The Mafias Little Raven

LEILA

.

.

The rain never smelt fresh here. Never. It soaked into the old, lined building that looked tired of existence and clung to the air, melding with the stale rot of spilled beer and the acrid tang of burnt cigarettes thrown on the pavement of the alley shrouded in darkness.

I strode through it anyway, fingers tightening around the damp bills in my hands. The wetness didn't bother me. Once dried, it could be used again.

I counted the notes slow, doing maths I was never good at. Mom's hospital bill. Dad's debt...there's nothing left.

I barely registered the chipped brick of my building, or the termite-infested wooden stair, until I was at the door of my apartment.

The moment I creaked the door open, I knew something was wrong.

"Thank goodness you"re back."My father scurried towards me, his breath burning with the pungent smell of cheap beer, his washed black singlet hanging loosely over his alien bony frame. Thanks to years of drug usage.

My stomach twisted. But it wasn't his sight, but them. The men who stood beneath the light. Tall. Huge. Almost swallowing the whole space of our living room.

One of them, tattoos creeping up his throat to the back of his ear, stared at me through his heavy lids.

My father grinned, so wide, that one might think he had won the lottery. "She's the one," he slurred, "my daughter."

His words hit the air and my stomach twisted further. Twisted in the ugliest of ways. This wasn't the first time men came in looking for him. They always did. Stood tall over him, waiting for him to cough up what he owed.

I knew one day they'd come and take something else. An organ, maybe, a limb. Something they could sell.

But they weren't here for him.

But me.

The tattooed man appeared before me, his eyes raking over me like was assessing a livestock for purchase.

His fingers shot out, clamping around my chin.

My skin flared with pain as his thumb pressed into my jaw, forcing my lips open, and revealing my well aligned teeth.

My father's gaze still on us. "Is she enough to pay my debts?"

"She's perfect."

My heartbeat ceased.

"She'll work for it." The man added. Too eagerly.

A hot sensation crawled at the back of my neck and I snapped my head to my father. "What are you doing?"

My voice cracked from the weight of the horrifying tension.

"You'll be fine. Once we clear this debt, I can start taking care of your mother."

A lie. He never did. Every money he took ended up in the hands of bars, and gambling dens-never ours.

Realizing my situation, desperately, I thrust my hand into my pocket and brought out my salary-a month of blood and sweat- and handed it over. "I have the money. Take. This should be enough." My trembling hands fumbled at my necklace and I yanked it off. "You can have this. It's not too expensive, but it would fetch some money."

A smile-one that coiled a bitter sensation at the base of spine-spread across the man's lips. Followed by a scoff. "You think this is a negotiation." His eyes fell to the green notes and necklace on my hand, before grabbing it.

My chest lightened but tightened as he tossed it to the floor.

Before I knew it, I was being hauled over his shoulders, his shoulder pressing hard into my stomach. I twisted, kicked, nails clawing at his skin-all useless. I was weak beneath his grip.