I open my mouth to argue, but he raises an eyebrow and I know this is the end of the conversation. If you can call it a conversation. I drop my hands.
“Good girl.”
I glare and he gives me a dark grin then secures the blindfold and guides me up the stairs. I grip the handrail, each of my steps heavier than the last. When I stumble, he catches me. A door opens and I hear music, people talking in low tones. Don’t they see me here? Doesn’t the sight of a woman being walked out like this, against her will, alarm them? Is this the norm for them? Blindfolded, bare-foot women guided out by these violent men? Where am I? What have I gotten myself into?
No, what has Jones gotten me into?
Had Kill said coke? Cocaine? Jones is clean. He swore it to me just last month. Did he lie?
A gust of cold, wet wind hits me. I hear a car’s engine humming and brace myself to walk barefoot through icy puddles of water, but before I take one step, an arm wraps around my middle and I’m lifted up off the ground. I grip Hugo’s forearm instinctively wanting to free myself, but he talks to another man there, giving instructions, then I’m placed on the leather seat. Hugo climbs in after me and closes the door. I take a breath and smell him, Kill. It’s his aftershave. We must be in his car.
“Where’s my brother?” I ask.
“You don’t need to worry about him.”
“How do I know he’s safe?”
“When Kill makes a deal, he keeps it.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t.”
I open my mouth to speak but a phone rings, and a moment later, he’s talking and it’s not to me. I turn my head toward the window, trying to see through the blindfold, but it’s impossible. Instead, I try to make sense of what’s happened since a few hours ago. I was supposed to be having dinner with my brother. That was all. Instead, I’m sitting blindfolded driving to what I assume is Kill’s penthouse where God knows what will be expected of me.
No, I know what will be expected.
And the thought makes me shudder.
I guess it’s half an hour before the driver slows and we pull into a garage. I know because the interminable rain has finally stopped pelting the windows. Hugo hasn’t spoken to me and after that one call, he was silent.
Once we’re parked, Hugo climbs out and his hand closes over my arm to drag me across the seat. I guess he’s not worried about anyone seeing a blindfolded, bare-foot woman being escorted by a giant man because we’re not rushing and he’s even laughing at some lame joke the other man, I assume the driver, is telling. I hear a ding of an elevator and feel carpet beneath my feet when I step on. I’m glad for the carpet. I’m freezing even with my coat.
We ride up until the doors slide open. Once there, the blindfold comes off.
“Welcome home, at least for the next little while.”
I gaze around the luxurious expanse of the space. It’s huge. I wonder if it takes up the whole floor. And everything is shiny and sleek and looks like it’s been freshly polished.
The elevator doors slide closed behind me and I turn, looking at the outline of my reflection, watching my freedom slip away. I stare at the blur of my face in the polished nickel.
“This way.”
When I face him, I find Hugo watching me. I can’t read him. I know he’s as violent as the others but I also know he carried me to the car so I wouldn’t have to step in puddles of water when we left wherever we were. He hasn’t hurt me and I’m not afraid of him hurting me for some reason.
But he did hold a gun to my brother. He cocked it. Readied to pull the trigger.
He clears his throat.
I walk toward him, taking in my surroundings as I do. Is the elevator the only exit? No, there have to be stairs.
The long hallway holds six closed doors. He opens one, switches on the light and gestures for me to enter. It’s a luxuriously decorated bedroom, everything in shades of cream, softer than I’d expect of the man I met. I take one step in but stop and turn to Hugo, panic taking hold of me. I shake my head and, without thinking, walk past him as if I have a choice. As if I will go back to the elevator and push the button and walk out of here. As if he’ll let me.
He grabs my arm, his grip hard enough to warn me. “Don’t make this hard.”
I breathe fast, in and out, and my eyes heat up with tears. “Please don’t make me.”