Predator

45

Amelia looked up, revealing only her eyes. They stood in the filthiest wildlife trade market in Kenya, a massive argument breaking out behind them.

Liam cupped her face, his breath hot against her ear. "I used to live there too."

At fifteen, he left Italy with his parents for the first time. After a gunshot turned him into an orphan, he drank the dirty water from Kibera's sewers. There were no schools, clinics, or even toilets and running water. He had nothing but himself.

A year later, the slum had its youngest boxing champion. With his many scars, he left that place. Before he did, he spent his savings on a doll for a little girl from a family that had secretly helped him. The girl hesitated to take it, her hands dirt-streaked. "I'm too dirty," she whispered.

Liam tightened his grip on Amelia. How did he say it back then? He had forced the doll into the girl's arms, enunciating each word: "It's yours. It's okay if you get it dirty."

...

Amelia called Liam's name several times before he snapped out of his thoughts. "What did you say?"

"I asked," Amelia swallowed, "what happened after that?"

"After that, I came here. And then I met you." He roughly pinched her face, distorting the handkerchief, but his tone grew cold. "You want me to tire of you. When I do, I'll sell you for a dollar to Kibera to be a low-class prostitute, serving the lowest of men."

Her face paled, and she turned away, not daring to continue the conversation. She awkwardly changed the topic. "Where are we going?"

The smell of blood had faded as they stood at the entrance to the black market, a hidden alley piled high with debris. "I'm taking you somewhere."

Liam kicked the debris aside, helped Amelia over, and they easily climbed out. He stared at her wrist. "You have a tattoo. Do you fear pain?"

Amelia covered her wrist, warily watching him. "What do you want to do?"

"Get your tattoo removed."

Before she could shake her head, he tightened his grip around her waist and led her to the right, stopping at the third shabby shop. He pushed open the glass door.

Inside, a woman in her fifties or sixties, wearing glasses and holding a needle, squinted at them. "What do you want?"

"Remove a tattoo."

"For you or her?"

Liam pushed Amelia onto an old reclining chair. "Her. Show her."

Her wrist was red from the rough handling. The woman frowned. "This tattoo is quite large. It will hurt a lot."

Liam's face hardened.

A bright, dotted light flashed in the woman's hand. "After the first session, don't let it get wet. Come back in a month or two for the next one."

Liam grabbed her arm, stopping her. "How many sessions will it take?"

The woman looked displeased. "It's hard to say."

"So, more than once? Is there another way?"

"If you want, you can cover it up with another tattoo."

He looked at Amelia, who was biting her lip, silently mouthing, "No."

Liam turned away. "Alright."

"Then give her a bird tattoo," he paused, "a yellow warbler."

Amelia's body trembled on the chair. The woman seemed excited, mentally designing the new tattoo. Amelia turned her head, closing her eyes.

She felt the searing pain as her skin was burned open again. Just a bit longer. She was close to escaping Liam.

The woman was skilled, evident from the faded sign at the shop entrance that had withstood years of sea winds from Mombasa Port. Under her deft hands, a yellow warbler, darker in color than the original tattoo, appeared on Amelia's wrist.

Liam leaned in, kissing the fresh tattoo. "Nice. With this, you won't get lost."

Amelia kept her head down, her expression unreadable. She heard the clink of coins as Liam paid, the shopkeeper happily inviting them to come again. The next moment, he unbuttoned her shirt collar, loosening the delicate neck, and massaged it gently. "Let's go buy some clothes, alright?"

"Liam," Amelia looked up at him, "is this your way of compensating me?"

"If you want to see it that way." He led her out of the shop.

"We'll buy some clothes, and then tear them off piece by piece, hmm?"