"Huh?" I blink, staring at him, confused.
"You need a stage name," Dante says flatly. "Using your real name is boring-and bad for business."
"It is," Andrea agrees, sliding onto the edge of the desk like she owns it.
"My name's Whiplash. Don't ask why-it's a long story," she says with a smirk. "But every costume I wear ties into it. This," she gestures down at herself, "is all part of the brand."
I hadn't even realized she was in costume until now. I glance again. Chains hang from her outfit, a leather holster wraps one thigh, and a coiled whip peeks out like a warning.
"You done ogling?" she snaps, rolling her eyes. "We need to name you."
"Diamond," Dante says suddenly. His eyes are locked on me like I'm a puzzle he just solved. "We don't get virgins here. Diamonds are rare."
"Oh, boss," Andrea grins, practically squealing. "You're a genius. I know just what she should wear."
She bolts from the room. Dante and I exchange a look.
A moment later, she's back-arms full. Silver lingerie, lace knee-highs, rhinestone stilettos, and a platinum wig. She tosses them onto the desk.
"Strip," she says casually.
Before I can react, she's already undressing me like it's no big deal. I stand stiffly while she dresses me like a doll. The outfit barely covers anything. My cleavage is spilling over, my thighs exposed.
"Now, makeup," Andrea mutters, brushing shimmering powders and highlighters across my face. She moves fast-focused. Efficient.
When she steps back, I barely recognize the reflection in the mirror. Glittery lids. Glossed lips. Jewels like stars across my cheekbones. I look... like someone else.
Andrea smacks my ass. I yelp.
"What was that for?"
She shrugs. "Get used to it. If it's not on display, you're not making money."
I open my mouth to respond but stop. She's right. This is what I signed up for. This is my life now.
"Flexibility check," she says, guiding me to a pole I hadn't noticed until now. "Can you do a mid-split and twerk?"
I nod, showing her what I remember from watching music videos in foster homes.
Andrea whistles. "Damn. Natural."
She pulls out her phone. "Let's take it up a notch."
We go through a whirlwind of moves: a pirouette, the fireman spin, a pole sit, then something called the Martini-not the drink. My body aches, sweat dripping under the AC. But I push through. I have to.
Andrea crushes me into a hug. "Look at you. My baby's all grown up."
"It's literally been two hours since the park," I say, laughing softly.
"Still feels like yesterday," she says, dramatically fanning her eyes.
I roll mine. We both laugh. For a second, it feels normal.
Then Dante's voice slices through the room like a blade.
"Places, everyone! Forty minutes to showtime. Get makeup ready and bodies moving!"
He claps, disappearing into the hallway-only to return seconds later with a mic to shout it again.
Andrea grabs my wrist. "Time to meet the others."
We walk down a dim hallway. At the end is a door with a faded poster. Dante stands on it, giving a thumbs-up in front of a building that looks like a condemned motel.
"He built this?" I whisper.
Andrea nods. "From nothing. If he could do it... maybe you can too."
She stops at the door, turning serious. "Listen. Some girls in here are snakes. Don't let them get to you. You don't owe anyone your backstory. Stick with the ones who treat you right. And if anyone talks shit... don't let it slide."
I nod slowly. "Got it."
She opens the door.
A blast of perfume, booze, sweat, and smoke floods my senses. The chatter dies instantly.
Dozens of girls turn to stare.
"Oh hey," a girl with a thick Southern drawl grins, sizing me up. "Who ya with?"
Andrea opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
"I'm Estelle," I say quickly, giving Andrea a quick glance. She nods in approval.
The Southern girl whistles. "Ain't you a pretty little thing. I'm Darcy-but most call me Cowgirl."
I glance at her outfit. Hat. Boots. Fringe. The name fits. Still, the way she giggles... makes me wonder if there's more to it.
"What do they call you, sugar?"
I smile. "Diamond."
A small chorus of "ouuu" echoes from nearby. Girls gather around, some smiling, others watching from the edges with unreadable expressions.
"You're gorgeous," says one in a nurse costume, playing with my hair.
"She's straight, Nancy," Andrea teases.
"Doesn't matter," Nancy replies with a wink.
"Here," Darcy says, offering me silver contacts. "For the look."
She helps me put them in while Andrea retouches my face.
"I thought I was already done," I murmur.
"I gave you soft makeup earlier. This? This is the final boss version. You're about to make your debut," Andrea whispers.
I nod. I can't tell if I'm scared or excited.
"Five minutes to showtime, girls!" Dante bellows from down the hall. "Get ready to make them pay!"
Andrea returns with a glass of something amber. "Liquid courage."
I down it in one gulp.
"Damn. That's what I like to see," she laughs, grabbing my hand.
We head toward the glowing lights of the main stage.
My heart is pounding.
The floor hums beneath my heels.
And then-
"Hey! That's my wig!"
A voice rings out behind me, sharp and pissed.
I turn to find a tall woman storming toward us-heels clicking, eyes burning.
Andrea's smile drops.
"Shit," she mutters.