The night fell too fast.
The rain was pouring hard down the street outside my window. The air was thick with fog that sat atop the road and illuminated the entire street in a cloud of grey. My father was at it again, his screaming never ceasing to stop at his victim.
I cover my ears and watch the rain. I focus on the droplets as they gather on my window and stick to the stained glass. I'm not really startled anymore by the gunshots that sound from downstairs. The man I call my father laughs abruptly. His voice rumbles, echoing all throughout the apartment. I press my hands tighter on my ears, because there wasn't a sound I hated more than the silence of his victims. That silent sound of death.
My father deals drugs differently than other people. He's part of a gang in the underworld that did not hesitate to take any lives. And today was a big day. Today was the day that my father was going to be a millionaire.
By selling me off.
I bring my knees to my chest as the rain gets faster and more gunshots sound from downstairs with more laughter, despite his victim already being dead. He was just having fun now. Sick fun. I ditch covering my ears and opt to wrap my arms around my legs, as I hang my head low and feel my heart sink with dread.
The rough purr of motor engines suddenly edges out my father's laughter. Like the fog, the sound is heavy and overpowering. They're here. The clients.
I lift my head from my knees and scoot closer towards my window to see them. They're a gang too, but not like the one my father was in. My father told me they were a motorcycle gang. They don't hurt people. They don't take lives or sell drugs. They're less violent, he said. They would be better for you, he said.
But there is nothing really keeping me from taking my life. I needed that final push, so I didn't protest being sold off like an object. This is the pinnacle of my father's horror. Finally, he would make my life meaningless enough for me to easily take it.
At first I think it is the rain on the window that is obscuring them, but when I wipe my eyes I find many tears gather at my fingertips. I wipe my face dry with my sleeve, watching as one of them removes his helmet looks up at me. I can barely make out his face, as my stomach twists. A part of me is telling me to run away while I still can, but then what? There was no point.
Another person in the gang takes off his helmet as he makes bold strides towards my front door. I feel my body tense up, and my anxiety skyrockets when the doorbell rings. There is one final gunshot before I hear my father answer the door and greet them. I wait a few moments, hearing their business conversation and then suddenly my father calling my name with bitter, monetary excitement.
I slip my shoes on slowly, before taking one last glance back at my bedroom, wondering if I'll ever have the comforts of a bed again. I turn off the light and slowly make my way down the steps. I stop half-way, my hand gripping the metal rail as I take in the horror that had unfolded in the room. There was blood everywhere. My father's victim was mutilated on the floor while he sat on the sofa, a cigar hanging out of his mouth as he chatted idly with a younger man who held his motorcycle helmet under his arm. They both went silent when they saw me, the conversation coming to an abrupt halt. I had to resist the urge to vomit right then and there.
"Ah! There she is..." My father stands up as I walk down the steps towards him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and the other man in the room stands up as well. His eyes are dominating, his skin bright and healthy, unlike what I was expecting.
"Hello." He nods towards me. He seemed to be the leader of this motorcycle gang.
I swallow dryly, the fact that they were probably not even a motorcycle gang to begin with finally hitting me. What would a motorcycle gang even want with a girl? This is bullshit. My father was bullshitting me the entire time. This was probably some trafficker that just wanted to make a quick dollar, or some horny group of guys that didn't have time to be in a relationship...
"She's a virgin." My father says before pushing me towards him, "Ten million."
My heart sinks.
The man's gaze on me does not falter, as a taller member of the motorcycle gang, still wearing his helmet, enters the room and presents my father with two stainless steel suitcases. My father opens both of the cases slowly and his eyes light up at the contents inside. He licks his lips feverishly, and nods towards both of the men. I feel my eyes water, as I turn to face my father. I grip his arm:
My father shakes me off of him and closes both of the suitcases, before holding them snugly in his arms. My face pales as my eyes sting, the reality of the moment finally hitting me. Hard.
"Come on." The taller man says to me, his voice surprisingly deep.
He takes my arm and yanks me outside. I feel my heart race upon the sight of the seven other men on their motorcycles, their faces obscured by their dark helmets. Their engine's start as a few of them begin to zoom off. A helmet is thrown into my arms, as the tall man from before tells me to put it on and sit behind him.
I do as I'm told.
My grip around the man's waist is light as we ride through the night. There was apart of me that just wanted to let go of him. To let go so I could fall into the road and get run over by something. So I could just end my life here, before it could get any worse.
But we arrive before I can do that.
The place appears to be a gigantic warehouse just outside of the city. The tall man yanks off my helmet, before taking his own helmet off. He takes my arm again with his death grip and pulls me inside as the rest of the eight follow suit. I am pushed inside through the steel doors of the warehouse before I can even begin to process what is happening.
Upon entering the warehouse, I am shocked to find the interior completely high end with stark resemblance to a mansion. The exterior was deceiving of the actual interior of the house, with its black marble walls and glittering red tiles that were carpeted in some areas. A line of crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with diamonds that twinkled and winked at me in the dim light like a dream. The place was oozing with grandeur. And I only expected the worst to come next.
Motorcycle gang? There was no way in hell. These were probably some top smugglers or drug dealers. High rollers and gambling executives that made money off of negative externalities. I'm doomed.
My feet are planted on the floor where I stand as I freeze, hearing the multiple footsteps enter behind me. The tall man lets go of my arm and looks at me, and I see his face for the first time without his helmet. He is young, like the leader, his eyes bright and his features not intimidating in the slightest. I turn around to see that they are all like that; young. They were around my age. Maybe a few years older than me.
It was terrifying, but a part of me couldn't cry. Not anymore. Not after years of crying.
They all gather around me, as my heart rate slows down to an agonizingly slow rhythm. I feel, for the first time, the humanity leave me, as I look at all of them silently. I don't know what they're gonna do to me. I don't even know if I'll make it the night.
But that's okay. I had a shitty life anyway. There was really not much to lose.
I let my eyes fall to the glittering floor, as my body goes numb. They are still silent, watching my every movement. I want to say something, do something...
But I can't find my voice anymore. After such degradation from my father, after being sold off like an object...
I am lost.
There's a loud sigh that startles me. I jump up slightly and lift my head to see that it is from the one that leads this group of mysterious men.
"Everyone upstairs." The man orders them, but they oscillate, observing me with curiosity as they slowly shuffle away in curious silence.
I watch them all leave, before averting my attention to the man in front of me. His eyes meet mine, and he looks at me with stoic seriousness:
"We need to talk."