Page 1 of Obsessed Bratva King

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CORA

“Cora, come on! Get out here.”

I look back at the bathroom door. Darren’s banging his fist on the far side.

“They’ll be here soon. What’s taking so long?”

“Who’ll be here?” I finish tying my hair up, wondering why he sounds so pissed.

“You got that dress on yet?”

I look down at what he called a dress when he gave it to me an hour ago. The hem barely covers my ass. “It’s a bit small,” I say, as much to myself as to him. “Do I have to wear it?”

A laugh. “You want to look good for my friends, right?”

I grip the hem of the dress so tightly my knuckles whiten. “What friends?”

His voice gets louder. “I bring you in from the streets. You were homeless, remember? I don’t charge you rent. I buy you food. Ibuy you clothes. All you have to do is look good and smile. You can do that, can’t you?”

I should have guessed there’d be a catch. He found me begging on the streets, offered me a room away from the freezing rain chilling me to the bone. Never asked for a thing from me.

Until today.

I catch fragments of conversation. I’m guessing they don’t know how well sound travels through the bathroom door. “Homeless, naive, easy…” Darren is saying to someone.

A pig like snort. The sound makes my stomach churn. “Is she hot?”

“She’ll put out tonight,” Darren replies. “That’s what matters. Then we put her to work.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking, of course. That’s all women are good for. Got a brothel room with her name on it ready to go.”

Another laugh. “Bet she’ll love it, the dirty fucking whore.”

“They all do.”

I am in big trouble. He doesn’t know I heard that. I’ve got to move fast.

I scan the cramped bathroom for an escape. There’s a window above the toilet, the glass cracked but offering my only shot at freedom.

I clamber onto the toilet, tossing the pile of towels off the windowsill so I can fumble with the latch.

The window creaks open. In the lounge, beer cans are being cracked open. I can smell cigar smoke. “Cora,” Darren calls, rattling the door. “I’ve got some friends who are dying to meet you. Come on out, darling. Don’t be shy.”

I glance back in a panic. That’s when I see it: a duffel bag half buried in the towels. The top is open. I can see banknotes inside. He hid it in here. Money. A lot of money.

“Cora?”

The window’s open. I should leave it where it is. Get out while I can.

“Just a moment,” I call out as I lower myself back down, grabbing the bag. Inside, more crisp stacks of cash glimmer in the faint light.

His voice booms again, more urgent and menacing as he hammers on the bathroom door. “Get out now, or I’ll bust that lock! You’re embarrassing me.” He rattles the lock. “Come on! Open this door.”

I hoist myself up through the narrow window, bag in hand. The cool night air hits me hard as I tumble onto a burned out dumpster. Behind me, I hear the bathroom door crashing inward as the lock finally gives way.

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