"I know this is sudden since you know this is my first day and shit, but I need 80,000."
Mike paused mid-sip of the coffee he was having. He stares at me like he's trying to figure out why I need that amount of money upfront.
"Are you in some kind of debt?"
I picked up the fork next to the plate poking at the omelet Mike ordered for me. "I just need the money."
He chuckled and sat the coffee mug on the table. "Work first. Then money."
I looked around the restaurant we were in. It's empty except for Mike's men standing at the door with their guns out. Yeah, shit made me uneasy as fuck.
"I don't do human trafficking, that's where I draw the line."
"You do what I tell you."
"Got it."
"Working for me means you no longer work for Elio Bianchi." Mike snaps his fingers three times and a woman comes from around the corner. She pushed my plate from in front of me and put a stack of papers down with a fountain pen on top.
"What is this?"
"A contract."
"For....?"
"Saying you belong to me," Mike said. "That you will only work for me and if you go against the things in this contract, you will be killed."
"I'm not signing this shit." The sensation of the cold steel against my temple makes me aware I had no other choice other than signing this shit.
Mike tilts his head to one side, adjusting his suit jacket. "Living is important to you, yes?"
My gaze shifts up to the woman holding the gun to my head. I pick up the pen and scan through what's written in the contract and I was fucked signing, and I was fucked working for Mike now, basically signing my life over to him.
"Ania," Mike said to the woman. She picks up the contract and hands it to him.
He looks over it, making sure I signed everything. Then a big smile comes across his face.
"Everest Jensen, Welcome to the family."
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something told me that being part of this "Family" would be hell.
After the little breakfast, We were in Beaumont, Texas at a Super 8 motel. Mike goes towards one of the motel rooms and he senses I wasn't following him, he comes over to me, grabs me by the back of my neck, and pulls me along with him.
"Mikhail." A young man said with a heavy Russian accent.
"Dmitriy," Mike said. "Did things go well?"
"Uh." Dmitriy looks over his shoulder at another young man who is bent over vomiting in the parking lot.
Mike laughed and said. "He tortures people as a day job and a dead body has him like this?" Mike pulled me closer to his side, giving my neck a light squeeze. "Dmitriy, this is Everest. He'll be working with you and your brother."
"Does he have a weak stomach like Matvey?"
"We'll find out, won't we?" Mike leads me to the motel room. The moment we stepped foot inside the scent of blood hit my nose. The omelet I had for breakfast was trying to come up. I cover my nose.
Dmitriy walks to one of the beds in the room. He pulled back the blood-soaked sheet, revealing a gruesome sight of a dead body with half its head blown off and brain matter on the walls and headboard.
I needed to breathe.
Rushing out of the motel room, I'm dry-heaving in the parking lot.
"They say mouthwash helps with the smell." A young man who looks just like Dmitriy but with blonde hair. "Want some?" He held out a small bottle of Listerine.
