This is like all those times I had to enter lunchrooms where I knew no one after transferring schools and foster families all rolled into one—with a wedding dress on top. Ugh! I rush to catch up with the beautiful woman leading the way.

But I slow a little bit when I get a good look at the tattoo on Percy’s back. PROPERTY OF is written in huge Gothic black letters in an arc over her delicate shoulder blades. And the word HADES is stamped across her hourglass waist.

So I guess that’s what the beautiful god of a man with a Louisiana accent is called. That tracks, I suppose. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who looks more like a modern god of the underworld.

“Did it hurt, getting such a large tattoo?” I shout over the music.

“Not as bad as what he would've done if I didn't get it,” she shouts back.

She also has a southern accent, but it’s not nearly as melodic as her apparent possessor’s. Her voice is cynical and a little flat—like a weary woman twice her age, which from the look of her might be even younger than me.

She leads me through a swinging door into a much quieter back room with a small row of lockers. I'm assuming this is where the waitresses and bar staff change out of their street clothes before they go out onto the floor completely topless.

Percy points an index finger covered in a matte black tuxedo acrylic nail toward a chair next to the lockers. “Those are for you.”

A small pile of clothes sits on top of the chair. And I do mean small. I pick up a pair of athletic booty shorts and a top similar to Percy's. Sierra would’ve worn a bodycon dress to my wedding if Trudy had allowed it, and even she would've deemed this outfit too revealing.

I know I should be more than grateful for any clothes that don’t weigh double-digit pounds, but I have to ask, “Do you have any tops that go below the belly button?

“Hades doesn't allow me to wear anything like that,” she answers. “But I guess you can wear Doc's scrubs. She probably won't mind.”

Percy opens a locker and pulls out a pair of blue scrubs just a few shades lighter than the ones I wear for my hospital job—the job that may or may not still be there when I extract myself from this situation and make it back to Delaware.

I’m not even sure what this situation is exactly. Waylon commanded me to come with him, or he’d kill Jonathan, so I went. But what does he want from me? A few days of fucking? Is he trying to take me to Iowa for more punishment?