The fear inside was fading but certainly not departing. She knew from the tightness of the steel around her wrists that she would not be able to pull her hands out of those cuffs. Likewise for the pair around her ankles. She tried standing and almost fell back to the bed, her equilibrium not fully functioning yet. Carefully, she straightened up, found that she could maintain her balance, and that when she stood, the tightness of the steel cuffs around her ankles increased. Ignoring that discomfort, she shuffled over, an inch at a time, towards the only source of light: the door. As she shuffled, her eyes became used to the dim light and she could see that she was in a bedroom.

Half way to the door, it suddenly opened, the light flooding in momentarily blinding her. As her eyes adjusted, there was the shape of a man standing in the doorway, a large man, and undoubtedly the man who had taken her. She felt a surge of fear race down her spine. That black figure was sinister.

His hand reached out and the overhead light came on.

The girl fought the urge to hop back to the bed to get away from this man. It would have been an emotional reaction, not a logical one. Logic said that she should show no fear, not let him know that he was scaring her witless. Don't provoke him, but don't let him think he is totally in control - no matter how true that might be. At least, she thought that was the best procedure.

She tried to straighten up and speak in a normal voice, but there was no way she could keep the tremor out of it. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Why don't you move back to the bed and sit down so we can talk," he said in the kind of calm voice she wished she had right then.

The fear was getting the best of her. She could not ignore how terribly helpless those handcuffs were making her. All resolve to present a calm exterior fell apart. With a trembling voice, she demanded, "Let me go!"

When he did not respond to that, she repeated, "Let me go!" in a louder voice. She twisted her wrists inside the cuffs and jerked so hard on them that it hurt her. "Damn you, let me go!"

The man, on whose face she could read no emotion, just stood there. "I'll scream!" she threatened.

"Please don't do that," he told her calmly. "No one would hear you anyway." He reached out a hand as if to touch her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled. "Get away."

"I am trying to save your life."

"What? What did you say?" She was confused.

"I said that I am trying to save your life. Now if you will calm down and sit on the bed so we can talk, I will explain."

For a few seconds she wanted to tell him to go to hell and that she would never do anything he told her to. But the logical part of her mind said that sitting down would be a good idea since her ankles were hurting from the tightness of the handcuffs. With a great effort, she pushed down the fear threatening to overtake her totally, and shuffled backwards, keeping her eyes on him. When she felt the edge of the bed against the back of her legs, she sat down.

She tensed as he moved towards her, very much aware of how helpless she was with her hands and feet shackled like that. But he only knelt before her and unlocked the handcuff from her ankles, saying as he did, "Please don't be stupid enough to try to kick me. You can't do any harm and it would only make me angry."

Kicking out with her bare foot was just what was going through her mind; wild thoughts about kicking him in the head hard enough to knock him out so she could flee. Even with the warning, she still might have tried, but she was aware of his size. He was taller, wider, and heavier than she, and would undoubted be able to control her, especially with her hands locked behind her.

"That probably feels better," he said. She did not reply.

For a long time nothing was said as the two studied each other. She saw a man probably in his thirties, maybe late thirties, trim and fit, with hair cut in a short, almost military style. Blue eyes the color of a deep summer sky looked down at her. The face would be best described as "ruggedly handsome" by some, others might say it was too hard of a face to be handsome. It was a strong face, nevertheless. A small scar along one cheek hinted at a rough past.

He saw a young woman, only eighteen, as he knew, and very pretty in an exotic way. Her ancestry was hinted at by the slight olive tint to her skin, the pointed nose and the jet black hair she wore as long as she dared to, given her parent's constant disapproval of her dress and appearance. She was slender, but certainly not skinny. Her waist was narrow, while her bust line left nothing to be desired. In short, she was, as best he could tell with her clothes on, a fit, trim young woman with enough curves to be sexy. What drew his attention was green tint of her otherwise dark eyes. All those from the part of the world her parents had left usually had black eyes. Hers, while not brilliant green, were of a sufficient shade to proclaim that there was some intermixing of genes a generation or two back.

She glared at him, trying to not show the fear that churned within her and threatened to overwhelm the young girl.

"What do you want with me?" she finally asked, not really able to keep the trembling out of her voice. "My father has money. He will pay for my safe return."

Inside, the girl was frantically hoping that his man would tell her that, indeed, it was for ransom that she had been kidnapped and that, once it was paid, she would be released. It was a reasonable assumption, given that she had not been molested as of yet. But there was a great fear that money was not the real motivation. She recalled seeing a TV show wherein a detective was explaining that if the kidnappers let the victim see their faces, it meant they intended to kill her. This man was standing there, his face in plain sight. That sent a cold shiver down her spine.

"I will not be asking money for your return," he told her. She felt her knees go weak and almost lost control of her bladder. If not ransom, then why was she a prisoner? To say the possibilities frightened her would be an understatement. She wanted to ask the next logical question but could not form the words.

"There is something you should see," he told her. "Wait here."

As he walked out of the room, she felt a surge of hope. The open door before her beckoned. Her feet were free of those handcuffs - could she make a run for it?

She stood and began walking for the door, wondering if she should be running instead. But she should have known that this man would not allow her a chance for freedom. Before she reached the opening, he was back, filling the doorway. In his hands was a tablet, one of those portable computers that had become popular a few years back.

"Please sit down," he said, apparently none too surprised to find her standing in front of the door. "You would not have gotten very far anyway, Marwa," he added.

Once again her emotions sank. She turned to walk the few steps back to the bed, but suddenly her head snapped around.

"What!" she exclaimed. "You called me by my name! How do you know that?"

He smiled a bit. "I could have found it on your driver's license," he told her. "But I didn't. Your purse was dropped along with your textbooks."

"Then how...?"

"It should be obvious. You were not picked at random. I carefully planned this, Marwa Kohzad."

Marwa sat down on the bed, stunned at this new twist of events and unable to make sense of it....

 

...He gave her a hard look. "Your father knows about Billy."

Marwa turned pale and looked as if she might faint. "Billy..." she began, then sucked in air. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do," he told her in a surprisingly mild voice, almost as if he cared for her. "You've been seeing this kid for months now. In fact, you have been meeting him at his house when his parents are away. To state it simply and factually, you two have been having sex together."

Marwa's lower lip was trembling and she seemed on the verge of tears.

"You know how your father feels about an unmarried daughter having sex with a man."

Marwa shook her head as if to rid it of the thought. She could barely force out the words: "Father knows?"

"He knows. Your older brother, Jahandar, told him. He suspected that you had a boyfriend and spied on you."

"But... It can't be. I've been careful."

"Not careful enough. He simply took your cell phone while you were asleep and looked at all the calls you've been making. A little reverse lookup and he had the names of all the people you talked to on your phone. Some checking, and he found that you often called a William Farley. After that it was easy to work out the details. He followed you. Then he reported to your father.

"Your father," he went on, "is of the old, traditional views, is he not? He is very religious and very strict. He did not want you going to college, did he? And had forbidden your dating boys. And was always complaining about the way you dress?

"In fact," he went on, "was he not planning to marry you off to a relative back in the old country? A man older than you and who you have never met?"

She shook her head again. "He said that, but I do not believe he would actually force me to do that. And he'll be mad about Billy. Sure. But what can he do about it? We're in America now."

When he did not reply to her question, she looked down at the tablet on the bed and whined. "Oh, shit!" She looked quickly up at the man. "He wouldn't..."

"He has always been very strict with you, hasn't he? And punished for the slightest transgression?

Shaking her head, she did not answer. This was all too confusing. It was like this strange man knew all her secrets. A tear began to trickle down her cheek. "What...? Oh, shit! You're going to kill me!" She almost shouted the last words, and then she scrambled backwards on the bed.

The man did nothing. When she was pressing her back against the wall, he lifted one eyebrow and said, "Not necessarily."

For a long time there was silence. Marwa began crying in soft whimpers. This was all too much for her to swallow at one gulp.

"My name is James. I know you father because we have had some business dealing over the last couple years." He paused to sigh. "Let us say that these dealings were not exactly legal. Truth is, I'm what you might call a 'hit man'. A paid assassin, to use another term.

"You're probably not aware of it, but your father is heavily involved in several illegal activities, along with some of his friends who came over to this country at the same time. But that's a long story and not overly important to the issue at hand. Suffice it to say that your father, Fahran, is aware of my line of work. A couple days ago, when he found out about your seeing that American boy, he made the decision to get rid of you."

That brought a gasp from her.

"But, fortunately for you, he lacked the balls to do it himself. Or maybe he was afraid of being caught, which I consider more likely. So he did what we call 'put out a contract' on you. He asked me to make you disappear - for a fee. I don't work cheap."

"You're going to kill me," she said in a whisper.

"That's what he wants and is paying me for. Of course, he will want proof that I have done the job; my clients usually do."

Marwa was shaking all over.

"But before you wet your pants, and my bed, let me make a proposal to you."

She sniffed and looked at him, the faintest spark of hope igniting inside her.

"I am willing to not kill you but still make your father think that I have. Then I'll arrange for you to eventually start a new life someplace far away from here."

Hope was written across her face as she blinked back the tears. "You will?"

"But I expect to be paid for this." He gave her a sharp look. "You understand? I am taking a big risk. What I should do is kill you, get rid of the body, take the money, and go about my business. If your father, your brother, and your uncles find that I've let you live, they'll kill me - and then you. It will be a matter of honor, you know."

"I don't have any money," she began.

"I know."

"Then what...?"

"I want you."

"You mean... You want to fuck me?"

"Well, sure, you're one good looking woman. But that's not what I'm thinking of. I want a lot more from you."

"What...?"

"I want you to be my slave."