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These
were private apartments where some of girls entertained wealthier
clients who wanted more than just a dance.
    The girl always shuddered when she thought about the
private rooms. The Devil's Playground didn’t just offer a straight
forward prostitution service. The clients paying for sex here had
sadistic tastes and demanding expectations. More than once, Sara
had seen the bruises and cuts on Candy’s body, and twice she’d had
to go to hospital after a brutal session. Sara had no idea how
Candy could stand it. Many of the other girls selected for the
rooms hadn’t lasted long, or had become drug addicts to cope. She
was just grateful she’d been spared those particular duties.
    As she gyrated for a grossly obese man and his
friends, Sara's eye snagged the wall clock behind the bar. Her
break was only five minutes away, and she sagged with relief. For
some reason, tonight’s shift had dragged, and she was weary both
physically and emotionally. Bitter memories floated about her mind
like flotsam, and the arrival of the stranger had rattled her for
some reason. It would be good to get some private time, no matter
how brief, to clear her head.
    When break time came round, she sauntered off stage
and navigated a course through the sweaty heave of bodies. Clad in
only heels and a g-string, her sleek, tanned body attracted more
than enough ogling stares. She looked ahead, refusing to
acknowledge the looks or lewd remarks. A grasping hand reached out
to stroke her long, silky soft hair and she turned her head to
glare at him. She put enough vehemence in her sapphire bright eyes
to make the presumptuous creep retreat back behind his beer.
    Sara felt a swell of satisfaction, and made a beeline
for the staff room. Al appeared like a ghost in front of her. “I
need you upstairs,” he said in a low gravelly voice.
    Sara blinked at him. “Upstairs?” A blade of dread
sliced through her. Upstairs meant the private rooms. “But I don’t
work upstairs.”
    “You do now,” Al replied brusquely. “A client has
specifically asked for you. Upstairs, Room Nine.” He must have seen
the look of sheer terror in Sara’s eyes, because he laughed out
loud. “Don’t look so worried princess. He just wants a dance,
nothing else. Your virtue will stay intact.”
    Sara relaxed a little, but was still edgy about the
whole idea. If Al had his way, Sara would have been working the
private rooms from day one. Unlike a lot of the girls in the
Devil's Playground, Sara still had the look of an innocent that
drove the customers crazy. Her lean, teenager’s body and large
natural breasts made her an instant hit, and no matter the late
hours and tiring shifts, she still maintained that fresh,
girl-next-door look. No, it had been Candy who’d saved her from the
rooms. She and Al went way back, and Candy knew where all the
bodies were buried, quite literally in some cases. She’d used her
leverage to make sure Al kept Sara downstairs. Candy was
amazing.
    “It’s my break,” Sara said pugnaciously. “I got
fifteen minutes.”
    “You get up there now,” Al snapped. “He don’t want to
wait. You might be one of Candy’s charity cases, but you ain’t got
special privileges. Now get the fuck up there or I’ll dock your
wages.”
    Sara made to argue further, but decided against it.
She’d been very lucky to have Candy looking out for her, but it
wasn’t a good idea to piss off Al too much. “Okay,” she said, “I’m
going.”
    Al nodded with a grunt, and Sara turned back in the
other direction, toward the wide staircase that led up to the
private rooms. A growing sense of dread filled her, and she glanced
over to Candy as she went up the steps. The other woman was looking
at her, before turning away quickly. Sara frowned in confusion. She
couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a look of guilt in
Candy’s eyes. When she reached the top of the stairs and looked
again, Candy was busy with her act, no longer watching