2. Paris
Paris
Six Months ago…
I’m shivering as goosebumps prickle my skin. My arms are locked across my body as I try to calm my nerves. I have no clue where I am or who took me. After they pushed me inside a van in the middle of broad daylight, they tied my hands with black zip ties, and pulled a bag over my head.
No one helped me as I kicked and screamed. Onlookers just gawked, pointed, and some even pulled out their phones to record while I screamed for anyone to help me. No one intervened. Now, I’m standing in this room after someone pushed me inside, uncuffed me, then removed the bag from my head.
I don’t know what’s happening. They only told me to behave, so I don’t get hurt before slamming the door and locking it from the outside.
“What the hell is going on?”
I startle, backing away as far as I can get from the door when heavy footsteps approach. I search the large room for anything to use as a weapon, but except for a nightstand and the enormous bed taking up most of the space it’s virtually empty.
The walls are bare—no pictures or decorations, and the hardwood floors are scuffed. It’s not much to look at, but it’s not some musky dungeon or jail cell either, so I guess I should be grateful for that.
I take another step closer to the wall away from the door when the footsteps stop in front of it. The door creaks open, revealing a man in a crisp black suit, his silver hair combed back away from his slim face. He appears to be in his late fifties, with a long gash across his cheek.
His face is stoic as he clasps his tattooed hands behind his back.
“My name is Yuri.” His thick accent is slow and deliberate, each word drawn out.
Definitely eastern European, possibly Russian.
“I’m to escort you, but you must behave, or I’ll have to tie your hands again.
And I don’t want to do that. Do you understand, Miss Johnson? ”
My eyes widen. “How do you know my name?” I take a few steps away from him until my back is plastered against the wall. “Where am I?”
He smiles, but it looks forced, almost like he’s trying to ease my panic, but it’s only making it worse. “That is not important at this time. Are you going to behave, or do I need to put the zip ties back on?”
I shake my head as more fear slithers down my spine. “I’ll behave.”
He offers me another smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in a painful grimace. “Thank you. Now, let’s go. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Keep who waiting?”
“Follow me,” he says, instead of answering my questions.
I tighten my arms around my body and follow the stranger out of the room. We step into the hallway and it’s like we’ve stepped into another world.
Luxury.
It’s over the top to say the least. It’s something most people can never afford. Everything is white, marble, and trimmed in gold. I don’t know for sure if it’s actual gold, but looking around at how huge this place is, it’s probably real.
We step into a rotunda with a large circular glass table sitting in the center. A massive vase overflowing with stark white and black roses dominates the center of the room, directly beneath a huge, glittering chandelier.
“Where the hell am I?” I mumble to myself.
The man’s shiny black shoes resonate off the white marble floors as I follow him at a safe distance.
I try to shake off the feeling of impending doom, a cold dread settling in my stomach, but I can’t.
The only sounds are my heart hammering in my chest and the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of his footsteps echoing in my ears.
When we stop at the end of a hallway off to the right of the rotunda, at a large mahogany door with an intricately carved lion’s head in the center, the need to run takes over my body. But the man’s warning replays in my mind. I don’t want to be restrained again.
The man knocks on the door, but he doesn’t wait for a response before he pushes the large door open.
Reluctantly, I follow without question because there’s no point in running.
I have no idea where I’m at or where to go.
I’ve already been warned so if I bolt, the consequences will probably be worse.
Stepping into the office, the acrid smell of alcohol and cigarettes burn my nostrils. A faint cloud of white smoke rises from an older man who’s sitting behind a huge ornate oak desk.
He looks like he’s in his mid-to-late sixties. His black hair, with a smattering of gray throughout, is slicked back from his hauntingly pale face. The most unnerving part is how he’s staring at me. Evil reflects in his crystal blue eyes, a cold, dark glint that chills me to the bone.
A familiar face meets my gaze, but before I can say anything to my brother, the chubby man behind the huge lavish oak desk puts out a cigarette, then stands to his feet.
“You were right, Kurt.” He looks at me from my head to my feet, and a shudder runs down my spine. “She’s more than beautiful. She’s exquisite.”
The predatory gleam in his eyes as he moves from around his desk and walks toward my brother, causes me to take a step back as I look at him. Kurt nods, but he says nothing and neither do I. I have no idea what’s going on or why I’m here.
“She stays with my son for three years and your debt is paid in full,” the man says. “Those are the terms.”
My brother smiles and sticks out his hand to the chubby man. They shake hands and my brother heads toward the door.
“What’s going on, Kurt?” I rush to my brother and grab his arm. “What did you do!”
He looks at me, his eyes vacant and unfocused. I don’t know if he’s high or drunk, but I don’t see my brother staring back at me. I know he’s had problems for a while, but I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.
“Just do whatever they say, Paris. You’ll be alright. It’s only three years.”
He jerks his arm out of my grip.
“Have you lost your mind!” I scream but he just scoffs like it’s no big deal, and leaves. I’m screaming his name as I try to follow him, but the man who escorted me here grabs me before I can run after my brother.
“Don’t do that Ms. Johnson.” His voice is chillingly calm, each word a deadly warning, I don’t want to test. “It will only make things worse.”
What the hell can be worse than this?
Tears stream down my face as I look at the chubby man; the cruel glint in his eyes confirm my worst fears.
“Yuri, call Nikita,” the chubby man says, a greasy smirk splitting his face as he speaks. “Tell him I have him a gift for him.”
“Yes, Pakhan.”
I rush toward the door again, but the man in the suit steps in front of it, blocking my path.
“I’m not staying here!” I try my best to get past him, but even for his age, he’s too strong for me. “Let me go! Kurt! Kurt!”
Even though I know my screams for my brother are in vain, I still hold on to hope he won’t abandon me here. Wherever here is. But after a few moments when he doesn’t come back, my heart sinks into my gut.
He left me. He really left me here with these people.
The chubby man comes to stand in from of me. When he tries to run his finger down the side of my face, I turn my head away. He grabs my chin, then forces me to look at him. His fat fingers dig into my skin, and I wince from the pain.
“You are now my property.” He runs the tip of his nose up the side of my face, inhaling as he goes. I push down the bile rising in my throat. “No one will come and save you.”
“Please, let me go.”
He drops his hand from my face, taking a step back before walking back to his desk, then sitting down. “Your pleas don’t sway me, girl. I love to hear them. But I’ll make an agreement with you. If you can pay your brother’s debt, then by all means.” He motions to the door. “You are free to leave.”
“How much does he owe?”
I hate the wobble in my voice, showing the sheer panic clawing through me because I think this man feeds off of it. I don’t want to make him more interested in me than he already is.
“Three hundred thousand plus interest.”
“Oh my god, I can’t pay that!”
He shrugs because he already knew I couldn’t. “Then there’s nothing more to discuss. You now belong to my son. He’ll take excellent care of you, I’m sure.”
He looks me up and down, then I try to run to the door, but the man who escorted me grabs me.
“Yuri, make sure the doctor gives her a shot. If she gets pregnant, she’s worthless to him and me.”
Yuri nods, then looks at me. For a moment, pity fills the older man’s eyes before it disappears. Without saying anything, he takes something from his blazer’s pocket. He quickly grabs me as I struggle against his hold. I feel a pinch and my hand reaches for my neck as the room blurs.
“What the hell…. You drugged me…”
An overwhelming exhaustion settles over me. Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I attempt to remain standing. Before I collapse to the floor, the man scoops me into his arms like a bridal embrace.
“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. Though his voice holds no malice, a deep sense of pity resonates in each word. “Rest because tomorrow things are going to get much worse for you.”
My mouth is moving, or at least I think it is, but no words are coming out.
Even if they are, I don’t expect him to respond.
However, I do want to know what he means when he says it’s going to get worse for me.
But I’m so tired. Not tired in a good way, either.
Tired like if I close my eyes, I’m not going to open them again.
Yet it’s no use. I listen to what he says and even though I know I should try to keep fighting, I don’t.
However, I do send up a quick prayer to whoever’s listening that when I wake up, his words aren’t true.
That this is all some fucked up nightmare I’ve created in my own mind and it’s not going to get any worse.