I sat there speechless, the previously delightful taste of Fanta and fries turned to acid in my mouth. He was sprawled out across the leather seats, the utter embodiment of fowl lethargy, bile rose in my throat and I gagged. My heart was pounding faster and heavier every second.
“Come on, it’s good money” He waved the money in my face. I spat at him and tried to open the door, but it was locked. I turned on him, trying to seem threatening. He wiped the mess from his face, and kicked me viciously in the stomach, forcing me to double over in the seat. While I was down he grasped my hair and forced my head further between my legs, his lips brushed against my ear. “You got balls, kid, I’ll give you that, but if you ever do something so disrespectable again I’ll knock your teeth out.” He shook my head “got that you twat”. I nodded, too stunned to talk. He let my head go and then I heard the car unlock, I rushed out of the car and sprawled onto the damp pavement. I heard him follow me out and close the door, getting into the front and turned on the engine. Before he sped off he called out “Slut!”
I curled up on the corner and cried a little to myself. I sat like that for hours, before I calmed down and sprinted off down the alleys and streets, not caring when my lungs burnt and my legs went dead. I finally collapsed on some unknown street, gasping for breath. Drunken feet moved over or around me, one high heel even tripped over me. I think I fell asleep.
I jumped awake and groaned as, what I thought was the sun, glared into my eyes. I tried to sit up, but instead seemed to fall forward. This provoked rasping laughter from some unseen man. Stopped for a moment and evaluated the situation. I was tied to a chair, my legs to the front legs of the chair, and my hands behind my back to the back of the chair. My forehead was pressing against a cold concrete floor. The laughter snorted out and I was pulled back up by harsh hands. A single lamp illuminated the room; it must have been a store room or something, because drink boxes and cardboard boxes were stacked against the side walls. Two other men occupied the room; the man who’d tried to ‘rent’ me, who was leaning against a wall. And another man sat in a chair facing me, he was massive, spooling out over the sides of the wooden chair he was sat upon. He looked disgusting, the stained white t-shirt he was wearing, wasn’t large enough to cover his massive gut. His face was spotty and repulsive but worse still when he opened his mouth to speak; his crooked teeth were black and rotten.
“So why have we got this boy tied up in my club, Peter?” He rasped, and grinned at the younger man.
“Because, dad, I think he’s just what we need.”
“A homeless brat from the streets you mean, I don’t get how I can use him” My anger got me past my entail shock and I started to scream curse after curse at them, mainly along the lines of, letting me go. The younger man punched me,
“Quite” he snapped, and I shut my gob but glared at him in anger. The old man continued
“My son wants you to work for us, the pay is good, and we keep you safe.”
“What’s the job?”