The man feared by Demons

Celia

I snuck a look backward, half-expecting someone else to be there. "Wh—what?"

The smile slipped from the man's face and his eyes hardened. He pushed his chair backwards with a loud creak, then walked towards me with a slow but steady precision and an air of authority. I looked up to stare into his eyes as I was several inches shorter than he was. I knew I was tall, but this man was way taller. 

Alexander Hamilton...I'd heard that name being thrown around by my parents a couple of times, times where I'd been privy to their private discussions. They usually metioned the Hamilton name with a mixture of revulsion and fear, as though they had a score to settle with him.

I stood there, trembling, in the dimly lit office of the most powerful man in the city. My mind ran amok with equal shock and confusion, unable to fully process the magnitude of the situation that had unfolded on my eighteenth birthday. The guard's arrival at my father's house had torn apart the fragile illusion of my twisted and abusive childhood, leaving behind a raw and heartbreaking reality.

I didn't belong to my parents. I never did.

Alexander Hamilton looked at me for several moments, as though he could read my thoughts. His piercing, green-eyed gaze seemed to dissect every thought that crossed my mind. I pulled my eyes away, swallowing hard.

I had been nothing more than a pawn, a means to settle a debt my parents owed his family. My childhood and freedom had been traded away, had changed hands like a cheap commodity.

"Do you know why you're here, Celia?" He asked, his voice sinister. I blanched. How had he known my name?

As though reading my thoughts, an eerie smile crept up his face, sending goosebumps of terror down my arms. "I keep tabs on everything and everyone I own, Celia. Including you."

Everyone he owned. Just how many other hapless, ignorant girls did he have in his possession?

I opened my mouth to snap this back at him, but I held myself in check just in time. If there was anything I'd learned about powerful men from my father, it was that they never ever liked to be questioned by women. Hamilton was no exception: he simply oozed a formidable, unquestionable power from where he stood.

"I don't know exactly why I'm here, except for the fact that I'd been some sort of...collateral?"

Alexander nodded and smiled, a malicious upturning of the lips. "That's right. We gave you out to your father when you were a child, and you were supposed to work and earn money, which in turn would be used to pay your father's debt pending the time you turned eighteen."

Each word hit me like a low blow. Suddenly all the memories of my past jobs came hurtling back: the years and years I'd spent toiling in the local bakery, the few months I'd worked in a bar downtown, my summer jobs as a mall attendant, had all gone into repaying a debt?

I frowned. "I don't...understand—"

He raised impressive dark eyebrows. "You don't? You're a smart girl, Celia. Connect the dots."

When I still looked confused, he sighed impatiently and turned to the table, rummaged through some files, then came up with a sheaf of papers, which he handed over to me.

I grabbed it and flipped through it quickly, my eyes drinking in the words.

"You belonged to your parents until the day you turn eighteen, when you'd be returned to me." Alexander explained as I read. "And as you're back to me, we have to put you to work. For now, we do not need work anywhere else, so you'd have to work in the strip club".

My mind reeled. "Strip club?!" I repeated, my voice incredulous.

"Yes, Celia." He murmured in response. "You will be put to good use, trust me. You will earn for my business as well as for yourself."

Alexander's words echoed in my mind, each syllable intensifying my terror. But what struck me with a chilling dread was the degrading tone of his voice when he'd made that suggestion. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing my form, as he circled me. I turned sharply, following his movements, my poor heart thundering.

"You have the perfect physique for a pole dancer. A slim frame, pretty face, long nimble legs..." He mused, fingers stroking his jaw. A cruel smirk played on his lips, as if my hopelessness was a form of perverse amusement for him.

"I don't want to do this." I said, my voice trembling.

Alexander shrugged. "You have no choice, Celia."

"You cannot make me do this!" I spat.

"Actually, I can, but let's not go into those details." He murmured, looking at me with smugness on his face.

Defiance bubbled within me. "I am eighteen now, a legal adult. I have—"

"You have nothing!" He cut me off. He walked closer to me until we were practically nose-to-nose, his breath fanning my face. "All you own and will ever own belongs to me. You cannot weasel out of this, Celia."

We shared a moment staring into each other's eyes: he's full of cruelty, mine full of horror.

"No...no..." I murmured to myself and took a step back, shaking my head. Hamilton ignored my refusal and nodded curtly at the guards that lined the walls of his office.

I opened my mouth to protest, to beg for mercy or for an alternative path, but before I could utter a word, the guards surrounding me sprang into action. Strong hands grabbed me, their grip merciless, and I was dragged away from the office before I could be given a chance to fight for my own freedom.

As I was dragged along the corridors and through the house, my mind raced, desperately seeking a means of escape, a fragment of a plan to escape this unthinkable fate, but I came up short. This was going to be my life for as long as I belonged to Alexander Hamilton: to be used for the entertainment of vile, lecherous men.

I struggled against the guards again, trying to loosen their grip on me, but apparently they took their jobs very seriously. "Where the fuck are you taking me?" I snapped at them. "Tell me!"

The guards ignored my yells and continued dragging me along. Then I stopped abruptly, refusing to go on.

"I will not move an inch from here until one of you tells me where I'm being dragged to." I retorted with defiance, daring either of them to challenge me.

The guards exchanged resigned looks. "This is one of the feisty ones," one of them muttered, and the other walked forward towards me. I jerked my hand from his reach as he reached for it.

"Look girl, we have been authorised to use force if you're being stubborn." The guard informed me. "And if you really want to know, you're getting a makeover. You'd have to shake your tits and ass for the boss and convince him that you're worthy of this job."

My eyes widened as the impact of his words sank in. Shake my tits and ass?