3: Oops, He’s Dead!

MYA

When I regained consciousness, the world was spinning and my head was throbbing like it would soon fall off my head. My body felt like it had been tossed around, and the cold, hard ground beneath me did little to ease the discomfort. I blinked, forcing my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting around me. The air reeked of sweat and it made it really hard to breathe.

It took me a moment to realize where I was.

I was in a narrow dark alleyway, huge scary men surrounded me having a discussion right above my head.

“She looks good enough. How much?”

“Better than most we find. Let’s start the bidding at five hundred.”

Five hundred? My mind scrambled to catch up. Bidding? What the hell is going on?

Panic set in. They were talking about me. I was their bargaining chip. My stomach churned as fear coursed through my veins.

I inched back, desperate to put some distance between myself and the men. My movements were slow, my limbs barely making a sound. I needed to escape now that they were distracted trying to figure out how much to sell me. I was still in so much pain but I would whine about that later. I kept moving, not stopping, it looked like I was going to make it after all.

But I didn’t make it far.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice sneered, followed by a sharp slap across my cheek that sent me crashing to the ground.

“Let me go!” I yelled, struggling against the iron grip holding me in place. “What is this? Who are you people?”

My questions were met with laughter—low, mocking chuckles that made my skin crawl. “You don’t get to ask questions, sweetheart,” one of them sneered. “You’re ours now.”

I screamed, kicking and wriggling with all the strength I could muster, but it was useless. They were too strong.

“Here,” one of them said, shoving me toward a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his jawline. His cold eyes swept over me, and I shivered under his gaze.

“This one’s fresh,” the man who slapped me said, grinning. “Untouched, from the looks of her.”

The scarred man tilted his head, his lips curling into a smile that made my stomach churn. “We’ll see about that,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice trembling but defiant. “Let me go!”

The man ignored me like this wasn’t his first rodeo and my screams were all part of the job, his grip was firm as he dragged me down the alley and into a building that looked like a house from a horror movie. The inside was worse—dimly lit, with flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The smell of cheap perfume and something sour clung to the air, making me gag.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me what this place was. The half naked women lounging around, their eyes dull and lifeless, told me all I needed to know. A whorehouse.

The man stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “Are you a virgin?”

My face burned with humiliation, and I clenched my jaw, refusing to answer.

He didn’t like that. His hand shot out, grabbing the hem of my skirt. I yelled, stumbling back as he tried to lift it.

“Stop! I’m not!” I blurted out, desperation clawing at my throat.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Before I could react, he dragged me into a room and barked an order, and a woman emerged from the shadows. She was older, her face wrinkled with years of hardship, and she looked at me with pity as she stepped forward.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head as panic surged. “Don’t touch me!”

The man smirked, his amusement making me want to claw his face off. “Check her.” He ordered before stepping out.

“I’m telling you, I’m not—” My words turned into a scream as two other women grabbed me, holding me down despite my struggles. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed and kicked, but it was no use.

The humiliation was unbearable. Every second as I got probed felt like an eternity, and I silently begged for it to end. I was helpless and vulnerable and it was the worst feeling in the world.

When it was over, I lay on the floor, shaking and gasping for air as the scarred man returned. The older woman approached him, her words crystal clear. “She’s untouched.”

His face lit up with a twisted kind of happiness, and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect.”

I wanted to vomit.

“Get her ready,” he barked, his tone sharp and commanding. “be done in ten minutes, or you lose your fingers.”

The women around me scrambled to obey. I was dragged into another room, my body was too weak to resist as they stripped me and shoved me into a tub of warm water.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming.

None of them answered. They worked in silence, their faces pale and frightened as they scrubbed me clean and forced me into a skimpy dress that left little to the imagination.

My tears blurred my vision as I stood there, feeling exposed and powerless.

When the man returned, he grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. I stumbled, barely keeping up as he dragged me through the building.

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded again, my voice louder this time. “You can’t do this to me!”

He stopped abruptly, his face inches from mine as he snarled, “Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you. You belong to us now. You’ll serve our customers, just like all the other girls here.”

“No!” I shouted, pulling against his grip. “I’m not staying here! You can’t keep me here! I’m not going to sleep with random men!”

His hand shot out, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “You don’t get to decide that, sweetheart, you’re going to open your legs when I ask you to. Now move.”

The man’s words echoed in my mind. “Young, ripe, and unsullied. You’ll fetch us good money.” His eyes sparkled with greed as he appraised me like I was a piece of meat, not a person.

“You’re sick,” I spat, my voice shaking. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

In one swift motion, he pulled out a gleaming knife and pressed it against my neck.

“Say another word, and I’ll make sure you never speak again,” he hissed. His face was inches from mine, his breath hot and horrible. “You think you have a choice here? You belong to me now. If you want to live, you’ll do as you’re told.”

I wanted to scream, to fight, to run—but the blade held me in place.

He dragged me down the dimly lit hallway, stopping in front of a wooden door. He turned to me, “Inside that room is a man who paid a lot of money for someone like you. You’ll spread your legs like a good girl, or I’ll make sure tonight is your last.”

Before I could protest, he shoved me into the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I stumbled forward, catching myself against the edge of a table. The room was small and suffocating, the air thick with the stench of cigars and sweat. A man sat on a plush chair in the corner, his eyes lighting up as he saw me.

He was old—easily in his seventies—with thinning grey hair and a horrible grin that made my stomach churn. His suit looked expensive, but his presence was anything but refined.

“Come here, girl,” he said, his voice sounding like grinding rocks. He held up a glass of champagne and nodded toward the table beside him. “Pour me another drink.”

Every fibre of my being screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“I said pour me a drink,” he repeated, he sounded mad.

I shook my head, refusing to move. “No.”

His smile twisted into a scowl. “What did you say to me?”

“I’m not pouring you anything,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

He moved faster than I expected, rising from his chair and slapping me across the face with the back of his hand, I crashed into the table, the sharp edge digging into my ribs.

“You little brat,” he snarled. “You think you’re better than me? You’ll learn some respect tonight.”

Before he could say another word, I grabbed the plate of grapes from the table and hurled it at him. The plate shattered as it struck his face, and he cursed loudly, staggering back.

“You bitch!” he roared, lunging at me.

I didn’t have time to react before his hands were on me, rough and unrelenting. He shoved me onto the floor, pinning me down with his weight as his hands clawed at my dress.

“No!” I screamed beneath him. “Get off me!”

He didn’t stop. His hands tore at the fabric of my dress, My panic surged, and I moved wildly, my hands searching for something—anything—that could help me.

My fingers closed around the neck of a champagne bottle. Without thinking, I swung it with all the strength I had, smashing it against the side of his head.

The man let out a strangled cry and slumped to the floor beside me, blood dripping down his face from the shattered glass. I scrambled away, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

I stared at him, my hands trembling as I reached out to check if he was breathing.

Nothing.

The realization hit me. He was dead. I had killed him.

My breath came in short, panicked gasps as I stumbled to my feet, my mind racing. What have I done?

My eyes darted to his suit, and that’s when I saw it—a tag pinned to his jacket.

The name written on it sent a chill down my spine.

“Vincenzo De Luca, the First.”

The name was infamous. He wasn’t just any man— he was from the bravta gang, one of the biggest mafia communities in the country, a man whose name alone struck fear into people’s hearts.

Oh God, I’m so screwed.