Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 130081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“You’re about to have a very special and important client,” he told her in his burbling voice with no preamble. “You must treat him extremely well and give him anything he wants.”
“What choice do I have?” Sonya demanded. She tried not to let bitterness rule her life, but she didn’t like being “owned.” Or being forced to sing on command and let strange alien males suck her toes or whatever it was they wanted to do to her!
Oozle had waved his antennae at her warningly.
“Be careful how you speak to me, girl! You may be a top-tier flower now, but I can cast you down to the bottom tier any time I wish if you displease me. Would you rather spend your days on your back entertaining client after client in the basement? Or do you want to keep your lovely penthouse view and sing more than you fuck?”
He gestured with one slimy hand—which was more like a tentacle—to the view of Downtown Opulex with its high, shiny spires and gleaming glass buildings visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows that walled the corner apartment on two sides.
“I’ll keep the view,” Sonya said shortly.
Because what else could she say? Her situation was bad, but it could always get worse if she wasn’t careful. She’d heard that the bottom tier flowers had to “entertain a client” every solar hour. At least she was limited to one or two clients a day, since she was often in the Flower Lounge performing.
“What does this client want?” she asked, trying to keep her temper in check. “Does he want me to sing to him?” That was what she hoped, anyway. Please, God—no more toe sucking!
“I do not know what he wants—but whatever it is, you will provide it for him,” Oozle had burbled sternly. “He is the Trollox ambassador to Opulex—a very important male!”
At that point, Sonya hadn’t known what a “Trollox” was, so she simply nodded her head.
“All right. I understand.”
“Good. On your best behavior, girl! Do whatever Sir Grox tells you and do it with a smile!” Oozle had pointed one slimy digit at her and then oozed out of the room with the tiny vacuum following behind him to clean up his trail of slime.
A moment later, the Trollox had stepped in and Sonya felt her heart freeze in her chest.
The monster! a panicked little voice in the back of her brain whispered. Oh God, the monster—he’s here!
Sir Grox had to duck his head to get into the large penthouse room and once inside, he seemed to fill it with his presence—and not in a good way. He had taken a seat in the reinforced chair that had been brought into her room earlier—apparently just for him.
Despite the reinforcements, the chair had creaked ominously as he lowered his ponderous bulk onto it. He had settled himself with his legs wide apart and Sonya hadn’t been able to keep from staring at the massive bulge in his leather trousers which looked as big as an enormous roll of bologna in a deli case. She tried looking at the top of him instead—but the view didn’t improve.
Two of Sir Grox’s heads were bald and the one in the middle had greasy orange hair that was slicked back from its temples. He smelled too—a rank odor like rotting meat and dirty feet and unclean genitals.
Smells like he hasn’t taken a shower or washed his junk in a month of Sundays! Sonya thought dismally as her heart began to beat again. The old saying about a “month of Sundays” made her think with longing of her granny who had died right at the beginning of the Scourge invasion. What would she think if she could see her granddaughter now? If she knew what Sonya was being forced to do?
“Er, hello…” Her heart had been in her throat and her skin felt clammy with fear as she forced herself to face her latest client. “How…how can I entertain you?” she’d asked him, just as she had been taught. “Would you like me to sing you a special song? Just for you?” she added hopefully.
But Sir Grox had shaken all three of his heads. He looked like the ogre in the book of fairy tales her mother used to read to her as a child, Sonya thought. That damn picture had given her night terrors—for years she’d woken up screaming and crying in the darkness, terrified that the horrible ogre was going to get her and “grind her bones to make his bread.” And now, here he sat—a ten-foot-tall nightmare come to life—and there was nowhere to run and no one to wake her up from this horror.
The monster, whispered the voice again. He’s here for you, Sonya and there’s no getting away from him!
“Take off your clothes.” Only the middle head—the one with the slicked back hair—spoke. It had a surprisingly high voice, considering the enormous body it was attached to. The cartoon sound of it might have made Sonya laugh if she hadn’t been scared stiff.