“Not really,” I whisper.

The corner of his lip turns up. “You wouldn’t. All you need to understand is that you can’t stay here. This isn’t a boarding school or a sweatshop. There’s no place for you here.”

The words hit me harder than they should. I’ve only been in this building a few minutes. It should mean nothing to me. He should mean nothing to me. But it’s more than this building—more than him. It’s like he’s speaking for the whole city. Like he’s speaking for everything outside of Harmony Hills. That was the only place I’ve ever had, the only place I’ve belonged. And it was killing me.

All the air sucks out of the basement, and I can’t breathe. This is worse than torture. I’d rather he hit me than tell me I don’t belong. Tears fill my eyes, making everything seem murky, underwater.

Through the haze, I see him come to stand in front of me. If he was my mother, he would hug me. If he was Leader Allen, he’d slap me.

Instead he just watches me.

He leans back against the edge of the high desk and crosses his arms. When I was a kid, there was a boy who would drop water onto an ant and watch it drown. That’s how the man is looking at me—faintly curious, as if he wants to see what will happen next.

I clench my fists, squeezing my finger nails into my skin until the physical pain is worse than the pain inside. “What’s your name?” I demand, my voice shaky.

“Ivan,” he says softly, still watching. Still waiting.

“Let me work here, Ivan,” I say, hands clenched, body ready to fight. It’s not fighting he wants from me, though. Not exactly. I may not know the word he used, but I know how he thinks. It’s not that far off from the men outside who surrounded me.

It’s not that far off from Leader Allen either.

I stand up and meet his gaze. “I’ll do anything.”

*     *     *

I know what will happen to me if I let him touch me. I know because every sermon I ever heard, every scripture I’ve ever seen promises the same thing. Eternal damnation.

That’s what I’m offering him—my soul on a spit.

He doesn’t look impressed. Instead he leans close, close enough that I’m forced to sit. He braces his hands on both arms of my chair. It occurs to me then how he’s advanced on me since the conversation started. He was behind his desk at the beginning. He stood and circled it. Now he’s inches from my face, his breath warm and soft against my forehead when he speaks.

“What could you possibly give me that I couldn’t get from any one of those girls out on the floor tonight?”

My eyes shut tight. I can still see her clearly, the woman onstage. Her power in the form of bared breasts and a bold smile. She could pleasure Ivan so much better than me, and without even asking, I know she would do it if he wanted.

“My virginity,” I whisper.

It’s not something special, something to be proud of. It’s just another way men have controlled me. I’m supposed to guard my virtue, that’s what the sermons say. But it’s never really been up to me when I would lose my innocence. It’s never been something I could give away. Until now.

He cocks his head. “Why would you give me that?”

He doesn’t ask, Why would I want that? Because he does want it.

Lying didn’t help me before. He saw right through the lie about my age. So I fall back on the truth. “It will be taken from me if I go back. I may as well give it to you. And that way, I get what I want too.”

“A job?”

I nod. A job means freedom. Dancing and nakedness and music mean freedom too.

He crouches down in front of me, and something about our positions now makes me feel young. He’s still holding the arms of the chair, and my hands are clenched in my lap. His eyes meet mine, but he’s down low. I feel small and helpless. Trapped.

“You could ask for money,” he says, a strange note in his voice. It’s like he’s coaxing me. Like he’s testing me. “If I paid you well, you’d be able to get a nice hotel room. Maybe you could keep me coming back for more.”

There are too many shadows here, too many vines ready to grab me. “I want to work here.”

He puts his hand on my knee. Just his hand. Not very high. It’s an innocent touch. Any one of the elders might have touched me this way. Leader Allen definitely has.

It doesn’t feel innocent. It feels dangerous, a snaking vine.

His expression is severe, but his voice is soft. It’s a contradiction, just like him. “I could set you up with pretty jewelry and pretty clothes. My very own doll to dress up.”

My breathing’s coming faster. His words don’t sound like an offer. They sound like a warning. “No.”

“You’d rather fuck a hundred men than just one?”

I’d rather keep running so that nothing can ever tie me down, no one can hold me down, ever again. “If that’s what it takes to work here.”

Surprise flicks through his pale blue eyes. He draws back, considering me. He has me trapped, but he’s no longer in my face. I sit very still under his regard. I have sat for hours during prayer, unable to move, unwilling. If I even stretch or look up for a second, it would prove my unworthiness. I would have to start over and face my punishment after. I can wait forever for him to decide.

“No,” he says softly.

My hopes fall. If he doesn’t let me stay, I’ll have to go back into the streets. Fear is a cold band around my chest. You’d rather fuck a hundred men than just one? I may just live to find out.

“Wait,” I say, desperate, crying.

“No,” he says more sharply. “You won’t be fucking anyone.”

I blink fast, forcing back tears. “What?”

“Those are my conditions. You’ll practice dancing until you’re ready to go onstage, and when I decide, that’s when you’ll start—not a second earlier. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, excitement a hot current in my veins.

“And you’re not going to fuck anyone, not as long as you work for me.”

His words make me cold, and I shiver. This is just like Harmony Hills, isn’t it? I left there because I didn’t want to live like cattle anymore, because I didn’t want to be caged and bred and then shot when I was no longer useful.

Does it really matter if I’m pure?

Will I really burn in hell for my sins?

Those are the questions that churn inside me, fighting to get out, but I don’t ask them. Instead I ask, “How will I know how to please the men out there if I’ve never…done that?”

He shakes his head, dismissing my concerns. “You won’t please them by knowing, pretty girl. You’ll please them by not knowing.”

“I don’t understand.”

A flicker, almost a smile. “Men like to teach you things. That’s what gets them off.”

And I know he isn’t talking about the men out there. He’s talking about himself.

He wants to teach me things.

The knowledge sinks inside me, imprints itself on my bones where I can’t ever forget. “Okay,” I whisper.

“You’ll wait here for me,” he says. Not a question.

I take in the dimly lit basement a little more slowly this time, from the stark light bulb to the dark stains on the concrete floor. It’s like a jail cell, and without even scripture to justify it.

It’s a word I’ve said so many times it’s almost lost meaning. It’s a word of threat and survival. It’s a word of peace, however short-lived. “Yes.”

When he leaves, the door closes behind him with a clash of metal.

A beat passes, and then something scrapes quietly. I’m locked inside.

*     *     *

There is no clock inside the basement. Time passes in breaths, one after the other. A breath to sit and stare at the closed door. A breath to stand up. A breath to approach the desk. Ivan is terrifying, and I’m completely at his mercy. It seems risky to look through his stuff.

It also seems risky not to.

I don’t know what I’m dealing with here. Why does he want me? The stories Leader Allen would tell still ring in my ears. The outside world is full of heathens, of sinners. It’s full of violent men who want to drag me into an alley and rape me. Is that what Ivan wants?