The Debt: An Irish Mafia Romance (Downing Family Book 2)

by Cassie Wild

  I wondered if he had ever seen this side of Isabel, strong and determined. I’d had no idea this part of her existed. She was definitely more than the spoiled, indulged girl I’d previously assumed she was.

  She smiled at me.

  I smiled back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daria

  The night managed to somehow drag on and yet speed by. I’d never wanted more to escape into sleep, and although I eventually cried myself to exhaustion, I hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of rest here and there.

  I woke feeling groggy and disoriented, but one look at my surroundings served to clear my head quicker than I would have thought possible.

  It hadn’t been a nightmare.

  I’d hoped that I could go to sleep and wake back up in the little shed at the marina—or better yet, back on the island with Brooks.

  But even as I hoped for such an outcome, I knew I was fooling myself.

  This was all too real. Duardo finding me in Cuba, kidnapping me and basically holding me prisoner until I’d paid off some ridiculous debt.

  I had two choices. Well, three, but as Duardo had said, the third one wasn’t particularly ideal.

  “Ideal,” I muttered. Who was I kidding? None of this was ideal. I had to choose between being an erotic dancer and being a prostitute. I couldn’t imagine either, although logically, I knew women and girls who were forced to sell their bodies for money all the time.

  Some women might do it out of choice, but I knew that for many, the choice was taken away.

  I’d watched a documentary on sex workers once and had been appalled at how many people were forced into that life.

  Now, I was one of them.

  Maybe I should consider myself lucky since Duardo had given me this mockery of a choice. But instead, I just felt sick as I thought about how many other women must be in this so-called life with absolutely no choice.

  He’d told me that I only had to do it long enough to pay off the debt, making me think there was a way out of this. How many girls were forced to do this with no end in sight?

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and forced my body upright. At some point last night, I’d used the aloe Duardo had told me to use, although it had been more to relieve the itchy burn than some attempt to obey him.

  During the night, when I wasn’t sleeping restlessly, I’d thought about what Duardo had said.

  There was really no choice when it came down to it.

  The thought of prostituting myself wasn’t acceptable.

  I’d have to dance. Something told me that it would take a lot longer if I went that route, but at least I’d maintain some level of autonomy over my own body.

  And maybe I’d have a better chance to escape.

  I’d been to that first club, and it had been crowded, sheer chaos in motion. Surely there would be a chance to escape if I was patient. Would another club present an opportunity to flee?

  While I was planning my freedom from a club I’d never seen, I heard a noise out in the hall. Alarmed, I heaved myself to my feet. Everything in me ached. I was so sore, just that simple act of walking made my body protest. But I dragged myself to the bathroom and locked the door behind me, collapsing against it and closing my eyes.

  I was going to attempt to make myself look presentable.

  Duardo would be here at any time. He said he’d come back in the morning, and it was morning. I wasn’t going to greet him looking like a bedraggled rat.

  I knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything, but some part of me was adamant that he not look at me and see somebody broken and cowed.

  I’d get through this.

  I had no other option.

  I wasn’t in the bathroom more than maybe ten minutes, taking the time to wash my face and brush my teeth with my finger since there was no toothpaste or toothbrush. I finger combed my hair again, longing for a decent brush and some shampoo to wash the salt, sweat, and tears away.

  But there wasn’t anything in the small shower stall that I could use.

  Besides, I was reluctant to get naked in here, knowing that Duardo would arrive at any second. Once I’d smoothed my hair out the best I could, I left the bathroom.

  I froze the moment I stepped out.

  Duardo was there, back in the miserable looking chair, slumped and relaxed.

  His eyes studied me closely, shifting from my face to my bare arms.

  “You’re still sunburned.”

  “I’m pale. I burn easily,” I said, my nerves showing in my quaking voice.

  He didn’t bother with a response to that. Instead, he angled his head and asked, “Have you made your decision?”

  “I’ll dance.”

  Judging by the look on his face, my choice didn’t surprise him. He gestured to the bed, and I saw several bags. A couple were from big box stores, and a peek inside revealed lotion, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, and deodorant. “The cost will be added to the debt,” he said.

  I resisted the urge to sneer at him and just nodded, moving on to the other bag.

  The contents inside were familiar. Several leotards in various shades. Just the sight of them made me homesick.

  Once I was done checking out the items in the bag, he rose. “Shower. Get into one of the bodysuits. You’re taking the day to learn the ropes. Tomorrow you start working.”

  I still wasn’t comfortable showering in this place, wherever this place was. But after I managed to wedge the chair in front of the door, I felt a bit more secure and took what was probably the fastest shower in the history of the world. At least for somebody with as much hair as I had.

  I dressed in the leotard before I was fully dried off and grabbed the towel to sop up the water from my hair that fell in rivers down my arms and back.

  One of the bags had also held hair ties, but no pins, so in lieu of my normal knot, I twisted my hair into a heavy braid and tossed it over my shoulder. I was gathering the toiletries back up when the door swung open.

  Duardo eyed me up and down, then gestured. “Come on. We need to get you started.”

  “What about the…” I couldn’t call the stuff my things or else I might have to pay for it, but the shampoo and conditioner were a cheap variety that I’d never stoop to buy. My hair still felt a little brittle and dry, and I wished again for my brush. For things that were truly mine.

  Instead of saying anything, I just gestured to the bags on the bed.

  “Leave them here. Somebody will take them to the room you’ll have for the duration of your time here.”

  I looked around, confused. “I’m not staying here?”

  “No. You’ll stay at the club where I’m placing you.”

  With no other way to delay, I followed him out of the little room, down a long, narrow hall. I counted off ten doors total, including mine, before we reached the end. Did he have nine other girls here who were being forced to dance? To prostitute themselves?

  It was a sickening thought.

  That odd numbness swept through me, and I was grateful for it. If I were numb, this would hurt less. Humiliate less.

  Sooner or later, I was bound to break under the stress, and I’d feel everything. For now, I was willing to take whatever time I could to protect myself from the mess I was in by encasing myself in this fuzzy-feeling, pervasive numbness.

  That feeling disappeared, though, when we pushed through a door at the top of the stairs we’d just climbed.

  A woman stood there, studying her phone. At the sound of the door, she looked up.

  But I’d already recognized her.

  Shock rippled through me so hard and so fast, I couldn’t speak or even move.

  It was Madame Nadia.

  “Madame!” I finally muttered, the word whistling through my tightened throat.

  She looked me up and down, then tsked under her breath. “You are a fright, Daria.” She nodded at Duardo and said, “I’ll take over from here.”

  “Take over…?” I echoed as he withdrew. “I don’t un
derstand.”

  She made an impatient motion and beckoned for me to come closer. “We must get you ready to dance by tomorrow night.”

  “Dance?” She stared at me as if I was stupid and then understanding dawned. “You’re involved in all of this.”

  At that, she gave me a thin-lipped smile. “I do my part,” she conceded, and she sounded ridiculously proud. I wanted to smack her, attack her, shake her, hit her.

  But I just stood there and waited for that numb feeling to embrace me once more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daria

  I wouldn’t have thought I’d be as body-conscious as I was, standing there in the brightly-lit dressing room just off to the side of the stage, hidden by a wall of smoky glass.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t been dressing and undressing in front of people for most of my life. It went along with the gig when one was a dancer.

  But I was embarrassed standing there, humiliated even. I wanted to run away and hide from what was coming.

  I’d been in here earlier, learning the layout of the room as one of the other dancers showed me around and explained things. Her name was Peaches, and she talked animatedly about the club, although when she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.

  She was a pretty woman with curly coppery-brown hair that she wore tousled loosely around her face. The heavy makeup made it hard to tell, but I think she was probably close to me, age-wise.

  Thanks to Peaches—I had no idea if it was a stage name or what—I knew where the VIP sections were, and when I wasn’t dancing on the stage, I was expected to mingle. I’d asked if I’d have to do more than dance, and Peaches had given me a thoughtful look. “Usually, it’s up to you. A lot of us go ahead because it’s good money.”

  I hadn’t liked the sound of her soft voice as she said, usually.

  To me, that meant if somebody with enough weight to throw around wanted a girl, he’d get her.

  The idea of it was enough to make me want to find someplace where I could just hide for the rest of my life.

  “You’re next,” a cool voice next to me said.

  I looked over to see Nadia standing there. I could no longer—ever—think of her as Madame.

  She seemed to want some sort of response, so I nodded, then looked back through the narrow opening that led to the stage.

  I was given something they laughingly called a costume; it barely covered my essential parts. It appeared to be a modified Catholic schoolgirl uniform, a skirt barely long enough to cover the cheeks of my ass and a white button-up shirt that had snaps in place of real buttons. It was tight and knotted just under my breasts. Under it, I wore a G-string, and little sparkly circles I’d learned were called pasties that covered my nipples.

  When I left that stage, I was expected to be wearing nothing but the G-string and pasties.

  After Nadia had put me through my paces, so to speak, I’d been turned over to two more women. One, tall and thin, had a near-skeletal appearance with sunken cheeks and eyes. The other woman was as short and round as her companion was emaciated. She had warm, soft, dark brown skin.

  Of all the people I’d met so far, she seemed to be the only one who might understand what I was going through. Her eyes shone with sympathy, and some part of me wanted to collapse against her and hug her. It wasn’t anything that she’d said, or even done, really. But the kindness in her eyes gutted me, and the tears I’d been battling ever since I realized what I’d have to do were hard to fight back.

  The tears gave way to embarrassment as soon as I was told to strip and was forced to submit to having my bikini area waxed. That humiliating procedure left hardly any hair on me, just a neat little triangle that seemed to point…down.

  I hoped to hell I was just imagining what that little triangle could mean. In reality, I’d understood something like this would happen—the costumes didn’t make for a lot of coverage.

  Tears threatened again, briefly clouding my vision as I stared out on the stage, listening to the music.

  I knew all about listening for my cue, and my time was running out. In less than a minute, I’d have to go out there, and I thought I might be sick.

  I fought that back too.

  Something told me it would only make matters worse. Although Nadia had left, and I hadn’t seen Duardo, I could feel the eyes somewhere out in the dark sea of tables watching me. And no doubt, one or more of them were watching me because they’d been told to.

  This whole thing was a nightmare.

  Just get through it. Pretend it’s just you on the stage. Nobody else exists.

  I heard my cue and moved to the entrance, taking one deep breath, then another.

  “Get out there,” somebody hissed at me. I had no idea who it was, but maybe I should thank her.

  That short, impatient order snapped me out of my rising panic, and I shoved myself through the entrance and strode down the stage.

  They’d introduced me as Katarina. Some part of me was hopeful that, maybe, once this was over, I could forget it ever happened. They hadn’t used my name, after all.

  But I couldn’t think about when all of this would be over, because I was too busy trying to make it through my first set.

  My hands slipped on the pole, and I thought I might fall.

  I wasn’t used to dancing in high heels, and it affected my balance in ways I hadn’t expected.

  The lights were so bright, it was hard to see past them. I considered that a blessing. It made it that much easier to pretend there was nobody here but me.

  Music rose and crested, and I moved to it the way Nadia had instructed, all but grinding my butt up against the pole and holding onto it from behind as I sank down lower.

  I felt naked and exposed as I slid back up and spun around, facing the pole and giving the audience my back as I reached desperately for some control.

  You can do this, Daria, I told myself. You can do this.

  I made it back to the dressing room on legs that shook while my blood roared in my ears. I was glad I hadn’t eaten earlier because I was almost certain I would have puked it up right on the stage.

  Peaches eyed me from where she sat at a mirror, holding a blush brush in hand. “You look like you better sit down,” she said.

  The stool next to hers was thankfully empty, and I dropped down onto it, shaking and still nauseated.

  Peaches tossed something at me. “Here. It’s my spare robe. You can use it until you get yourself one,” she told me as the slithery fabric fell over my lap.

  I shrugged into it gratefully. “Thanks.”

  My voice shook as I did so, and she gave me a sympathetic look. “It gets better. After a little while, you won’t be so nervous. You’ll get comfortable with what you’re doing, and that makes it easier.”

  I resisted the urge to tell her that I didn’t want to be comfortable doing this. I just nodded instead.

  “I’m supposed to owe Duardo another year or so, but I got lucky a few days back, and I’m hoping to find a way to turn it to my advantage, maybe get out of this early.”

  That had me straightening. “Lucky, how?” If I could get out of this sooner rather than later…

  I bit my lip. The idea wasn’t even fathomable at that moment, but I couldn’t give up hope.

  Peaches seemed to follow my line of thought, and she shook her head. “That ship has sailed…so to speak. But I’ll tell you. Maybe another chance will come up for you after I’m gone.” She looked around, as if confirming we were alone, then she met my eyes once more.

  “I banged somebody close to the Castellanos family. The youngest got married last week, and the night of the bachelor party, I was one of the girls hired to dance. I ended up staying later because the brother of the groom and I hooked up.” She rolled her eyes and patted her chest. “Man, I didn’t even charge him for it. He was amazing.”

  Dread crept up my chest, and I clutched the lapels of the robe tighter as I looked back at my expression in the mirror. “What was his name?” I
asked in a wooden voice.

  “Brooks.” She slid me a sly look. “I’ve been doing some digging around. He’s a big shot up in Philadelphia, but he’ll be working with the Castellanos now too. Sooner or later, I’ll see him again, and I’m going to see if he wants me.”

  I blinked, not quite following. “Wants you?” But the question was mostly rhetorical. I didn’t care how she answered just then. Brooks had hooked up with her the night before the wedding.

  They’d warned me that he was…well, a dog.

  Maybe I should have listened.

  Unaware of the direction my thoughts had drifted, Peaches continued to talk. “Yeah. You know…like a mistress or something. The boy is kinky with a capital K. I’m fine with that. A lot of women wouldn’t be. Maybe he’ll take over the debt I owe to Duardo. If I get lucky.” Then she sighed lustily. “And if not, hey, I got one hell of a hook-up to look back on, right?”

  “Right,” I said, my voice hollow. I looked down at my lap, squeezing my eyes shut against the misery.

  A hook-up, I thought hours later.

  The club had finally closed, and I’d all but run back to the room I’d been told was mine for the duration. We were at a different club now, a bigger one than the one where I’d made my unfortunate debut. Oh, if only I could take back that night, that ridiculous impulse to get Brooks’ attention. But as Duardo had said, this one looked a lot more high-dollar than that last place.

  Maybe I should be grateful he hadn’t stuck me in some hole in the wall where I’d dance until arthritis made it impossible to move, and I was no longer able to dance to pay off my debt.

  Peaches’ words kept ringing in my ears, and I lay brooding on the single twin bed the room boasted. Try as I might, I couldn’t block those words out. And oh, did I try.

  What Brooks and I had shared had seemed so intense. But was that because it had been intense or because I’d just imagined it?

  I had no idea, and the longer I thought about it, the worse I felt.