Page 72 of Until Ace

“Who?” the man growls before I even have a chance to explain further, his spit hitting my nose.

Gross.

“M-M-Mr. Gorskiy.”

Anton Gorskiy, Russian mobster and the monster my idiotic brother decided to borrow money from.

Of course, as Jim is a complete moron, he decided running away was the best option for him when it was time to pay up.

In truth, it was… for him. For the rest of us, mainly me, it was the worst-case scenario.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters and lowers the knife.

My body sags against the wall, but my relief is short-lived when he says, “Come with me,” and uses his hold on my upper arm to pull me away from my spot, walking me deeper into the darkness.

I can’t see where we’re going, but after just a few steps, he sharply turns, bangs on what sounds like a metal door, and, before I have a chance to grasp what’s happening, puts a hood over my head.

“Do not take that off.” This is said in a voice hard as granite. All I can do is nod mutely, hoping he sees my agreement in the dark.

A moment later, I can hear the door opening and a slightly muted, “It’s her. Take her to him.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Disbelief is dripping from the statement, and the man holding on to me hands me over.

Whoever has me in their grasp now has a firm grip on me like the last guy, but something is different. I just can’t put my finger on what.

“Nope, she just waltzed in like she was at a store, looking for a new bag or some shit,” the man from the corner says. I knew he was watching me the moment I walked in. I just had no idea he knew who I was.

“Fuck, that was dumb,” the second, deeper voice mutters before I’m led outside to a car and put in the back seat, the command to keep the hood on uttered once again.

One thing’s for sure. I’m not taking this hood off my head, no matter what.

Another one is that, ready or not—and hoping against all hope I’ll somehow pull off a miracle to clear myself from this mess—I’m about to meet Mr. Gorskiy.

As the car starts, a wave of terror engulfs me, taking my breath away. I have no idea if I’ll ever be free again, or happy and safe. Tucking my hands under my legs, hanging my head in defeat, I promise myself I’ll never give up. I’ll find my way back to Ace.

“We’re here.” The words, said in a surprisingly soft tone, drift over to me.

We drove for what felt like more than an hour. I lost any form of direction as to where we were going and replaced the terror of my current situation with alternately berating myself for coming to the Pleasure Den in the first place and utter despair over losing any chance of seeing Ace ever again.

The flashes of that waitress’s eyes didn’t help the situation at all.

Would that be me?

Will I be lost in the bowels of the Den, forced to dance and let men do whatever they want to my body? Or will I be whisked away from everything, lost, and held at the mercy of whoever gets possession of me?

I have no idea how this works, nor the depth of hell the Russian mob could put me through, but I do watch a lot of TV, so my imagination is not helping at this moment at all.

“He doesn’t look happy.”

“Would you be?”

“Nope.”

My two captors chat like nothing out of the ordinary is going on. For them, there probably isn’t. For them, this is probably just another Friday night. Go to work, and in the middle of your shift, deliver a hooded girl in the back seat of your car to your boss.

The car stops, and the two men exit, locking the car behind them, with me left inside. I feel my whole body start trembling.

I was okay-ish until now, left to the images I came up with by myself. But while my mind was running with what would happen, I kept telling myself I was overreacting, that no one did those kinds of things. With the echo of the door closing and my impending doom just moments away, I’m not so sure anymore.