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Erica Sinclair - The Velvet Room (M/F)
Dear @Caesar73, I'm glad you dig the story and my writing. Tonight we will see what The Velvet Room is like...and if the missing girls are actually there.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Together, they approach the alley, their heels echoing softly against the walls. The door looms closer, and with each step, Erica feels herself slipping deeper into the role she has to play. She’s no longer Erica Sinclair, sharp-witted attorney. She’s someone else now - someone far more dangerous.
At the door stands a hulking figure, a bouncer with the kind of presence that screams intimidation. He’s built like a brick wall, his face shadowed by the brim of a low-slung cap, his posture relaxed but watchful.
Wendy approaches him like an old friend, her hips swaying with calculated ease. “Long time no see, babe.†she purrs, her voice dripping with familiarity.
The bouncer’s lips curl into a smirk. “Wendy.†he rumbles, his voice like gravel. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon. Who’s your little friend?†His eyes flick to Erica, sizing her up.
Wendy doesn’t miss a beat. “This is Whip.†she says, letting the name hang in the air, giving it weight. “She’s in the meat business. Buying for some pretty creamy guys down South.†Her voice is silky, casual, but there’s an edge to it, a dark undercurrent that matches the scene.
The bouncer looks Erica up and down, assessing her with cold, practiced eyes. For a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of suspicion, but then it passes, and he gives a curt nod. “Welcome to The Velvet Room.†He runs an electronic wand over Wendy and Erica to scan for weapons and says “No phones inside.†Wendy pulls back the lapels of her coat as if offering him to check her out while Erica passes him her riding crop and shows her empty hands.
The bouncer gives Erica back her tool of the trade, then steps aside and pulls open the heavy black steel door, revealing a blood-red velvet curtain just beyond.
“Have fun, ladies.†he says, his tone dripping with something far too sinister to be a simple pleasantry.
Erica feels Wendy’s arm tighten around her waist as they step forward, through the curtain and into the unknown. The weight of the door closing behind them feels like the slamming of a cage. There’s no turning back now.
The moment Erica pushes through the velvet curtain, the atmosphere of “The Velvet Room†hits her like a wave.
Her body thrumming with adrenaline, she knows she’s walking into a den of monsters, but tonight, she’s more than ready to become one of them - if that’s what it takes.
It’s darker than she expected, the low light casting deep shadows that stretch along the walls like secrets waiting to be uncovered. Her senses come alive, alert, on edge. The air smells thick – laced with the scents of both expensive and cheap perfume, mixed with the lingering tang of cigars and something else…something she can’t quite place but makes her stomach turn. It’s as if luxury and decay are battling for dominance in the room.
A moment later she recognizes the scent. It’s the smell of fear and terror.
The floor beneath her boots is plush, the deep red carpet swallowing the sound of her steps. In front of her, clusters of people lounge on velvet couches, draped in sultry shades of burgundy and gold. The walls are lined with mirrors, creating a kaleidoscopic effect - bodies reflected in fractured, distorted fragments. The soft erotic tones of a jazz saxophone drift from hidden speakers, blending with the murmur of conversation that seems too soft to be innocent.
Erica keeps her expression neutral, showing a professional indifference, even as her heart races. She knows she can’t afford to slip, not now. She’s playing a dangerous role - one misstep, and everything could unravel.
As she scans the room, the clientele becomes clearer. Men, mostly older, wearing sharp suits and their confident smiles of men who know what money can buy. A few women too, their dresses shimmering under the low light, but their eyes betray a hollow emptiness, like dolls whose strings have been pulled too many times. Girls – beautiful, but barely out of their teens, some of them maybe even younger - linger at the edges of the room, their postures stiff, eyes wide and glassy. Erica wonders if they might have been drugged to obey.
They’re all dressed to allure, but there’s nothing seductive in the way they stand, more like they’ve been positioned there, like merchandise on display.
Erica’s stomach clenches as they make a slow pass in front of the girls as if they are assessing them for their value, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. She can’t show weakness, not here.
Wendy leads her deeper into the club, her arm still wrapped casually around Erica’s waist, projecting a sense of ease that Erica wishes she could mimic. Wendy exchanges nods with several of the men, a silent acknowledgment of the familiarity she has in this place. It’s unnerving, seeing how comfortable Wendy is, like this is just another night for her, while for Erica, every instinct is screaming that she’s walking amidst a pit of vipers.
They pass a private booth where a man leans back, a girl on his lap, her movements mechanical, forced while his grunting and heavy breathing gives proof of the joy he feels. Erica wills herself to look away, focusing instead on the rich velvet curtains draping each booth, giving an illusion of privacy while making it clear that nothing here is truly hidden. Everything is for sale. Every look, every touch, every whispered promise.
Her fingers tighten around the riding crop in her hand, the hard leather a strange comfort. Wendy had handed it to her as a prop, something to make her blend in, but now, it feels like more. Like a symbol of the dark persona she has adopted.
“Whip.â€
The name Wendy gave her rings in her mind like an unwanted echo, making her feel like she’s crossed a line she can’t uncross.
At the door stands a hulking figure, a bouncer with the kind of presence that screams intimidation. He’s built like a brick wall, his face shadowed by the brim of a low-slung cap, his posture relaxed but watchful.
Wendy approaches him like an old friend, her hips swaying with calculated ease. “Long time no see, babe.†she purrs, her voice dripping with familiarity.
The bouncer’s lips curl into a smirk. “Wendy.†he rumbles, his voice like gravel. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon. Who’s your little friend?†His eyes flick to Erica, sizing her up.
Wendy doesn’t miss a beat. “This is Whip.†she says, letting the name hang in the air, giving it weight. “She’s in the meat business. Buying for some pretty creamy guys down South.†Her voice is silky, casual, but there’s an edge to it, a dark undercurrent that matches the scene.
The bouncer looks Erica up and down, assessing her with cold, practiced eyes. For a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of suspicion, but then it passes, and he gives a curt nod. “Welcome to The Velvet Room.†He runs an electronic wand over Wendy and Erica to scan for weapons and says “No phones inside.†Wendy pulls back the lapels of her coat as if offering him to check her out while Erica passes him her riding crop and shows her empty hands.
The bouncer gives Erica back her tool of the trade, then steps aside and pulls open the heavy black steel door, revealing a blood-red velvet curtain just beyond.
“Have fun, ladies.†he says, his tone dripping with something far too sinister to be a simple pleasantry.
Erica feels Wendy’s arm tighten around her waist as they step forward, through the curtain and into the unknown. The weight of the door closing behind them feels like the slamming of a cage. There’s no turning back now.
The moment Erica pushes through the velvet curtain, the atmosphere of “The Velvet Room†hits her like a wave.
Her body thrumming with adrenaline, she knows she’s walking into a den of monsters, but tonight, she’s more than ready to become one of them - if that’s what it takes.
It’s darker than she expected, the low light casting deep shadows that stretch along the walls like secrets waiting to be uncovered. Her senses come alive, alert, on edge. The air smells thick – laced with the scents of both expensive and cheap perfume, mixed with the lingering tang of cigars and something else…something she can’t quite place but makes her stomach turn. It’s as if luxury and decay are battling for dominance in the room.
A moment later she recognizes the scent. It’s the smell of fear and terror.
The floor beneath her boots is plush, the deep red carpet swallowing the sound of her steps. In front of her, clusters of people lounge on velvet couches, draped in sultry shades of burgundy and gold. The walls are lined with mirrors, creating a kaleidoscopic effect - bodies reflected in fractured, distorted fragments. The soft erotic tones of a jazz saxophone drift from hidden speakers, blending with the murmur of conversation that seems too soft to be innocent.
Erica keeps her expression neutral, showing a professional indifference, even as her heart races. She knows she can’t afford to slip, not now. She’s playing a dangerous role - one misstep, and everything could unravel.
As she scans the room, the clientele becomes clearer. Men, mostly older, wearing sharp suits and their confident smiles of men who know what money can buy. A few women too, their dresses shimmering under the low light, but their eyes betray a hollow emptiness, like dolls whose strings have been pulled too many times. Girls – beautiful, but barely out of their teens, some of them maybe even younger - linger at the edges of the room, their postures stiff, eyes wide and glassy. Erica wonders if they might have been drugged to obey.
They’re all dressed to allure, but there’s nothing seductive in the way they stand, more like they’ve been positioned there, like merchandise on display.
Erica’s stomach clenches as they make a slow pass in front of the girls as if they are assessing them for their value, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. She can’t show weakness, not here.
Wendy leads her deeper into the club, her arm still wrapped casually around Erica’s waist, projecting a sense of ease that Erica wishes she could mimic. Wendy exchanges nods with several of the men, a silent acknowledgment of the familiarity she has in this place. It’s unnerving, seeing how comfortable Wendy is, like this is just another night for her, while for Erica, every instinct is screaming that she’s walking amidst a pit of vipers.
They pass a private booth where a man leans back, a girl on his lap, her movements mechanical, forced while his grunting and heavy breathing gives proof of the joy he feels. Erica wills herself to look away, focusing instead on the rich velvet curtains draping each booth, giving an illusion of privacy while making it clear that nothing here is truly hidden. Everything is for sale. Every look, every touch, every whispered promise.
Her fingers tighten around the riding crop in her hand, the hard leather a strange comfort. Wendy had handed it to her as a prop, something to make her blend in, but now, it feels like more. Like a symbol of the dark persona she has adopted.
“Whip.â€
The name Wendy gave her rings in her mind like an unwanted echo, making her feel like she’s crossed a line she can’t uncross.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
As they approach the back of the room, Erica notices a large circular bar in the center, glistening with crystal glasses filled with top-shelf liquor. Behind the bar, the bartenders work in sync, their eyes flitting between the customers and the girls, always watchful. Above the bar, there’s a dimly lit balcony, shadowy figures watching from the edge. VIPs, most likely. The real power players, the ones controlling everything that happens here.
Wendy leans in close, her breath warm against Erica’s ear. “Up there,†she whispers, nodding toward the balcony, “that’s where the major deals are made. The high rollers. They watch everything, handpick the ones they want once they are ready for the market.â€
Erica’s skin crawls. She doesn’t need Wendy to spell out which ‘market’ she means.
They stop at a low booth near the back wall, Wendy finally releasing her grip on Erica’s waist as she motions for her to sit. Erica slides onto the red velvet seat, her eyes scanning the room from this new vantage point. The weight of what’s happening here - the trafficking, the abuse - settles over her like a suffocating blanket. She fights to keep her expression cold, detached, just like Wendy said she needed to be.
“You see that one?†Wendy murmurs, nodding toward a girl standing by the entrance to a private room, her eyes downcast, lips pressed into a thin line. “She’s new. Fresh meat. Won’t be long before someone picks her out.â€
Erica swallows hard, her throat tight. She knows Wendy is testing her, pushing to see if she’ll break. But she won’t. Not now. Not here.
Instead, she looks at the naked young woman dressed only in a black strap harness. Her breasts are sticking out in an unnatural way and as she moves a little, Erica can see that her elbows and wrists are tied together behind her back. She has a red ball gag in her mouth, saliva dripping from her lips and running over her breasts.
Her mind races as she takes in the room, trying to formulate a plan, a way to get these girls out of here. But everything about this place feels like a trap - a web woven so tightly around the girls that even if Erica found a way to free them, there’s no telling if she could make it out herself.
A waiter appears out of nowhere, offering Erica a glass of champagne. She takes it but doesn’t drink, just holding it as another prop, another piece of this twisted charade.
Wendy leans in closer, her voice low. “Don’t look so tense, baby. You’re one of them now. Remember?â€
Erica nods, though every fiber of her being wants to scream. She’s not one of them, and she never will be. But for now, she has to play the part.
From across the room, a pair of eyes meets hers - sharp, assessing. A man in a tailored suit, his face half-hidden in shadow, watches her closely. Erica feels a chill run down her spine. She doesn’t know who he is, but the intensity of his gaze tells her he’s someone important here. Someone dangerous.
Wendy notices the look and grins. “That’s Josef.†she whispers. “He runs most of the operations down here. Careful with that one. He can smell fear.â€
Erica takes a slow breath, her grip on the riding crop tightening as she raises her glass of champagne to Josef in some sort of casual, silent toast.
In this moment she hears her fathers deep, but warm, voice echoing in her head: “Courage is not the absence of fear, Erica. It means being scared but doing it anyhow.â€
She sees Josef raise his glass in return and it almost feels like a secret handshake with evil has been exchanged.
In the background, the jazz music shifts, the melody darker, more seductive. The lights dim even further, casting the room in deeper shadows. Everything feels like the walls are closing in and the air is becoming too thick to breathe.
She locks eyes with Wendy, who gives her a slight nod and a raised eyebrow, as if to say, “You’re in now. There’s no turning back.â€
And Erica knows - tonight, she has to embrace the darkness.
Wendy lays her arm around Erica’s waist again and together they step into The Velvet Room. Her grip on Erica tightens for a second, her breath warm against Erica’s ear. “I’ll take you to Rick, the Gatekeeper for the back rooms, but after that? You’re on your own. I can’t stick around for this. These guys are dangerous, and I didn’t sign up to die for anyone. Once you’re in, I’m on my way to Vegas.â€
Erica doesn’t hesitate. She is past that stage now.
“Just introduce me to him. I’ll handle the rest.â€
Wendy gives her a small nod, her usual bravado dulled by the tension in her eyes. “One thing: there’s an emergency exit at the back of the building. You’ll know when it’s time to use it.â€
Erica’s jaw tightens as she nods slightly, but she says nothing. She needs to keep her head clear and her focus sharp. Sandra and the other girls depend on it.
They make their way through the club, Wendy leading Erica toward a dimly lit corner where a razor-thin, hawk-eyed man sits slouched in a booth, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes flick up, locking onto Wendy first, then sliding over to Erica with an oily, interested smirk.
Wendy doesn’t miss a beat. “Rick, long time. This is Whip.†she says smoothly, her arm sliding off Erica’s waist as she steps aside. “She’s in the meat market for something...fresh. Buying for South America.â€
Rick's smirk widens, his interest clearly piqued. He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the booth. “South America, huh? Well, well. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with anyone from down there. What’s the deal? What are you looking for?â€
Erica moves slightly forward, shoulders back exposing her cleavage a little more and slipping into her role with an ease that scares her. “Young. Untouched, if possible. My buyers are very particular. They’ll pay top dollar for the right... product.†she says, her lips curled into a sadistic smirk.
Rick’s eyes gleam with approval. He takes a sip of his whiskey, clearly sizing her up. “You’ve got the look of someone who knows what they want. I like that. Alright, let’s see what we’ve got for you.â€
He pushes himself up from the booth, motioning for Erica to follow. This is the moment for Wendy to leave. She casually strolls away, leaving Erica to walk with Rick down a dim, narrow corridor.
Erica can’t fully grasp what Wendy meant when she mentioned she’d know when it’s time to use the rear exit, because after getting in the back rooms she has no plan – only her instinct.
Wendy leans in close, her breath warm against Erica’s ear. “Up there,†she whispers, nodding toward the balcony, “that’s where the major deals are made. The high rollers. They watch everything, handpick the ones they want once they are ready for the market.â€
Erica’s skin crawls. She doesn’t need Wendy to spell out which ‘market’ she means.
They stop at a low booth near the back wall, Wendy finally releasing her grip on Erica’s waist as she motions for her to sit. Erica slides onto the red velvet seat, her eyes scanning the room from this new vantage point. The weight of what’s happening here - the trafficking, the abuse - settles over her like a suffocating blanket. She fights to keep her expression cold, detached, just like Wendy said she needed to be.
“You see that one?†Wendy murmurs, nodding toward a girl standing by the entrance to a private room, her eyes downcast, lips pressed into a thin line. “She’s new. Fresh meat. Won’t be long before someone picks her out.â€
Erica swallows hard, her throat tight. She knows Wendy is testing her, pushing to see if she’ll break. But she won’t. Not now. Not here.
Instead, she looks at the naked young woman dressed only in a black strap harness. Her breasts are sticking out in an unnatural way and as she moves a little, Erica can see that her elbows and wrists are tied together behind her back. She has a red ball gag in her mouth, saliva dripping from her lips and running over her breasts.
Her mind races as she takes in the room, trying to formulate a plan, a way to get these girls out of here. But everything about this place feels like a trap - a web woven so tightly around the girls that even if Erica found a way to free them, there’s no telling if she could make it out herself.
A waiter appears out of nowhere, offering Erica a glass of champagne. She takes it but doesn’t drink, just holding it as another prop, another piece of this twisted charade.
Wendy leans in closer, her voice low. “Don’t look so tense, baby. You’re one of them now. Remember?â€
Erica nods, though every fiber of her being wants to scream. She’s not one of them, and she never will be. But for now, she has to play the part.
From across the room, a pair of eyes meets hers - sharp, assessing. A man in a tailored suit, his face half-hidden in shadow, watches her closely. Erica feels a chill run down her spine. She doesn’t know who he is, but the intensity of his gaze tells her he’s someone important here. Someone dangerous.
Wendy notices the look and grins. “That’s Josef.†she whispers. “He runs most of the operations down here. Careful with that one. He can smell fear.â€
Erica takes a slow breath, her grip on the riding crop tightening as she raises her glass of champagne to Josef in some sort of casual, silent toast.
In this moment she hears her fathers deep, but warm, voice echoing in her head: “Courage is not the absence of fear, Erica. It means being scared but doing it anyhow.â€
She sees Josef raise his glass in return and it almost feels like a secret handshake with evil has been exchanged.
In the background, the jazz music shifts, the melody darker, more seductive. The lights dim even further, casting the room in deeper shadows. Everything feels like the walls are closing in and the air is becoming too thick to breathe.
She locks eyes with Wendy, who gives her a slight nod and a raised eyebrow, as if to say, “You’re in now. There’s no turning back.â€
And Erica knows - tonight, she has to embrace the darkness.
Wendy lays her arm around Erica’s waist again and together they step into The Velvet Room. Her grip on Erica tightens for a second, her breath warm against Erica’s ear. “I’ll take you to Rick, the Gatekeeper for the back rooms, but after that? You’re on your own. I can’t stick around for this. These guys are dangerous, and I didn’t sign up to die for anyone. Once you’re in, I’m on my way to Vegas.â€
Erica doesn’t hesitate. She is past that stage now.
“Just introduce me to him. I’ll handle the rest.â€
Wendy gives her a small nod, her usual bravado dulled by the tension in her eyes. “One thing: there’s an emergency exit at the back of the building. You’ll know when it’s time to use it.â€
Erica’s jaw tightens as she nods slightly, but she says nothing. She needs to keep her head clear and her focus sharp. Sandra and the other girls depend on it.
They make their way through the club, Wendy leading Erica toward a dimly lit corner where a razor-thin, hawk-eyed man sits slouched in a booth, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes flick up, locking onto Wendy first, then sliding over to Erica with an oily, interested smirk.
Wendy doesn’t miss a beat. “Rick, long time. This is Whip.†she says smoothly, her arm sliding off Erica’s waist as she steps aside. “She’s in the meat market for something...fresh. Buying for South America.â€
Rick's smirk widens, his interest clearly piqued. He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the booth. “South America, huh? Well, well. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with anyone from down there. What’s the deal? What are you looking for?â€
Erica moves slightly forward, shoulders back exposing her cleavage a little more and slipping into her role with an ease that scares her. “Young. Untouched, if possible. My buyers are very particular. They’ll pay top dollar for the right... product.†she says, her lips curled into a sadistic smirk.
Rick’s eyes gleam with approval. He takes a sip of his whiskey, clearly sizing her up. “You’ve got the look of someone who knows what they want. I like that. Alright, let’s see what we’ve got for you.â€
He pushes himself up from the booth, motioning for Erica to follow. This is the moment for Wendy to leave. She casually strolls away, leaving Erica to walk with Rick down a dim, narrow corridor.
Erica can’t fully grasp what Wendy meant when she mentioned she’d know when it’s time to use the rear exit, because after getting in the back rooms she has no plan – only her instinct.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Continuing to read this utterly magnificent story does really lift my spirits, Jenny. You are a REAL tonic!
Dark, mysterious atmosphere! Wendy did probably the smart thing, Erica the right one?
I agree with @LunaDog Absolutely terrific Story!
I agree with @LunaDog Absolutely terrific Story!
Dear @LunaDog, thanks, my friend. I'm really happy to hear that you dig this story.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Dear @Caesar73, Erica decided to stand for something, to be the woman she promised her father she'd be.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Rick’s hand hovers over the code panel, fingers twitching for a moment before punching in the sequence. A soft click, and the thick steel door swings open. Erica steps inside with him, her pulse quickening as the air shifts - cooler, sterile, with a clinical chill that feels like a slap against the dark, smoky haze of the main club.
A few yards down the hallway there’s a door to their right with a burly guy – clearly acting as security – guarding it.
Rick motions for the man to open the door and at once Erica is hit by the sight of five girls seated in the center of the room: pale, silent, lifeless. The sterile, almost surgical light makes it worse, highlighting the haunted shadows under their eyes although they have been made to wear short, revealing, skimpy dresses and loud makeup.
There’s something raw and primal that stirs deep within Erica – fury - but she reins it in, forcing herself to stay cold, detached. Predatory.
Sandra is there, at the far end, staring at the floor with a blank expression on her pretty face, barely holding on. Alive - but only a shadow of the young woman she had once been, a far cry from the happy, carefree girl Erica has seen in her social media photos.
Erica spots her instantly and it feels like a blow to her stomach. She can’t break now. Not here. Not when Sandra’s freedom is so close.
Rick’s eyes are on her, every move scrutinized as he gestures toward the girls, his grin slimy and lecherous. “See anything you like?†he asks, voice dripping with sleaze.
Erica steps forward, her heart hammering in her chest, but her face remains an icy mask. She walks slowly past the girls, her riding crop tapping against her boot, each sharp smack heightening the tension in the room. She can feel the girls' fear, taste the sourness of it, see it reflected in their trembling hands and glassy eyes. The bruises on their wrists give it away at the first glance: the girls have been handcuffed and just recently been released from their bondage.
As she reaches Sandra, Erica pauses. Her face hardens, becoming an unreadable mask. She stares down at the girl, emotionless, a cruel figure of power in the eyes of these young women who have no idea that their fate rests on this moment.
“Get to your feet.†she commands, her voice cold and devoid of compassion.
Sandra hesitates, fear flickering across her face, but she obeys, standing slowly, her eyes locked on the floor.
Erica lifts Sandra’s chin with the end of her riding crop, tilting her head up. Her lips barely move as she whispers, so softly only Sandra can hear, “I’m here to get you out. Stay calm. When I tell you, follow my lead.â€
Sandra’s breath catches. There’s a spark of hope in her eyes, but it’s buried deep beneath layers of terror. She swallows and blinks ever so slightly, but stays rigid, frozen in submission.
Erica straightens, her face a mask of cool detachment as she addresses Rick. “I like this one.†She nods toward Sandra. “She’ll do.â€
Rick chuckles darkly, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Good choice. She’s a fighter, though. Hope your buyers don’t mind a little resistance.â€
Erica’s lip curls into a small, cruel smile. “No worries. I’ll break her in.†She taps the riding crop against her palm, making her point clear. It’s all an act, but the coldness in her voice is too real, too convincing.
Just then, a faint smell wafts into the room. Metallic, sharp. Erica’s nose flares - smoke. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Her stomach tightens.
Rick’s phone buzzes just as the guard bursts through the door, his eyes wild. “Rick! The lounge is on fire. Smoke’s filling the place fast!â€
“Grab an extinguisher, see what you can do, dammit!†Rick curses, turning toward the door, but before he can make a move, Erica springs into action. She slams the riding crop into his chest with a sudden, violent thrust fueled by her own mixture of hope, fear, anger and a steely resolve.
“Hold this!†she snaps, her voice biting.
Without waiting for a response, she grabs Sandra’s arm, yanking her forward. “Now!†Erica shouts, her voice sharp, commanding, cutting through the chaos as smoke begins to creep into the room. “Move! All of you! Now!â€
The girls leap to their feet, fear and panic flooding the room as the reality of the fire sets in. The acrid scent thickens, burning at the back of Erica’s throat. Rick shouts something, but she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t have time. He tries to stand in their way, but Erica rams her shoulder into him, knocking him back against the wall. He grunts as the sudden, unexpected attack knocks the wind out of him.
The girls pour into the hallway behind her, their footsteps quick and frantic. Erica glances back, making sure they’re all moving, then she pulls the cell door shut to delay Rick from following them.
Thick smoke begins to choke the air as alarms blare through the building, adding to the chaos. Patrons and slaves scream. Staff rushes toward the exits.
Erica pushes forward, keeping Sandra close as she weaves through the confusion. Rick’s men are still somewhere, but the chaos is huge. Before she left, Wendy must have set the fire - this was the distraction they needed.
She rounds a corner in the hallway, and there it is - the back door. A heavy, steel exit, built for the unlikely case of a police raid through the front door.
Now it is their way out.
“That way! Go, go!†Erica yells, throwing her weight against the door, forcing it open. Cold air floods in. A rush of relief surges through her. They’re almost out, but still within reach of anyone who’d follow them.
The girls stumble through the doorway into the alley, gasping for air, their eyes wide with a mix of terror and disbelief. Erica pushes the door shut behind them, her mind racing. Smoke pours from the club, and the wail of sirens in the distance grows louder. The fire is spreading fast. Too fast.
“Where now?†one of the girls cries, her voice thin and panicked.
“To the right!†Erica shouts, putting more authority into her voice, and gestures down the alley.
“Run! Don’t stop. Just keep going!â€
The girls bolt, their footsteps echoing down the narrow alley. Erica runs with them, her heart pounding in her chest. She can hear the chaos behind them - the blaring alarms, the crackling of flames, the distant shouting - but she pushes forward. They’re so close.
A few yards down the hallway there’s a door to their right with a burly guy – clearly acting as security – guarding it.
Rick motions for the man to open the door and at once Erica is hit by the sight of five girls seated in the center of the room: pale, silent, lifeless. The sterile, almost surgical light makes it worse, highlighting the haunted shadows under their eyes although they have been made to wear short, revealing, skimpy dresses and loud makeup.
There’s something raw and primal that stirs deep within Erica – fury - but she reins it in, forcing herself to stay cold, detached. Predatory.
Sandra is there, at the far end, staring at the floor with a blank expression on her pretty face, barely holding on. Alive - but only a shadow of the young woman she had once been, a far cry from the happy, carefree girl Erica has seen in her social media photos.
Erica spots her instantly and it feels like a blow to her stomach. She can’t break now. Not here. Not when Sandra’s freedom is so close.
Rick’s eyes are on her, every move scrutinized as he gestures toward the girls, his grin slimy and lecherous. “See anything you like?†he asks, voice dripping with sleaze.
Erica steps forward, her heart hammering in her chest, but her face remains an icy mask. She walks slowly past the girls, her riding crop tapping against her boot, each sharp smack heightening the tension in the room. She can feel the girls' fear, taste the sourness of it, see it reflected in their trembling hands and glassy eyes. The bruises on their wrists give it away at the first glance: the girls have been handcuffed and just recently been released from their bondage.
As she reaches Sandra, Erica pauses. Her face hardens, becoming an unreadable mask. She stares down at the girl, emotionless, a cruel figure of power in the eyes of these young women who have no idea that their fate rests on this moment.
“Get to your feet.†she commands, her voice cold and devoid of compassion.
Sandra hesitates, fear flickering across her face, but she obeys, standing slowly, her eyes locked on the floor.
Erica lifts Sandra’s chin with the end of her riding crop, tilting her head up. Her lips barely move as she whispers, so softly only Sandra can hear, “I’m here to get you out. Stay calm. When I tell you, follow my lead.â€
Sandra’s breath catches. There’s a spark of hope in her eyes, but it’s buried deep beneath layers of terror. She swallows and blinks ever so slightly, but stays rigid, frozen in submission.
Erica straightens, her face a mask of cool detachment as she addresses Rick. “I like this one.†She nods toward Sandra. “She’ll do.â€
Rick chuckles darkly, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Good choice. She’s a fighter, though. Hope your buyers don’t mind a little resistance.â€
Erica’s lip curls into a small, cruel smile. “No worries. I’ll break her in.†She taps the riding crop against her palm, making her point clear. It’s all an act, but the coldness in her voice is too real, too convincing.
Just then, a faint smell wafts into the room. Metallic, sharp. Erica’s nose flares - smoke. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Her stomach tightens.
Rick’s phone buzzes just as the guard bursts through the door, his eyes wild. “Rick! The lounge is on fire. Smoke’s filling the place fast!â€
“Grab an extinguisher, see what you can do, dammit!†Rick curses, turning toward the door, but before he can make a move, Erica springs into action. She slams the riding crop into his chest with a sudden, violent thrust fueled by her own mixture of hope, fear, anger and a steely resolve.
“Hold this!†she snaps, her voice biting.
Without waiting for a response, she grabs Sandra’s arm, yanking her forward. “Now!†Erica shouts, her voice sharp, commanding, cutting through the chaos as smoke begins to creep into the room. “Move! All of you! Now!â€
The girls leap to their feet, fear and panic flooding the room as the reality of the fire sets in. The acrid scent thickens, burning at the back of Erica’s throat. Rick shouts something, but she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t have time. He tries to stand in their way, but Erica rams her shoulder into him, knocking him back against the wall. He grunts as the sudden, unexpected attack knocks the wind out of him.
The girls pour into the hallway behind her, their footsteps quick and frantic. Erica glances back, making sure they’re all moving, then she pulls the cell door shut to delay Rick from following them.
Thick smoke begins to choke the air as alarms blare through the building, adding to the chaos. Patrons and slaves scream. Staff rushes toward the exits.
Erica pushes forward, keeping Sandra close as she weaves through the confusion. Rick’s men are still somewhere, but the chaos is huge. Before she left, Wendy must have set the fire - this was the distraction they needed.
She rounds a corner in the hallway, and there it is - the back door. A heavy, steel exit, built for the unlikely case of a police raid through the front door.
Now it is their way out.
“That way! Go, go!†Erica yells, throwing her weight against the door, forcing it open. Cold air floods in. A rush of relief surges through her. They’re almost out, but still within reach of anyone who’d follow them.
The girls stumble through the doorway into the alley, gasping for air, their eyes wide with a mix of terror and disbelief. Erica pushes the door shut behind them, her mind racing. Smoke pours from the club, and the wail of sirens in the distance grows louder. The fire is spreading fast. Too fast.
“Where now?†one of the girls cries, her voice thin and panicked.
“To the right!†Erica shouts, putting more authority into her voice, and gestures down the alley.
“Run! Don’t stop. Just keep going!â€
The girls bolt, their footsteps echoing down the narrow alley. Erica runs with them, her heart pounding in her chest. She can hear the chaos behind them - the blaring alarms, the crackling of flames, the distant shouting - but she pushes forward. They’re so close.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spots it - a midnight-blue Cadillac coming to a halt at the end of the alley. Wendy leans out the window, her face red with excitement.
“Get in!†she yells. “Move it!â€
Erica doesn’t hesitate. She herds the girls toward the car, practically shoving them inside, piling them into the backseat. “Come on, girls!â€
She jumps into the front seat beside Wendy and slams the door as Wendy puts the pedal to the metal, the tires screeching as they tear down the street, speeding away from the burning building.
Erica looks back at the girls huddled together in the backseat, their ashen faces streaked with fear. But they’re alive. For now, they’re safe.
The Velvet Room disappears in the rearview mirror, swallowed by smoke, flames, and chaos as they disappear into the night.
The Cadillac speeds down the crowded streets, its tires humming over the asphalt, a stark contrast to the chaos they just escaped. Bright lights from Broadway's marquees and billboards splash across the car, casting flashes of garish color over the quiet, trembling girls crammed into the back seat. Outside, people stroll along the sidewalks, laughing, talking - oblivious to the horrors mere blocks away at The Velvet Room. They walk past theater entrances and food stalls without knowing that five terrified girls are fleeing for their lives, freed from a nightmare of massive fear.
Inside the car, the air is thick, reeks of smoke and is oppressive with terror, adrenaline, and disbelief. The girls, packed together, clutch each other with shaking hands. Their minds are still reeling, struggling to comprehend that it’s over, that they’re free.
Erica turns in her seat, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her black leather outfit clings to her like armor, and the heavy makeup only heightens the intimidating image she must present to the girls. To them, she’s not a savior. Not yet. She’s another face in the darkness, another part of the horror they’ve just survived.
"Listen!" Erica shouts over the sound of sobbing and panicked breaths. “We will get you to safety. You’ll be able to call your families soon. Just hold on, alright?â€
The girls barely register her words, their faces twisted in shock, tears streaming down their smeared makeup. A whimper escapes one of them, her body convulsing with sobs. Erica grits her teeth. She wants to reach back, to comfort them, but she knows they need her strength more than sympathy right now. They need to believe in her power to keep them safe.
“You take them home.†Wendy growls, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. She weaves through the late-night traffic, her voice tight with urgency. “I need to disappear for a bit. They’ll have already figured out who set that place on fire.â€
The car screeches to a stop outside Erica’s apartment building on West 72nd. The engine idles, but Wendy doesn’t move, her jaw clenched and eyes focused straight ahead. Her fingers still cling to the steering wheel like a lifeline, knuckles white.
The tension hangs in the silence - thick, suffocating. Erica knows this is goodbye. Wendy’s not sticking around to see what comes next.
Erica turns to her, their eyes meeting for a brief second. No words are exchanged, but the gratitude between them is palpable. Wendy’s risked everything for this, and they both know there’s no going back. Erica nods - a silent thank you.
"Get them inside." Wendy mutters. With that, she floors the gas, and the car roars down the street, disappearing into the night. The red taillights fade into the shadows, and just like that, Wendy is gone, leaving Erica and the girls standing by the curb.
Erica shifts her attention to the girls. They are a pitiful sight - frail, shivering in their glittery, skimpy dresses, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. Mascara streaks down their tear-stained faces, their eyes hollowed out by fear. The weight of what they’ve been through crushes down on Erica like a boulder. These girls are barely older than teenagers, and they’ve been through hell already.
“Come on.†Erica says softly, her voice gentle, as she ushers them forward. “Let’s get you inside.â€
The girls’ movements are stiff, like marionettes on broken strings. Sandra clutches Erica’s arm, her wide, glassy eyes searching Erica’s face for some sign that this is real - that she’s free. Erica wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the building’s entrance and the elevator, the other girls following close behind, huddled like lost lambs.
The hallway of Erica’s apartment building is only dimly lit during the night, the faint clacking of their heels the only sound. As they reach her door, Erica fumbles with the keys, her fingers trembling. She draws in a sharp breath, trying to steady herself. “Stay strong. They need you.†The adrenaline from the escape still courses through her veins, but there’s no time to process it. The girls need her more than ever.
The door swings open, and a wave of warmth and familiarity greets them. The scent of leather, wood and a faint trace of lavender fills the air. The glow of soft lamps spills into the hallway, welcoming them into a world far removed from the cold, brutal terror they’ve just left behind.
As the girls step inside, a soft rustling noise comes from the living room. Erica’s two kittens, Tiger and Spot, bound toward her, their tiny paws skittering across the hardwood floor. Tiger jumps onto the leather couch, watching the newcomers with curious eyes, while Spot winds around Erica’s legs, purring softly.
The girls freeze, staring at the kittens in stunned silence. It’s too much, the innocence of these playful creatures in such stark contrast to the trauma they’ve just endured. For a moment, they don’t know how to react - how to reconcile the horror with this simple, normal scene.
Sandra is the first to break. Her legs give out beneath her, and she sinks to the floor, her hand trembling as she reaches for Spot. The little black kitten with the white tuft of fur on his chest pads over, nuzzling her hand gently. A sob escapes Sandra’s lips, and a single tear rolls down her cheek.
Erica’s heart tightens painfully. These girls shouldn’t have to know this kind of pain. She swallows hard, blinking back the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. But they’re alive. And for tonight, that’s enough.
“Come, sit down.†Erica says, her voice calm, guiding them toward the couch and armchairs. They move stiffly, still wrapped in shock, their arms crossed over their chests like they’re trying to hold themselves together. The glittering, skimpy dresses they wear seem out of place in this place of elegance and style, a cruel reminder of what they’ve just escaped.
“I’ll be right back.†Erica says, slipping into her bedroom. She grabs an armful of soft sweaters and blankets from the closet, returning to the living room. Gently, she drapes the blankets over their shoulders, offering them something – anything - that can provide a sense of warmth and safety.
The girls accept the blankets in silence, wrapping themselves in the soft fabric like it’s their last line of defense against the world. Erica sits down beside Sandra on the couch, her pulse still racing. She places a hand on the girl’s arm, but Sandra flinches, her body rigid with tension.
“It’s okay.†Erica whispers, her voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now.â€
Sandra’s lip quivers, her voice barely a breath. “My mom... Can I call my mom?â€
Erica’s heart twists. She nods, quickly handing Sandra her phone from the coffee table. “Of course. Call her.â€
Sandra’s fingers tremble as she dials the number, her breath shallow, her eyes wide with fear. When the line connects, a choked sob escapes her.
“Mom... it’s me.†she whispers, her voice raw. She presses her hand against her mouth as though holding back the flood of emotions.
A voice on the other end, muffled and frantic, brings Sandra to her knees. She gasps, unable to speak for a moment, her body trembling.
“I’m... I’m okay.†she finally manages, her voice barely a breath. “I’m coming home.â€
“Get in!†she yells. “Move it!â€
Erica doesn’t hesitate. She herds the girls toward the car, practically shoving them inside, piling them into the backseat. “Come on, girls!â€
She jumps into the front seat beside Wendy and slams the door as Wendy puts the pedal to the metal, the tires screeching as they tear down the street, speeding away from the burning building.
Erica looks back at the girls huddled together in the backseat, their ashen faces streaked with fear. But they’re alive. For now, they’re safe.
The Velvet Room disappears in the rearview mirror, swallowed by smoke, flames, and chaos as they disappear into the night.
The Cadillac speeds down the crowded streets, its tires humming over the asphalt, a stark contrast to the chaos they just escaped. Bright lights from Broadway's marquees and billboards splash across the car, casting flashes of garish color over the quiet, trembling girls crammed into the back seat. Outside, people stroll along the sidewalks, laughing, talking - oblivious to the horrors mere blocks away at The Velvet Room. They walk past theater entrances and food stalls without knowing that five terrified girls are fleeing for their lives, freed from a nightmare of massive fear.
Inside the car, the air is thick, reeks of smoke and is oppressive with terror, adrenaline, and disbelief. The girls, packed together, clutch each other with shaking hands. Their minds are still reeling, struggling to comprehend that it’s over, that they’re free.
Erica turns in her seat, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her black leather outfit clings to her like armor, and the heavy makeup only heightens the intimidating image she must present to the girls. To them, she’s not a savior. Not yet. She’s another face in the darkness, another part of the horror they’ve just survived.
"Listen!" Erica shouts over the sound of sobbing and panicked breaths. “We will get you to safety. You’ll be able to call your families soon. Just hold on, alright?â€
The girls barely register her words, their faces twisted in shock, tears streaming down their smeared makeup. A whimper escapes one of them, her body convulsing with sobs. Erica grits her teeth. She wants to reach back, to comfort them, but she knows they need her strength more than sympathy right now. They need to believe in her power to keep them safe.
“You take them home.†Wendy growls, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. She weaves through the late-night traffic, her voice tight with urgency. “I need to disappear for a bit. They’ll have already figured out who set that place on fire.â€
The car screeches to a stop outside Erica’s apartment building on West 72nd. The engine idles, but Wendy doesn’t move, her jaw clenched and eyes focused straight ahead. Her fingers still cling to the steering wheel like a lifeline, knuckles white.
The tension hangs in the silence - thick, suffocating. Erica knows this is goodbye. Wendy’s not sticking around to see what comes next.
Erica turns to her, their eyes meeting for a brief second. No words are exchanged, but the gratitude between them is palpable. Wendy’s risked everything for this, and they both know there’s no going back. Erica nods - a silent thank you.
"Get them inside." Wendy mutters. With that, she floors the gas, and the car roars down the street, disappearing into the night. The red taillights fade into the shadows, and just like that, Wendy is gone, leaving Erica and the girls standing by the curb.
Erica shifts her attention to the girls. They are a pitiful sight - frail, shivering in their glittery, skimpy dresses, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. Mascara streaks down their tear-stained faces, their eyes hollowed out by fear. The weight of what they’ve been through crushes down on Erica like a boulder. These girls are barely older than teenagers, and they’ve been through hell already.
“Come on.†Erica says softly, her voice gentle, as she ushers them forward. “Let’s get you inside.â€
The girls’ movements are stiff, like marionettes on broken strings. Sandra clutches Erica’s arm, her wide, glassy eyes searching Erica’s face for some sign that this is real - that she’s free. Erica wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the building’s entrance and the elevator, the other girls following close behind, huddled like lost lambs.
The hallway of Erica’s apartment building is only dimly lit during the night, the faint clacking of their heels the only sound. As they reach her door, Erica fumbles with the keys, her fingers trembling. She draws in a sharp breath, trying to steady herself. “Stay strong. They need you.†The adrenaline from the escape still courses through her veins, but there’s no time to process it. The girls need her more than ever.
The door swings open, and a wave of warmth and familiarity greets them. The scent of leather, wood and a faint trace of lavender fills the air. The glow of soft lamps spills into the hallway, welcoming them into a world far removed from the cold, brutal terror they’ve just left behind.
As the girls step inside, a soft rustling noise comes from the living room. Erica’s two kittens, Tiger and Spot, bound toward her, their tiny paws skittering across the hardwood floor. Tiger jumps onto the leather couch, watching the newcomers with curious eyes, while Spot winds around Erica’s legs, purring softly.
The girls freeze, staring at the kittens in stunned silence. It’s too much, the innocence of these playful creatures in such stark contrast to the trauma they’ve just endured. For a moment, they don’t know how to react - how to reconcile the horror with this simple, normal scene.
Sandra is the first to break. Her legs give out beneath her, and she sinks to the floor, her hand trembling as she reaches for Spot. The little black kitten with the white tuft of fur on his chest pads over, nuzzling her hand gently. A sob escapes Sandra’s lips, and a single tear rolls down her cheek.
Erica’s heart tightens painfully. These girls shouldn’t have to know this kind of pain. She swallows hard, blinking back the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. But they’re alive. And for tonight, that’s enough.
“Come, sit down.†Erica says, her voice calm, guiding them toward the couch and armchairs. They move stiffly, still wrapped in shock, their arms crossed over their chests like they’re trying to hold themselves together. The glittering, skimpy dresses they wear seem out of place in this place of elegance and style, a cruel reminder of what they’ve just escaped.
“I’ll be right back.†Erica says, slipping into her bedroom. She grabs an armful of soft sweaters and blankets from the closet, returning to the living room. Gently, she drapes the blankets over their shoulders, offering them something – anything - that can provide a sense of warmth and safety.
The girls accept the blankets in silence, wrapping themselves in the soft fabric like it’s their last line of defense against the world. Erica sits down beside Sandra on the couch, her pulse still racing. She places a hand on the girl’s arm, but Sandra flinches, her body rigid with tension.
“It’s okay.†Erica whispers, her voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now.â€
Sandra’s lip quivers, her voice barely a breath. “My mom... Can I call my mom?â€
Erica’s heart twists. She nods, quickly handing Sandra her phone from the coffee table. “Of course. Call her.â€
Sandra’s fingers tremble as she dials the number, her breath shallow, her eyes wide with fear. When the line connects, a choked sob escapes her.
“Mom... it’s me.†she whispers, her voice raw. She presses her hand against her mouth as though holding back the flood of emotions.
A voice on the other end, muffled and frantic, brings Sandra to her knees. She gasps, unable to speak for a moment, her body trembling.
“I’m... I’m okay.†she finally manages, her voice barely a breath. “I’m coming home.â€
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
What an atmospheric Chapter. You captured the Emotions in play so well. How difficult it must be for the rescued Girls, that they are safe. I loved the moment as Tiger and Spot broke the Tension.
Dear @Caesar73, we're not done with the story yet. Read on!
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Tears spill down her cheeks, her grip tightening around the phone like it’s the only thing holding her together. The rest of the conversation is drowned by her quiet sobs. All Erica can hear is the relief in Sandra’s broken voice, and that’s all that matters.
Around the room, the other girls begin to stir, hope flickering in their eyes. One by one, they ask to use Erica’s phone, their voices trembling as they make their own calls to loved ones.
Erica watches the girls make their calls, her body sagging against the doorframe. She can feel the ache deep in her bones now - the tension she’s held onto for so long finally beginning to release a little. Her shoulders droop, and for the first time in hours, she notices how heavy her limbs feel, how her head throbs with the stress of the last few hours.
Her pulse, still erratic from the night’s chaos, slows as she takes in the scene: the girls wrapped in blankets, their voices barely above whispers as they talk to their loved ones. Relief washes over them in slow, uneven waves. It’s a fragile thing, but it’s there.
Erica leans back against the wall, her hand pressing lightly over her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. She draws in a shaky breath, closing her eyes for just a second, but the darkness behind her eyelids only sharpens the memories of the Velvet Room - the flashing lights, the cold terror in the girls’ eyes, the suffocating air.
She forces her eyes open again, swallowing hard as she retreats to the kitchen, her hands shaking as she picks up her landline to call Detective Spence.
His voice comes through almost immediately, gruff but alert. “Miss Sinclair? You know how late it is? What’s going on?â€
“I got them.†she says, her voice tight with exhaustion. “The missing girls - they’re with me.â€
A low whistle on the other end. “Damn. You’re something else. We need their statements. Bring them in…â€
“Not tonight.†Erica cuts him off, her voice firm. “They’ve been through enough. I’m taking them home to their families.†A fresh wave of adrenaline floods in her veins.
There’s a pause. Then, a sigh. “Fine. But I want them first thing tomorrow. We need to start the process.â€
“First thing.†she promises, then hangs up, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all. “The process…†she says to herself. “That’s all the cops can think of, not even asking how the girls are.â€
Erica stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the soft hum of the overhead light the only sound in the quiet space. Her fingers glide over her face, wiping away the dramatic makeup that had turned her into something both powerful and intimidating. The black leather suit still clings to her body, tight and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the woman slowly emerging as she washes away the face of the night. She brushes her hair out, smoothing it back into the high ponytail she’s so familiar with, and the dangerous, mysterious version of herself, the one she needed to survive the night, fades.
Now, it's just Erica Sinclair, Esq. staring back at her - albeit in the dramatic black leather suit which she - until today - has only worn within the privacy of her bedroom for her own pleasure. Tonight it served as a set of armor against a force of evil.
Her lips twitch into a tired smirk. She feels more herself, yet somehow, she knows she’ll never be quite the same after tonight.
When she steps out of the bathroom, the girls are waiting, huddled together on her couch, still wrapped in her oversized sweaters and blankets. There’s a quietness in the room now, a sense of anticipation as they cling to the warmth and safety of her apartment, but the reality of going home is starting to settle in.
“I’m taking you home.†Erica says softly. “You’ll see your families soon.â€
The girls nod, too exhausted to speak, but relief washes over them. Outside, the city hums, blissfully unaware of the nightmare they’ve escaped. The kittens curl up on the couch, purring softly, and for the second time tonight, Erica allows herself to breathe easier.
With an encouraging wink, Erica motions for them to follow her. Together, they ride the elevator down to the underground parking garage.
Her black Volvo sits in the dim light, sturdy and practical, a far cry from Wendy’s sleek Cadillac. Wendy had called it a “soccer mom tank†earlier, but right now, it feels like a fortress. The girls shuffle into the car, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes glassy but a little more focused. As they climb inside, still bundled in Erica’s clothes, there’s no more sobbing, no more shaking. Just quiet acceptance and gladness of what comes next.
Erica slides into the driver’s seat and begins punching their addresses into the GPS. One by one, they’ll go home - to the places they’d hoped to leave behind, chasing their dreams of fame and fortune that had turned into a nightmare. The drive is silent, the weight of the night heavy in the air.
No one speaks as they pull up to each house. Parents rush out, faces crumpling as they see their daughters. Tears are shed, hugs are fierce and long, and Erica stands aside, watching the reunions with a strange mix of emotions churning inside her. Each time, she’s thanked. Over and over again, quiet words of gratitude pour from the lips of relieved mothers and fathers, but Erica only nods, accepting the thanks without truly hearing them. Her mind is too focused on the task at hand - getting these girls home, making sure they’re safe with their loved ones.
Finally, it’s Sandra’s turn. As Erica pulls into the parking lot of the modest apartment complex, she sees Anna Torres waiting outside, Claire Messner by her side. Anna’s face is a mask of worry, her eyes scanning the car for her daughter. Claire, too, watches, though her gaze lingers on Erica - her boss, whom she has never seen dressed like this, in skin-hugging black leather, hair tousled, looking like someone who’s fought through hell and back.
Erica parks and turns off the engine, glancing over at Sandra. The girl hesitates, her hand hovering over the door handle, her body tense. There’s a tremble in her voice when she finally whispers, “Thank you.â€
Erica reaches over, her hand running gently through Sandra’s matted hair. “It’s okay.†she says softly, her voice carrying all the warmth and assurance Sandra needs. “Your mom’s waiting for you.â€
Sandra’s eyes dart to the figures outside, then back to Erica. She takes a deep breath and finally opens the door, stepping out into the cool night air. As soon as she’s out of the car, Anna rushes forward, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace.
The moment they collide, it’s like a dam breaks. Anna sobs openly, her face buried in Sandra’s shoulder, holding onto her daughter like she might disappear if she lets go. Sandra, who had been so numb, so detached all night, crumbles. She clutches her mother, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. “I’m sorry.†she cries, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Mom.â€
Anna pulls back just enough to cup Sandra’s face in her hands, her tears mixing with Sandra’s. “You’re home. That’s all that matters. You’re home.â€
Erica watches from the car, her chest tightening as the raw emotion of the moment washes over her. Claire moves closer, her eyes flicking between Erica and the reunion unfolding in front of them.
“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.†Erica says quietly, her voice rough with exhaustion. Claire only nods, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the leather-clad figure of her employer. There are no words to describe the things she’s witnessing.
Sandra and Anna pull away from each other, but before heading inside, they both turn to Erica. Sandra, still wrapped in Erica’s sweater, runs toward her and hugs her tightly. Anna follows, wrapping her arms around both her daughter and the woman who brought her back. Tears streak their faces, but for the first time, they aren’t tears of fear. They are tears of relief, of gratitude, of love. Erica holds them both for a long moment, feeling the weight of it all - the risk, the danger, the fear - and finally, the reward.
After they part, Erica watches as Sandra and her mother walk inside, disappearing into the safety of their home. Claire lingers for a moment longer, but with a final look at Erica, she turns and follows them.
Erica climbs back into her car, the weight of the night pressing down on her now that it’s over. She pulls out of the parking lot and drives through the quiet streets, the hum of the engine steady, comforting. Spot and Tiger are waiting for her at home, but the calm she thought she’d feel after taking the girls back to their loved ones never comes. Instead, as she crosses the bridge, her own floodgates open.
A sob tears from her chest, followed by another, until she has to pull over. She grips the steering wheel tightly, her body shaking as the emotions she’s held back all night come rushing to the surface. Relief, fear, exhaustion, pride - they all mix together in a storm of feeling she can’t control.
She cries - cries for the girls, for the danger, for Wendy, for herself. She cries because it’s over, and because the weight of it, the sheer scope of what she’s done, finally hits her.
As the tears begin to slow, she breathes in deeply, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “This.†she tells herself, “This is what standing for something can entail.†Her father knew, but even he could never put it into words.
Her heart still pounding, she straightens up, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“But it’s worth every damn effort.â€
With that, Erica shifts the car back into drive and heads home.
Around the room, the other girls begin to stir, hope flickering in their eyes. One by one, they ask to use Erica’s phone, their voices trembling as they make their own calls to loved ones.
Erica watches the girls make their calls, her body sagging against the doorframe. She can feel the ache deep in her bones now - the tension she’s held onto for so long finally beginning to release a little. Her shoulders droop, and for the first time in hours, she notices how heavy her limbs feel, how her head throbs with the stress of the last few hours.
Her pulse, still erratic from the night’s chaos, slows as she takes in the scene: the girls wrapped in blankets, their voices barely above whispers as they talk to their loved ones. Relief washes over them in slow, uneven waves. It’s a fragile thing, but it’s there.
Erica leans back against the wall, her hand pressing lightly over her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. She draws in a shaky breath, closing her eyes for just a second, but the darkness behind her eyelids only sharpens the memories of the Velvet Room - the flashing lights, the cold terror in the girls’ eyes, the suffocating air.
She forces her eyes open again, swallowing hard as she retreats to the kitchen, her hands shaking as she picks up her landline to call Detective Spence.
His voice comes through almost immediately, gruff but alert. “Miss Sinclair? You know how late it is? What’s going on?â€
“I got them.†she says, her voice tight with exhaustion. “The missing girls - they’re with me.â€
A low whistle on the other end. “Damn. You’re something else. We need their statements. Bring them in…â€
“Not tonight.†Erica cuts him off, her voice firm. “They’ve been through enough. I’m taking them home to their families.†A fresh wave of adrenaline floods in her veins.
There’s a pause. Then, a sigh. “Fine. But I want them first thing tomorrow. We need to start the process.â€
“First thing.†she promises, then hangs up, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all. “The process…†she says to herself. “That’s all the cops can think of, not even asking how the girls are.â€
Erica stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the soft hum of the overhead light the only sound in the quiet space. Her fingers glide over her face, wiping away the dramatic makeup that had turned her into something both powerful and intimidating. The black leather suit still clings to her body, tight and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the woman slowly emerging as she washes away the face of the night. She brushes her hair out, smoothing it back into the high ponytail she’s so familiar with, and the dangerous, mysterious version of herself, the one she needed to survive the night, fades.
Now, it's just Erica Sinclair, Esq. staring back at her - albeit in the dramatic black leather suit which she - until today - has only worn within the privacy of her bedroom for her own pleasure. Tonight it served as a set of armor against a force of evil.
Her lips twitch into a tired smirk. She feels more herself, yet somehow, she knows she’ll never be quite the same after tonight.
When she steps out of the bathroom, the girls are waiting, huddled together on her couch, still wrapped in her oversized sweaters and blankets. There’s a quietness in the room now, a sense of anticipation as they cling to the warmth and safety of her apartment, but the reality of going home is starting to settle in.
“I’m taking you home.†Erica says softly. “You’ll see your families soon.â€
The girls nod, too exhausted to speak, but relief washes over them. Outside, the city hums, blissfully unaware of the nightmare they’ve escaped. The kittens curl up on the couch, purring softly, and for the second time tonight, Erica allows herself to breathe easier.
With an encouraging wink, Erica motions for them to follow her. Together, they ride the elevator down to the underground parking garage.
Her black Volvo sits in the dim light, sturdy and practical, a far cry from Wendy’s sleek Cadillac. Wendy had called it a “soccer mom tank†earlier, but right now, it feels like a fortress. The girls shuffle into the car, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes glassy but a little more focused. As they climb inside, still bundled in Erica’s clothes, there’s no more sobbing, no more shaking. Just quiet acceptance and gladness of what comes next.
Erica slides into the driver’s seat and begins punching their addresses into the GPS. One by one, they’ll go home - to the places they’d hoped to leave behind, chasing their dreams of fame and fortune that had turned into a nightmare. The drive is silent, the weight of the night heavy in the air.
No one speaks as they pull up to each house. Parents rush out, faces crumpling as they see their daughters. Tears are shed, hugs are fierce and long, and Erica stands aside, watching the reunions with a strange mix of emotions churning inside her. Each time, she’s thanked. Over and over again, quiet words of gratitude pour from the lips of relieved mothers and fathers, but Erica only nods, accepting the thanks without truly hearing them. Her mind is too focused on the task at hand - getting these girls home, making sure they’re safe with their loved ones.
Finally, it’s Sandra’s turn. As Erica pulls into the parking lot of the modest apartment complex, she sees Anna Torres waiting outside, Claire Messner by her side. Anna’s face is a mask of worry, her eyes scanning the car for her daughter. Claire, too, watches, though her gaze lingers on Erica - her boss, whom she has never seen dressed like this, in skin-hugging black leather, hair tousled, looking like someone who’s fought through hell and back.
Erica parks and turns off the engine, glancing over at Sandra. The girl hesitates, her hand hovering over the door handle, her body tense. There’s a tremble in her voice when she finally whispers, “Thank you.â€
Erica reaches over, her hand running gently through Sandra’s matted hair. “It’s okay.†she says softly, her voice carrying all the warmth and assurance Sandra needs. “Your mom’s waiting for you.â€
Sandra’s eyes dart to the figures outside, then back to Erica. She takes a deep breath and finally opens the door, stepping out into the cool night air. As soon as she’s out of the car, Anna rushes forward, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace.
The moment they collide, it’s like a dam breaks. Anna sobs openly, her face buried in Sandra’s shoulder, holding onto her daughter like she might disappear if she lets go. Sandra, who had been so numb, so detached all night, crumbles. She clutches her mother, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. “I’m sorry.†she cries, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Mom.â€
Anna pulls back just enough to cup Sandra’s face in her hands, her tears mixing with Sandra’s. “You’re home. That’s all that matters. You’re home.â€
Erica watches from the car, her chest tightening as the raw emotion of the moment washes over her. Claire moves closer, her eyes flicking between Erica and the reunion unfolding in front of them.
“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.†Erica says quietly, her voice rough with exhaustion. Claire only nods, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the leather-clad figure of her employer. There are no words to describe the things she’s witnessing.
Sandra and Anna pull away from each other, but before heading inside, they both turn to Erica. Sandra, still wrapped in Erica’s sweater, runs toward her and hugs her tightly. Anna follows, wrapping her arms around both her daughter and the woman who brought her back. Tears streak their faces, but for the first time, they aren’t tears of fear. They are tears of relief, of gratitude, of love. Erica holds them both for a long moment, feeling the weight of it all - the risk, the danger, the fear - and finally, the reward.
After they part, Erica watches as Sandra and her mother walk inside, disappearing into the safety of their home. Claire lingers for a moment longer, but with a final look at Erica, she turns and follows them.
Erica climbs back into her car, the weight of the night pressing down on her now that it’s over. She pulls out of the parking lot and drives through the quiet streets, the hum of the engine steady, comforting. Spot and Tiger are waiting for her at home, but the calm she thought she’d feel after taking the girls back to their loved ones never comes. Instead, as she crosses the bridge, her own floodgates open.
A sob tears from her chest, followed by another, until she has to pull over. She grips the steering wheel tightly, her body shaking as the emotions she’s held back all night come rushing to the surface. Relief, fear, exhaustion, pride - they all mix together in a storm of feeling she can’t control.
She cries - cries for the girls, for the danger, for Wendy, for herself. She cries because it’s over, and because the weight of it, the sheer scope of what she’s done, finally hits her.
As the tears begin to slow, she breathes in deeply, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “This.†she tells herself, “This is what standing for something can entail.†Her father knew, but even he could never put it into words.
Her heart still pounding, she straightens up, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“But it’s worth every damn effort.â€
With that, Erica shifts the car back into drive and heads home.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
That is a situation which continues, believe me!Jenny_S wrote: 3 months ago Dear @LunaDog, thanks, my friend. I'm really happy to hear that you dig this story.
Dear @LunaDog, you're one of my most faithful readers. Thank you so much!
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
I know it is not fair to single out one line, one paragraph. But that one I liked especially. Erica washes away her night face - and Erica Esquire appears. Very intense.Erica stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the soft hum of the overhead light the only sound in the quiet space. Her fingers glide over her face, wiping away the dramatic makeup that had turned her into something both powerful and intimidating. The black leather suit still clings to her body, tight and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the woman slowly emerging as she washes away the face of the night. She brushes her hair out, smoothing it back into the high ponytail she’s so familiar with, and the dangerous, mysterious version of herself, the one she needed to survive the night, fades.
Dear @Caesar73, thanks so much. I ried to put a lot of effort into these scenes as this is the first time we see Erica in a way we usually don't.
Since you asked: shall we continue?
Since you asked: shall we continue?
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
The next morning after the harrowing events at The Velvet Room, Erica Sinclair steps into the police precinct, her posture stiff with exhaustion masked by determination. Dressed in a sharp navy blazer and pencil skirt, she looks every bit the composed attorney she is, but the aviator sunglasses she wears hide the redness and swelling in her eyes from the night before. As she walks inside, the cool autumn air clings to her like the weight of everything that’s happened, but she has no time to pause or feel it.
Inside the precinct, the atmosphere is more somber than busy. The victims - the girls - are seated in a separate meeting room with their parents, flanked by two psychologists and a social worker. To Erica’s surprise, the police, for their part, are doing their best to create a comfortable and supportive environment.
Detective Spence stands near the front of the room, accompanied by two other detectives, all of them ready to take statements. The room feels tense, despite the officers’ attempts to provide reassurance. But there’s a sense of care in how everything has been set up: soft lighting, warm tones, and quiet voices, even soft drinks and snacks are provided, all meant to soften the trauma these young women are about to relive.
Erica enters, and the girls glance up. At first, they don't recognize her. In the black leather of last night, Erica had been their mysterious rescuer, the strong hand pulling them from danger. Now, in her professional business attire, with her hair neatly pulled back, minimal makeup and her eyes hidden behind the aviators, she is a far cry from the woman who risked everything for them just hours ago.
One of the girls squints, then nudges another. They exchange whispers, and slowly, recognition dawns. Erica offers them a small nod, but her face remains impassive. She knows that what comes next is difficult yet necessary. She takes a seat in the back, watching as Detective Spence begins taking their statements.
Each girl’s story follows a chillingly similar pattern: they had been approached by young, handsome men, all posing as talent scouts promising lucrative modeling careers. Some were lured to castings or fancy parties, others to private events, where they were manipulated, coerced, and ultimately trapped, then brought to The Velvet Room where they were prepared to be sold off or to work in other brothels.
There are no accusatory tones from the detectives, no harsh questions about how they could have fallen for such lies. Only understanding, gentle probing, and an unspoken acknowledgement of the systemic cruelty these girls endured.
It becomes worryingly clear, though, there is more to this trafficking ring than just that one “talent scout†working the area around Sandra’s school.
One of the mothers, a tall woman with graying hair and dark circles under her eyes, breaks from her daughter’s side and approaches Erica during a pause. She clasps her hands nervously but smiles through the exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to thank you.†she says softly, her voice shaking with gratitude. “You saved my daughter’s life.â€
Erica pulls off her sunglasses and meets the woman’s gaze. Her voice, though steady, is tinged with weariness. “I’m glad we got her out of this.â€
The woman’s eyes well up, and she clasps Erica’s hands. “Thank you…God bless you.â€
With a tight nod, Erica steps back, keeping her emotions firmly in check. She doesn’t want gratitude right now. She wants justice. But as she watches each girl bravely recount their experiences, her stomach churns with rage - rage at the system that let these young women be exploited, at the traffickers who viewed them as nothing more than property, and at the hollow reality that she didn’t get to them all.
Later, after giving her own statement, Erica slips out of the precinct and into her car, the tension still thrumming through her body. She exhales slowly as she punches ADA Sophie van Rey’s number into her phone, already anticipating the confrontation that’s about to unfold.
The call connects, and Sophie’s voice is already cutting through the line, sharp and filled with anger.
“What the hell were you thinking, Erica? What kind of reckless stunt was that?â€
Erica tightens her grip on the steering wheel, her own irritation flaring. “I had to act, Sophie. You weren’t there, I couldn’t just…â€
“Couldn’t just what? Call it in? Follow protocol? Do you even know what kind of mess you left behind?†Sophie interrupts, her tone incredulous. “The pimps, the clients - they’re gone, Erica. They scattered the moment everything blew up. And worse, some of the girls - they didn’t make it home. They were re-captured outside the building and they are back with their pimps. Do you even get that?â€
Erica’s chest tightens. She hadn’t realized… In the chaos of last night, all she’d focused on was getting the few girls she could to safety. She hadn’t thought about the aftermath, the fallout. “I saved some of them.†she says, her voice quieter now. “I know it wasn’t perfect, but I saved some.â€
“Some?†Sophie’s tone is ice. “And what about the ones you didn’t save? Do you understand what these traffickers are capable of? You’ve jeopardized everything. We could have built a case, but now…â€
“Then do something about it!†Erica snaps, her frustration boiling over. “You and your office keep talking about trafficking and white slavery - about how it needs to stop. Then stop it, Sophie. Don’t just sit there with your checklists and protocols. Crack down. Make sure no more girls end up like this!â€
For a long moment, the line is silent. When Sophie speaks again, her voice is measured, almost resigned. “Erica, I get that you want to help, but this isn’t a game. We can’t afford any more reckless left end runs. Be smarter next time. Be more careful. Co-operate with us. Communicate.â€
The call ends with an air of finality, leaving Erica staring blankly at the dashboard, the weight of Sophie’s words settling over her like a lead blanket. She knows Sophie’s right, at least about the recklessness. But the image of those girls - young, vulnerable, exploited - burns in her mind. She had saved some, but the cost was high. Maybe too high.
She tosses her phone onto the passenger seat, the guilt gnawing at her, sharp and unforgiving. Some girls were saved, but not all. And the ones that weren’t…they will haunt her.
There’s no time for self-pity, though. She knows that. As she drives away from the precinct, however, her thoughts are heavy with the lives that slipped through her fingers.
About a week later, Erica Sinclair sits in her office, on the 25th floor, the familiar buzz of normalcy returning in the form of case files stacked high on her desk. The cases she'd put aside during her hunt to save the trafficked girls demand her attention now, and for a moment, she lets herself sink into the comforting rhythm of legal work. It’s the kind of work that grounds her, makes sense. Not like the chaos of the previous week - the tension, the danger, the faces of those young girls trapped in a nightmare.
She glances out the window at the city skyline, trying to shake off the residual exhaustion. Her fingers move briskly across the keyboard as she dictates notes into her case management system, almost willing the routine to pull her back to her old self. But deep down, she knows it’s different now. She’s different.
Her phone hums, breaking through the temporary sense of normalcy. The caller ID flashes: John Dance. Erica hesitates, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. Dance never calls unless it’s something serious. A pit begins to form in her stomach as she picks up the phone.
"Erica." Dance says, his voice gruff as always, but there’s a note of something else - something heavier. "We need to talk."
Her grip on the phone tightens. She leans back in her chair, bracing herself. "What’s going on, John?"
There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, and when he does, the words hit her like a cold wave. "Wendy Sinner is dead. They found her body in a dumpster in Las Vegas last night."
The air seems to still around Erica. Wendy. She closes her eyes briefly, an image of the woman flashing in her mind – like a snapshot from their first meeting at the Old Town Café: her tight dress hugging her curves and the caramel-colored coat, her husky voice and the eyes that had seen it all.
Wendy had been instrumental in rescuing the girls, much more important than what Erica had done. She was the one who had helped pinpoint the right people and the right place. She hadn’t wanted any recognition for it - she just wanted to lay low. Las Vegas had been her plan, her hope to get far enough away from the pimps. And now…
Erica swallows hard. "How did it happen?"
Dance’s voice is grim, each word like a dull blade. "She was mutilated with a knife. Three days after your little adventure. They caught up with her." There's no need to say who “they†are.
Erica’s chest tightens, her mind racing. She knew that after getting the five girls out there would be consequences, but Wendy… the thought of her dying alone, discarded like trash, is unbearable.
A wave of guilt washes over her. Wendy had been running, trying to escape the inevitable retaliation, and she hadn’t made it, unable to save herself like she had saved the girls.
The thought pierces through her mind - what if they tortured her? What if they forced Wendy to tell them who Erica really was? The woman in black leather. The one who had stormed into their den and ripped those girls away from them.
Her voice trembles, barely audible. "John… what if they tortured her? What if she told them… about me?"
On the other end of the line, Dance lets out a heavy sigh. "If she had ratted you out, Erica, you’d be dead by now, too. They’re not the types who leave loose ends. She didn’t talk."
Erica feels a strange mixture of relief and horror in his words. Relieved that Wendy hadn’t told them and horrified that Wendy had died in such a brutal way.
There’s a long pause between them. Finally, Dance’s voice comes through again, quieter but no less serious. "The moment she took your money she knew exactly what was going to happen in the end, Erica. You need to be more careful next time. A lot more careful."
Erica feels his words like a blow to the stomach and swallows the lump forming in her throat. More careful. She’s been reckless, thinking that one bold act could save everyone. She thought that by stepping into the fray, by taking a personal risk, she could change the outcome. But Wendy had paid the price. Wendy, who had been the real hero, the one with the inside knowledge, the one who took the risk to help those girls without any thought of glory.
She closes her eyes again, gripping the phone tightly. "I’ll be careful." she says, but the words feel empty. How can she promise that, now knowing what the world of trafficking is really like? Knowing how ruthless the players and how high the stakes are?
When the call ends, Erica sits in the silence of her office, the air suddenly feeling cold and suffocating. The legal files around her appear insignificant. Wendy’s face, her voice, her fear - all of it haunts her now. And though the traffickers may not know who she is, Erica knows they’re out there, and they won’t forget the fire that tore through their world.
A cold resolve settles in her. Wendy’s death can’t be in vain. She owes it to her - to all the girls still out there - to keep fighting, but to be smarter, more strategic to avoid collateral damage – what a brutal word to describe the loss of a life.
The battle isn’t over, and Erica knows she’ll have to walk a finer line next time. Because in this world, recklessness doesn’t just get you killed - it gets others killed, too.
As she turns back to her desk and the files in front of her, a heavy weight presses on her chest. She’ll continue her work, but the darkness from The Velvet Room still lingers. And now, it has a name. Wendy Sinner.
Erica breathes deeply, pushing the guilt down for now. But one thing is clear: she won’t forget this. She can’t.
The End
...but Erica Sinclair will return in her next adventure "Erica Sinclair - Runner's Future".
Stay tuned.
Inside the precinct, the atmosphere is more somber than busy. The victims - the girls - are seated in a separate meeting room with their parents, flanked by two psychologists and a social worker. To Erica’s surprise, the police, for their part, are doing their best to create a comfortable and supportive environment.
Detective Spence stands near the front of the room, accompanied by two other detectives, all of them ready to take statements. The room feels tense, despite the officers’ attempts to provide reassurance. But there’s a sense of care in how everything has been set up: soft lighting, warm tones, and quiet voices, even soft drinks and snacks are provided, all meant to soften the trauma these young women are about to relive.
Erica enters, and the girls glance up. At first, they don't recognize her. In the black leather of last night, Erica had been their mysterious rescuer, the strong hand pulling them from danger. Now, in her professional business attire, with her hair neatly pulled back, minimal makeup and her eyes hidden behind the aviators, she is a far cry from the woman who risked everything for them just hours ago.
One of the girls squints, then nudges another. They exchange whispers, and slowly, recognition dawns. Erica offers them a small nod, but her face remains impassive. She knows that what comes next is difficult yet necessary. She takes a seat in the back, watching as Detective Spence begins taking their statements.
Each girl’s story follows a chillingly similar pattern: they had been approached by young, handsome men, all posing as talent scouts promising lucrative modeling careers. Some were lured to castings or fancy parties, others to private events, where they were manipulated, coerced, and ultimately trapped, then brought to The Velvet Room where they were prepared to be sold off or to work in other brothels.
There are no accusatory tones from the detectives, no harsh questions about how they could have fallen for such lies. Only understanding, gentle probing, and an unspoken acknowledgement of the systemic cruelty these girls endured.
It becomes worryingly clear, though, there is more to this trafficking ring than just that one “talent scout†working the area around Sandra’s school.
One of the mothers, a tall woman with graying hair and dark circles under her eyes, breaks from her daughter’s side and approaches Erica during a pause. She clasps her hands nervously but smiles through the exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to thank you.†she says softly, her voice shaking with gratitude. “You saved my daughter’s life.â€
Erica pulls off her sunglasses and meets the woman’s gaze. Her voice, though steady, is tinged with weariness. “I’m glad we got her out of this.â€
The woman’s eyes well up, and she clasps Erica’s hands. “Thank you…God bless you.â€
With a tight nod, Erica steps back, keeping her emotions firmly in check. She doesn’t want gratitude right now. She wants justice. But as she watches each girl bravely recount their experiences, her stomach churns with rage - rage at the system that let these young women be exploited, at the traffickers who viewed them as nothing more than property, and at the hollow reality that she didn’t get to them all.
Later, after giving her own statement, Erica slips out of the precinct and into her car, the tension still thrumming through her body. She exhales slowly as she punches ADA Sophie van Rey’s number into her phone, already anticipating the confrontation that’s about to unfold.
The call connects, and Sophie’s voice is already cutting through the line, sharp and filled with anger.
“What the hell were you thinking, Erica? What kind of reckless stunt was that?â€
Erica tightens her grip on the steering wheel, her own irritation flaring. “I had to act, Sophie. You weren’t there, I couldn’t just…â€
“Couldn’t just what? Call it in? Follow protocol? Do you even know what kind of mess you left behind?†Sophie interrupts, her tone incredulous. “The pimps, the clients - they’re gone, Erica. They scattered the moment everything blew up. And worse, some of the girls - they didn’t make it home. They were re-captured outside the building and they are back with their pimps. Do you even get that?â€
Erica’s chest tightens. She hadn’t realized… In the chaos of last night, all she’d focused on was getting the few girls she could to safety. She hadn’t thought about the aftermath, the fallout. “I saved some of them.†she says, her voice quieter now. “I know it wasn’t perfect, but I saved some.â€
“Some?†Sophie’s tone is ice. “And what about the ones you didn’t save? Do you understand what these traffickers are capable of? You’ve jeopardized everything. We could have built a case, but now…â€
“Then do something about it!†Erica snaps, her frustration boiling over. “You and your office keep talking about trafficking and white slavery - about how it needs to stop. Then stop it, Sophie. Don’t just sit there with your checklists and protocols. Crack down. Make sure no more girls end up like this!â€
For a long moment, the line is silent. When Sophie speaks again, her voice is measured, almost resigned. “Erica, I get that you want to help, but this isn’t a game. We can’t afford any more reckless left end runs. Be smarter next time. Be more careful. Co-operate with us. Communicate.â€
The call ends with an air of finality, leaving Erica staring blankly at the dashboard, the weight of Sophie’s words settling over her like a lead blanket. She knows Sophie’s right, at least about the recklessness. But the image of those girls - young, vulnerable, exploited - burns in her mind. She had saved some, but the cost was high. Maybe too high.
She tosses her phone onto the passenger seat, the guilt gnawing at her, sharp and unforgiving. Some girls were saved, but not all. And the ones that weren’t…they will haunt her.
There’s no time for self-pity, though. She knows that. As she drives away from the precinct, however, her thoughts are heavy with the lives that slipped through her fingers.
About a week later, Erica Sinclair sits in her office, on the 25th floor, the familiar buzz of normalcy returning in the form of case files stacked high on her desk. The cases she'd put aside during her hunt to save the trafficked girls demand her attention now, and for a moment, she lets herself sink into the comforting rhythm of legal work. It’s the kind of work that grounds her, makes sense. Not like the chaos of the previous week - the tension, the danger, the faces of those young girls trapped in a nightmare.
She glances out the window at the city skyline, trying to shake off the residual exhaustion. Her fingers move briskly across the keyboard as she dictates notes into her case management system, almost willing the routine to pull her back to her old self. But deep down, she knows it’s different now. She’s different.
Her phone hums, breaking through the temporary sense of normalcy. The caller ID flashes: John Dance. Erica hesitates, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. Dance never calls unless it’s something serious. A pit begins to form in her stomach as she picks up the phone.
"Erica." Dance says, his voice gruff as always, but there’s a note of something else - something heavier. "We need to talk."
Her grip on the phone tightens. She leans back in her chair, bracing herself. "What’s going on, John?"
There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, and when he does, the words hit her like a cold wave. "Wendy Sinner is dead. They found her body in a dumpster in Las Vegas last night."
The air seems to still around Erica. Wendy. She closes her eyes briefly, an image of the woman flashing in her mind – like a snapshot from their first meeting at the Old Town Café: her tight dress hugging her curves and the caramel-colored coat, her husky voice and the eyes that had seen it all.
Wendy had been instrumental in rescuing the girls, much more important than what Erica had done. She was the one who had helped pinpoint the right people and the right place. She hadn’t wanted any recognition for it - she just wanted to lay low. Las Vegas had been her plan, her hope to get far enough away from the pimps. And now…
Erica swallows hard. "How did it happen?"
Dance’s voice is grim, each word like a dull blade. "She was mutilated with a knife. Three days after your little adventure. They caught up with her." There's no need to say who “they†are.
Erica’s chest tightens, her mind racing. She knew that after getting the five girls out there would be consequences, but Wendy… the thought of her dying alone, discarded like trash, is unbearable.
A wave of guilt washes over her. Wendy had been running, trying to escape the inevitable retaliation, and she hadn’t made it, unable to save herself like she had saved the girls.
The thought pierces through her mind - what if they tortured her? What if they forced Wendy to tell them who Erica really was? The woman in black leather. The one who had stormed into their den and ripped those girls away from them.
Her voice trembles, barely audible. "John… what if they tortured her? What if she told them… about me?"
On the other end of the line, Dance lets out a heavy sigh. "If she had ratted you out, Erica, you’d be dead by now, too. They’re not the types who leave loose ends. She didn’t talk."
Erica feels a strange mixture of relief and horror in his words. Relieved that Wendy hadn’t told them and horrified that Wendy had died in such a brutal way.
There’s a long pause between them. Finally, Dance’s voice comes through again, quieter but no less serious. "The moment she took your money she knew exactly what was going to happen in the end, Erica. You need to be more careful next time. A lot more careful."
Erica feels his words like a blow to the stomach and swallows the lump forming in her throat. More careful. She’s been reckless, thinking that one bold act could save everyone. She thought that by stepping into the fray, by taking a personal risk, she could change the outcome. But Wendy had paid the price. Wendy, who had been the real hero, the one with the inside knowledge, the one who took the risk to help those girls without any thought of glory.
She closes her eyes again, gripping the phone tightly. "I’ll be careful." she says, but the words feel empty. How can she promise that, now knowing what the world of trafficking is really like? Knowing how ruthless the players and how high the stakes are?
When the call ends, Erica sits in the silence of her office, the air suddenly feeling cold and suffocating. The legal files around her appear insignificant. Wendy’s face, her voice, her fear - all of it haunts her now. And though the traffickers may not know who she is, Erica knows they’re out there, and they won’t forget the fire that tore through their world.
A cold resolve settles in her. Wendy’s death can’t be in vain. She owes it to her - to all the girls still out there - to keep fighting, but to be smarter, more strategic to avoid collateral damage – what a brutal word to describe the loss of a life.
The battle isn’t over, and Erica knows she’ll have to walk a finer line next time. Because in this world, recklessness doesn’t just get you killed - it gets others killed, too.
As she turns back to her desk and the files in front of her, a heavy weight presses on her chest. She’ll continue her work, but the darkness from The Velvet Room still lingers. And now, it has a name. Wendy Sinner.
Erica breathes deeply, pushing the guilt down for now. But one thing is clear: she won’t forget this. She can’t.
The End
...but Erica Sinclair will return in her next adventure "Erica Sinclair - Runner's Future".
Stay tuned.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Dear readers,
as promised, here's the shameless cross-sell to my most recent story "Erica Sinclair - Runner's Future": viewtopic.php?t=23080
I hope you'll enjoy it just as much as you did "The Velvet Room".
as promised, here's the shameless cross-sell to my most recent story "Erica Sinclair - Runner's Future": viewtopic.php?t=23080
I hope you'll enjoy it just as much as you did "The Velvet Room".
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Make NO mistake, the ending was as brilliant as the rest of this utter masterpiece. And i see that you have started Erica's next adventure.
Dear @LunaDog, thank you very much for your kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed this story and I hope that you will also like "Runner's Future". See you over there.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
I have just binged this story, @Jenny_S. Your writing was meticulous. You are very masterful at building suspense. The Velvet Room is the best yet.
A List of my stories:An Unlikely Savior Completed
Spy Task Force Completed
Tale of an Archer Completed
The Bandit Scout on Newhome updated 05/30/23
Dear @GreyLord, I'm so glad you liked this story. It ended on a bitter note, but not all adventures enjoy a happy ending.
Thank you for the praise. Coming from such an accomplished member of TUG, this means so much to me.
Thank you for the praise. Coming from such an accomplished member of TUG, this means so much to me.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing