Who the hell still trafficked women?

ANYA PETROVA POV.

Last night, I had just finished dressing up for my shift at the club. The lights in the dressing room were usually dimmed.

I stood next to my best friend–Celine–, and she helped me adjust the strap of my red costume. We were dancers, performing for rich men who spent money like they had a tree of it in their backyards.

As soon as we were applying our final touches, the air changed. It wasn't the perfume of the dancers or sweat, it was something concentrated.

The air suddenly reeked of chemicals instead of the normal fresh mist. I froze, glancing at the other girls and their eyes met mine.

“What the hell is that smell?” Celine whispered, looking toward the door. Before I could answer, my vision blurred.

I didn't even realize I had slumped to the floor. The same thing applied to the other girls. From my almost unconscious sense, I saw people in masks walking into the room and mumbling.

The last thing I remember was Celine’s hands in mine before everything went black.

***

When I woke up, the dim light was gone. Instead, I was in a room that wasn’t mine. It was fancier yet dark.

My wrists were still sore from the ropes, and the sound of men talking in the distance confirmed my fear.

I had been bought. Bought. In 2024, who the hell still trafficked women like this?

My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the unfamiliar room. It was dark and gritty. Who were these men?

This was not supposed to happen to me. I was just a dancer. But here I was, and reality slapped me hard.

My heart pounded in my ear. What was going to happen to me? The door swung open without warning, and I flinched.

The man who walked in didn’t knock. He didn’t even hesitate. It was him—the one who bought me. I knew by his musky smell.

Whatever his name was, I hated him already.

His cold eyes scanned me like I was just another piece of furniture he owned. He wore the kind of suit that screamed money, but it was his arrogance that irritated me.

This was the man who paid for me like I was an object. My blood boiled as I stood, but he seemed amused by my anger.

“You think you can just barge in here without knocking?” I spat, hands clenched into fists at my sides.

His lips curved into a mocking smile. “I don’t need to knock. You’re mine. I can come and go as I please, and you don’t have the right to question me.”

I glared at him, feeling my stomach twist with disgust. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

His laugh was deep and it felt as if he was mocking me. “You think that matters now? You’re in my world now, chica. Aquí, hago las reglas. (Here, I make the rules.)”

I ignored him, fuming silently. He seemed dangerous, and I shuddered at the thought of what could go wrong if I upset him, but I was gonna show it or let him control me.

“Dress up and meet me downstairs,” he commanded and turned to leave.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw that I stayed where I was, refusing to move. “Go to hell,” I barked.

That’s when he snapped. His relaxed facade dropped, and in a flash, he was in front of me, gripping my arm tightly.

Ouch! I fought back, kicking and thrashing, but he was stronger. His fingers dug into my skin as he dragged me out of the room.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, my voice echoing through the hallway as he pulled me down the stairs. But he didn’t care.

He kept going, his face was hard with anger. I fought with everything I had, but it was no use. He was stronger.

By the time we reached the grand hall of the mansion, my body ached, but I refused to break. His men stood around, watching the scene unfold.

Some looked annoyed, others indifferent. But one woman—an older lady—stood out, her cold eyes glaring at me like I was nothing.

“Irina,” Viktor greeted her, releasing my arm with a shove.

She was his grandmother and she didn't bother hiding her disdain as she looked at me. “Why waste money on such a stubborn idiot?” she asked in Russian, though I caught enough to understand the insult.

Viktor shrugged, but I could sense the frustration brewing in him. “I’ll cut her wings soon enough.”

She looked at him. “You better should,” she turned to face me. “¿Cómo te llamas, güey?(What is your name?)”

She asked in such a derogatory manner. I was human, not an object.

“ANYA!” I shot back, earning a sharp look from both Viktor and Irina. I didn’t care. If they thought I’d break easily, they were dead wrong.

Irina’s lips thinned. “This one thinks she’s something special.” She snapped her fingers at one of the men, instructing him to give me tasks.

“Get her to clean. She’s nothing more than a commodity bought and paid for.”

Her words stung, but I refused to let them see it. As I was dragged away to start my humiliating chores, I kept my head high. I wasn’t going to let them see my fear.

Later that evening, I was still scrubbing floors when the door creaked open behind me. I didn’t bother turning around until I heard a woman’s sharp heels clacking against the marble.

She stopped in front of me, her arms crossed, her expression cold as ice.

“Look at who Viktor’s new toy is,” she hissed. “He’s mine.”

Oh! So, Viktor was his name. It was just as bland as him. I stood up, wiping my hands on my pants.

She looked nothing like a Russian, maybe a Mexican or an Italian and probably they are dating. “I don’t care about him,” I said flatly. “You can have him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, you don't have anything to entice him. But I know low life like you, so let me warn you to stay the fuck away from him.”

My fists clenched again. This was too much. “Don’t mistake my silence for fear. I’m not scared of you. If you have a problem with me, that’s your issue.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t regret it. I wasn’t going to let her push me around.

Viktor might have bought me, but I wasn’t about to let anyone own me, especially not some jealous woman with insecurities. If she wanted a fight, she’d get one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Viktor watching from the doorway. His gaze was intense.

But I didn’t care. All I cared about was surviving. If defiance was the only thing I had, then I’d use it to the last breath.