by Nina Park
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to send myself to another place entirely. I tried to imagine I was at home – not in Lacey’s living room on her pull out, but at my home, the one I’d shared with my mother and stepdad since I was a child. I could see my room with the purple walls and bright yellow comforter. I could see the chair next to the window where I would sit and read, but mostly where I would pile all of my discarded clothes. I could smell my favorite dinner, chicken and dumplings, wafting up from the kitchen below.
Marco slipped his hand beneath my dress, and the image disappeared.
He whistled. “No panties? You are a firecracker, aren’t you?”
I jumped away from him, pulling my dress down to nearly my knees, willing the stretchy fabric to stay put. “That’s enough.” My words came out shaky and unconvincing. There was no power behind them, and based on the smile pulling at Marco’s lips, I could tell he wasn’t concerned.
“I’ll say when it’s enough.”
He took a step towards me and reached for my chest. His palm massaged the mound of my breast for a second before I could back away from him again.
“Don’t.”
This time, Marco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked annoyed. And more than that, he didn’t look human. I’d always heard people talk about evil, and I never really bought into the idea. People weren’t evil, they simply made bad choices. Everyone had the capacity for goodness inside of them, but some people simply ignored it.
Now, though, looking into Marco’s eyes as he narrowed them and tilted his head at me, I realized how wrong I’d been. Evil existed, and I was looking at it.
Marco moved towards me, forcing me back into the corner of his office. My back hit the wall, and he positioned his hands against the wall on either side of my head. His breath was hot and thick on my face. He smelled like liquor and smoke.
“You belong to me.” He snarled, his lip curling around his words. “I bought you, so it is my right to do with you what I please.”
“I’m a human being,” I whispered, my eyes focused on a point over his shoulder, unable to make eye contact.
“You don’t seem to understand the situation, dear. You’re a slave.” Marco laughed. “And I don’t like when my slaves talk back.”
He slowly began walking backward until his calves hit the edge of the armchair I’d just been sitting in. He lowered himself into the chair and then patted his knee. “Come here.”
I didn’t move. My heartbeat was radiating throughout my body. I was pretty certain each thud was shaking my kneecaps.
Again, Marco slapped his knee. “Come here,” he said through gritted teeth.
I wanted to resist, but I knew it was futile, and I could tell by the barely restrained anger in his eyes that I shouldn’t push him too far. So, against all of my instincts, I crossed the ten feet that separated us until I was standing in front of Marco.
“Bend over,” he said.
I began to shake my head, but Marco already had his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me down towards him. My chest collided with his knee, knocking the wind out of me. Marco grabbed the fabric of my dress and lifted it, pushing it up to my waist, leaving my bare butt exposed. Then, he reared back and slapped me.
The crack echoed off the walls and ceiling, and immediately my skin began to sting. I hadn’t been spanked since I was a child, and I’d never particularly understood women who found it to be a turn on. It was demeaning and painful.
Before I even had a chance to react, Marco’s hand came down on me again.
Laying across his lap as I was, I felt his length hardening and straining against his suit pants. He enjoyed what he was doing, and I began to worry that he would feel the need to teach me a lesson in another way once we were done.
He slapped me again, and I couldn’t help it, I whimpered.
Marco groaned.
This continued for six more slaps. Until my backside felt raw and chaffed. Until tears were pooling in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. I felt more degraded than I ever had in my entire life.
Finally, Marco rolled me off his lap, so I landed in a heap on the floor. I quickly fought with the fabric of my dress to cover myself and stood up, moving as far away from him as I could.
“You will be working for me,” he said, standing up, clenching and unclenching the hand he’d just used to slap me. I could tell the palm of it was red. “You will be living in the club downstairs, servicing whoever I ask you to service, helping me close deals. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand, not even remotely, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. So, I nodded, and Marco clapped his hands together.
“Great. Let me show you your quarters.”
Chapter Nine
Falyn
Marco led me back down the stairs I’d originally come up, through the lobby, and into the main part of the building. There was a bar, and a few different seating areas. It resembled a hotel lobby more than anything else. The floors were wooden and worn in all the places where people walked.
The walls had wooden wainscoting on the bottom half and faded maroon paint on the top half. The ceiling was a drop ceiling with large water stains and sagging tiles. Along the left side of the room was a wall of identical wooden doors. I wondered whether I would be staying in one of those rooms, but Marco seemed to be heading for the bar.
He walked the length of the bar top and then turned the corner. In a small nook behind the bar was a hidden doorway. Marco pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Then, he pushed me inside.
The room was dim, but my eyes adjusted quickly. It appeared we were in some kind of dormitory. There were two sets of metal bunk beds, one on each side of the room, and one other door aside from the main one.
“This is your room,” Marco said, gesturing grandly to the small, dingy space. “That door leads to your bathroom, and the door you just came through is the only exit. I have the key, and you do not. I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your roommates.”
With that, Marco left. I heard the door lock behind me.
It took me a few seconds to realize what Marco meant. When he’d first opened the door, the room had been silent and dark, so I’d assumed it was empty. Now that he was gone, though, I heard the slight rustling of blankets and saw movement atop each of the beds.
“Hello?”
No one answered me, and fear squeezed my throat shut. Who was I sharing a room with? Were they other women, like me, or men, like the pockmarked man Marco had in his office?
I stepped backward, my spine connecting hard with the doorknob.
Finally, a small voice responded, “Who are you?”
It was clearly a woman’s voice, which helped some of my fears abate. I cleared my throat and stood taller.
“Falyn,” I replied, stopping just short of giving my full name.
I didn’t know why, but it seemed important to me to preserve something of my old life. Falyn Tucker was free, not locked up in a small prison cell.
The woman who spoke sat up in bed and looked down on me. She was small and birdlike. Her cheeks looked hollow, and even in the dark room, I could tell her hair was limp and knotted.
“I’m Angie,” she said, her voice as soft as the wind. “That’s Bianca.”
She pointed to the other bed, but no one moved. I stood on my tiptoes to try and see up to the top bunk, but the most I could see was the soft movement of the blankets as the woman beneath them breathed.
“Is she sleeping?” I asked.
Angie frowned and then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Where are we?”
Her thin shoulders shrugged. “An abandoned building near the docks as best as I can tell. Sometimes I hear the foghorn of passing ships.”
“So you don’t know what this building is?”
“Oh, no. I know what this building is; I just don’t know where it is.”
“Okay. Then what is this building?”
�
��Marco’s clubhouse.”
I sighed. That didn’t tell me anything. I had gathered that much on my own. However, I swallowed my frustration. These two women were likely going to be the only friends I had while I was in “Marco’s Clubhouse”, so it wouldn’t behoove me to be rude to them right off the bat.
“Who is Marco? I mean, what’s his deal?” I asked, hoping that was a question Angie could answer a bit more fully.
“You don’t know who Marco is?” she asked.
I sighed. Clearly not. “No, I don’t.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Marco Santorelli?”
I shook my head and shrugged. His name meant nothing to me.
“He’s the new boss on the east side. His family has been running crime rings in the city for years. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t at least heard of the Santorelli name.”
A boss? Like in the mafia? Surely not. There was no way I could have accidentally found myself tangled up in mafia business.
“He’s a mafioso, and this club is where he entertains clients from out of town,” she continued.
“Entertains?” I asked, biting my lower lip. “As in…?”
Angie sighed and nodded. “As in, we are the entertainment. Yes.”
My heart sank. I’d suspected as much, but no one had actually said it out loud. I’d been able to fool myself into thinking that perhaps I would be serving drinks or stripping, at worst. But that had been childish. Of course, I was a sex slave. People didn’t buy women for free labor. They bought them for free sex.
I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Most mafiosos buy hookers, but Marco likes owning his women. He thinks it gives him more control over us and provides a better experience for his clients,” Angie said.
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked.
“I’ve been in this world a long time.”
“Here at the clubhouse?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve only been here for two weeks. Before this, I was one of the hookers Marco regularly used for his clients. I think he got tired of paying me.”
I moved across the room and collapsed on the bed below the silent Bianca. Everything felt too overwhelming. I wanted to ask Angie a million more questions about what to expect, but I also felt too emotionally drained to process any of the answers. I needed sleep.
“You don’t look so good,” Angie said.
“I don’t feel so good,” I answered.
“You look a bit too clean-cut. Have you done sex work before?”
I shook my head.
Angie clacked her tongue. “I didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, though I didn’t know why I was apologizing. “You’ve been here for two weeks. That must be horrible.”
Angie shrugged. “Bianca has been here two months.”
“Does she ever talk?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable talking about her when she was right above me.
“Not much. She doesn’t think we are going to make it out of here. There was another girl in here with us, Lucy. But she was real pretty, like you, and one of the clients bought her.”
“They bought her from Marco?”
Angie nodded. “You’ll learn that Marco is all about the money. If you stop performing well and the men no longer want to pay for you, he’ll get rid of you. And if, like Lucy, you perform a bit too well, Marco will sell you off to the highest bidder. But I don’t know… that might not be too bad.”
Bianca snorted but didn’t respond.
“Don’t pay attention to her,” Angie said, waving away Bianca’s disgust. “There is hope for us still. Especially for you. You’re curvy and healthy-looking. You’ll be a big hit around here, and I wouldn’t doubt you’ll get special treatment from Marco.”
A big hit around here. My stomach rolled, thinking about what it meant to be a big hit at a sex club. I’d run away from Brett’s attack in the alley only to walk into something much much worse. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand the idea of saying another word. I pulled my legs up onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, and rolled over, facing the wall.
“Goodnight, then,” Angie said.
I heard her tossing around in her bed for a few minutes, and then I heard the even sound of her breathing. I couldn’t even be certain I fell asleep. My mind never turned off. It simply ran through the events of the day over and over again, replaying the horrors on an endless loop.
I had finally drifted into an exhausted stupor when the door to the dorm flew open, the metal doorknob smashing against the brick wall.
“Rise and shine!” a man screamed.
I bolted upright so fast I hit my head on the bottom of the bunk above me. I looked over, and Angie hadn’t even set up yet. Apparently, that meant this kind of wake up was what I should expect.
A tray with three mugs and three identical plates of food – dry toast and slippery eggs – landed on the floor between the beds. My stomach growled at the sight of it, and I realized how hungry I was. I began to move towards the food when suddenly there was a body in my way. I jolted back, and a man laughed.
I looked up into his face. It was the pockmarked man from Marco’s office the night before. He was smiling down at me with his yellow teeth.
“What did I tell you, man? This one is juicy.”
I realized he was talking to someone and turned to see another man by the door. He looked young, barely older than I was, and he wore a wicked grin.
“You may have even undersold her, Fox. Those curves are banging.”
The pockmarked man was Fox. I filed that information away in my mind, hoping it would become useful later. I wasn’t sure what information would be useful in my eventual escape, so I was cataloging as much as I could.
Fox backed away and reached up to bang on the bar around Bianca’s mattress. “Up and at ‘em. You can’t make any money while lying in your bed.”
The man by the door laughed. “Actually, she could. Though, I don’t know what man could get it up in this depressing room.”
Both men cackled.
“Don’t you think my joke was funny?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
He crossed the room and kneeled down in front of me, so our faces were on the same level.
I didn’t find his joke particularly funny. In fact, I found it repugnant. I didn’t say any of this though. Instead, I just stared at him, my features arranged into a neutral mask.
“Come on,” he cooed, stroking my cheek with his oily finger. “Smile for me, baby.”
I grimaced at him, unable to keep my hatred for the man from boiling over.
Suddenly, he reared back and slapped me. The same stinging sensation I’d felt on my ass the night before was now coursing through my cheek. I fell sideways from the force and clutched my cheek.
“Hey, man,” Fox said, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him back. “Marco won’t like it if you bruise his new purchase. Take it easy.”
The young man’s face was a violent shade of red, but with each passing second, his normal color seemed to be returning. His chest was heaving, and I wondered what it must be like to carry that kind of rage around inside of you. I wondered if I wouldn’t carry that same kind of rage inside of me by the time this experience was over.
The thought was a hopeless one, so I pushed it aside. The longer I could go before turning into Bianca, the better. If I wanted to escape this place, I needed hope. I needed to believe I could be free again.
I sat up in my bed and blinked back the tears that stung the backs of my eyes. Me and the young man faced off, each of us shooting daggers at the other.
Finally, his lip curled back, and he spat at me. “Stupid slut.”
With that, both men left, and I laid back down. My appetite had disappeared.
Chapter Ten
Cade
Marco Santorelli is an insanely easy mafioso to get into contact with. Despite his family’s longstanding history in the city and the number of peopl
e he has working underneath him, he still fields his own phone calls and hands out his personal number to his associates. He answered on the third ring.
“Marco Santorelli speaking,” he said, his words clipped and hurried as if he had people waiting on several other lines.
