Chapter 82

FREYA

Tears blurred my vision as he grabbed my hair, yanking me to my feet. I bit back a cry, my scalp stinging as he dragged me closer.

“Listen, bitch. You’ll do as I say. Shut up and go into that room. There will be other girls like you there. They’ll tell you what to do.”

His words sent shivers down my spine, but I sneered through the pain. “Do what?” I spat, my voice shaking with defiance.

“Please our customers. Suck dick. Fuck them,” he said crudely, his grin widening with each contorted expression of his face. “You’re a whore now.”

“The fuck I am!” I shouted, the words escaping before I could stop them. “Let me go! My boyfriend will come for you, and you won’t like it when that happens!”

The mention of my boyfriend elicited a bark of cruel, humorless laughter.

“Do you know who this brothel belongs to?” he asked, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in close, his foul breath on my face. “Do you know who you belong to?”

I froze, speechless. He must have noticed the fear in my eyes because his grin widened.

“Roman Sanchez,” he said, pronouncing the name like a weapon.

My blood turned to ice. Roman Sanchez. The name alone terrified anyone who heard it. He headed one of America’s most notorious organized crime syndicates—the Mafia. Ruthless. Untouchable.

“You act like you know,” the man said, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Still think your boyfriend can get you out?”

My legs weakened, and I stumbled. The weight of it all crushed me. How had this happened? How had I ended up here, trapped in the clutches of the fucking Mafia?

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Pleading won’t get you anywhere, baby,” he sneered, his eyes lowering, his mouth twisting into a repulsive curve. “Only makes me hard.”

“You’re disgusting,” I spat, filled with revulsion. He pulled me toward the building. I tried to break free, digging my heels in, but it was useless; he was stronger.

The building’s interior was opulent: golden walls, soft carpets, and chandeliers that glistened like diamonds. A place designed to blind the eye, to make one forget the atrocities within.

He pushed me into a room, and I fell, almost hitting the ground. My heart sank as I saw three other girls staring back at me.

The man stood in the doorway, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Welcome to your new life,” he said before slamming the door.

I stumbled against the wall, my legs giving way. My hands shook as I covered my face, tears streaming uncontrollably. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, are you okay?” I heard a faint voice.

Her voice was soft, but it felt like a dream I couldn’t wake from. My body ached, my mind a swirl of confusion and terror. “No, I’m not fucking okay,” I screamed, unable to contain my fear and frustration. My voice cracked, my chest tightening.

“Oh great, a hysterical one. And why is she bleeding? Where do these homeless people even come from?” Another girl commented disdainfully.

Her words stung, though she had no idea what I’d been through. I wiped the blood from my mouth, smearing it further.

“Amber, don’t antagonize her. Just go, okay?” the first girl said, her tone firm but calm, as if she were used to keeping the peace in volatile situations.

Amber rolled her eyes, brushing back her perfectly manicured hair as if my very presence repulsed her. “Whatever. I have a client waiting.” She strode out, another girl following, her high heels clicking like nails on a coffin.

The other girl crouched in front of me, her expression softening. “What happened to you?” she asked gently.

Her eyes flickered to the cut on my mouth, and she hesitantly touched it with surprising gentleness. “You need to get that looked at.”

Her touch surprised me. It was the first act of kindness in what felt like centuries, and it made my chest ache.

I mumbled, “I want to go home. I have a daughter.” The words were a prayer, but I wasn’t sure to whom I was praying.

“So why are you here?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t know. God…” Frustration erupted again, tears pricking my eyes. My breathing was erratic, my chest heaving as I fought back sobs.

“Stop. You’re hyperventilating. Just breathe.”

Her voice was steady as she pulled me down beside her. The coolness of the wall pressed against my back as I sank to the floor; her hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I listened to her breathing and tried to match it until my breathing evened out.

When my head stopped spinning, I looked at her properly. She was beautiful—blonde hair, brown eyes sparkling with empathy, and pale skin that seemed to glow. She didn’t belong here, and neither did I.

“Now tell me. What do you mean you don’t know why you’re here?” she asked patiently.

“The guy who brought me… he probably had a deal with my ex. I was kidnapped,” I said, the word bitter on my tongue.

Her eyes widened, alarm replacing curiosity. “So you’re not here of your own free will. You were forced.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“What the fuck?” she muttered, shocked.

The curse felt jarring from someone so poised, but it made her seem more real.

“I don’t understand. Roman doesn’t force women into prostitution. The sex workers here are here by choice. They join for their own reasons and earn good money.”

“You’re here because you want to be?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s not anyone’s dream job. But my sister… she had cancer. We had little savings and no insurance. I needed money quickly, so I came here.”

Her words hung in the air—quiet resignation.

“How’s your sister now?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Oh, she died,” she said, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t save her.”

“You’re still working here,” I pointed out, harsher than intended.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I went to college. I completed my studies, but I didn’t get a job. Now I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll starve.”

“Besides,” she said with a faint smile, “it’s not so bad here. Roman’s a good boss.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, I’m here against my will, so…”

“I highly doubt that,” she said thoughtfully. “Lucas is the guy who brought you here; he’s a total prick. This must have been his doing.”

“Wait,” she said, her voice changing. “I can help you.”

“How?”

“Roman’s right-hand man comes every Friday. Today’s Friday. I can get him to tell Roman about you.”

Hope flickered, but another thought crossed my mind. “What will it cost you?”

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” she replied, her eyes betraying weariness. “I’ll tell them to leave you alone tonight, and you can start working tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. Gratitude and guilt warred within me as we sat in silence, broken only by distant voices and music.

“What would you have done if you weren’t doing this?” I asked, desperate to distract myself.

“Fucking big fat men with limp dicks,” she said, laughing bitterly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d work in a flower shop. Open my own one day.”

She smiled, her eyes softening as she thought of a seemingly impossible dream. Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

“Sebastian’s here,” another girl said. The blonde girl nodded. “That’s him,” she said, smoothing her dress. She stood at the door, then turned back. “I’ll get you out,” she said firmly before disappearing, leaving me with a faint echo of hope and the suffocating weight of uncertainty.