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Chapter 1 - Kat
The hairs on my arms stand on end as cool air brushes over my skin. It is a gentle, refreshing reminder of where I am, and what I am about to do.
Bodies bustle on either side of me down the sidewalk, amongst them a few students I met at the last bar I stopped to have a drink in. One of the girls hooks her arm in mine before leaning over to shout something in my ear that I do not quite catch. Not that it matters; there is a good chance I will never see any of them ever again. So, I smile and nod as she points to the dark building rising in front of us.
As my heels click against the pavement, anxiety rises in my chest as it always does, reminding me of what could go wrong, about the risks of being associated with my father’s world. And as always, I tamp it back down.
Most days I am a pawn, a chess piece in my father’s bid for dominance. I have little say over what I do, where I go, or what I wear. Every move is monitored by one or more of my father’s minions. My routine is pre-determined, and I am expected to abide by it. For the most part, I do, following all the rules like a good daughter.
But not tonight. Tonight, I do not share blood with the head of a powerful syndicate. In my short, skin-tight black dress and red gladiator heels, I am not caught in the prison of my life. I am simply Kat; a college student who barbeques with her parents on the weekends, has a chihuahua named Rex, and sometimes blows off steam with friends—aka the strangers I met an hour ago who have no idea who I am.
When we reach the door, we do not head to the back of the line like I expected. Instead, we are ushered in by one of the bouncers ahead of everyone else. I realize this was likely what the girl was trying to tell me. It must be good for business for them to let in a few scantily clad women for the men to look at.
The moment we pass through the heavy doors, I am assaulted by loud techno music that vibrates through my chest. Down a flight of steps in the middle of the room, the dance floor is barely visible through thick clouds of smoke that billow out of machines in each corner. Even with the ceiling as high as two stories, the fog still spills over onto the landings that wrap around the dance floor, creating a blanket that hugs the bodies congregating there. It’s a comforting scenario. It means I should be well hidden. Even though I have gone out many times and not been caught yet, I am always worried about one of my father’s lapdogs happening upon me. My few days of stolen freedom would be over.
Tina, the girl with the hookup who got us in—I only know her name because one of the other girls just called her by it—grabs my hand and tugs me towards the bar.
“We are doing shots, right?”
Shots to kick start the enjoyment of the night? Definitely. “Sure, why not.”
By the time Tina and I get to the bar, the girls have lined up little glasses containing golden liquid. Looks an awful lot like tequila. Why is it always tequila?
A shot is shoved in my hand just as one of the girls shouts, “Drink up, bitches,” and then we are all tossing them back.
The liquid burns its way down my throat, stealing my breath and making me question my every decision leading up to this point. And yet, I know I will be doing another one soon. Sure enough, a few minutes later, one of the girls buys another round that we all toss back again before making our way to the dance floor.
The moment my heels leave the bottom step and touch the dance floor, I feel my anxiety lift. The alcohol has already started to take effect, flowing through my limbs and loosening them. With Tina and my other newfound friends in tow, we claim a small spot and start dancing.
Pushing aside all my everyday thoughts, I let the music take over as I sway my hips. I lose track of time, lifting my hands over my head as I move, only dropping them to twist my long dark hair over one shoulder as the temperature on the dance floor rises.
At one point, we all head over to the bar for another round of shots. I buy the round after that, discreetly pulling my credit card out of my cleavage. I did not bring a jacket or a bag, and my second-skin dress does not have pockets, so it was the only place to put it. As I am tucking it away, Tina nudges me. “Looks like you have an admirer.”
Following her gaze, my eyes land on an attractive guy in a business suit leaning on the bar. He smiles, raises his glass, and winks. I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“What?” Tina gapes at me. “Why not?”
“Because he looks like he works in stock markets and drives a Prius.”
“So? What’s wrong with that? And he’s hot!”
Because he does not seem like the kind of person my father could gain something from. The only way my father would part with me is if he got something out of the deal. He has made that very clear. He does not know it, but I am aware of the talks of marrying me off to one of his business partners to sweeten a deal.
My train of thought has barely left the station when Wall Street ambles over. He gives me a toothy smile. “Hi. I’m Kevin.”
Tina walks over to talk to a guy a few steps away, I presume to give us some unneeded privacy.
I smile politely. “Hi, Kevin.”
Kevin’s hair is slicked back with at least half a tub of product, the crusted strands glistening under the dim lights.
Oblivious to social cues, he leans in to shout over the music. “I work at the glass building three blocks over.”
I’m not familiar with this area, but I would put money on that being a trading company. I snort a laugh. “I suppose you drive a Prius too?”
“I do, how did you know?” Kevin chuckles, like me guessing right is a good thing. He rocks back on his heels and gives me a shy smile. I am surprised he had the courage to come over. He seems to be lacking in the backbone department.
My father would chew him up and spit him out. So would I, if I’m being honest.
