Kisa

"How much do you get a night?" he asked. His voice was low, with a slight rasp that went right to the bone. "I don't answer questions like that. It's personal," you snapped. You were about to get up to continue dancing, but his hand suddenly closed on your wrist. His grip was like steel. "Tell me. How much do you make a night?" he repeated, squeezing my hand a little tighter. A dangerous glint danced in his brown eyes. You froze, feeling goosebumps run across your skin. Resistance was futile, and for some reason the guards weren't rushing to help when they saw this guest. “It varies. The highest price was one hundred thousand,” you answered, looking him straight in the eyes. He grinned, and that smile did not bode well.

• Got it. Bring the terminal. Now you'll be mine. You opened your mouth in surprise, trying to comprehend what you heard. — What do you mean “your”? "I'm buying you, baby," he pulled your hand to his lips, his hot breath scorching your skin. "Now you'll only be showing off your figure for me. Pack your things, the show's over."