I stay watching Derek as he inhales deeply. His hands move to the wide black belt of my favorite gray dress, enveloping my small waist with his hands, and he leans to me, kissing me once again before speaking. “I love this dress on you. You look so beautiful. Be careful today, okay?” I nod and agree.
The cab pulls away from the curb, and he stays watching us. What sage advice that was, and perhaps had I heeded that advice better, my day would have stayed pleasant, rather than the nightmare it would turn out to be.
When the darkness is pulled over my eyes as I’m waiting for the hairstylist to arrive, it takes an eternity for my mind to register what is happening. I was relaxed in one moment, and being dragged, kicking and screaming, the next. The black bag over my head is abrasive and suffocating, but it isn’t the bag that has me most terrified; it is what lies beyond it. I’m forced into the back of a car and pushed to what feels like the middle of the back seat, given the ridge that rises up between my feet, and as two bodies move in beside me, I hear Liz screaming a short distance away. But it is useless. As her screams continue, the doors are slammed shut, dampening the terrified sound of her voice as she yells desperately for them to let me go. The tires squeal away from the curb, and my last connection to anything in this world that cares about me slips away. I’m gasping, I’m struggling, I’m pleading, but for my efforts, I get a strong fist to the stomach that leaves me sucking in desperate breaths.
After the punch to the gut, I give up struggling. I sit, trying to control my panicked breathing as the car moves through traffic. The sounds change over time, and what was the busy sound of Manhattan turns to a quieter din as the miles fade away. When at long last the car pulls off whatever highway we’re on, it is to a bumpy, gravelly road. The men surrounding me are saying nothing at all, and I’m not inclined to try to communicate with them either. I know their type, and there is no doubt these men are after a debt that belonged to my father. They must have been watching me. They must not be happy with the money I’m bringing. It makes no sense though. They have more money coming to them now than I’ve ever been able to pay them before. I’d thought if I kept the money coming they would be satisfied. Their only concern is for the money, and I’m no good to them dead, so why are they here now?
The car stops, and I brace myself for what is to come. I know from experience they will be rough. They have no sense of chivalry or integrity. They’ll have no problem beating the shit out of me for something I can’t even control, but that begs the question again—what the hell have I done wrong? If I knew why this was happening, I could get a handle on the situation, but until today, I thought I was safe. I thought I was keeping them at bay with every last cent of my income floating from Trimbles to them!
I’m still running through the possible scenarios when I’m grabbed by my bound hands and pulled forcefully from the car. The ground beneath me is dirt. As I’m dragged across the uneven surface, the dirt is scraped up by the heels of my black ballet flats, and it starts to fill my shoes before they both eventually fall off. My legs are bare in my dress, and the skirt is riding up dangerously high, even given its conservative cut. These men have blessedly never used sex as a means of controlling me. They’ve always preferred a heavy fist, which, to this point, I’ve been grateful for. But they know my new profession, and I can’t help but fear they’ll turn this against me.
I’m pulled up some steps, concrete given the way they scrape across the skin of my calves harshly. And I’m dragged over a threshold of some sort into a dank and dirty-smelling room. The floors are still hard, but by the echoing of voices and the doors being closed, I know we’re now inside somewhere. I’m pulled to a standing position, lowered to a seat, and then finally handcuffed to the chair with my legs tied to the chair legs. I’ve been in this very position with these thugs before. I likely won’t recognize a one of them. They are always different men, but they always carry the same message and deliver it in the same way. I just don’t understand; I’ve done nothing wrong!
As the bag is pulled from my face, I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. It isn’t bright, but I’ve been in the dark for what seems like hours. I’m in a house, abandoned and old by the looks of it. There are boards over most of the windows, and the sun filters in through the gaps in the wood. The dust particles hanging in the air of the age-old home are lit up by the small amount of sunlight. There is old wallpaper peeling from the walls, and there are holes in the old plaster lattice walls. It smells, and as I look around, it sinks in. I’m nowhere near home. Derek will never be able to find me here, and the fact that I’m so confused about why I’m here doesn’t comfort me in the least.
In the past, if these men wanted to “talk” to me, it meant they weren’t happy with the sporadic and often meager amount of money I was providing them. The fact that I’m providing them with a constant supply of very decent money has me terrified. At least if money is a concern, I know they will leave me alive because I cease to be useful to them at all if I’m dead. But if money isn’t the concern, then what is their purpose, and what will keep them from killing me?
I look from one to another, eight men in total, and as I suspected, the faces are all new. Some are the very epitome of thug, and others look oddly young, and even handsome. But as my eyes fall on one man in particular standing at the back of the crowd, I still in horror. I know this face. I could never forget this face. And I haven’t seen this face since five years before, when I watched as he killed my parents. He’s smiling at me, and as he walks forward, the small group of men part for him. He is in charge here. I’m filled with a sudden overwhelming and self-destructive hatred for him. I’m fighting the urge to yell at him and let him finish me off, but I’m also terrified too … in a way I never imagined. These faceless men can be ruthless, and they always have been with me, but the man walking toward me now can be murderous, and I know this for a fact.
I start begging, stifling my hatred and desire to curse him. If I have any chance of ever getting home to Derek again, I cannot give this man any reason to kill me. “I’m sorry. I’ve sent every last bit of money I’m making every week. I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m working. I’m paying … please just let me go home so I can keep working.”
The man I loathe more than any other in the world approaches me. He is tall, strong, and handsome. He’s changed little in the five years since I’ve seen him. If I were to guess, I’d say he is middle-aged, far older than the other men in the room. They are very obviously his drones, and the manner in which he regards them is casual.
This is a man that controls everything around him, and his words send a chill through my body as he starts to speak. “I appreciate your money, Ms. Monroe, but I have some concerns about your behavior to discuss. Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I tell you. When I referred you to Trimbles, it wasn’t because I believed you’d make a good escort. Quite frankly, I thought you’d run away screaming. Imagine my surprise when you actually stayed. Mr. Grayson was … very accommodating in hiring you. Of course, he was given no choice. He has his own debts to me. But I needed him to ensure you would be given a job. It’s not as if a girl like you could get a job at a place like that on your own… But, when I hear you are failing to do your job, and you are costing Trimbles clients, that just isn’t good business for me. After all, if you get yourself fired, you are back to being a broke whore that can’t pay me the money that is owed me. And if you cause Trimbles to lose clients, you are effectively making it difficult for Mr. Grayson to pay me the money he owes me. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I nod slowly, taking in his words.