Chapter 3
Ema's
Pain hit me the very second I opened my eyes. It was a sharp, stabbing sensation that felt like someone had driven a long metal nail straight through the center of my head. I didn't move at first. I couldn't. I just lay there on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold, sticky wood of the living room. I could feel the grit of the floor against my skin. My school bag was still there, lying close to my hand. The strap had somehow wrapped around my wrist during the fall, and it felt like it was trying to hold me down, keeping me pinned to the floor.
Broken glass was scattered all over the place. I could see the sharp pieces reflecting the weak, yellow light coming from the lamp on the side table. A pool of beer had formed around the shards. It looked dark and smelled sour, filling my nose with a scent that made my stomach turn. My head throbbed with every single beat of my heart. It was a heavy, rhythmic pulse that made it hard to think. I reached back with a shaking hand and touched the back of my skull. My fingers came away wet and stained a deep, dark red.
I stared at my hand in the dim light. I couldn't believe she had really done it.
My own mother had actually attacked me.
The image of the bottle coming down flashed in my mind. I remembered the sound of the glass breaking and the sudden, heavy darkness that had followed. I tried to sit up, but the moment I shifted my weight, the entire room started to spin. My stomach rolled, and I felt a wave of nausea hit me. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed hard, and forced myself to take slow, shallow breaths. I waited until the room stayed still and my vision finally started to clear.
That was when I heard the voices.
They were low and deep. Definitely male voices. They were coming from the main part of the living room, just a few feet away from where I lay in the shadows.
I turned my head very carefully. Every movement felt like a fresh blow to my brain, but I had to see what was happening. I looked toward the center of the room and froze.
Three men were standing in front of my mother. All of them were big, and they all wore dark, heavy jackets. My mother wasn't on the couch anymore. She was on her knees on the floor near the couch, her hands pressed together in front of her chest. She looked like she was praying to them. Her face was incredibly pale, and her eyes looked wide and empty, like she had lost all hope.
For the first time in my life, I saw her look truly afraid.
She wasn't the angry, bitter woman who had just hit me with a bottle. She looked small and broken. She was begging for her life.
"Please," she whispered. I could hear her voice shaking, thin and desperate. "I just need a little more time. I'll get the money. I promise I will. I'll do anything you want. Just give me a few more days."
One of the men stepped forward. He was taller than the others, with wide shoulders that seemed to take up all the space in the room. There was a jagged scar running down his left cheek, standing out against his skin. He tilted his head to the side, looking down at her without any pity at all.
"Time is up," he said. His voice was calm, which made it even scarier. "You know the rules. We don't do extensions."
I felt a surge of adrenaline that cut through the pain in my head. I forced myself to stand up. The room tilted dangerously again, and I had to lean against the wall to keep from falling back down. I ignored the dizziness. A cold fear climbed up into my throat, making it hard to swallow. My legs were shaking like jelly, but I forced them to move. I stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
"What's happening?" I asked. My voice sounded rough and much louder than I expected in the quiet room. "Mom? Who are these people?"
My mother didn't look at me. She didn't even flinch at the sound of my voice. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor, her shoulders hunched forward.
The man with the scar turned his head toward me. He didn't look surprised to see me. His gaze moved over me slowly, taking in my messy hair, the blood on my face, and my torn clothes. His eyes felt cold and empty. It was the look a person gives to an object they are thinking about buying or breaking.
Then, he looked back down at my mother.
"You want the debt gone?" he asked her. "Give us something valuable. Give us something we can take instead of the cash."
My stomach dropped. I didn't like the way he said that. I didn't like the way he was looking at me now.
"What does that mean?" I snapped at him.
I didn't think about what I was doing. I just reacted. I rushed forward and grabbed the man's wrist, trying to pull him away from her.
"Let her go!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the small apartment. "Leave her alone! Get out of our house!"
His skin felt warm under my fingers. I could feel his heartbeat, and it was perfectly steady. He wasn't even bothered by me. He didn't pull away, and he didn't strike me. He just looked down at where I was holding him and then looked into my eyes.
He didn't get angry. He only smiled. It was a slow, thin, and incredibly cruel smile.
Suddenly, my mother moved.
I expected her to stand up and help me, but she didn't. Instead, she reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking me back toward her with a violent jerk. Before I could process what was happening, her hand came down hard across my face. The slap was loud. My head snapped to the side, and a fresh wave of pain burned across my cheek.
"Shut up!" she whispered. Her voice was full of a strange, sharp anger. "Don't make this worse than it already is. You always ruin everything, Ema! You always make things harder!"
I stared at her, completely shocked. I felt the warm trail of blood running from my lip again. I couldn't believe she had just hit me in front of these strangers. I couldn't believe she was blaming me.
"Mom—" I started to say.
"Get back!" she screamed at me. She put her hands on my shoulders and shoved me away from her.
I stumbled backward, my heels catching on the carpet, and I only stopped when I hit the wall. I stayed there, leaning against the cold surface, watching her.
She fell to her knees again right in front of the scarred man. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to grip her own shirt to keep them still.
"Please," she begged him again. "Not her. Take anything else. I'll work more hours. I'll do anything you tell me to do. Just don't take her."
The scarred man knelt down in front of her so they were eye to eye. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered something. It was too low for me to hear, but I saw the effect it had. My mother's shoulders went stiff. She closed her eyes tight, and I saw tears finally start to roll down her face, leaving tracks through the messy makeup.
She stayed like that for a long moment. Then, she nodded.
It was a small, broken movement. She only did it once.
The man stood back up and looked at me. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
Before I could even think about running, the other two men moved. They were fast. They grabbed me before I could take a single step toward the door. Strong, heavy hands locked around my upper arms like iron bands.
I started to scream. I kicked out at them, my shoes hitting their shins, and I twisted my body as hard as I could. I fought with everything I had left.
"Let go of me!" I cried out. "Let me go!"
The men said nothing. They didn't even look annoyed. They just started dragging me toward the front door. My shoes scraped loudly against the floorboards. In a moment of pure panic, I reached up and scratched at the face of the man on my right. My nails cut into his skin, leaving red marks.
He let out a low growl and immediately slapped me across the mouth.
The world tilted. Light seemed to explode behind my eyes, and my head felt like it was floating.
"Mom!" I screamed as they pulled me across the threshold. "Help me! Please, Mom! Don't let them take me!"
She didn't answer me. She didn't even turn around to watch them take her daughter away. She just stayed on her knees, facing the other way, staring at the empty couch.
They pulled me out into the hallway and then down the stairs. The cold night air hit my skin, making me shiver. A large, black SUV was waiting right at the curb. The engine was running, making a low humming sound, but the lights were turned off. It looked like a giant shadow waiting to swallow me up.
They pushed me into the back seat. I didn't stop fighting. I kicked at the seats and tried to scramble back toward the door, but one of the men climbed in and pinned my arms down.
Suddenly, I felt something rough and cold wrap around my neck. It felt like a piece of rope or a thin wire. It tightened quickly. I tried to gasp for air, but my throat was closed off. I clawed at my neck, but I couldn't get my fingers under the cord. My lungs burned. The interior of the car started to blur.
Everything went black.
When I woke up again, the pain in my head was much worse than it had been before. It felt like my brain was too big for my skull. I tried to move my hands, but I realized they were tied tightly behind my back. The rough cord burned into my wrists every time I moved.
I couldn't see anything. A thick, rough sack had been placed over my head. It smelled like old engine oil and dried sweat. It was hard to breathe through the fabric.
I could hear the sound of the car engine. I felt the vibration of the tires on the road beneath me. Every time the SUV hit a bump in the pavement, a fresh jolt of pain shot through my body. I didn't know how long we had been driving. I didn't know where we were.
The car started to slow down. Then, it came to a full stop.
I heard the car doors open. The cold air rushed in again. Hands grabbed my shoulders and hauled me out of the vehicle. My feet hit the ground, and I heard the sound of gravel crunching under my shoes. I couldn't keep my balance with my hands tied, and I fell forward onto my knees.
"Please," I whispered. My throat felt raw and sore. "Where are you taking me? What do you want from me?"
No one answered me. The silence was terrifying.
Suddenly, someone grabbed the top of the sack and pulled it off my head.
The light stabbed into my eyes. I flinched and squinted, my eyes watering from the sudden brightness. I blinked hard, trying to clear the tears.
I saw a floor made of gray concrete. I looked up and saw dim lights hanging high above from a metal ceiling. It was a very large room. It smelled like cold metal, grease, and oil. It looked like an old warehouse or maybe a large garage.
Then, I saw him.
A man was standing right in front of me.
He wasn't wearing a shirt. His chest was wide and covered in hard muscle that moved slightly as he breathed. His hair was dark and messy, as if he had been running his hands through it. He had a very sharp, strong jawline and skin that looked like it had spent a lot of time in the sun.
He was holding a glass of whiskey in one hand. I could hear the ice clicking softly against the glass as he moved. His other hand was resting casually in his pocket.
He was looking down at me. He looked calm and completely relaxed, as if my being there was the most natural thing in the world. He looked like he belonged in this place, and like he owned everything within it.
His dark eyes locked onto mine.
The moment our eyes met, I felt something strange twist deep inside my chest. It was a feeling I had never felt before. I felt a wave of fear, strong and real, because I knew this man was dangerous. But beneath that fear, there was something else.
It was a strange, magnetic pull. I felt a sudden heat spreading through my body that I didn't understand. It made my skin tingle. It frightened me more than the ropes around my wrists. It frightened me more than the men who had kidnapped me. It frightened me more than anything else that had happened tonight.
I stayed on my knees, staring up at him. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might burst out of my ribs.
I couldn't look away from him.