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I open my mouth, but no words come out. Fear has rendered me mute, paralyzed by the threat of his escalating aggression. This is not the same man who tipped Daniela, Julia, and I twenty dollars earlier today.
The man’s jaw tightens, and he grabs my arms in a vise-like grip. I whimper involuntarily as his fingers dig into my flesh.
“Damian,” the man in the doorway says, his voice full of warning, but the handsome man—Damian—ignores him.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” he hisses. “Give me your fucking name.”
Tears sting my eyes. “A–Alexis,” I stammer out, my voice trembling. “My name is Alexis.”
Damian releases his grip, a satisfied smirk spreading across his handsome face. “See?” he says mockingly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I say nothing, my body trembling with a potent mixture of fear and shame. I have surrendered my identity to this stranger, and at this moment, I feel powerless.
“I’m Damian. And to answer your question, you’re at my house. Now that those pleasantries are done, what were you doing with an Invicta soldier?”
Who?
My confusion must be evident on my face because Damian rolls his eyes. “You were held at gunpoint earlier,” he says. “By an Invicta gang member. Why was he after you?”
“I–I don’t know,” I whisper, still scared from Damian’s question about my name. I rub my arms self-consciously, painfully aware of the dress I’m wearing. Shame burns at my cheeks and I struggle to hold back tears.
Damian cocks his head to the side, dark eyes studying me. “You don’t know?” he repeats.
I shake my head furiously, ignoring the wave of pain from doing so. “No.”
He circles me, like a predator stalking its prey. “See, I don’t believe that, Alexis. You mean to tell me you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time in a neighborhood run by Invicta?” He scoffs, pausing and shaking his head. “Can you see why I don’t believe you?”
I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I don’t know who Invicta is and I don’t understand what he means when he says the neighborhood is ‘run by Invicta’.
“Do you know The Brotherhood?”
I stiffen. Mark indicated that he was planning on selling me to them, but I know next to nothing about them other than their name. “No, I don’t.”
“So.” Damian resumes his circling. “Either you’re lying to me—which I highly advise you don’t do—or you’re a hooker and it was a date gone wrong.” He glances at my dress, his eyes lingering on my bare legs.
I gape at him. White-hot anger suddenly courses through me. Before I can stop myself, my open palm connects with Damian’s cheek in a resounding slap. “I am not a prostitute!” I nearly shriek. “How dare you!”
He stumbles back, and when he looks up at me, there’s anger flashing in those dark eyes of his that promise retribution.
“Damian!” the woman calls out urgently, seeing the severity of this situation.
I shrink back, my impulsive act suddenly weighing heavily on me. What was I thinking, assaulting this stranger like that? Especially a stranger who has me in his house and has enough strength to break a baseball bat in half?
Damian turns to the door where the woman and man are. “Leave us,” he says dangerously.
“But—”
“Now.”
The two exchange looks, and I want to shout for them to please stay, but I’m incapable of doing so. Instead, I watch helplessly as the woman and man close the door, their footsteps fading away.
Damian whirls around toward me, a hand raised in the air. The scene is all too familiar to me, and I flinch, my heart pounding.
“P–Please, don’t hit me,” I plead, tears springing to my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. It was an accident. I?—”
Damian pauses, his hand still in the air, a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. “Hit you? I wasn’t about to hit you!”
Staring at him warily, I gesture to his upraised hand. He tracks my movement, and I can see realization wash over him. His tense shoulders loosen and he lowers his hand to his side.
