Anthony guided her to a waiting car. He hadn't said where they were headed or given back her phone. As they drove through the night, she sat in the back seat, sandwiched between Anthony and a guy she now knew as Stink. Another man was behind the wheel, navigating the empty streets.
She sensed they weren't going to kill her, but a nagging fear told her they were taking her straight to Ethan. Was he someone she was supposed to be afraid of?
"Who is Ethan?" She blurted out.
Anthony ignored her, staring straight ahead. Stink glanced at her briefly but remained silent. None of the men offered any answers.
She tried to push down her anxiety, but it kept bubbling up. Her thoughts wandered back to her stilettos and coat, abandoned at the club. Those were her favorite shoes, ones she had saved up to buy. Losing them felt like a small but significant defeat. Greg hadn't said anything about her payment for the dance, but she knew better than to ask him. She should be grateful for coming out of there alive.
The car sped through the darkness, the hum of the engine filling the silence. The city lights blurred by, and she felt a growing sense of unease settling within her with each passing mile.
"Please, just tell me where we're going," she pleaded. Anthony's silence was infuriating.
She wrapped her arms around herself. Her mind kept returning to Ethan.
The car finally slowed down, turning onto a secluded road. Her heart pounded in her chest as they approached a large, ominous building. She knew this was it. Whatever was about to happen, she had to stay strong and face it head-on.
Anthony pushed her out, "Walk" he commanded. She looked between both men and, with feeble legs, walked behind Stink who was ahead, and led the way to the building.
The atmosphere inside the building was tense, punctuated by the presence of armed men who sprang to attention as soon as Rebecca and Anthony entered.
One of them approached Anthony, a hint of suspicion in his voice, "An outsider?"
Anthony wasted no time, swiftly bringing the man's head down with a firm grip.
"This one is the boss's interest," he stated firmly, releasing the man who stumbled before regaining his composure. Addressing the other men, "Please return to your businesses. This one here is no concern of yours."
Grumbling, the men reluctantly returned to their tasks. Anthony's grip on Rebecca's arm tightened, causing her to flinch. She attempted to pull away, but his hold only grew more painful.
"That hurts," she protested.
"Not as much as death," Anthony retorted coldly, sending a shiver down Rebecca's spine. Despite the discomfort, she remained silent as Anthony led her to a nearby room. With a flick of a switch, the room was flooded with harsh fluorescent light, revealing a simple setup: a desk, a chair, and shelves stacked with files.
"Sit," Anthony commanded, releasing her arm. Rebecca hesitated for a moment before complying, acutely aware of his watchful gaze.
He returned his gaze to the shelf as if he were seeing it for the first time.
"What is your name?"
Rebecca paused. Was it wise to tell him her real name or her stage name? She thought for a while and then decided,
"My name is Lily."
Anthony kissed his teeth, "Your government name." He turned to face her. His eyes were cold as he stared at her. She immediately felt goosebumps on her arms.
Clearing her throat, "It's Rebecca Thompson."
Anthony studied her briefly and then proceeded to search for something on the shelves. He pulled a file out and blew the dust away from it. He tossed it on the table in front of her.
"Read it," he instructed curtly, his tone brooking no argument.
Rebecca eyed the worn black folder, a relic that seemed to have been untouched for years. Its corners were still coated in dust as she tentatively reached for it, opening it to find a collection of photographs. One slipped from the pages and landed in her lap.
Picking up the photo, she examined it closely. It depicted a man in his early thirties, casually dressed in a black turtleneck shirt and black trousers. He was engrossed in a phone conversation, a warm smile gracing his features, seemingly oblivious to the camera capturing the moment.
"Who is he?" she inquired, holding up the picture.
Flipping through the folder, she found it filled with various snapshots of the same man, captured from different angles and on different occasions. She couldn't fathom what Anthony wanted her to read. There were no written documents in the folder.
Glancing at the spine of the folder, she found a name boldly written: "Ethan Coleman." She looked at other pictures of him in the folder. The man did not appear fearful like Greg. It was quite the opposite; he seemed like a lady's man. Was this who she was afraid of?
"As you can see, he is Ethan Coleman. And that is who you will be working with for the next three months. You are to report to me twice a week, his activities, his transactions, who he is meeting with and where, and what his business strategy is. And any other thing you think the Boss might be interested in knowing."
Rebecca's throat felt dry as she processed the daunting instructions. How was she supposed to establish contact with Ethan and gather all this information?
"This task is ridiculous. How am I supposed to do all these things?"
Anthony's expression darkened at her choice of words. "Do you mean to imply the Boss's orders are foolish?" he countered sharply.
Caught off guard, Rebecca struggled to find the right words, torn between her fear of Greg and her growing apprehension of Anthony. "Of course not," she stammered. "I just don't know how I'll manage to establish contact with him."
He eyed her. "The Boss didn't select you for no reason," he replied cryptically.
Feeling exposed under his scrutiny, Rebecca instinctively crossed her arms in front of her. Anthony's laughter only heightened her discomfort.
"I have no interest in exotic dancers," he chuckled, his words a strange mix of reassurance and discomfort.
Rebecca wasn't sure how to interpret Anthony's revelation, whether to feel relieved that her profession hadn't earned her unwanted attention or offended by his implication. Yet, she felt a sliver of gratitude that he had made his stance clear.
"So, all I have to do is seduce him?" Rebecca's voice trembled as she tried to understand her role. If her appearance was the reason for her selection, it seemed logical that they wanted her to seduce Ethan.
"No, quite the contrary. You'll be working for him. You'll be his personal assistant," Anthony clarified, his tone devoid of any hint of jest.
Rebecca laughed, a bitter sound laced with disbelief. She hadn't even completed high school, let alone acquired the skills needed for such a role. Life had been a relentless struggle for her and her mother, forcing her to abandon her education in favor of menial jobs.
"I don't have a high school diploma," she confessed.
"We'll take care of that. In fact, Miss Rebecca Thompson, you're a graduate of Business Administration now. How does that sound?"
Anthony's proposition left her feeling both bewildered and apprehensive. While the idea of having a degree sounded appealing, the prospect of impersonation added another layer of danger to what they wanted her to do.
"I don't think I can do this," she admitted.
Anthony's smile remained unnervingly calm as he casually brushed against the gun concealed in his pocket, a silent reminder of the consequences of refusal. "Oh, that's fine,"
Rebecca understood the implication all too well. If she declined, her fate would be sealed then and there. "Okay, I'll do it."
"You did not have a choice," He replied coldly.
It was certain she did not like Anthony. Something about him made her self-conscious and scared.
"I can only get you the fake documents, but you will have to work your way into securing the role as his assistant. You see, Ethan is very choosy."
Rebecca was surprised; she thought someone would get her to fill in the role. How was she to secure a role like that?
"What?"
"And if you are unable to do so, well, the boss will no longer have a need for you," Anthony continued. He smiled at her. Rebecca knew that the smile was not from a place of peace.
"Okay." She swallowed hard. "Can I go home?"
Anthony's silence stretched, leaving Rebecca feeling increasingly uneasy. Just as she began to worry he wouldn't respond, his voice cut through the tension.
"Get up. I'll take you to your place of residence."
Relief washed over her as she rose to her feet and followed him outside. The other men's curious stares trailed after her, wondering who she was. With Anthony's firm guidance, she navigated through their scrutiny and settled into the car as he drove her to her apartment while she provided him with the address along the way.
Pulling into the parking lot, Anthony's gaze bore into the complex with an intensity that made Rebecca shift uncomfortably. As she moved to exit the car, his hand halted her.
"What's your apartment number?" he demanded.
She could almost hear her heart beating loudly in her ears as she provided him with the information,
"A 304"
Anthony held her gaze, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, he released his grip, his warning clear. "You better be telling the truth."
Returning his glare, Rebecca rubbed the spot where his fingers had dug into her skin. "What about my phone?"
"Confiscated," Anthony replied curtly, offering no further explanation. "Run along. We'll meet tomorrow." \
With that, he restarted the engine, signaling the end of their conversation. Rebecca wasted no time in exiting the car, eager to put some distance between herself and Anthony's unnerving presence as she hurried towards her building.
Once inside her room, Rebecca flicked on the lights and hurried to the window, her heart pounding in her chest. Peering out, she scanned the parking lot below, half expecting to see Anthony's car still there. Sure enough, she spotted his vehicle, and a sinking feeling settled in her stomach.
As she watched, a flash of headlights pierced the darkness, signaling Anthony's acknowledgment of her presence. Shocked, she recoiled from the window and dashed to switch off the lights, hoping to conceal herself from his watchful gaze.
In the parking lot, Anthony noted the room where the light had suddenly appeared and the figure standing by the window. With a sense of satisfaction, he drove away, his mission accomplished for the night.
Rebecca sank onto her bed. Anthony's last words echoed in her mind, We will meet tomorrow?, filling her with dread at the thought of facing him again so soon. She knew she couldn't endure another encounter with him or with Greg.
She got up and paced the length of her room. How could she escape these dangerous men who now knew her face, her apartment, and her name? Desperation fueled her as she rifled through her belongings, her hands trembling as she retrieved her safe box.
Counting her meager savings, she realized she had accumulated only nine hundred dollars, a paltry sum in the face of the danger that loomed over her. Yet, it was all she had, and she had to act fast if she had any hope of breaking free from the clutches of these menacing men.
Defeated, Rebecca slumped onto her bed, clutching the meager sum of money in her hands. She blinked back tears, refusing to let them fall as she glanced up at the wall clock above her, a gift from her ex, Logan. It was a little past three in the morning. Time ran fast, and the night had been nothing but short for her.
She rose to her feet and began hastily packing her clothes into a box. She only selected the things she needed. The wall clock found its way into her belongings. If she left by five, she calculated, Anthony would likely not return for another visit. Yet, the thought of fleeing with nowhere to run left her paralyzed with fear.
Then, an idea struck her: her Aunt Susan's home in Florida. Surely, she would find refuge there, far from the dangers that now lurked in California. With trembling hands, she changed into more practical attire and waited anxiously, her gaze fixed on her wristwatch, counting down the minutes until dawn.
As soon as the clock struck five, she grabbed her single suitcase, opting for practicality over excess. Outside, she dragged her suitcase to the nearest bus stop, desperately trying to flag down a cab. Just as hope began to wane, a black car pulled up in front of her, its window rolling down with a soft whir.
Rebecca gasped!