Page 4 of Scarred King
“What do you mean, girls like me?” I ask, shocked, “You think girls like me don’t have to work?”
“You look like a smart girl,” he carries on in the same tone. “You could have asked for a scholarship or found a job that’s more suitable for girls like you.”
Girls like me again. What does he want? “I already missed the scholarship application date.” I try to smooth down my dress, which is all wrinkled after such a long day. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with this job. It’s just waiting on customers.”
“So that’s what they call it these days…” he says thoughtfully, and I don’t waste time wondering why. As soon as he stops, I pay him and get out of the cab.
“You want me to wait for you?” He unbuckles his seatbelt.
“No need,” I say and turn around. Before I can say that I’ve changed my mind, the cab is already gone.
4
Oh My God. What is this place? The street is deserted and I am facing a huge industrial building with an enormous steel door, blocked by a man who looks like a huge Rottweiler.
I take a couple of steps forward, still keeping a safe distance between me and him. “I’m here for a job interview. As a waitress,” I emphasize the last word and his expression doesn’t change.
“You're armed?” he asks and motions for me to get closer.
“No. Why would I be armed?” I answer feeling sick.
He pulls my backpack off my shoulder, rummaging through it and then slides his hands down the sides of my body. “What are you doing?” I fidget uncomfortably.
“You can go in.” He opens the massive door for me and I hesitantly walk inside.
“Wow!” I blurt out in surprise. Unlike the neglected look of the building on the outside, the inner space looks amazing, shiny black marble tiles, square tables are scattered throughout the room, surrounded by leather sofas and high-backed wooden chairs. A glance to my left reveals a long black marble bar, with glass shelves filled with bottles.
“What do you want, baby girl?” A male voice startles me out of my thoughts and I turn my head toward it. Three men and that rude girl that I met this morning are sitting at a round table in the left corner of the room. “We donated at the office already. Get the hell out.” The voice blares out from the red-headed guy drinking from a beer bottle. He has a tattoo on his wrist with the letters BP under a long sword.
“You’re late,” The rude girl says and waves her hand, signaling that I should leave. She’s not wearing the clothes she wore this morning. She’s in a tight long black dress.
“What is she late for?” the man whose black hair is bleached at the tips asks, as he examines me closely.
“I told her she could come for a job interview,” Rude Girl says in an amused tone. “She threatened to sue if we didn’t give her a fair chance to work here,” she mocks.
“Another junkie kid who’ll get us in trouble with her rich parents,” the third man mutters without turning round to look at me. I look at his scarred profile and feel terrified. Deep scarring, that were probably made with a sharp knife, cross his face from his forehead to his jaw horizontally and vertically, but toward the bottom part the scars aren’t as symmetrical as the top. His hair is light brown, straight but ruffled. “Get her out of here,” he says still not looking at me.
What did I walk into? What is this place? And why am I still here? My intuition is screaming at me to run, but knowing that running would kill my dream, I stay put.
“You heard him,” the girl says coldly. “You’re late. You missed your chance.”
“No.” I say quietly. Stretch out my neck and straighten my shoulders. “I’ve come all the way here and there’s no good reason for you not to interview me for the job.” I put my backpack down on the floor, attempting to make a point.
“Carly, you found a real stubborn kid,” the redheaded guy laughs again. “Okay then… if you want us to give you a chance so badly, what are you waiting for? Strip.” He takes another swig from his beer bottle and my eyes widen in panic. “Come on, pretend there’s a pole and some music. We don’t have time to organize all that bullshit right now.”
“Strip?” I manage to repeat in a trembling voice, before my whole body freezes.
“Mike, she’s not here to be a stripper.” Rude Girl, whose name must be Carly, smacks him lightly on his head.
“Then I guess she’s here for my department,” the guy with the bleached hair says and puts his hand on his mouth to stifle a yawn. I see that he has the same tattoo on his wrist as the redheaded guy. “Go upstairs, pick a room and wait on the bed naked.” He gestures with his head toward the staircase behind him. “I’ll send someone who’s not as tired as me to check you out.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do that,” I say, shocked. My body has gone completely numb. Now I know why the cab driver was so worried and I regret not letting him tell me about this place.
Carly stands up. “Tommy, she’s not here for your department.” She smooths out the creases in her dress and sits down again. “She wants to be a waitress here in the bar.”
Scarface turns around and looks at me for the first time, almost spitting his beer out. I hold my breath. The scars covering the right side of his face are blurred and I stare at the left side of his face, which looks so different. A smooth, angelic, masculine face with a pair of shining green eyes. His lips curve a little and he smiles at me with contempt.
“You want her to be the first thing that our guests see?” He asks Carly, but is still looking at me.