Sarai The moment I enter the building, I'm consumed by darkness. The space is lit only by candles spread throughout in random places: on tables and set along the walls and on the rock fireplace in the center of the room. The bar is so full that most people are shoulder to shoulder as they make their way to and from, and there's not a single empty seat anywhere as far as I can see. I pass up a full table accompanied by a group of chatty people and make my way through the crowd slowly. I'm overdressed, despite wearing so little. I'm likely one of few girls in the whole place who isn't dressed in more laid back clothes and trying to walk on tall heels through the dark in a place I've clearly never been before. I look exactly like a tourist here for a weekend of partying. Precisely how I intended to look. Andre Costa likes a party. And he likes the girls. But apparently he hones right in on the ones who are new in town and who act like they just rolled out of the Stupid Truck.

I walk straight to the bar and order a Dos Equis, presenting the hot young bartender with my fake I.D. and a glossy-eyed smile.

The bartender looks back and forth between me and the driver's license. "I suppose you're old enough." He smiles at me and places the card back into my fingers. I slip it down into my little black purse.

"How long are you in New Orleans?" he asks as he removes the cap from my beer and sets the bottle down in front of me. He's sexy, with short dark hair, tousled in the front, and dark blue eyes that peer at me amid a rounded baby-face.

I blush and lower my eyes, taking a quick sip.

"Am I that obvious?" I ask, letting my eyelashes sweep my cheeks momentarily.

His smile broadens and I notice his gaze move from my face downward toward my breasts. But he doesn't let his eyes linger so long that it's a turn-off.

Knowing I'm only a tourist was pretty obvious to both of us, so he doesn't bother to answer my question.

I hold out a ten to pay for the drink, but he brushes the gesture away.

"This one's on me," he says. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks." I take my drink from the bar just as two girls, probably on their fifth beer of the night, push their way through the room nearly knocking me over in the process.

I just barely hold onto my beer, the liquid sloshing out over the rim as I attempt to steady it.

"Damn, watch it," I say, but neither of the drunks hear me with the place being so noisy.

As I'm turning my back to them and the bar, I start scanning the area again, sipping on my beer and gently moving my hips as I walk as if I'm only enjoying the music and not looking for anyone. I walk around the rock fireplace and toward the back where the area splits off into two directions. There's another bar to my right with a couple more tables and a dead end. Left appears to lead back outside to a patio of sorts. I start to head left when I spot Andre Costa sitting at a table in a dark corner of the dead-end area, flanked by girls on either side of him and two other men, all enjoying drinks and conversation.

Those two girls with him are gorgeous, much prettier than me. At first I'm worried about my ability to draw his attention, but then I remember what Izel, Javier Ruiz's vile sister, taught me a long time ago: "You're hopeless. A hopeless American puta," Izel said that day, dragging a comb harshly through my knotted hair, pulling it just to hear me whimper. "I don't know why Javier keeps you around. You're like a stupid virgin, except you're a whore."

She pulled on the comb harder, yanking my neck back so forcefully that I cried out in pain. But I didn't say anything. I was afraid of her then, afraid of what she'd do to me for talking back to her. It was bad enough the things she did to me just for hating me, when she and I were alone and I didn't have Javier's protection.

"You have to look good next to my brother," she said. "You have to make the men want to dream of touching you. You have to get their attention over every other girl in the room." She yanked on my hair again. I bit down on my lip as tears streamed down my cheeks. "I don't know why I'm helping you. I should just let you fuck it all up so Javier will get rid of you. Feed you to the dogs."

"Why do you hate me so much?" I finally spoke.

I felt a white-hot sting to the side of my face and heard the thick, cool plastic of the comb slap against my cheekbone.

"Shut up! Stupid puta! I hate you because I can! Now listen to me. When you go in there tonight on my brother's arm, you better do everything I've ever told you. Six months I've suffered having to teach you how to seduce a man! Six fucking months of my life wasted. You better get it right. If you fuck up and Javier punishes me, I'll slit your throat in your sleep and blame it on one of the girls. Comprendes?!"

I nodded nervously.

"Now what did I tell you is key?" She shook my shoulders from behind. "Answer me!"

"Eye contact," I said.

"And what's the right way?"

"The skirting of the eye," I answered more quickly. "Shy and not desperate."

"Si. You want the men to feel as though you're fresh meat, that you haven't already been passed around to a hundred men. You want to appear coy and inexperienced, not as though you're a seasoned whore looking for a good time. Only old women do that. And how long do you give him your attention?"

"Two seconds," I said.

Izel turned me around to face her, my shoulders gripped tightly beneath her hands, her long red fingernails pinching my skin. "Si, Sarai. Two seconds and look away. The longer you look, the more desperate you appear. Make him come to you."

As much as I hated Izel, I have to admit that I learned a lot from her. But back then I was being trained to seduce rich men only to make them want me. Javier would never sell me or allow another man to touch me. I was his arm trophy, the girl who represented all of the girls sold under Javier. I was the one the men saw first, the most beautiful and the most enigmatic. I was the poster child, the one used to show off Javier's business. And it worked. The men couldn't have me, but after spending ten minutes in a room with me while I put all of Izel's lessons to use, the men wanted the next best thing. And buying from the same 'batch' of girls that I had been 'bred' from was, in their minds, the only way to get it.

But tonight, with Andre Costa, only half of Izel's teachings will come into play. Costa isn't here looking for a submissive girl to take home and put a collar on. Costa is just a young, horny criminal, so the part of her lessons I'll be using tonight go only as far as the eye contact.

I position my purse underneath my arm and stand against the wall in Costa's line of sight. I let five full minutes pass while I drink my beer and pretend to enjoy the music funneling from a piano before I decide to make eye contact. I know he has looked over at me at least twice in the five minutes I've been standing here. I could feel his eyes on me. But the black-haired girl sitting on his left has done well to keep most of his attention.

One. I smile softly across at him. Two. I look away and take another small sip from my beer. And I wait.

A few minutes later, Andre Costa is standing in front of me and introducing himself.

"I'm Andre. And you are...," he looks around me to my left and right, "...alone, I take it?"

I blush stupidly and take another sip.

"Yeah," I say and let my beer hand drop, hooking my wrist with the other hand below my stomach. "Yeah, I'm alone."

"Is that your name? Alone?"

I figuratively roll my eyes at his attempt to be clever, but I never let the fake smile drop from my face.

"No," I say, almost giggling and drawing my shoulders up near my cheeks. "My name's Izabel."

Andre grins and looks at me in a sidelong glance.

He reaches out his hand. "Well, you should join us, Izabel. There's plenty of room at my table."

My eyes begin to wander nervously. "I-I don't know," I say feigning reluctance. "I don't know you."

"Of course you don't," he says, taking my hand anyway. "But I'm cool. I promise. Come on. You're in NOLA. Should have a good time while you're here. No one will mess with you."

He pulls me gently along beside him and I follow willingly to the table where I'm greeted by both guys and only one of the girls. The other one, with jet black hair and a scowl on her face, doesn't seem so hospitable.

"Scootch the hell over, man," Andre says to the blond guy at his right. "Let the lady sit down."

The guy gets up and pulls out the chair for me. Andre motions toward it with a big smile plastered on his lightly-tanned boyish face, and I sit down. He sits after me.

"Get us drinks," Andre orders the blond guy, but he looks at me quickly and asks, "What'll you have? Another Dos Equis?"

"Sure, thanks."

The blond guy walks off, disappearing within the crowd.

"Yeah, thanks for asking me," the black-haired girl scoffs.

Andre laughs it off. "Baby-girl, you haven't even finished the one you got. Chill the fuck out. It'll be all right." He reaches over and pats her on the knee and even I find it condescending.

I smirk at her privately, letting her know that this one is mine. Instantly, I see the shift in her eyes from territorial to outright rage. She glares across the table at me, while her tipsy friend continues to fondle the tattoo inked around the other guy's wrist sitting next to her. That one couldn't care less that I'm here. The guy she's interested in seems only attuned to her.

"Do you live here?" Andre asks me.

I smile and twirl the ends of my hair around my finger. "No, I'm from Texas. Just here on vacation."

The black-haired girl laughs under her breath and says, "That explains the backwoods accent."

I hadn't even noticed I was speaking with an accent at all, but now that she's pointed it out I don't know whether to be proud of myself for falling so easily into the role, or scared of myself for how easily I'm pulling it off without realizing.

I smirk at her again. "And you must be from the Projects with an obnoxious attitude like that."

"Now, come on, ladies," Andre says, putting his hands out on either side of him as though he were physically breaking up an impending fight.

The blond guy comes back with four beers wedged between his fingers. He sets them down in front of us.

"Well, you're in good hands tonight," Andre says, swigging his beer and then setting it on the table. "And I'd be happy to show you around later if you want."

A burst of air discharges from the black-haired girl's lips. With narrowed eyes, she looks right at Andre. "Wait a minute, I thought we were-"

"Damn, calm down," Andre says, shaking his head. "I meant all of us, Ashley, not just me and her." He glances at me and says, "You don't mind, do you?"

I'm not sure exactly what he's asking but I couldn't care less; the sooner I get rid of this girl, the better.

"No, I'm good. I'd love to come along."

Ashley gets up quickly, pushing her chair against the wall behind her and grabs her purse from the table.

"We need to get home," she says to her light-haired friend. "Let's go."

Well, that was too easy. A part of me wants to continue our internal war. I was having too much fun.

The light-haired girl's upper-body sways a little as she stands from the table and takes Ashley's arm.

"I'm not ready to go back yet," she whines, holding onto the tattooed guy's hand. "Let's hang out for a while."

"No, I'm outta here," Ashley says while dragging her friend away.

"Oh, come on, babe!" Andre says, standing from the table with his hands out, palms-up. "Don't be like that."

"Screw you, Turtle!" She sneers and glances at me briefly. "I'm sick of your shit. You do this every time you come back here. Lose my fucking number."

Andre's mouth falls open, but he hardly looks hurt, trying his damnedest to suppress a smile. He reaches up and runs his hand through the back of his curly, dark hair. I notice a tattoo on the underside of his arm, close to his armpit.

Ashley and her friend argue all the way away from the table, leaving me alone with Andre and his other male associates. Suddenly, I feel exposed, being the only girl at the table.

"I hope that wasn't my fault," I say timidly.

Andre rolls his eyes and sits back down, resting his back against the chair with his legs splayed beneath the table.

"Nah," he says. "She's just that way. I'm just glad she's not my girlfriend." He raises a hand and moves his index finger around his head in a circular motion. "If ya' know what I mean."

I laugh and take another drink from my beer. "Yeah, she does seem a little out there." Really, I think he's a pig. Ashley may have been a bitch, but something tells me she has every right to be. They've obviously known each other for a while and it's apparent he screws her over every time he sees her, in some way, shape or form. The only thing I see she's truly guilty of is putting up with his shit.

"So you're here on vacation," Andre says, leaning over with his elbows on the table now. "Who did you come with?"

I smile timidly and fold both hands around my purse on my lap.

"Seriously," he urges me, leaning in closer. "I'm still trying to figure out why you're out partying by yourself."

I pretend to try hiding the blush in my face. "Well, I came with my friend, Dahlia. But she was feelin' like shit and didn't wanna' go out. She stayed back at the hotel."

"Ah." He nods. "Where are you staying?"

"The Sheraton. Over on Canal," I answer.

He has to think I'm naive and giving up such personal information so freely, I'm confident it'll help with his assessment of me.

"That's a bit of a walk," he says. "All the way from Canal."

"Nah, it's not too far," I say. "But I admit, I cheated. I walked some of the way and then hitched a ride on one of those bike chariot thingies."

Andre tosses his head back lightly and laughs.

"Bike chariot thingie. That's cute." He points at me and looks at the guy with the tattoo on his wrist. "She's cute."

The guy acknowledges me with a short nod and peers back down into his phone, moving his fingers along the text screen.

"That's David," Andre says about the tattooed guy. "He has an unhealthy relationship with technology. I think his phone gets more sex than he does."

I stifle a small laugh.

"Shut up, Turtle," David says calmly and without looking up.

Andre smiles at me.

He points at the blond guy who brought the beers.

"That's Joseph," he says. "I don't know him well enough yet to embarrass him. But give me a day or two and I'll think of something."

"What kind of name is Turtle?" I laugh.

Andre's face falls just slightly. "It's just a nickname. Dear ol' Dad gave it to me when I was six."