Bimbo

Jasmine’s eyes moved over the spread of blank cards. Her fingers trailed across a few before she picked up the one near the center. It was identical to the rest except for the QR code. She glanced at Tyrone, then opened her camera and scanned it.

The video filled her screen immediately. Soft, rhythmic pulses of light. A low, throbbing tone underneath a breathy woman’s voice that repeated the same simple lines over and over. You love being pretty. You love when they stare. You love how it feels when they want you. Smile. Arch. Show them. Twenty-two seconds. It looped. By the second pass her breathing had slowed and her lips were parted. The cup in her other hand dipped; a little of the drink spilled over her fingers and she didn’t notice.

Tyrone stayed close but didn’t touch her yet. He watched the tension leave her shoulders and the focus in her eyes go soft and bright. When the video ended and the screen dimmed she kept staring at it for a moment longer, then blinked and looked up at him.

“What… what was that?” Her voice had already gone lighter, sweeter at the edges.

“Your fortune,” he said. He gently took the phone and set it aside, then eased the card from her hand. His fingers brushed her wrist. “It says you like feeling sexy. You like when people can’t stop looking at you. You like showing off.”

Jasmine’s free hand rose to her hair. She smoothed it, then let her fingers trail down the side of her neck. She shifted her weight, one hip cocking out. The damp spot on her fingers from the spilled drink caught the light; she brought them to her mouth without thinking and licked them clean, slow.

“I do like that,” she said. A small, pleased smile curved her lips. “I like being looked at.”

“Good girl.” Tyrone’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes tracked the way her chest rose and the way she kept touching herself. “Tim’s still finishing up upstairs. While we wait, we can make sure you look even better. There’s a room through that door with better light, nicer clothes, makeup. Nothing you can’t take off later.”

She looked toward the plain door set into the wall, then back at him. Her tongue touched her lower lip.

“Will it make me prettier?”

“It’ll make you exactly what that card wants.”

She nodded, eager now. Tyrone pulled out his phone and sent a short text. A moment later the hidden door clicked and opened from the other side. Logan stood there, one hand on the frame, taking in the scene: Jasmine flushed and smiling, still absently playing with her hair, Tyrone beside her.

“She’s ready,” Tyrone said.

Logan’s gaze moved over her once, slow. “Bring her in.”

Jasmine stepped toward the warm light and the low hum of equipment without being asked twice, hips swaying a little more than they had on the stairs. She glanced back at Tyrone only once, smile bright.

“Don’t take too long sending Tim,” she said, voice soft and playful. “I want him to see.”

Then she walked through the door.