Captive

Chapter Nine

"How old are you?" Jim asked a little doubtfully, looking at the pale girl standing in front of him, her chestnut curls framing a round face with huge, innocent looking green eyes. Her pink lips formed a tight bow as she glanced from Bret back to Jim. Bret however rolled his eyes.

"Fuck do you mean how old is she? She's twenty six moron!"

"She looks seventeen," Jim retorted and Juliet flushed red. He sighed, looking her up and down. "And far too innocent to work the bar." Juliet stiffened at this, a dark look passing across her features before she spoke in a soft voice.

"I am twenty six and not at all sure that my innocence or lack thereof is a prerequisite of being a glorified cleaner in a bar."

"Wordy isn't she?" Jim said, after a brief pause when Bret stifled a laugh at his friend's incredulous face. "Well have it your way. Hours are seven thirty until twelve thirty, three nights a week; Thursday, Friday and Saturday with one deep clean once a month to be done on a day the bar is shut. I'll let you two figure that one out. That suit you?" He directed the question at Juliet who looked slightly startled.

"It hardly matters if it does or not does it?" she replied, a little irritably, a hand straying to her chest and rubbing briefly. Jim shrugged, unperturbed though Bret was now scowling, his amusement replaced with irritation.

"Did you bring her uniform?" he asked sharply and Jim nodded, handing across a carrier bag. Juliet glanced at the bag, figuring it would be a shirt and trousers maybe but when Bret took it out she stared horrified. The uniform was a black mini skirt, knee high patent black heeled boots and a strappy top with the Hart Foundation logo on it.

"No," she said flatly and Bret raised an eyebrow.

"No?" he repeated. Jim looked between them and sighed.

"I'll leave you to it," he said awkwardly. "I'll see you tomorrow night for your first shift Juliet." Her eyes flickered to him and she nodded but then returned to the clothes Bret held bunched in his fist. Neither spoke as Jim made his way quickly out of the house.

"I won't wear that," Juliet said firmly, as soon as he'd gone. "I'm not a common whore Mr Hart."

"You'll wear what I tell you to wear," he said through gritted teeth. Juliet shook her head, her eyes flashing as she met his gaze.

"Not that. It is completely impractical for the task I am to perform. I am not serving behind the bar or dancing round a pole."

Bret glared at her, too angry to observe the small signs that should have been obvious to him. Her eyes were slightly wider than usual, the pulse in her neck evident, her lips drawn in a thin line, her cheeks a shade pinker than usual. She was angry, quite obviously angry, but she was frightened as well, her fingers automatically scratching at her wrists which were hidden as usual under her cardigan.

"It will be too small anyway." She regretted this as soon as she said it as Bret's eyes flared with evil amusement.

"Try it on now," he said. "If it isn't a perfect fit you don't have to wear it tomorrow."

She licked her lips nervously and glanced up at him, but there was no softness in his expression. He stuffed the clothes and the boots back in the bag handing them to her, an almost smug smile on his face. She took it reluctantly and headed up to her bedroom to change, praying it would be too small. Her breathing came in heavy gasps as she stripped out of her jeans, T-shirt and cardigan, replacing them with the strappy top, skirt and boots which as she had expected were all a perfect fit. The maple leaf necklace which had remained hidden under her tshirts was now exposed and she didn't want him to see it, but she couldn't remove it either. It had been her talisman for so long she felt bare without it, somehow more vulnerable. She remembered waking at the hospital panicking until the nurse carefully placed it back around her neck, saying she understood and revealing the tiny crucifix she herself wore which had once been her grandmother's .  And as her gaze lowered she saw to her shame that other marks were now more apparent too which she had managed to hide so well over the last ten years, thin scars across her cleavage which might not be noticeable to the casual eye but wearing this nobody would look casually; they'd be staring exactly where she didn't want their eyes to wander. At least her legs would be hidden still though under the boots which were higher than she was accustomed to but not overly uncomfortable.