“You're independent, you don't need anyone picking you up after work. But that doesn't mean every other girl is like you……”
“Marian slept under a bridge last night. Have you even thought about how dangerous that was for her?”
“All I'm asking is for you to switch rooms. You're my wife. The card I gave you has no limit. Just book another room. Is that really so hard?”
The hallway was quiet.
The hostel's old wooden door let out a faint creak.
I laughed out loud.
“Why should I?”
I lifted my head slowly, my eyes perfectly calm.
“Why should I spend our money—our shared marital property—to book a room for Marian Cox? She's nothing to me.”
“And you say it so casually. 'The card I gave you.' Where is it? Did I ever take it?”
Brent's face turned ugly.
“You said people would accuse you of using your position for personal gain. That they'd say I was bullying some junior secretary. That it would hurt the company's reputation.”
“But locking me in this dump and surrounding me with strange men. That gets out, and it won't hurt the reputation?”
Brent's face cycled between white and grey, irritation bleeding through his voice.
“I can't out-argue you.”
“Georgina, today I just wanted to use this to disgust you.”
“Be grateful nothing happened to Marian that night. Otherwise, today wouldn't be as simple as paying some bums to scare you.”
“I won't let them touch you. But tonight, you stay here.”
“Until dawn.”
“You don't go anywhere.”
He turned and left without a second's hesitation.
“Brent Sanchez, don't you walk away!”
I moved to follow, but the bald one stepped into my path.
“Money taken, job to do. Twenty grand's twenty grand. You leave, and we don't get paid.”
The smell hit me first: stale cigarettes and sweat, like something rotting out of mildewed clothes.
“Hey, relax, pretty lady,”
the skinny one said with a grin. “We're just regular folks. What are we gonna do to you?”
“Your husband's just looking out for you. Letting you get a taste of real life.”
The one with the scar rubbed his hands together, a filthy grin on his face.
“Look at the fabric on that outfit. One touch and I'd owe half a year's wages, huh?”
“Don't worry, we wouldn't dare lay a finger on you. Just keeping you company, chatting all night long……”
As he spoke, his tongue dragged across his lips, and his hand shot toward my chest. My foot caught him first.
A crack—like bone snapping—and then his scream.
“Holy shit, she knows how to fight!”
“Why the hell didn't that guy warn us?”
I swept my gaze over them, cold. “Who's next?”
They looked at each other. No one moved. Not one of them dared step forward again.
“You're doing Brent Sanchez's dirty work for twenty thousand dollars. Selling your lives that cheap. You're idiots.”
The bald one's grin shrank.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
I looked at them, one by one, ice in every glance.
“Do you know who I am?”
Silence.
“Brent Sanchez is my husband. Whatever's between us is between us. He dragged you into it.”
“You really think this counts as helping?”
“Right now you're standing here, circling me. Under criminal law, that's group sexual assault.”
“That signal jammer killed my phone. That bumps unlawful detention up to an aggravated charge.”
“Brent Sanchez is the mastermind. Every one of you is an accomplice.”
The scarred one pulled his hand back.
