Relinquish

“Hmm,” he murmurs, rubbing his chin and giving us a once-over.

“I’m sorry, but I ain’t no bitch,” Jayden sneers, shaking her head.

“It ain’t personal, baby. It’s just easier than saying Margo, Jewel, Angel. It’s how we do.” He glances down with arrogance and shrugs.

“Umm,” I interrupt. “Can’t you just call them girls, women, or even employees?”

Mick looks up and nods slowly, his lip curling with a hint of a smirk.

“Looks like we got a smart one on our hands,” he snarls.

“Yeah, but is she street-smart?” Margo pipes up, squinting as she looks me up and down.

“Seriously? I’ve lived—”

Mick holds his hand up, stopping me. “I get it, you have the most tragic back story ever.” He glares at me then Jayden, rubbing his hand over his bald head.

“Join the club, baby,” Margo mutters, shifting on the couch.

“You don’t even know me!” I snap, my voice laced with venom.

“You’re right, and I don’t want to get to know you,” Mick snaps, and I exhale an angry breath. It seems no matter what I say, it’s not right.

“But, if I had to guess, you’re here for an entirely different reason than she is,” he clips, pointing to Jayden. I look beside me, my eyes catching hers.

“You’re apprehensive about being here, and your friend isn’t. At least, not as much as you are, anyway,” Mick points out.

I swallow and try to stiffen my spine. I am worried, but I don’t want to let on I’m more worried than Jayden. I want to be strong for her.

“That’s where you’re wrong. It was her idea to come here,” Jayden speaks up, her hand grabbing mine in support as she looks at me with care. Her simple gesture in grabbing my hand and standing up for me shows she has my back no matter what. I love her for that.

“Is that right?” Mick sneers, giving a small chuckle. “Either way, I could use some new girls,” he mutters, sitting up and interlocking his fingers, resting them on his desk. The way he says new makes me flinch. He didn’t say more girls, he said new. Are the other girls worn out? Did they leave? Are they dead? It’s unnerving.

“What’s your names?”

“My name is Jay-”

“Stop!” he roars, causing me to jump.

“I don’t want to know your real name, nor does any trick you’re fucking. What is your street handle?” His tone leans on the side of irritated as he lifts his chin, waiting for our replies.

“Umm,” Jayden stutters.

“Fancy. My name is Fancy,” I go first, giving Jayden a second to come up with something.

“Hmm, Fancy. Don’t think we’ve had a girl named Fancy before,” Mick says, smiling.

“We haven’t,” Margo adds.

“And you?” Mick points at Jayden.

“Rarity,” Jayden informs, her back straight with confidence as she answers.

“Don’t think we’ve had one of those, either,” Margo states, stuffing tissues under her arm pits. How classy.

“All right, this is what we’ll do. Margo will show you the ropes.” He points at Jayden. “She’ll teach you how to work the corner, Rarity. And you, Fancy, will work the motel.”

“How much do we get?” Jayden butts in.

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, looking her over. “I get it all. In return, I will pay your rent, and make sure you have food in your fridge—”

“Ha!” I blurt, turning to leave.

“You gotta any better options?” Mick hollers, catching me in my step.

“You’re telling me we use our bodies and don’t get a dime?” I question, my tone hostile as I turn around furious. “Then I say. Fuck. You,” I spit.

Done. I am so done with this whole thing.

“Then go. Work the streets alone without my protection. I’ll send dead roses to your funeral-”

“They won’t have a funeral. Ain’t nobody know they here. Look at them,” Margo adds, standing and waving her finger up and down as she points at us.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jayden steps up to Margo, her fists clenched, ready to throw down. I follow her lead, ready to have Jayden’s back. This Margo chick is starting to get on my last nerve.

“That’s my bottom bitch,” Mick informs, serious.

“Your what?” I can’t help but laugh.

“You know, bottom bitch. It means she’s been around since day one, my most trustworthy bitch,” Mick explains, smiling big at Margo.

“I’d back off,” one of the men standing behind Mick seethes, his chest puffed out. I kind of forgot they were even here; they’re so still and quiet.

I close my eyes, conflicted with what to do.

“Look, how about for the first week, I’ll give you a percentage depending on what you make. That’s the best I can do. You don’t like it, then bounce. But I either get both of you or neither,” Mick offers, and I can’t help but scoff. Accepting his offer will back us into a corner. We won’t have any money to leave if we ever wanted to, because he’ll have it all.