Fear

I dig the smell of fear. It's pretty intense, you know? When it comes out from them and mixes with their cheap perfume and desperation, you can almost taste it in the air.

Tonight, the club reeks of it.

I'm sprawled on the bed in my usual private room, waiting for my next... appointment. The sheets are scratchy against my skin and probably haven't been changed in weeks. Not that I care. Everything in this shithole is disposable-the furniture, the booze, the girls. 

Especially the girls.

My fingers drum an impatient rhythm on my thigh. Where the hell is she? I check my watch-an ostentatious, gold plated monstrosity. It's all for the show, of course. The girls see it glinting on my wrist, and their eyes light up. They think they've hit the jackpot.

They're always disappointed.

The door creaks open, and I sit up, ready to unleash my displeasure on whoever's kept me waiting. But the words die in my throat as I take in the sight before me.

She's new. That much is obvious. The way she hesitates in the doorway, eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal. Her dress is too tight, practically spilling out the top. A cheap red wig sits slightly askew on her head.

"Well, well," I drawl, letting my gaze rake over her body. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

She flinches at the sound of my voice. God, I love when they do that.

"I... I'm sorry," she stammers, backing away. "I think I have the wrong room."

I'm on my feet in an instant, crossing the room in three long strides. She tries to bolt, but I'm faster. Always am. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her inside. The door slams shut behind us.

"Now, now," I chuckle, pressing her against the wall. "Don't be shy. We're all friends here."

Up close, I can see the terror in her eyes. It's delicious. She's trembling like a leaf, and I haven't even touched her. Not really.

"Please," she whimpers. "There's been a mistake."

I laugh, the sound echoing off the grimy walls. "Oh, sweetheart, the only mistake was you walking through that door. But don't worry-I'll take good care of you."

I put my hand on her throat, just enough to surprise her. Her pulse quickens under my fingers, a rapid beat of fear. I get closer and take a deep breath. Underneath the strong perfume and the lingering smell of cigarettes on her clothes, there's something... different. Fresh. Pure.

"You're new here, aren't you?" I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. "I love breaking in the new ones."

She struggles weakly against me, but it's pointless. I outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, all of it muscle. I've taken down men twice my size without breaking a sweat. This slip of a girl doesn't stand a chance.

"Kind of skinny," I muse, running my free hand down her side. "But you've got some tits on you."

Suddenly, she lashes out. Her knee connects with my groin, and for a split second, pain explodes through my body. But I've been hit harder by better. I shake it off, grinning wolfishly.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" 

I toss her across the room like she weighs nothing. She crashes into the rickety bedside table, sending it toppling. The lamp shatters on impact, plunging the room into near darkness. The only light now comes from the neon signs outside, casting everything in a sickly red glow.

She's sprawled on the floor, gasping in pain. I advance slowly, savoring the moment. This is my favorite part-when they realize there's no escape. When hope dies in their eyes.

But as I reach for her, something changes. The fear in her expression hardens into something else. Determination? Anger? 

Then I see it. My gun, lying on the floor where it fell from the overturned table. 

Shit.

Her hand inches towards the weapon, and for the first time tonight, I feel a flicker of unease. This isn't how it's supposed to go. They're not supposed to fight back. Not like this.

"Don't do anything stupid," I growl, trying to regain control of the situation. "You don't want to make this worse for yourself."

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know it's too late. She's got the gun now, fingers wrapping around the grip with surprising steadiness. 

"Stay back," she says, her voice shaking but determined. 

I raise my hands, taking a step back. My mind races, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I've been in tight spots before, but this is different.

"Look," I say, forcing a smile. "Let's just calm down, alright? No need for things to get messy. Why don't you put that down, and we can talk about this like adults?"

Her laugh is bitter, bordering on hysterical. "Talk? You want to talk now?"

I take another step back, eyeing the distance to the door. If I can just get close enough...

"I know things got a little out of hand," I say, keeping my voice low and soothing. "But it's not too late to fix this. Just give me the gun, and we can forget this ever happened."

For a moment, I think I've got her. Her grip on the weapon wavers, uncertainty flashing across her face. 

Then her eyes hardened again. "No," she says firmly. "I don't think so."

Before I can react, she's on her feet, and the gun trained steadily on my chest. 

"You're going to sit down," she orders, gesturing to the bed with the weapon. "Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."

I am considering my options. I could probably disarm her if I moved fast enough. But there's something in her eyes that gives me pause. This isn't some drugged out stripper or desperate junkie. This girl knows how to handle a gun.

Who the hell is she?

I sit on the edge of the bed, hands raised in surrender. "Alright," I say carefully. "You've got my attention. What do you want?"

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Information," she says. "And you're going to give it to me."

I can't help but laugh. "Information? Sweetheart, I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm just here for a good time, same as anyone else."

Her eyes narrow. "Cut the bullshit, Daniel. I know who you are. I know what you do."

The use of my name sends a chill down my spine. This is bad. Very bad.

"I don't know what you think you know," I say slowly, "but I can assure you."

"Shut up," she snaps. "I'm not interested in your lies. I want to know about the trafficking ring. The girls you've been moving through this club. Where are they being sent?"

Jesus Christ. How deep is this rabbit hole?

"Look," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding. I'm just a customer here. I don't know anything about"

The gun goes off with a deafening crack. I flinch as the bullet embeds itself in the wall inches from my head.

"The next one goes in your kneecap," she says coldly. "Start talking."

For the first time in years, real fear grips me. This isn't how it was supposed to go. None of this was supposed to happen.

As I stare down the barrel of my own gun, held steady in the han

ds of this slip of a girl I'd so badly underestimated, one thought echoes through my mind:

I am so fucked.