Chapter 2: Money troubles are a bitch

Belle Rose

I grip my baseball bat with both hands, resting it on my shoulder, my eyes wide and alert. I flick on my star-shaped bedside lamp and scramble out of bed.

I tiptoe across my own floor, moving towards the kitchen, towards the noise. It could be the pipes again, or it could be another break-in.

The sound grows louder and my grip on the bat tightens.

“Meow,” a faint noise purrs. I flip the light switch and a fluffy ginger cat scurries towards me, clawing at my feet. I let out a sigh of relief, even as the cat’s claws draw blood. I pick up the cat and release it out the backdoor.

It must have come in through the broken window I boarded up with cardboard last week. I reseal the cardboard to the window, doing my best to keep out the cold night air.

As the sun peeks through the cracks in the drapes, warming my face, I roll out of bed.

I slip into my turquoise waitress dress and braid two front strands of my hair. I open my front door, wary of my unpredictable neighbors.

The apartment to my left is home to a stripper who brings home a different guy every day. Their animalistic moans and groans echo through the thin walls.

The rhythmic thumping of her bed gives me a matching headache. I go through a pack of painkillers every two weeks. Any more and I worry I’ll become dependent on them.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around my arm, pulling me into the apartment to my right. He spins me around and shoves me against his flaky wallpapered wall.

“Belle,” he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips. He slides his hands under my skirt, groping my ass. I gasp, inhaling more of his stale breath. He roughly pulls down my panties and starts to unbuckle his belt.

“Can you stop?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. I hate how weak I sound. He chuckles darkly, taking out his erect length and stroking it. “I have to go to work.” He scoffs, looking at me with confusion and a smirk.

He stares at me, gripping my jaw. “I'll come back after,” I say, trying to sound innocent and non-threatening.

My chest heaves as he studies my eyes, pressing his member against my skirt. I reach up to cup his cheek and he leans into my touch.

“Where do you work?” he asks.

“I'm a waitress at the cafe on 50th,” I lie, hoping he’ll believe me. I plan to move after work. I don’t need anything that isn’t in my bag—my ID, purse, and cheap cell phone.

I sniffle, maintaining eye contact. I would be more scared if this was the first time something like this has happened. But the anxiety and panic attacks I’ve had before consume me for months.

I’m trembling, my nails scratching at my own skin. I tend to scrape and scratch anything I can when I feel like breaking down.

Then he lets me go. His arm moves away from the door and I rush out, running down the stairs and out of the building.

I hold back my tears as I hurry to work, still shaken from what just happened. He's only been living there for two weeks and I'm going to have to move for the fifth time this year.

It'll be to another rundown apartment that I can barely afford. And there'll be another incident to scare me away, whether it's the neighbors, a flood, or a police raid.

All of those have happened before.

I prayed that my life would get better, and in some ways, it has. I'm living a more free life. Maybe it is better. Better than before.

I was drowning, suffocated by my father. And now I'm out of the water, I'm breathing again. But just barely.

As I enter the diner, J's friendly face greets me. I try to push down everything that happened last night and this morning.

“Morning, Baby Belle,” he says, pulling me into a hug. A tear slips out, and once one falls, they all do. When he feels the wetness on his shirt, he pulls back, his eyes wide.

He leads me into the storeroom, holding my shoulders as he kneels to be at my level. “Belle, what's wrong?” I shake my head, rubbing the tears from my face. “Belle?”

“Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired,” I sob, covering my face with my hands. I hiccup a little and his hands grasp mine, pulling them away from my face.

“Belle, tell me what's wrong. I know something happened,” he says, his voice firm but gentle.

“I h-have to m-move,” I stutter, avoiding his gaze.

“Why?”

“My n-neighbor, he... he... dragged me into h-his place a-and...” I struggle to say more, trying to steady my breathing.

“He what, Belle? Did he touch you? Rape you?” he asks softly.

“H-he... groped me and-and I told him that I would come b-back after work. H-he asked where I worked and I-I lied. I c-can't go back. He'll...” He stands up and pulls me into his chest, stroking my hair. I cry into his shirt before deciding that enough is enough. No more tears. He didn't even manage to do anything yet, and I have to be grateful that he didn't, that he let me go. I pull back from J and breathe through it, pushing it down like I've done so many times before. This is no different.

“You can bunk with me, alright? I can swing by your place and grab your stuff,” he says, his lips brushing against mine. “You don’t have to go to work today.”

“I can find a new place, you don’t need to take me in. I’ll manage.”

“Until you find that new place, you’re staying with me,” he insists, his gaze stern, daring me to argue.

“Fine, but I’m going to work,” I say, pulling myself together. I give him a nod and a forced smile. I leave the room, him trailing behind me until his dad calls him over for something.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Katie teases, waggling her eyebrows at me. “You and J? I knew that whole innocent act wasn’t really you.”

“Nothing happened,” I mumble, moving away to serve my first table.

By the time the night shift rolls around, I’ve been on my feet for fourteen hours straight, and the morning’s events are almost a distant memory.

J and Harry, the owner, had tried to convince me to take a break, but gave up after the ninth hour.

When it’s time to close, it’s just J, Harry, and me left in the diner. I’m wiping down tables while the two of them argue over the cash register.

“How the hell are we supposed to come up with that?” J snaps at his father, slamming his fist on the table.

“10K, it’s just not possible,” Harry replies, shaking his head in disbelief.

The bells above the diner door jingle, and I look up to see five burly men dressed in blacks, grays, and navys.

They’re covered in tattoos, a few with scars on their faces and most with dark features.

One man catches my eye, and I can’t seem to look away.

His striking honey eyes and messy black hair contrast with his dark aura, his scruff and wicked smirk making him seem both intimidating and enticing.

He could be a male model if he didn’t radiate such darkness. He’s the only one wearing a suit among them, a black suit with a black shirt.

He hasn’t noticed me yet, his attention focused on J and Harry. He exudes an air of authority that demands submission from everyone he encounters.

Harry looks like he’s about to wet his pants, his knees wobbling slightly, forcing him to grip the counter.

J seems a bit less cowed, but his face twitches in annoyance at the men’s presence.

The men take a seat at a table, the man in the suit leaning back in his chair and gesturing for Harry to join them.

“Let’s have a drink, shall we?” the man in the suit suggests, his voice deep and smooth, with an underlying tone of command.

“Waitress?” I hurry over, J’s eyes going wide, and when the man in the suit finally looks at me, his eyes widen too, a smirk spreading across his face. “Bring me six black coffees and then come sit on my lap, ~gattina~.”