Alina

 

It's been a day since I was given to Eamon. My eyes flick around the small bedroom once more, scanning it for any possible way by which I can make an escape. But just like every other time I've checked, I see nothing. The bedroom is one of many in Eamon's massive home. Handed over to him by Danica and Iwan, I’m stuck here since, my heart ripped in half by betrayal.

 

I can't believe that Danica did what she did. As soon as the words about our plan to elope left my mouth, she began plotting, figuring out how she could use this information to get what she wanted, which was evidently to have the power that was meant for her brother. I had her pegged as a sweet, if materialistic city girl, but little did I know that beneath her well-groomed exterior was the heart of a criminal manipulator.

 

As soon as I'd arrived home, I’d found waiting for me not Michal, but Iwan, with Danica at his side. He informed me that Danica had told him everything, and that, while he was furious that a woman like me could have such an influence on his son, in a way he was pleased. After all, he’d said, love makes for a powerful bargaining chip.

 

Once he’d made it clear that there was no escape for me, Iwan told me that if I didn’t want Michal harmed, I would do exactly what he said. I got in his car, and less than an hour later, I was being handed off to Eamon, the fat, disgusting, red-haired man with blotchy skin and eyes that lingered on my body. Iwan gave me over to him in a back alley near the warehouse, passing me off like I was a parcel of the drugs that he dealt.

 

Eamon was all too happy to take me; evidently, I was being used to mollify him and to get him to back off from his plans of open warfare against the Nowaks in response to what Michal had done to them. Iwan pushed me over to Eamon and his thugs, the men all looking me over like a piece of meat and Eamon putting his large, meaty hands on my hips.

 

"You'll do just fine," he said, looking down at me with his inky, pinprick eyes, his face shrouded by his ratty cap.

 

And just like that, I was shoved into the back of Eamon's limousine, Iwan and Danica disappearing from sight as soon as I was handed over.

 

"Try a little of the bubbly stuff," he had said, his voice gravely and raw, laced with traces of an Irish brogue, as he poured me a glass of champagne from the little bar backlit with light-blue neon lights. "It'll calm you down."

 

He shoved the glass in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, wanting nothing less right then than a something to drink. But he was insistent.

 

"You're going to need to learn before too long that when I tell you something like that, it's not really a request," he has said, the fizzy glass of peach-colored wine still extended toward me.

 

I took the glass with hesitation, as though it might be drugged. Sensing my fears, Eamon spoke up.

 

"I'm not really the ‘roofie' sort," he said, taking a slow, slurping sip of his drink. "You’ll actually find that I'm a perfect gentleman."

 

He flashed what I figured he imagined was a charming smile as he settled back into his seat.

 

"What are you going to do with me?" I asked, feeling fear like I'd never experienced before.

 

"That, I'm not sure of. You're certainly a fetching little thing," he said, looking me over once again. "But I don't know if I need a new, ah, member for my current rotation."

 

The implication made me shiver.

 

"Maybe I'll keep you around as a pretty face to decorate the backgrounds of negotiations, or maybe I'll offer you as an ...incentive to one of my up-and-comers. Who knows. Maybe I'll even change my mind and give you my special attentions."

 

With that, he flashed a sly wink, and I was gripped by the twin feelings of feeling scared beyond belief and wanting to crawl out of my skin.

 

"And …what about Michal?" I asked, fearful of the answer.

 

Eamon looked away, as if the question hadn't been something he'd considered.

 

"That remains to be seen. If he does the smart thing, then he'll leave well enough alone. He'll realize he's been beaten and that coming after you would be too risky. But I know that love can make people do crazy, stupid things."

 

I knew at that moment that he was right; if Michal really wanted to be smart, he'd forget about me; he'd just fall back into line with his father, take over his business, and write me off as a fling that went too far.

 

But I didn't want him to be smart.

 

"But," said Eamon, reaching into a side compartment, revealing a small stash of mixed nuts, grabbing a handful, and shoving them greedily into his mouth. “If he insists on doing the stupid thing—the short-sighted thing—and comes to get you …"

 

Eamon's mouth formed into a sinister little slash of a smirk.

 

"…well, let's just say that we'll have a little more fun that way."

 

I rubbed my hands together in futile effort to calm myself down, my eyes on the city as it passed us in a smeared blur of white and orange.

 

After a time, we arrived at a large townhome somewhere downtown. Eamon's goons dragged me out of the car and brought me up the long flight of stairs that led to the tall set of double doors. The house was an old design—brick exterior and a gabled roof—and seemed somewhat modest for a crime lord. But when the men dragged me inside, the opulent interior of tall, wooden columns, priceless art, and massive ceilings drove home the point that this was the residence of a man with expensive, if not gaudy, taste.

 

"Impressive, huh?" he'd said, looking around the place with the careful eye of someone who was inspecting the interior for appraisal. "Well, it's your new home for the time being, so you'd better start getting used to it now."

 

Hearing those words had made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe that my journey of a new life in the United States was ending with me being trapped in an Irish mobster's home to be a sex slave—or worse.

 

Eamon led me to the small bedroom that I'm in now, taking care to point that there was no way to escape; he'd designed the room for that express purpose.

 

"I'll come back for you in a little while," he'd said before leaving, a lecherous look in his eyes.

 

And here I am. It's been hours since Eamon locked me in here, and I still have no idea what my fate is to be. I'm lying on the soft sheets of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and praying that Michal will come.

 

Soon, there's a rapping on the door.

 

"Are you decent, my dear?" asks Eamon through the door.

 

I say nothing.

 

"I'll take that as a yes," he says.

 

The door creaks open and Eamon's massive form fills the frame. He's dressed in a robe of red velvet, which is cinched around his round belly, the hair on his pale, flabby chest rising up from the folds of fabric.

 

"Come along," he says, gesturing toward himself. "I promise I won't bite. Yet."

 

Revulsion overcomes me, but I know I have no choice. I follow him out into the hallway, the walls a dark wood and the light overhead low and dim, and we're soon flanked by a pair of henchmen, both looking me over with animal eyes as we walk.

 

"I still haven't decided what I'm going to with you, but I know right now that all I can think about is breaking you in."

 

He looks over his shoulder at me, as if taking pleasure in the sick expression that spreads across my face.

 

"After all, what's the point of being the boss if you don't get any, well, special privileges?"

 

I look around myself, as if I'll spot an open window that I can leap through. But, instead, I look up at the henchman to my right—a wiry, young man with an ugly face and prematurely-balding red hair. He looks at me and shakes his head, as if he can read my mind and is saying, "Don't even think about it." To my left is a shorter, squatter man with a rough face and a mop of black hair on his head that looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks.

 

We soon arrive at another bedroom, this one bigger and round in shape, with a four-post bed in the middle and a roaring fireplace behind it.

 

"Have a seat," Eamon says, gesturing to the bed as the men lead me into the room.

 

I take a deep, slow breath, gathering the last bits of nerve I have, and speak.

 

"No."

 

Eamon looks at me, his bushy, orange eyebrows raised.

 

"What did you say?" he asks, more to get me to see if I'll change my mind rather than out of genuinely mishearing me. "Please, repeat yourself for an old man."

 

"I said, ‘no.'"

 

He nods slowly, his jowls spreading as does. Turning to the wiry henchman, he gestures toward me, a look on his face that's almost pained. Then, before I can even realize what's happening, the wiry man is at my side, his hand drawn back for just a moment before he brings it against my cheek, the impact sounding out with a fleshy ‘crack.'

 

I stagger backward, the pain radiating out from my cheek. Placing my hand on the skin, I feel a deep heat from the impact. I bump into a dresser behind me, the gold handles digging into my back. Hot tears sheen my eyes, as if by instinct. At this moment, all I can think about is Michal. Through the pain, I pray that he comes, as farfetched as the possibility is.

 

Eamon is standing in front of me, the two henchmen at his sides.

 

"Now," he says. “Take a seat."

 

He walks over to a squat, cushioned chair with a red, floral print. Patting his seat, he gestures toward me.

 

"Let's start nice and easy," he says.

 

The pain has me unsteady, and as much as I hate giving in to what he says, I can hardly stand. But after taking a series of deep, slow breaths, I feel a little better.

 

"No," I repeat, my voice firm.

 

Eamon sighs in frustration before turning his back and gesturing to the guards.

 

"You know," he says over his shoulder. “There's nothing worse than having to muck up the face of a beautiful woman, in my opinion. But sometimes you bratty types don't leave any other options."

 

The two guards moved toward me. As they draw close, the shorter of the the two—the black-haired man with a face like a troll—holds up his hand to the wiry man.

 

"No," he says, his voice low and rough, like his vocal cords are covered in rust. “You had the last one; it's only fair."

 

"Fine, fine," says the wiry man, backing off.

 

The squat man approaches me and looks me over with slit eyes the color of sawdust. A smile forms on his mouth, his thick, chapped lips curling into a devious expression. Then, he pulls back his hand, and a second later, his fist flies towards me, connecting with my mouth.

 

The impact sends me backward into the dresser, my slight frame colliding with it, the impact feeling like it rattles my brain in my head. I feel a wetness on my mouth,and shooting pain in my lips where I was hit. I feel the thick slickness of blood, followed by the coppery taste of it in my mouth. My lip is split.

 

Michal, I think in desperation. Please, find me.

 

"God, Marley," says the wiry guard, coming in for a closer look. "You really got her!"

 

My hands rise in defiance, but he's only there to gawk. My vision is blurry and my ears are ringing; I don’t know if I can't take much more of this.

 

Eamon turns around and looks at me with a careful eye. His expression then turns into anger and he swats the squat man on the back of his head with a quick strike of his hand.

 

"You goddamn moron," says Eamon. "What goodi s a pretty girl if you mess up her face like that?"

 

"Sorry, boss," says the squat man, though his tone suggests he's not all that sorry at all.

 

"I swear," says Eamon. “You take just a little too much pleasure out of smacking these women around.”

 

The wiry man is suppressing a laugh. Eamon moves closer to inspect the damage to my face, and my hands shoot up once again.

 

"See? Now you got her spooked," says Eamon, shaking his head.

 

Then he turns back to me.

 

"Now, are you ready to give me what I want? Or do we have to keep, ah, arguing about it?"

 

I can't take anymore. I know I shouldn't relent, but I have no other option. Tears hot on my face, I nod my head.

 

"What was that?" says Eamon. "I think she's saying she's ready. But I need to hear it with words, my dear."

 

He walks slowly towards me, his steps creaking on the wood floor. When he reaches me, he squats down close enough to me that I can feel his hot breath on my face and smell the whiskey that lingers on it.

 

"Just say you're ready."

 

"I'm …ready."

 

My body slumps as I speak. I give up.

 

But before anything else can happen, a rapping sounds out from the bedroom door.

 

"What?" Eamon calls out, his voice booming in my ears.

 

"Someone's here to speak with you," comes a muffled voice through the door.

 

"Tell ‘em to fuck off!" shouts Eamon.

 

"Says it's important."

 

"Well, I've got something more important to deal with!"

 

A moment passes.

 

"It's the Nowak boy."

 

Michal!

 

My heart races with happiness.

 

"Oh, really?" says Eamon.

 

"Yeah. And he doesn't look too interested in waiting long."

 

Eamon's thick, red eyebrows crinkle as he considers the situation. But I can't think about anything other than the joy I feel knowing that Michal has come for me.

 

"Tell him to keep his pants on. And this better be good."

 

Eamon pushes himself to his feet.

 

"You two keep your hands off her until I get back, you hear?" says Eamon, raising his finger at the two men. "One hair out of place and all you'll have to do with her is cleaning up afterward."

 

The men nod, though lustful smiles are still on their faces. Eamon leaves the room, and I remain curled in a tight ball, my face throbbing with pain.

 

Minutes pass, and soon I hear a clatter from downstairs.

 

Then silence.

 

"Ah, you guys come down here," says Eamon finally. "And bring the girl."

 

The two men share a quizzical look before lifting me to my feet and hurrying me out of the room. We go down the stairs, and as excited as I am to have heard Michal's name, it is nothing compared to the joy I feel when I see what awaits us in the living room.

 

At the front door are two guards, both in unconscious heaps. In the middle of the room is Michal, one arm wrapped around Eamon's neck, a gun in the other hand that is pressed to the mob boss' head.

 

I couldn't have imagined a better sight.

 

"Michal!" I shout, while struggling against the grip of the guards.

 

A smile crosses Michal's face as he lays eyes upon me. But the expression turns grim as he realizes what they've done to me.

 

"Let go of her now," he demands.

 

The two guards look at one another, unsure of what to do. Eamon finally nods, and the two men let go of me. I want to run to Michal, but with Eamon so close to him, I don't know if it's safe.

 

"There, there," says Eamon. "You've got what you want. Now, why don't you take the goddamn gun off of my head and we can discuss this like mature adults?"

 

Michal scans the room, looking for danger.

 

"Tell your men to lose all of their weapons."

 

Eamon nods, and the guards toss their guns onto the floor.

 

Satisfied, Michal lets go of Eamon, who collapses onto a nearby couch. Not wanting to waste another second, I run over to Michal, his arms wrapping around me as soon as I approach.

 

"I never thought I'd see you again," I say, tears forming in my eyes.

 

"I'm here now," he says, his voice low and reassuring as he pulls me close.

 

"Very sweet," says Eamon, his tone annoyed. "Now, assuming you're here for the girl, you want to tell me why I shouldn't have you both killed as soon as you try to leave?"

 

Michel lets me go, and I move behind him.

 

"Because my father wants a war, and I don't."

 

Eamon snorts. "If you don't want a war, you've got a goddamn funny way of showing it, kid."

 

"I did what I did because I didn't have any other choice. I'm tired of the bloodshed; I'm tired of the fighting."

 

"Then you're in the wrong line of work," says Eamon.

 

"That's just it," says Michal. "This life—I don't want it. I want peace."

 

Eamon settles back into his seat.

 

"So, what're you proposing, exactly?"

 

"All that my family owns, I'm prepared to give up. You can have it. All that I ask is that you leave me and the girl alone. We'll leave the city; you'll never see us again."

 

Eamon snorts again. "That's quite an offer. You want to just give up everything that your father has built, just for this …girl?"

 

"My father's business has ruined too many lives," Michal. "If I could have something to do with putting a stop to all of the damage my father has done, to end the bloodshed that his obsession with power has caused, that would be enough for me. You can have all of it; I don't care."

 

"So, you're proposing to step down. And what about your father? You've got what it takes to snuff out your own old man?"

 

"He'll …be out of the picture," says Michal. "I can assure you of that."

 

"And how can I trust you?" asks Eamon, his beady eyes narrowed in skepticism.

 

"Because I could kill you right now if I wanted to."

 

Eamon seems to get the point.

 

"So," Eamon says. “You want to take little blondie here, leave the city, and abandon your family enterprise. And I'm free to simply walk in and take what you've left behind? Seems too good to be true."

 

"Believe it. I've thought long and hard about what I want, and it's not the life that my father has led. You can have all of it; all that I ask is that you let me and Alina walk."

 

Eamon sits back in his seat, thinking the situation over.

 

"Very well. If you can guarantee that your father will be taken care of and that you won't be filling his shoes, then I can agree to your terms."

 

"Thank you," says Michal.

 

"But don't even think of betraying me. Should you try to leave the city, well, rest assured that my reach is very long and you won't get far."

 

Michal nods, understanding the terms.

 

"Very well," says Eamon. "It's hard to imagine that the boy I've known for so long, the young man that I thought would be my sworn enemy, is actually going to be the one to hand the city to me on a silver platter. Life is funny like that, I suppose."

 

A small smile forms on his lips.

 

"Leave. I look forward to hearing from you again."

 

Michal turns to me and nods. I rush to him and he wraps his arm around my waist. Still feeling like I'm in a dream, we walk into out of the door and into the cool air of the evening.