Rey was lost, and alone.
Stumbling through the deluge of rain without an umbrella, her sodden boots sloshing through flooded laneways, hand shielding her phone as she tried to memorise directions before her battery died. It was down to two percent now. Not long and she'd be on her own, alone, in the worst part of town. She clutched her bag, her free hand handling her pepper spray in her bag.
Mustafar. She'd never been here before—never had any reason to. Most people didn't come down this way unless they had "business", the type of transactions that take place late at night, in shady corners, behind closed doors. The city's centre for methadone clinics and brothels.
And yet, even now, the area was showing hints of resurgence. A new set of First Order offices on her right, fast-food restaurants wafting scents of Indian and Thai curries to the pavement. She breathed them in, perhaps after tonight she might actually afford some take-away. Anything other than beans on toast.
Her phone died, sucking her hope with it. "Bugger that!"
She took in her surroundings, the road was empty and dark, a scattering of trash cans lined the gutters. One had blown onto the street, its contents sprawled out like an abandoned crime scene.
Terrace houses formed a line along the road, elegant with ornate cast iron lacework. They looked out of place here. Too stylish. Too polished. But then she saw them, flaming red lights above the doors. A scattering of bodies huddled under loose newspaper seeking cover beneath the trees.
The red-light district. At least she was in the right place.
Number 12 Darkside Lane was the most upmarket of the brothels. A crisp black building with barred windows and heavy crimson curtains blocking out any internal light. Rain poured from its overflowing gutters, leaving storm drains choked with fallen leaves and waste, gurgling by the roadside.
She stalled at the entrance. Shivering, her sleeves pulled down over her hands to keep out the bitter cold. The sound of cars splashing through flooded potholes behind her. Or perhaps they slowed to see her?
Everyone knew what this place was. And now everybody could see what she was.
And by tomorrow morning they would be right.
She lifted a trembling hand to the worn brass handle. It yanked back out of her hands at the same time, revealing a towering woman with pale skin and meticulously styled silver hair glaring at her.
"You're late," Phasma snapped, gesturing her to come inside.
"I'm sorry." Rey followed her in, trying not to stare at the woman's rich burgundy velvet dress that cut a line way below her cleavage.
"Have you been drinking?"
"No, of course not," Rey answered peevishly.
"Good. Like I said yesterday, there's no drinking or drugs while you're on shift." Phasma sat back at her desk, rifling through her client files. Rey waited for her to speak, her silence making way for the sound of rhythmic rocking from the floor above.
She would be next. It was all she could think about now after avoiding the thought for so long.
She tried to think of something else, taking a minute to examine her surroundings. She'd seen this place only once in the day, but now evening had transformed it into a den of seduction. The air was spiced with root chakra incense. The floors polished mahogany topped with dark leather lounges and plush crimson rugs, and red curtains embroidered with gold against sleek black walls. Above her, a dimly lit chandelier, flickering like candlelight, giving the foyer a mellow warmth.
Rey followed Phasma to her desk, pulling at the threads of her cream-knit jumper between her thumb and forefinger, a nervous habit. Her shoes squelched from the rain, her jeans sodden and muddy from her walk. Phasma didn't seem to care, it would all be coming off soon, anyway.
"Have you shaved?"
"Yes. Just before I came."
"Good, what about lube? We don't supply it to workers."
Rey pursed her lips, she knew she'd forgotten something. It didn't matter, she'd go without. "I've got enough."
"Look, I appreciate you coming in on such short notice," Phasma said idly. "I know you only interviewed yesterday, but we're short and I need someone who can look after a client for the whole night. Do you think you can manage that?"
Rey gaped. All night? They had given her the impression that shifts would last around two to three hours, at least at the start, not all—
"I said can you handle it?" Phasma barked, tapping her nail file on the desk.
"Yes," Rey swallowed the acidic burn of bile creeping up her throat.
Just one month and she could pay off the debt left by her junkie parents. One month and she could sleep at night without the fear of some loan shark smashing her kneecaps.
No more fear, no more shame. Just freedom.
"Can I ask who the client is?"
"He's one of our regulars, comes in around once a month. No one ever has any trouble with him but he has a list of demands. Here," she slipped Rey a manilla envelope with the name tag sticking out. Ren, Kylo.
Rey pulled the file towards her, angling it under the lamplight of the desk, trying to appear professional even though her hands trembled and struggled to remember to breathe.
Name: Kylo Ren
Sex: Male
Age: 29
Height: 6'3.
Preferences: Red and black lace sheer underwear only.
"Is that his real name?"
"What do you think?" Phasma huffed, taking up an emery board and swiping away imaginary rough edges of her manicured nails. "They never use their real name."
Rey continued.
Special instructions: No eye contact. No kissing. No hugging. No questions.
"Got that?" Phasma eyed her closely.
"Yeah," Rey closed the file, sliding it back to her. "He sounds… charming."
"Are you sure you're up for this?"
"I told you I was yesterday," she answered. "Nothing's changed."
Everything had changed. The brave woman who walked in these doors full of determination and bravado had flown, leaving her alone in the desert like a little beggar child. Of course, she could do it. She wasn't afraid. She couldn't be.
Freedom, she reminded herself.
But now that it came to it. Now she was about to have her first client… She stiffened. Her insides felt like they were knotting together and she had to remind herself to keep breathing.
"They seem like strange demands," Rey said, at last.
"Look, this guy. He just wants something to fuck. He has a shit job and needs to unwind from it. So keep your mouth shut and your legs open. Got it?"
Rey nodded, blankly.
"I got you these." Phasma opened a drawer at her desk and tossed her a pair of scanty red and black lingerie on the counter. "I've put padding in there too but don't let him see you wearing it. We don't normally take on girls your size."
Rey blushed, scooping up the lace bra and panties in her arms, along with a black chiffon robe.
"You're in room eight. You can get changed up there. It has an en-suite if you need the bathroom. I will send him straight up when he arrives. Shouldn't be long now."
Rey nodded again, even more robotically than the last time. She walked up the stairs, they creaked like the ones from her last foster home. The memory of it sent shivers down her spine… locked windows and doors, mouldy bread, the acrid stink of gin and cigarette smoke. Rough hands, pushing her, tugging at her… Anything had to be better than that.
"There's one more thing," Phasma said.
Rey froze, wishing Phasma would just let her get on with it.
"Kylo Ren's boss owns this place so I suggest you don't do anything to piss him off."
"Do you mean Mr Snoke?"
"Yes, Snoke." Phasma forced a smile onto her face, it didn't sit well there. "Like I said, don't piss him off. Snoke will want to try you out next week. So it's best to get some practice in before then."
"What's Snoke like? Is he… okay?"
Phasma gave a bitter laugh, her voice low. "He makes Kylo Ren look like fucking Prince Charming."
Rey turned away, her heart sinking lower into the floor as Phasma called out after her with a sing-song voice. "See you in the morning, Rey!"