3. Elanee
3
ELANEE
O ne week ago…
It’s late in the evening and I’m wearing a hoodie ensuring anyone who might see me at the very least won’t recognize me. No one knows I’m back in New York and I have every intention of keeping it that way. It’s better for everyone and I’d come to that isolating resolve a long time ago.
Music is pounding outside the cheap-looking establishment in the outer edges of the city. I hate coming here with every fiber of my being. It’s the second time I’ve made my appearance, dutifully bound to do so once every week. If not, they’ll come looking for me instead.
A different bouncer from last time sizes me up the moment I approach the entrance. I don’t speak, just push back the cuff of my hoodie and raise the rose gold bracelet with the intricate placement of amethysts. It’s the mark recognized by anyone in his employment. Recognizing it, the bouncer opens the door.
I hate the things I see when I walk into this place, including the crimes and misfortune. It acts as a constant reminder that if I don’t do as I’m told, I could be worse off. And I will do everything within me to prevent that, even by proving myself to them. It’s kept me alive for this long.
Smoke billows throughout the room and the bar on the left is dimly lit. My throat tightens when I momentarily see four women submissively sitting to the side in filthy underwear, bruising and track marks evident before averting my gaze.
I quickly learned to keep my gaze to the floor when entering this place. Despite my defiance the first time I came here, I’d only been broken down because of it. I might be kept around because of their boss’s personal interest, but what others see as ‘special treatment’ they’ll twist to despise and torment me for it.
“Ahh and here I was hoping you’d be late!” with his thick Russian accent Slater declares Slater propped up on a chair with his legs hanging over the armchair, as if it were his personal throne. It makes me uneasy realizing I’m not dealing with Connor tonight.
Slater is already acting like a damn king and it’s evident the periodic promotion has gone to his head. Coming in at six foot four, all brawn no brain, green hair shaved at the side and brown eyes that are almost black, it only adds to his intimidation.
I briefly glance around, searching for Connor. Slater’s a wild card, one despite my “favoritism” I’d rather not get on the bad side of. My protection only went so far.
As I scan the room, a small wave of relief washes over me when I spot Lyle, standing silently behind Slater in the corner. He was in the same position last time when I was dealing with Connor. His long black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and his eyebrow piercing, glistening slightly in the dim light, give him an air of silent observation. He seems disinterested, but I know better. He's always watching, always waiting.
“Well, have you been a good girl?” Slater's voice cuts through the air, his words heavy with authority. He pushes off the chair and stops only inches away. He towers over me in size and looks down on me with disdain as if I’m no more than vermin.
“Yes.” Is all I say.
His face twists in disgust with my clipped reply. I learned early on not to respond to Slater’s theatrics. It’d only make him angrier—more excitable to inflict pain. But if I remained silent, he’d be irked by being ignored. It was a lethal balance dealing with him. Especially when I had to ensure I didn’t say any of the unfavorable things that always came to mind.
I feel a deadly glare boring into the side of my face and brief a glance into the direction of the pink-haired woman death staring me. Candy, I think her name was. Even on unfriendly terms she’s jealous of the attention he gives me. It twists a revolting nausea in my stomach to know that someone could be attracted to a man like this. She was nothing but a plaything to him. But for her… I think it was more. Not that I cared. I had to only focus on myself.
Her narrowing gaze meant little to me because I feared him more than I did her.
When my gaze lands back on Slater I realize my mistake. I’d looked away from him only briefly, but it’s enough to trigger that wild card beneath the surface. My teeth grind as I anticipate… anything.
He smiles brightly, his erratic self brightly glowing as he points to me but looks at Lyle over his shoulder.
“You know she used to be a dancer, right?” Slater laughs as if he’s letting Lyle in on some big joke. I bite my tongue. He’s baiting me, trying to provoke some kind of reaction so he can punish me for it. He clicks in front of me. “Are you going to dance, little girl?”
I knew the moment I was dropped back into New York that I was nothing but a pawn in a game. And although my day to day was sufficient enough, I was on a tight leash, my freedom a distant dream.
I hated coming here, being constantly patronized and my very real anguish and wounds on display to be laughed at.
The reminder that my freedom was stolen from me and I all I could do at best—was survive.
“I would stop patronizing her Slater. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones who bite the hardest.” Connor’s voice breaks the silence and a ripple of ease cuts through me, as best as possible.
Slater curses under his breath, his previous excitement immediately shut down. It shifts the entire energy of the room. Some of the members at the bar now look away.
“Always a boring prick,” Slater mumbles under his breath but takes a seat beside the bar and ignores Connor’s scathing gaze. He no longer seems interested in patronizing me as he ushers over Candy to sit in his lap as he begins to sort through the various drugs in his pocket.
The tension in my body ever so slightly eases as Connor adjusts his suit jacket as he takes his seat. The man looks no older than thirty with perfectly styled blonde hair and brown eyes. It surprised even me when I did my research on Connor Riley to discover that he was the youngest son to a wealthy businessman in New York. Not a man at the top of the food chain, but not one to be trifled with either. So I find it strange as to why he would risk his family reputation to be a part of the underworld and especially my keeper.
Then again, every family had their secrets. Maybe this line of business wasn’t so unusual.
Or even more likely, he made a deal with the devil to pursue his own goals. Ones I have no interest delving into. The more I knew, the harder it would be to get out.
“How have you found your first week in Manhattan?” Connor asks as he lights a cigar and takes a seat at the head of the room. Far more regal than Slater because he is a man who is used to wealth and achieving what he wants.
“Quiet.” Is all I say. They put me in a shithole apartment with no further instruction. I suspected I was being watched, but nobody approached me. The only interaction I had with them was here. I didn’t even know what I was back in New York for. But I know better than to question my part to play. I know what is at stake. More importantly—who.
He casually smirks as if reading in between the lines of everything that goes unsaid. “I have a gift for you.”
My eyebrows furrow. Gifts were a scary thing, considering all the attachments they came with. But he holds nothing out for me.
“I’m sure you’re bored with all that time on your hands. I’ve been able to make an agreement with a friend of mine who has available office space for you. You can continue your matchmaking for the wealthy here,” he says, kicking up a benevolent smile. My teeth grind because I can sense the amusement he has in his new role. As if I’m nothing but a pet receiving such luxuries. But I also wonder if this is from his doing or someone higher up. And why?
“Apparently, there are many elite singles in New York searching for love.” He tries not to laugh as if the notion is ridiculous. And I can imagine a douchebag like this has never fallen in love. I didn’t particularly believe in true love either, but it does make a fortune. “It’ll be a good way to push you into society again since you’ve been away for so long.”
No. No. No. No. I try not to show my disgust. Why are they trying to put me back in high society here? It will only make it harder for me to remain in the dark. The last thing I want is for people who know me to approach me because I don’t want them being caught up in this web in which I’d found myself in.
And why have they given me an office?
When I gave up ballet dancing in Russia, I found a knack for matchmaking for the wealthy. It’d become the only source of ‘freedom’ I had. I clung to it as my salvation; it was the only moment of reprieve in the reality of my chained world.
So, I’m surprised when Connor puts it back on the table, but is it a part of their plan to “reintroduce me into society”? My family is wealthy and has mild influence but nothing compared to the most recognizable names within the city. So why go to this extreme?
I swallow the lump in my throat, realizing I’ve been quiet for too long.
“Thank you,” is all I manage to say. I know better than to ask questions.
He seems pleased with my response because he smiles as he takes another puff of his cigar. His gaze appraises me carefully from top to bottom, and a cold shudder runs down my body. “On top of that, you will accompany me tomorrow evening for an event. I’ll have the appropriate attire sent your way.”
My body freezes. He wants me to step back into high society when I haven’t even replied to my own family for years. Was this a joke?
He raises an eyebrow as if daring me to protest. Now, I’m truly unsure whether these orders come from higher up or from him. They’ll put me in a shithole of an apartment but adorn me for an event in a world that I haven’t been a part of for five years.
Again, I try to ensure my facial expression doesn’t change as I nod in agreeance, accepting my fate.
His smile remains, and I refuse to avert my gaze. “Excellent, I’ll see you tomorrow evening then. And make sure you’re back here at the same time next week, or you know we’ll find you. And it won’t be fun. Well, for you.” His expression twists arrogantly.
I nod curtly before turning to leave for the door with calm contempt.
My heart is pounding, and I try to take steady breaths, counting each and every step to the door. The fear that he might call me back, and I’ll never see the light of day again, is a chilling thought that grips me. I’m terrified that my ‘protection’ is soon to run out.
I keep my iron clad composure because it’s the only thing that’s kept me alive for this long, but I refuse to let it break me.
My brain rattles with questions, but I’d learned a long time ago to not struggle against the restraints and web I’d gotten myself into.
High society.
Matchmaking.
I can do this.
I continue with one foot and then the next, doing my best to harden my steely resolve. It doesn’t matter what they throw my way, as long as I stay in line—I’ll survive.