Chapter 2 A Trapped Breath

The man didn’t answer. I studied his face from such close range. The distant mercury light cast a dim glow, sharpening the lines of his almost perfect features. But my focus shifted when I noticed where his eyes had gone. He wasn’t looking at my face. His gaze had dropped, fixed directly on my chest, exposed by the torn nightgown Mark had ruined earlier.

Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to cover my bare skin despite the damaged fabric. “What are you looking at?” I hissed softly, more out of embarrassment than anger.

He merely curved his lips into a faint, unreadable smile. He didn’t apologize, nor did he look away. Just as I was about to demand an explanation for what he had said earlier, the heavy sound of boots approached again.

The group of men who had been talking about human trafficking turned back. Julian. I heard one of them call the name of the man beside me. He immediately pulled me closer, hiding my body completely behind his broad back wrapped in an expensive shirt.

“Julian! You still here?” a hoarse voice called out.

Julian didn’t tense. He leaned casually against the wall, hands slipping into his pockets, blocking the narrow space where I hid. “Just getting some fresh air. Chicago’s too noisy. I needed a moment of quiet before tomorrow’s shipment,” he replied easily, almost joking.

“Fresh air or fresh entertainment?” The man stepped closer, stopping right in front of Julian. I held my breath, pressing myself against his solid back. “I saw a pair of women’s legs behind you, Julian. Since when do you bring toys into a filthy warehouse like this?”

Julian let out a low chuckle, smooth and convincing. “You know me. I don’t wait until I get to the hotel when the urge hits. She’s a little… shy.”

“Oh yeah? Let me see her face. Maybe she’s my type too,” the man sneered.

“Don’t push it,” Julian cut in, his tone slightly sharper but still controlled. “Find your own entertainment. This one’s mine.”

The man burst into laughter. “Alright, alright. Enjoy your night, Julian. Don’t let her pass out before you’re done.”

Their footsteps slowly faded, followed by the rumble of engines driving away. I finally exhaled the breath I had been holding. My lungs felt like they were about to burst. I stepped out from behind him, standing beside him with my body still trembling.

“So, your name is Julian?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.

He gave a short nod, his eyes locking onto mine again. “And you?”

“Evelyn,” I answered briefly, watching him with suspicion. “How do you know them? That conversation… human trafficking. Are you one of them?”

Julian had just opened his mouth to respond when the sound of a single pair of footsteps returned down the corridor. Someone had been left behind.

“Julian! I forgot the key—”

Without warning, Julian grabbed the back of my neck. Before I could even gasp, his lips crashed hard against mine. Shock shot through me. My hands instinctively pushed against his chest, trying to shove his solid body away as he pressed me against the wall.

“Stay quiet and kiss me back,” he whispered between the urgent pressure of his lips. “Or he’ll know you’re not part of my plan.”

I froze. The man who had stayed behind now stood just a few meters away, watching Julian and me as if we were lovers locked in an intimate moment. Forced by fear, I wrapped my arms around Julian’s neck. Terror and adrenaline tangled together, creating a strange, burning sensation in my chest.

Julian lifted me up, making me instinctively wrap my legs around his waist to keep from falling. The kiss deepened, more intense, more deliberate. He took control completely, his hand gripping my hip firmly as he held me in place.

I could feel how steady his heartbeat was, so different from mine, which pounded wildly. We kissed like lovers who had been apart for too long, in the middle of a filthy warehouse that witnessed the trade of human lives.

After what felt like forever, the man’s footsteps finally disappeared for good. Julian pulled away. We were both breathless, our breaths colliding in the damp air.

The moment my feet touched the ground, I slapped him hard across the face.

Julian merely tilted his head slightly, showing no anger. He even brushed a finger across the corner of his lips, still damp.

“I’m sorry, and thank you for helping me,” I said, my voice shaking. I didn’t wait for his response. I turned and ran as fast as I could out of the old building, leaving Julian alone in the darkness.

I walked along Bedford Avenue with what little strength I had left. New York never slept, but I felt like a ghost drifting unseen among the neon lights. Then I remembered something. I reached into the small pocket at the side of my nightgown.

My fingers touched something hard and flat. I pulled it out and nearly cried in relief. My ATM card. Before Mark attacked me at my old apartment, I had slipped my phone and credit card into this pocket. My phone was gone during the chase, but at least I still had money.

I was a beginner painter. A few months ago, one of my abstract paintings had sold at a small gallery in SoHo for five thousand dollars. It was a huge amount for me, enough to start over and get away from Mark’s shadow.

I quickly searched for a 24-hour Brooklyn Grand Mall. I ignored the judgmental stares as people took in my torn and disheveled appearance. I bought a pair of jeans, an oversized black hoodie, and simple sneakers. After changing in the mall restroom, I felt a little more human.

With the last of my energy, I took a taxi to an apartment complex in Long Island City. It was far enough from Mark’s reach. I paid upfront for a studio unit through a self-service deposit machine and a fast rental app. This place would be my temporary refuge while I tried to survive by painting again.

I stopped in front of unit 402. My hand trembled as I entered the access code sent to my email. The door opened, and the fresh scent of floor cleaner greeted me. The place was decent, minimalist, with a large window facing the street.

I stepped inside, about to close the door behind me, when my movement froze.

A man stood in the hallway, right in front of the unit across from mine.

He wore a black leather jacket, his back turned to me as he held a phone to his ear. His rough voice sent a chill crawling up my spine. I knew that voice. He was one of the men from the warehouse.

“Yes, the shipment at Hudson Pier is ready,” he said into the phone, his tone cold and detached. “Within two weeks, we’ll be moving thirty new girls. Make sure Julian doesn’t find out about the leak at the warehouse last night. The girl who was with him… I have a feeling she’s not just a call girl.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, barely daring to close the door for fear of making a sound. My heart seemed to stop as a terrifying realization sank in. I had just run straight into the same building as the men who wanted to sell my life.

And worse, the man slowly began to turn toward my door.

“Who’s there?” he growled.