Chapter 5

As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Booty Bo Brothel, Emily’s hand was already on the door, ready to guide them inside. The bright lights of the saloon spilled onto the street, a stark contrast to the shadows that had cloaked Lady Beach’s mansion. The brothel was a beacon of warmth and, if not exactly safety, then at least the illusion of it.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, the laughter of patrons mixing with the low moans of pleasure from the upstairs rooms. Emily’s firm grip on Mrs. McConnell’s arm guided her through the bustling main room, the men’s eyes following them hungrily as they passed. Mrs. Herring walked with a grace that belied the pain she must have felt with every step, her eyes scanning the room as if looking for threats.

Upstairs, Emily opened the door to a small but cozy room, the bed freshly made and the candles flickering gently on the dresser. “You’ll stay here,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “It’s the best I can offer for now.”

Billy looked around, his mind racing with the tasks ahead. He knew that the first step in their journey to freedom was to cleanse themselves of the filth that clung to them from Lady Beach’s mansion. “Mrs. McConnell, Mrs. Herring,” he said, his voice gentle, “why don’t you both take a bath? I’ll find Mrs. Emily for the payment.”

Mrs. Herring nodded, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Billy,” she murmured, her eyes filled with a newfound respect. Mrs. McConnell simply leaned into him, her eyes closing briefly in gratitude.

Leaving the two women to their much-needed reprieve, Billy sought out Emily. He found her in a dimly lit guest room, surrounded by whispers of silk and the scent of jasmine. She looked up from her sewing, her eyes a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Emily,” he began, his voice thick with the weight of his decision, “I need to pay for their stay here for a week. And I was wondering if you know of a clothes shop nearby where we can get them something decent to wear.”

Emily’s expression softened as she nodded. “I understand,” she said, her voice a comforting purr. “The payment will be taken care of.” She handed him a small bag of coins. “For their comforts,” she added, her eyes gleaming with a knowing look. “And as for clothes, there’s a shop down the street, ‘Ma’s Finery’. They’ve got a good selection, and I reckon Ma would be more than happy to give you a fair deal.”

Billy took the bag, the weight of the coins feeling heavier than gold. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

Emily’s gaze was knowing as she leaned closer. “When will you be ‘testing the product’?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper.

Billy felt a flush creep up his neck, the heat from the whiskey he’d had earlier in the saloon mixing with the sudden rush of embarrassment. “Tonight,” he murmured, “after we get dinner in town.”

Emily’s eyes lit up with a knowing smile. “Ah, I see,” she said, her voice a low purr. “Two tight pussies up there, huh?” She leaned back in her chair, her own body seeming to fill the room with a warm, welcoming energy. “I’m sure they’ll be grateful for the company.”

Billy chuckled, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. “I’m not in it for that,” he said, though the thought had certainly crossed his mind. “I just want to make sure they’re comfortable.”

Emily’s smile grew wider. “Comfortable, huh?” she said, her voice teasing. “Well, if you want them to feel at home, I’d say a good meal and some decent clothes are a good place to start.”

Billy couldn’t help but chuckle at Emily’s bluntness. He knew she was right, though. These women had been through hell, and he needed to start making things right for them. “Thanks,” he said, the weight of his new responsibility settling on his shoulders. “I’ll take them to Ma’s Finery first thing now.”

He turned to leave, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. As he opened the door, the sounds of the saloon rushed in, a cacophony of laughter and music that seemed almost celebratory. The patrons looked up from their drinks and card games, their eyes following the three of them as they descended the stairs. Mrs. McConnell leaned heavily on Billy, her eyes darting around the room, searching for familiar faces. Mrs. Herring walked with a dignity that seemed to command respect, even amidst the rough-and-tumble crowd of the Booty Bo Brothel.

Outside, the night air was crisp, the stars shining down like a million tiny eyes watching their every move. They made their way down the street, the cobblestones cold and unforgiving under their bare feet. The lamp lights of Dreadworth’s main drag cast a garish glow over everything, illuminating the dust and grime that had built up over the years.

Ma’s Finery was a small, unassuming shop, nestled between a saloon and a livery stable. The bell above the door jingled merrily as Billy pushed it open, the warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Mrs. McConnell and Mrs. Herring stepped inside, their eyes wide as they took in the rows of dresses and the gentle scent of lavender that filled the air.

Ma, a plump woman with a cherubic face and a penchant for brightly colored fabrics, looked up from her sewing. Her expression was a mix of surprise and delight as she took in the three of them. “Well, well,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “what can I do for you fine folks?”

Billy cleared his throat, feeling a bit out of place amidst the frills and lace. “I need clothes for them,” he said, nodding towards Mrs. McConnell and Mrs. Herring. “The best you’ve got.”

Ma’s eyes twinkled as she took in their bruised and battered forms, her smile never wavering. “Well, bless my soul,” she said, her voice thick with a Southern drawl. “Looks like you two have seen better days.” She waddled over to a rack of dresses, her hands moving deftly as she pulled out garments that looked as if they’d been made for them. “Now, let’s get you dolled up, shall we?”

The women stepped into the back room, their nakedness shrouded by the velvet curtains that separated it from the main shop. Billy could hear the rustle of fabric and the murmur of their voices as they tried on different outfits. He felt a strange mix of emotions - pride at his newfound protectiveness, guilt for his past indulgences, and a deep sadness for the lives these two had been forced to live.

Mrs. McConnell emerged first, her bruised body swathed in a gown that seemed to glow in the candlelight. The fabric was a rich emerald, the neckline a daring V that showcased the gentle swell of her breasts. A slim ribbon of the same color cinched her waist, emphasizing the hourglass figure she’d earned through years of hard living. The dress billowed around her, the material flowing like a river to the floor, revealing a second dress beneath, this one a deep crimson that kissed the tops of her thighs before flaring out again. The sleeves, long and elegant, ended in a burst of lace that matched the delicate trim along the hem. It was a stark contrast to the dingy rags she’d been wearing moments before.

Mrs. Herring followed, her own transformation no less stunning. Her dress was a vision of midnight blue, the fabric shimmering with the barest hint of silver. The neckline scooped low, revealing the curve of her breasts and the intricate corset beneath. The velvety corset cinched her waist, the dark fabric a stark contrast to the pale, almost ethereal glow of her skin. The skirt fell in waves, a sea of darkness that whispered secrets of luxury and elegance. The sleeves, a deep cerulean, were cinched at the elbow with the same silver thread that adorned the neckline, creating a delicate pattern that danced along her arms as she moved.

Ma looked them over with a critical eye, a proud smile spreading across her face. “Looks like you’ve got yourself two fine specimens,” she said to Billy. “Now, let’s get you looking like the high roller you are.”

With the clothes bought and paid for, Billy led the women back to the carriage, feeling a strange mix of pride and protectiveness. The coins from the bet felt like blood money in his pocket, but he knew they were a necessary evil to give these women a chance at a better life. The journey to the restaurant was a silent one, the weight of their newfound freedom heavy in the air.

The dining hall they arrived at was a stark contrast to the grimy streets of Dreadworth. The Golden Spur was a high-class establishment, with white tablecloths and gleaming silverware that reflected the soft glow of the candles. The host, a tall man with an impeccable mustache, raised an eyebrow at the sight of Billy, Mrs. McConnell, and Mrs. Herring, but said nothing as he led them to a secluded table in the back.

Mrs. McConnell and Mrs. Herring took in their surroundings with wide eyes, their bruises and scars hidden beneath their elegant attire. The smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, making Billy’s stomach growl. He pulled out their chairs, his hand brushing against Mrs. Herring’s bare shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine. She offered him a small smile, a gesture that spoke volumes of her gratitude.

As they sat down, Billy leaned back in his chair, the plush velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the hard-edged world he was used to. He looked at the two women across from him, their expressions a mix of awe and wariness. “I know this isn’t much,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “but I want you to tell me about yourselves. Where you’re from, how you ended up here ... whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

Mrs. Herring took a sip of her water, her eyes flicking to the other patrons before settling on Billy. “I was a schoolteacher,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “From Crookedhowl, a small town north of here. And a bandit gang lead by Willie ‘Wild Hog’ Barlow came to town looking for my husband, who had debts ... so many debts. We didn’t know what to do. And then ... Willie take me and sold to Lady Beach.” Her voice broke, the pain of her past raw and palpable.

Mrs. McConnell reached out, her hand covering Mrs. Herring’s, offering silent support. “My story is not much different,” she said, her eyes meeting Billy’s. “From Bareflats, I had a farm and a family. two month ago, Willard ‘Bullseye’ Snow and his gang raid our house and I Iost everything, I had to sell myself to keep my family who still alive fed. I ended up here, fighting in Lady Beach’s cage.”

Billy felt his jaw clench at the thought of the stock they’d seen at Lady Beach’s mansion. “What happened to the other girls?” he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

Mrs. Herring took a deep breath, her eyes faraway. “Some are picked up from stagecoach robberies,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Others are kidnapped from their homes. And then there are those like me, who are given to the moneylenders as payment for debts.” Her gaze fell to her lap, the fabric of her new dress pooling around her like a sea of midnight regret.

Mrs. McConnell nodded solemnly, her hand still resting on top of Mrs. Herring’s. “In Lady Beach’s cage,” she began, her voice thick with the memories of the metal bars that had once been her entire world, “it’s worse than any prison I’ve ever seen. The conditions are unbearable, and we’re treated like animals.”

Mrs. Herring took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Billy’s with a sadness that seemed to swallow the room. “Every week,” she continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her words, “Lady Beach gives one of us to the guards. To ... to do with as they please.” Her cheeks flushed with shame, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Billy as she spoke.

Mrs. McConnell’s grip on her hand tightened, a silent declaration of their shared pain. “They call it ‘The Selection’,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Two of us are picked to fight in a cage. The winner gets to stay in. The loser...” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Mrs. Herring took over, her eyes burning with a fierce determination. “The rules are simple,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “You fight naked. No weapons, just your bare hands. And the crowd ... they’re not just watching for the blood and bruises. They’re watching for ... other things too.” She paused, her gaze flicking down to the floor before meeting Billy’s again. “Sexual attacks are allowed. Encouraged, even.”

Billy felt his stomach turn at the thought of these strong, dignified women being subjected to such horrors. “And you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “How did you survive?”

Mrs. Herring took a shaky breath, her hand shaking slightly as she raised her gaze to meet his. “I fought,” she said, her voice filled with a steely resolve. “I fought and I won. And every time I stepped into that cage, I told myself it was one step closer to getting out of there.”

Mrs. McConnell nodded in silent agreement, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We both did,” she said, her voice a low murmur. “We had to. For ourselves, and for the others. We had to be strong.”

Billy’s gaze drifted from one woman to the other, his heart aching for their pain. “How about the girls?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Mrs. Herring took a deep breath, her hand tightening around her water glass. “Some of the girls,” she began, her voice a haunting whisper, “sold their virtue to the highest bidder. A rich man or a landlady who wanted to please her husband. It was a way to get out of the fighting, a way to earn a little extra coin.”

Mrs. McConnell’s eyes grew misty as she picked up the thread of the story. “But it wasn’t always a way out,” she said, her voice thick with the pain of remembered betrayal. “Sometimes, they’d come back, broken and bruised. Their buyers had used them until their bodies couldn’t take it anymore, until their pussies were torn and bloody.” Her eyes searched Billy’s, as if looking for some semblance of understanding in the face of such depravity.

The words echoed in Billy’s mind as he sat across from Mrs. McConnell and Mrs. Herring, their stories of pain and survival etched into his very soul. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving theirs as he spoke. “I’m Billy,” he said, his voice firm despite the tumult of emotions roiling within him. “I’ve lived in Dreadworth for as long as I can remember. I’ve seen the worst this town has to offer, and I’ve done my fair share of bad things. I’ve gambled, I’ve fought, and I’ve ... well, let’s just say I’ve become a bounty hunter.”

The two women exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions a blend of understanding and wariness. Billy knew he had to win their trust. “I’ve got a dream, and it’s going to take a lot of money.” Billy leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I’m going to win enough money to buy a stake in the Whispering Dame,” he said, his voice filled with a fierce determination. “A casino, a place start over.”