough times.
Jack's not alone, though.
There's a woman on her knees in front of him, and judging by the platinum silver hair, it's Aisline. Her eyes go wide as she catches me in her periphery. It’s always strange to me how surprised each of them is by me walking in. Like this hasn’t happened too many times to count. Like it’s not always a different woman because Jack doesn’t like men. How do they not see him orchestrating these displays, timing them perfectly to my arrivals…
Aisline only gives me her attention for a breath because he's got her choking on him, gagging and straining to take more, his hand flexing on his loose belt_._ The one he pulls free immediately. Now that he has my attention, he wraps it around her throat until I flinch.
Memories become real. I feel a hardwood floor mercilessly pressed against my knees. The tightness of panic and starved air. Blinking it away, I focus on the details of this room. No lemon cleaner clinging to the floorboards or laughter outside a covered window. No summer sun toasting my exposed legs through the gap in the curtain. No bruised skin. I need to stay present.
But Jack’s face makes it hard to separate. Pleasure and satisfaction carve into his features until I shiver. The whole room smells like sex, and I'd love nothing more than to turn around and fuck off. But I can't. The door locks automatically once closed unless he presses the release. So, I turn to look at the wall, avoiding his face… the sounds… everything I can. Even with my damaged ear, the room is quiet enough to send the sounds echoing. The crawling under my skin has traveled from my neck to my waist, then lower.
A muffled cough, panicked and wet, makes my eyes flutter. I want to scream. Instead, my fingers clench together, digging into my palms. I know he sees my breathing pick up— probably knows the percussion of my heart racing, too. There’s nothing I can do about it except ignore it. Ignore. Ignore.
He knows he affects me. The position, the belt, the relaxed, lust-drunk stance. It’s all so triggering that I’m losing feeling in my toes. A potent wave of desire makes my skin flush. Shame right on its heels. The room sways until my mind is muddy. Does he think it’s fun to watch me suffer? I wish that I could be cold enough to watch it and ignore the hot pulse waking in me. The one that feels so wrong that it coils my stomach too tight. Dread and anticipation combine so densely I can’t separate one from the other. Which one shoots acid up my throat and stings up my spine? I don’t know. I never know.
So, I pretend I don’t remember what it feels like. That I don’t hate it in equal measure as I crave it. My skin feels liable to shred itself. He finishes with a flare, every cell in my body beginning to race with panic. My hands tremble. Ignore it. Ignore it.
There’s a quiet hiss, a gasp, a groan. Then—"You can go," Jack says to Aisline. The door latch slides free.
“What about…” she murmurs, her voice rough. He says something back, too low to hear out of my damaged ear, and I wait until the door closes behind her before I look again. I need that extra moment to compose myself. He's already stuffed himself away, zipping his fly slowly. But the smirk has stayed firmly in place.