Chapter 2: Into the lion's den

I woke the next morning still uneasy about the interactions I witnessed at the bar the night before. Something didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was bothering me. I hoped that with the light of day, things would appear more normal, but deep down, I had a nagging feeling of unease.

Shaking off my worries, I went through my morning routine and headed back to work. As soon as I walked in the door, I could sense a strange tension in the air. The staff were whispering to each other more than usual and giving me odd looks. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable vibes, I tied on my apron and got to work, setting up for the afternoon shift.

The first few hours passed in a blur of mixing drinks and running food to tables. Business was slower than the day before, but the clientele seemed even more eccentric and unbridled in their behaviour. I felt eyes watching my every move as I served drink orders. A few men lingered too long, making inappropriate comments, when I walked by with empty dishes. I gave terse smiles and excuses to remove myself from unwanted conversations as quickly as possible.

Around 5 p.m., things began to die down in the bar area as patrons filtered off to dinner. I spotted my chance to take a quick break and slipped into the back room to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge. That’s when I overheard snippets of a hushed conversation coming from the adjoining storage closet.

“I can’t believe they’re actually going through with it tonight.”

“I know, it’s insane. But you know how these big shots are; they’ll pay anything for a thrill.”

Intrigued yet worried by what I was hearing, I inched closer and cracked the door open slightly to peek inside. Two of the cocktail waitresses were hurriedly whispering and re-tying the strings on their bustier tops.

“Do you think they’ll really make us, you know?” the blonde one asked nervously.

“I hope not, but you never know with that crowd. I heard last time one of the girls quit on the spot after what they made her do. I’m just hoping I can grit my teeth and get through it for the tip money.”

My heart began to pound. What on earth were they talking about having to do? Some sort of degrading performance for these wealthy guests? A trickle of panic started to set in as I realized this was no ordinary bar and the people who frequented it were into much darker activities than simple drinking and socializing.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I popped back out into the hallway and leaned against the wall, taking slow, calming breaths. I needed answers but had to approach the situation carefully. A few minutes later, the waitresses emerged from the storage closet and brushed past me with anxious eyes, obviously nervous about whatever was planned for that evening.

When things slowed down again at the bar, I sidled up to Jeremy, the bartender who had first warned me about the clientele. “Hey, I couldn’t help overhearing some of the staff talking earlier. They mentioned there was some sort of, I don’t know, auction happening tonight? Do you know what they were referring to?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casually inquisitive rather than panicked.

Jeremy glanced around warily and lowered his voice. “Look, Isadora, I meant what I said the other day. You seem like a good kid, and I’d hate to see you get mixed up in the sort of things that go on around here after hours. It’s best if you just do your job, keep your head down, and then go home at the end of your shift like nothing ever happened. Trust me.”

Frustrated with his evasiveness but knowing I wouldn’t get any straight answers from him, I sighed in resignation. “Alright, I won’t pry. But you have to admit, it’s a little unsettling not knowing what’s really happening under this roof. I just want to be able to look out for myself.”

Jeremy paused for a long moment, wrestling with how much to reveal without putting me in danger. “Fine. I’ll tell you this much: after we close, some of the VIP guests like to gamble on live performances involving the staff. Things can get pretty graphic and demeaning. Cash flows freely, so the bosses turn a blind eye as long as business is booming. My advice? Finish your bartending duties and get the hell out of here before midnight. You don’t want any part of what goes down after hours, trust me.”

I felt slightly nauseous imagining what sort of depraved acts these wealthy patrons enjoyed betting on. I knew Jeremy was right—it was best if I steered clear of the after-hours activities for my own safety and sanity. But my innate sense of justice was also kicking in. How could they allow such dehumanizing treatment of the employees just for the sake of money and power thrills? There had to be a way to shut this disgusting operation down for good.

I finished out my shift on autopilot, wrestling with my conflicting instincts to flee the premises versus stand up to the corruption. By 11:30 p.m., the bar area was mostly cleared out as guests dispersed to secret lounges and parlors for the real festivities of the night. I glanced around furtively as I tidied the last few tables, hoping my managers were too preoccupied to notice if I lingered a little longer than planned.

Just then, two well-dressed men approached the bar carrying leather satchels bulging with cash. “Get me a bottle of Macallan and two glasses. We’ve got a big game starting in the Blue Room in fifteen minutes, and I aim to win it all tonight,” one gloated to Jeremy as he slapped a stack of hundred-dollar bills down on the bar. Intrigued, I slowly loaded dirty dishes onto my cart, pretending to eavesdrop casually while stealing glances at the exchange.

“You know the rules, Hendricks. Betting closes at midnight sharp, so get your ass in gear if you want a seat at the table. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; the stakes are higher than ever tonight. Word is, Mr. Ames just added a new prize to the pool,” the other man teased with a predatory gleam in his eye.

I felt a chill run down my spine. A new “prize” to bet on—was it referring to one of the staff being used in whatever depraved performance they had planned? I couldn’t just walk away and leave someone at the mercy of these monsters. My mind was made up—I had to find out exactly what was going on in the so-called Blue Room and get evidence to take to the police. Quietly slipping out the side exit, I texted my roommate to let her know I’d be late, took a deep breath, and headed towards the secret rooms in the east wing with determination and dread warring inside me.

The hallways were eerily silent except for occasional muted laughter and conversation drifting through closed doors. I moved stealthily, sticking to the shadows along the edges and trying each door handle carefully. The first few rooms were empty parlor lounges set up cozily with pool tables and bar areas. But as I crept farther down the corridor, muffled screams and pleads for mercy began to reverberate through the walls. My heart raced as a door at the end of the hall creaked slightly ajar, dim light and raucous male voices spilled into the hallway. Peering through the crack, what I saw made my blood run cold.

A sprawling basement room had been outfitted like a high-stakes casino and gentleman’s club rolled into one. Scantily clad cocktail waitresses fluttered about refilling champagne flutes for well-dressed guests lounging on leather sofas and ottomans. But the center of the room was taken up by an elaborate gilt cage where a young woman sobbed and cringed against the bars, naked but for a handful of strips of duct tape barely covering strategic areas. Two burly men paced the perimeter like lions, cracking bullwhips menacingly towards anyone who dared approach.

A suited host stood on a raised dais, calling out bids and gleefully taking wads of bills from enthralled onlookers. “You there in the Armani, do I hear ten thousand? Going once, going twice… SOLD to Mr. Ames for a cool one hundred thousand dollars! Now let the games begin.”

I stifled a scream, terror and revulsion coursing through my veins. I had to get help; I had to stop this depravity before it could continue any further. But as I turned to flee, my foot snagged on a loose floorboard with a resounding crack that echoed down the hall. Panicked eyes locked with mine through the gap in the cracked door. I was spotted.