Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2017

“Three hundred fifty thousand for the Diamond! Do I have an offer for six hundred thousand!”

How did this happen to you?

“Six hundred thousand to the Spades! Do we have an offer for eight hundred thousand? This beauty will go to the highest bidder, gentlemen!  None of the other merchandise has skin this pretty, eyes as bright! You really going to let this one go?”

What did you do to deserve this?

“We have an offer for eight hundred thousand! Let’s hear it for one million! Any bidders for one million?”

You trembled as you stood there, like a damned animal, you were trapped inside a glass box. Exposed and centered on a stage for their liking. Your wrists were bound to the ground, chaining you down even when you had nowhere to go without it. It was excessive. It must’ve been intentional, you think.

These sick fuckers must've wanted to drill it into your mind that you had nowhere to go.

No escape.

No freedom.

Bound.

You stood there like some spectacle; half naked in your underwear and kept inside a cage. You could feel your blood rushing, your heart pounding and your head aching with a migraine. It felt so wrong. So inhumane to be standing there waiting to see which one of the men sitting in their designated private lounges across from you would offer the highest amount and inevitably take you home to do God knows what. 

You’ve heard the stories, seen the news- you weren’t stupid enough to be ignorant of what could happen to you. Of what your fate could be.

You flinched when the auctioneer slammed his palm against the podium in front of him and flashed a dazzling smile at the older man -looking around sixty at least with gray hair and a wrinkly, weak frame- raising his hand for the offer.

The harsh spotlight raining down at you burned at your skin but you refused to crack under the pressure.

You refused to show any more weakness than you already did. Your stubbornness was laughable. It would do nothing against these people. You were terrified standing there, waiting for the executioner to swing down his sword when the auctioneer would call out his verdict. Of who it was you would belong to after tonight. Human rights? Basic human decency? Yeah, right. 

You would have none of that.

The second you were sold, you were nothing more than property.

It’s almost ironic.

It’s almost ironic how despite the fact that you were the one inside a cage, everyone else out there watching you- bidding for you seemed much more of an animal than you were.

Fucking hell.

Tears blurred your vision but you forced yourself not to cry. You tried to will yourself to stop shaking so much. As vulnerable as you were, you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of breaking your will. Was this bravado pointless? Maybe. But this was the only thing you had left.The only thing you could hold on to.

The only thing you were in control of.

So for now it was enough.

You lied to yourself with that.

“We got one million! Let’s raise the stakes to two mill! Do I hear an offer for two?”

Maybe this was your fault.

Maybe none of this would've happened if you had just called the cops instead of getting involved. You might’ve been at home, cozy and safe in your bed watching the news of how some other girl was missing. Your mom would sigh, look at you and thank God you weren't caught up in something like that. Your dad would preach on about the dangers of society and how you should be more careful around the streets at night.

 Your heart stung at the thought. It was selfish, yes. It was wrong and cruel and simply fucked up to think, but if you hadn't played the part of good samaritan; stopping the girl from getting shoved in a van, you wouldn't be here instead of her.

You were walking home after your shift at the restaurant you worked at, SHIELD, when you heard voices ringing down the street. It was around two in the morning, your boss begging you to stay overtime because two of your coworkers had called in with an excuse of the flu. Of course you knew better than to believe they were actually sick.

Having called in three times before with the same exact reasoning, it didnt take a genius to realize that those two were lying again. 

So there you were, staying late and getting home late. Luckily you didnt have class the next day so you didnt worry about falling asleep during a lecture. You were dead tired, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep the night away when you heard a feminine, panicked scream change halfway into muffled struggles. 

You should’ve kept walking.

Should've hid in the dark and taken out your phone to call authorities.

You shouldn't have sprinted to the source, flinging yourself to the attackers while trying to help the poor girl get away.

You shouldn’t have gotten involved. 

There was no one else in these streets.No one else but the people involved. The girl you’d helped took the time you spent struggling with the attackers to run, not even sparing you a single glance. 

You could understand it.

She was scared, her adrenaline was rushing,she was in hysterics-

but still.

“Two million! We got two over there, any for three!”

It stung when the last thing you saw was her running figure getting smaller and smaller as she got farther and farther.

“Four! Four mil and you’ll take this pretty thing home!”

It hurt when the attackers held you down by the neck.

“Six! We got an offer for six for the lady in red!”

It was chilling when the last thing you heard was,

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved babygirl.”

Yeah.

“Six mill! Going once, going twice- sold for six million!”

You shouldn't have gotten involved.

2019

Rough, calloused hands roam over the slope of your hips with intent. You want to scowl at him, pull away and move from his lingering touch but you stay strong. You keep batting those lashes, you stay smiling with mischievous red lips and you keep your hand at his chest- subtly encouraging his unwanted attention.

It’s unwanted but needed.

In this world, gaining favor was power.

And attention from a man like Richard Vince, gave you enough protection against other members from his gang. You smile warmly at him, eyes dropping to the chain around his neck. It’s thick and heavy from the diamonds encrusted in the gold. As pretty as it was, it did little to hide the ugliness of its owner. 

Pure, utter filth.

You feign bashfulness when you see him staring at you (he seems to really like that) and bit on your lip. You’ve tried building this whole persona for him. To appeal as much as you could to the damn bastard. All this hard work had to pay off.

It had to.

There’s a flash of desire in his eyes and his grip around your hip gets a fraction tighter.

“Rose,”

He rumbles, voice dripping with want,

“Be mine. Only mine.”

He lifts a hand to caress your face,

“Let me collar you.”

Collar.

You want to scream in panic. To collar a flower in The Red Room was to stake claim. It meant ownership. It meant no one else could touch you but the one who collared you. It meant exclusivity. 

It meant untouchable. 

The women who worked in The Red Room were called flowers. 

Every girl working here was a flower. Beautiful women of all shapes and sizes brought here for the pleasure of men. Dangerous men. The only exception were those who had higher value- the ones only powerful men could afford. Those women were named after specific flowers. As of now, there were only six.

Lily, Buttercup, Daisy, Lavender, Marigold and you;

Rose.

You fought hard to get where you were. You threw away your pride to become Rose. You kissed ass, forced your anger down and obeyed the best you could. It was your only shot of freedom. Or at least, safety.

Flowers who don’t bring in any profit get sent to the chain brothels in run down counties.

The Red Room at least had some type of protocol on the kind of men sleeping with the women here. No one with diseases were allowed. After all, what good would the flower be if she caught something? The Mistress spent good money for all the women here. They were specifically picked and pointed out. They couldn’t be disposed of so easily, especially if she was making good money.

The brothels had no such system.

“You mean it?”

You ask quietly, furrowing your brows as you tried to muster up the softest expression you could. It took all you had to disguise your disgust with a sickeningly sweet voice,

“You want to collar me?”

Say no, God please, say no. Your blood goes cold as you wait for his response. Richard nods, seeming entranced by your softness. You want to roll your eyes, spit on him and bite the damn hand on your hip off, but you don’t. You simply work those eyes on him and he melts. You might’ve felt bad if it weren’t for the fact you saw him shove his gun in a flower’s mouth and shoot her like that when she couldn’t get him off. He’d paid The Mistress 6 Million for the “damage of her property” and everything was swept under the rug.

He had money.

Lots of it.

And that was why he was still allowed in The Red Room.

You shudder, forcing those thoughts away.

You know for a fact a reason why you became so valuable was because you were a virgin.

The first day you were working as a flower, some man low in rank got too handsy and was trying to shove a hand up your dress, but you screamed and fought back. Rumlow, the security guy, had dragged you by the hair to the Mistress’ office where you had been “disciplined”. 

Waterboarding was a bitch.

And when the truth came out that you were a virgin, you could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes.

A virgin among the flowers was rare.

In fact, it was unprecedented.

And because of that, you were immediately sought after. Something about “fresh, unused pussy” seemed to rile the men and lure the big fish out. From then on, The Mistress had Grant Ward guarding you to make sure no one tried to force you. In other words, she had a price tag for your virginity.

She was waiting for the biggest fish you could lure.

Being collared might’ve been a good thing. It meant you didn’t have to entertain multiple men anymore. You were off limits to everyone but the one who collared you. But this was Richard Vince.

Richard Vince who was really, really, really fucked up.

Richard Vince was in one word, psychotic. 

You had been Richard’s favorite.

Whenever he visited The Red Room, he would always book your company. He was your regular. Your biggest benefactor.

He wasnt allowed to touch you, but it seemed that made him want you more. The restrictions of it appealed to him.

You found out just how insane he was when you caught wind of how your other two regulars were found dead days after he saw them with you. He was obsessive, insanely jealous and had wholeheartedly believed you were in love.

It may not have been smart to play it on, but his interest in you had warded off many other dangerous men who were equally as insane.

It was better to have one psycho than seven.

“Yes, My Rose. I want to collar you. I’ve spoken to the Mistress.”

God, no. Fuck. You could feel the tears well up in your eyes. It was fine having his attention because he couldnt touch you. But the minute he collared you, The Red Room would no longer have someone guarding you. Your virginity would belong to Richard.

You would belong to Richard.

You open your mouth, unable to respond but knowing you had to. What do you say in this situation? You felt yourself on the brink of a meltdown. You didn’t want to belong to him. You just wanted to go home.

“Vince.”

You flinched, quickly turning to see who had just spoken. The rough, soothing sound of this intruder’s voice had shivers raking up your spine. Sucking in a breath, your eyes widened at what you found.

A tall, muscled blonde, blue eyed man with a thick beard stood before you.

His eyes were blazing with anger and you instinctively moved away from Richard. It felt as if you would catch on fire from the heat in his eyes. And although you knew that anger wasn’t directed at you, you had a feeling you’d be collateral damage if you didn’t move away fast enough.

The movement caught the blonde’s eyes.

You don’t know how long you two stared at each other, but it was long enough for you to have noticed the red gleam coming from his hand. You blinded yourself from that haze you got sucked into and shifted your gaze to his hand.

Fuck.

Around his ring finger on his right hand was a ringz

The blood red ring.

The blood red ring belonging to one man in specific.

This man was one of Brooklyn’s kings.

This man was Steve Rogers.

You swallowed, the hammering of your heart pounding in your ears. You needed to get away. To remove yourself from his gaze. But you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when he was pinning you down with just his gaze,

“Rose.”

Richard’s voice had gotten tight. Gone was the warmth. Gone was the affection. You looked at him from the corner of your eyes,

“Go to your room and wait for me.”

Richard licked his lips,

“We’ll finish this conversation later.”

You didnt wait for him to say it again.

You got up, quickly making your way out and felt his eyes on your back until you disappeared out that door. Those stunning baby blues had rendered you speechless. You heard rumors of how attractive Steve was, but you didn’t think it would be to this level.

Still, as handsome as the man was, you couldn’t get your mind off Richard. His words haunted you. He would come back to finish the conversation. You were still going to be collared.

Later that night, you would find out that you wouldn’t.

After all, you couldn’t belong to the dead, could you?

Chapter Text

There weren’t many people who would describe Steve as soft hearted.

Aside from his mother and Bucky’s younger sister, Rebecca, most would call him the exact opposite of soft hearted.

Steve Rogers was a stubborn man with enough blood on his hands he could probably save thousands of people who need a blood transfusion. That’s not to say he doesn’t have his principles. That doesn't mean he doesn’t have a code he stands by.

In fact, it’s his principles that got him his reputation.

No, they weren’t outrageous or anything too much, but he followed his rules so thoroughly, he’d racked up the title of The Perfect Soldier from his strictness. His rules were simple:

Children dont get involved.

Rape and violence toward women were (the latter had few exceptions for spies and traitors, but even then the women of his group would take charge) a definite no.

Traitors were killed on spot.

No questions were asked. What he said goes. The only one who ever had the balls to contradict him (and was allowed to live) was his best friend and business associate, James “Bucky” Barnes. Growing up in the slums and knowing first hand how difficult it was to live in a crime infested neighborhood, the two men had been bred for this line of work. They knew better than anyone how to really get in someone’s skin. How to lead and run a business.

It’s how they got to where they were now. Their tenacity and determination led them to their paths.

Steve leaned into his seat, arm slung on the head rest of the leather couch as his dark eyes followed you. He’d watched you intently for the past few days since he’d killed Vince. The bastard thought he was invincible with the amount of money he was racking up from selling drugs and illegal firearms under the table. Thought he could steal from Steve’s inventory and get away from it scotch free.

The thought of Vince made him chuckle under this breath.

With all his bravado, Steve was kind of disappointed how easily it was to make the man squeal and piss himself at the sight of a gun pointed to his forehead. Disappointed yes, but in disbelief? No.

Men like Vince were so tough until they found themselves at the end of the gun. It’s easy to bark orders and get the dirty work done by other people, but when facing actual danger, it’s men like him that give in first.

The only thing Steve hadn’t expected was, well, you.

People expect men like Steve to lounge around places like The Red Room when they weren’t off murdering people and selling drugs. And, for the most part, men like Steve did do all that. But Steve wasn’t the type.

Why would he go to an escort chain to get laid? Why spend money to get pussy that’s been used by every mob fuck in the city? That had been his initial thought. It was still his thought since he’d gotten word of Vince loitering around The Red Room. He’d gone there for the simple fact of killing the man and taking his inventory back, but he definitely did not expect to see you there.

He definitely did not expect to see such an innocent, beautiful ethereal, really woman in the arms of a dumb fuck like Richard Vince either.

It might not have been obvious to others, but Steve saw the look in your eyes.Your eyes were telling. Like an open book flooding with emotions. It contradicted every sweet word that passed your lips.

When you cooed at Vince, you were seething inside.

When you fluttered those lashes, you wanted to scowl.

It was both amusing and fascinating to see such a contrast of your inner thoughts and your actions. It intrigued Steve.

It caught his attention.

Which is why here he was again the fourth time this week, sitting down in a private booth, watching you as you made rounds around the club. He’d gotten a rundown of your situation from his info guy, Scott Lang. Said you were bought at an auction and was a prized flower at The Red Room. That only select guests had the privilege to be entertained by you. That you garner in roughly 500k to 1 mil per visit.

If the name “flower” wasn't so fitting for you, he would’ve scoffed.

Rose, Scott had said. The pure, untainted, virgin Rose.

That had been the name bestowed on you.

He wondered if your actual name was anywhere near “Rose”. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. He didn't doubt that Lang’s info about your charge fee. The redness of your lips could make any man go wild. Those eyes could make any man bend to your will.

Steve reached for his cup of whiskey and drank it down, eyes never straying from your lithe form cladded in a form fitting red dress. Your breasts had been pushed up by the cups of the dress, looking as if they’d spill at any moment. The slit dipping up your thigh had his cock twitching with interest. You were gorgeous. It was no wonder why men paid so much to have a chance to be in your company.

Why a man like Richard Vince who was known to have a violent streak with women had been so gentle with you. So gentle and affectionate.

Steve licked his lips.

The prized flower of the club, huh?

You tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, plump lips pressing together as you headed off further into the club until he could no longer see you.

Steve felt dissatisfaction pull at his chest.

“Steve.”

Steve blinked, turning his head to see Bucky in a crisp tailored suit with Sam Wilson following behind him. Sam was a close friend to both men and was an exceptional marksmen. Similarly to Barton. Steve’s mouth lifted into a small smile as he stood to greet his friend,

“Buck, it’s good to see you.”

A short handshake accompanied with an even shorter hug had the two men sitting back down after Bucky dismissed Wilson.

“You know, I ain’t really ever had doubts about your character when dealing with business but,”

Bucky looked around the place, eyes taking in the gaudiness of the club. His brow raised as his blue eyes connected with Steve’s,

“never really pegged you as this type’a guy either.”

Steve rolled his eyes, offering Bucky a glass to which he accepted. Like Steve, Bucky wasn't the type to go to places like this. Sure, The Red Room was considered ‘high class’ and neutral territory to any gang affiliated men, but he really didnt see the appeal of paying for sex.

For men like Steve and Bucky, finding willing participants wouldnt be a problem.

“I thought so too.”

Bucky spared him a glance,

“Thought? What changed your mind?”

Steve paused, seemingly formulating a proper answer in his head. How could he fully express it? How could he emphasize your beauty and the pure, unadulterated sin you seemed to exude under layers and layers of innocence? But it seemed he didn’t need to go through the hassle.

Steve smiled, eyes falling on a returning figure in the crowd.

“She did.”

Bucky followed Steve’s line of vision and his eyes widened. His throat went dry, hands twitching to trail over smooth skin.

“Oh.”

-

Today was not a good day.

Yesterday wasn't either.

In fact, none of the days after Richard’s death has been.

Ever since your terrifying regular had died, more men have been lining up for your company. It seemed that others have taken this as an opportunity. Now that the crazed lunatic was gone, there was no one left to protect you. No one left to shield you away from other monsters like himself.

Though you guess it was better than getting collared by him.

And most of the men trying to form a relationship with you were turned down by The Mistress. They didnt have the funds, she’d said. As of now, you were only seeing two to three men a day. Two of which already seemed to have fallen for your personas that you were sure they'd be regulars.

None of them had the kind of power Richard had, but it was better than nothing.

You sighed, biting your lip as you ducked into the private room where the girls got ready. You could see Lily sitting by her vanity, flowers and all sorts of gifts laying around her on the floor. The men seeing the named flowers often lavished them gifts and luxuries, hoping to be in their good graces.

It was always a competition to these men.

To be better in business and to be favored by the women.

You were victim to that type of ass kissing as well. The amount of necklaces and fancy dresses you got were in heaps in your room. You had more than you knew what to do with. Though it all stopped when Richard latched onto you. The only gifts Richard had gotten you were lingerie. He’d ask you about it the next time he saw you, if you liked it and how well did it fit.

You were disgusted to say the least.

Lily frowned, fixing up her lipstick as she caught your eyes in the mirror,

“Bad day?”

You nodded, rolling your shoulder back in hopes to relieve some of the ache. Walking around trying to please your clients had taken its toll on you. Trying to make up for the thousands Vince used to spend on you was a challenge.

Lily shook her head, a small smile on her face as she glanced to the back of he room where your vanity should be,

“Won’t be saying that for long. Those roses must cost thousands.”

Roses?

You followed the direction she was gesturing towards and you felt your jaw slack.

Roses. Dozens and dozens of roses. All were blood red with pretty decorations wrapped up in a silk woven fabric wrap with diamond no doubt, real diamonds encrusted string tying it together.

“Who’s it from?”

The curiosity bled into her tone, but as much as you tried to rack your brain apart for an answer, you had no idea.

As of late, Richard was the only one who sent you luxuries as he’d warded off any others who had an interest in you. The underlying threat of murder had scared off your previous regulars.

But he was gone now. So who could they be from?

You approached the bouquets warily, feeling as though the damn thing would jump at you. When you noticed a white card hidden in the sea of red, you bent down to pick it up. Flipping it over, your brows pinched together as Lily approached behind you:

Beautiful as your name would suggest. We’d love a chance to meet you properly, Doll.

S. Rogers & B. Barnes

Chapter Text

You aren’t ashamed to admit you couldn’t sleep the night you received the roses and the note attached to them. 

That single piece of paper had instilled a streak of fear into you like nothing before. Not for what the message was, but who had sent it. You’d had others who expressed their desire to “meet you” with their intentions so clear on pretty little cardstock notes that you didn’t need to see them to understand. But it was never like this.

Never for not one, but two men who were notorious for their strict practices, power and wealth at the same time. Maybe if they were like Vince, who was known to be a sleezebag with wandering hands, you would’t have been as cautious. If they were anything like Vince, you at least would’ve had some kind of read on them.

That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were nothing like your previous client, and that made them all the more dangerous. 

What the hell did they want from you?

What the hell did they expect to get from you?

Men in this business never mean what they say. There’s always a catch. You aren’t stupid enough to believe they just want to sit down, have some drinks and spend a few hours in conversation. 

Lily had said so herself.

Steve and Bucky never visit The Red Room. They don’t have specific flowers to entertain them. 

“It’s not like them.”

she’d told you.

Lily paled when she saw the note, and had looked at you with such concern, it made your anxiety spike. You didn’t know much about the men, save for the fact they were considered Kings and that they were ruling all sorts of businesses under the table. Lily was kind enough to give you a run down of who they were.

Now, knowing what you do, you kind of wished she hadn’t.

“Rose, this- this is bad.”

The pretty brunette shook her head, staring at the note with such fierceness you felt as if she’d burn into it. If you looked carefully, you could see her hands begin to tremble. The strong, dignified, tougher-than-nails flower stood trembling before you.

“What do you mean?”

You asked her, stepping forward to take the note from her hand. Lily didn’t give in, but only held on tighter as she whipped her head around. The other flowers were off entertaining their clients outside, so it was only the two of you occupying the dressing room. You were thankful for the lack of spectators.

The clients weren't the only vultures around here.

Envy and competitiveness was key in The Red Room. Those who couldn’t perform were kicked to the curb and forgotten about, after all. To stay a “flower”, you had to show results. Otherwise, someone else will take your place.

Lily was the only one you trusted. She, just like you, had been taken when she was younger. When you’d first been introduced to the Flowers, she quickly took you under her wing and warded off the others. Marigold was the most vicious.

You could still remember the sneer she gave you when you were announced the most desirable flower.

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are men you don’t want to get involved with,”

Lily blinked a few times, trying to process the weight of the note in her head and slowly looked up to you,

“What have you done, ______?”

She clamped her mouth shut as soon as your name slipped from her pretty red lips. The both of you hunched together, checking once more if you two were alone. The usage of your real names were forbidden. It was an ultimate offense. Neither your coworkers nor your clients were to ever get that private information. Failure to follow through resulted in strikes. Five strikes meant you were out.

“I-I’m sorry, Rose. I just- you need to be careful. You know the men we’re surrounded with are brutes but these men, they-”

she swallows,

“they’re in a league of their own. You must know who was the one to pull the trigger on Richard, don’t you?”

As much as you wished you could deny it, you saw the fiery anger in Steve's eyes the night Vince had come to you to tell you the news of collaring you. The day you saw Steve was the day your client was murdered. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened after Steve had asked him to step out. 

“I know.”

You told her.

“Then you also understand why none of Vince’s allies is coming to get vengeance.”

“I do.”

He was powerful. More so than Vince and his allies. He was practically untouchable. No one wanted to go to war with Steve Rogers. And if a foolish man did, then there was no doubt he’d also trigger the wrath of Bucky Barnes as well. 

“Whatever you do... don't give in. They may be pretty to look at, but they’re just like the lot of them. Worse, if we’re being blunt.”

You're about to go on and refute her worries, ready to tell her she had nothing to worry about, that you wouldn’t be seduced with thick lashes, muscled arms and pretty faces, but she sends you a steely look. It’s enough to make you bite your tongue.

“It’s easy to say women like us are immune to charm, doing what we do. But that only applies to wannabe mob fucks who got their positions by being the family successor. We don’t have men like them, Rose. Men who worked for what they’ve got. Men who stuck out through grit and tenacity.”

You hold her eyes. The seriousness of her gaze penetrates the earlier confidence you had. You look down, biting your lip and stare at the red of your dress.

“Hold onto your guard, my love. It’s the only thing you’ll have to save yourself.”

Maybe you were being paranoid, but you felt like you were being watched.

Well, more watched than usual. 

It started right after the death of Vince, but recently, it’s been getting worse and worse every passing day. You knew you were probably being foolish. It was most likely the men who liked to eye the merchandise of The Red Room. Whenever you made shifts around , you noticed lecherous gazes and creepy smiles passing your way. You grew used to them, and learned to ignore it for themes part.

Though whatever it was you were feeling was entirely different.

You sighed, touching up on your make-up. It’s been four days since the note and you hadn’t gotten word of anything. You didn't get ambushed, didn’t have Rumlow come in to let you know someone was looking for you, didn’t meet with The Mistress- no, if anything, everything was completely normal.

As if the roses and the note had just been a figment of your imagination. Maybe you wound’t believed it, if it wasn’t for the concerned look Lily threw you every now and then. 

You prayed they’d forgotten about you. That you were just a blip in their radar and they quickly lost interest and started to pin after another.

“You must think you’re real special, don’t you, Rose?”

There was only one person that spewed such fury with that sickeningly sweet voice.

You stifle in a groan and shut your eyes for a few seconds before swiveling around in your chair to face Marigold. The beautiful red blonde glares at you, her red manicured nails tapping impatiently on her hip. She’s been out to get you since the beginning, and as much as you wish she would move on and leave you alone, the woman had it drilled in her head you were trying to “steal her spot”.

“Are we really doing this, right now? You and I both know The Mistress doesn’t like fighting.”

At the sound of The Mistress, you could see the fight inside her dwindle before firing up again,

“Maybe if you didn’t steal my clients, we’d get along.”

Lies.

She was venomous inside and out. There was no chance of friendship with her. Especially since she was Vince’s go-to before you were introduced. Her hatred towards you only flared since then.

“Now that Vince is gone, I doubt you’d earn your keep. Vince may have been the big fish back then, but now? We have Gods among us, and I’ll be the one to have them wrapped around my finger.”

Her words confused you,

“Gods?”

You asked. She scoffed with a roll of her eyes and flicked a lock of her hair back,

“Fucks sake, you really are dimwitted aren't you? Don’t you know? Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are occupying the VIP suite. It appears they’ve been keeping an eye on someone. Me.”

She smirks, straightening up. She cups her breasts, pushing them up to appear bigger from their confines and looks down at you. The resentment was clear. She wanted blood, and she was going to get it. 

“You may have been the favorite, Rose, but everyone runs out of time eventually.”

You don’t care enough to watch her saunter out the room.

You hardly even noticed she left because only one thing she said mattered:

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are occupying the VIP suite. It appears they’ve been keeping an eye on someone

You were so fucked.