The city streets were cold, the November wind slicing through my black t-shirt as I walked toward the subway station, my boots scuffing the pavement, my hands buried deep in my pockets. My bag bounced lightly on one shoulder, the weight of the night at the brothel—Raya, Kalina, Jonathan’s laugh—still clinging to me.
Aeri’s voice from the phone call echoed in my head, her giggle mixed with Sara’s mocking taunts, and the loneliness I’d felt earlier tightened in my chest. I sighed, my breath clouding in the chilly air, my steps slowing as the station’s neon sign came into view, its glow cutting through the dark.
"Sigh... now that Aeri’s with Sara, I’ve gotta sleep alone in the house," I thought, the idea landing heavier than it should. Two days, just two days, but the thought of our quiet apartment without her warmth—her humming in the kitchen, her soft touch—made the night feel emptier.
I shook my head, trying to push it away, and descended the station stairs which have a bright fluorescent lights. The platform buzzed faintly, the last few trains still running, their distant rumbles echoing through the tunnels. A handful of late-night commuters walked around—tired faces.
I took my ticket card from my pocket, the plastic worn smooth from use, and tapped it against the scanner. The gate beeped, swinging open, and I stepped through, the metal clanging softly behind me.
My mind was already on the train, on getting home, warming up Aeri’s dinner, collapsing into bed.
"Stop," a firm voice cut through the hum of the station, a hand landing heavy on my shoulder, stopping me cold.
"Hmm?" I turned with curiosity as I glanced back. Two men stood there, both middle-aged, dressed in long black coats and dark pants, their faces hard and unreadable under the bright lights.
One had a faint scar above his eyebrow, the other a jaw so square it looked carved from stone. They didn’t look like cops, but they didn’t look friendly either.
"Yes? How can I help you?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, my hand tightening around my bag strap, my eyes flicking between them.
The scarred one spoke, his voice low and direct. "You’re Ezra, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I am. Who are you?" I shifted my weight, glancing around the platform—still a few people, but no one close enough to hear.
"Come with us for a minute," the square-jawed one said, already turning, his coat swishing as he started walking, like my agreement was a given, like "no" wasn’t an option. "We need to talk."
I hesitated, my gaze sharpening, my stomach twisting with unease. "What happened, though?" I asked, taking a step after them, my voice steady but probing, trying to get something—anything—to make sense of this.
"Just keep walking," the scarred one said, his tone flat, not even glancing back, his hands inside into his coat pockets like he was hiding something.
My curiosity shifted to alert, my senses sharpening as I followed, my boots quiet on the floor. They walked ahead, their steps heavy, leading me away from the main platform. We moved through a side corridor, the lights dimmer here, the hum of the station fading in the background.
We walked for what felt like five minutes and finally, we reached an isolated spot near the train tracks, the air cooler, the tracks glinting faintly under a street lights of above path. No one else was around, just the distant screech of a train and the rustle of their coats.
The isolated corner of the subway station was a cold. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of rust and stale cigarette smoke, the distant rumble of a train fading into a low hum.
I walked cautiously, my hands in my pockets, my bag heavy on one shoulder, facing the two men in black coats who’d led me here, their faces hard and unreadable.
My senses sharp, but before I could demand answers, a sharp sound cut through the quiet—a *slap*, followed by the muffled cry of a girl’s voice.
"I’m sorry, Henry," Raya’s voice trembled, pleading, somewhere close. "I swear, it wasn’t like that."
"Why you wanna cheat on me, huh?!" a man yelled, his voice raw with anger, echoing off the stone pillars.
"No, that’s not it. I really love you," Kalina’s voice came next, softer, desperate, directed at someone else—a different guy, his silhouette looming as he puffed on a cigarette, the glowing tip flaring in the dark.
I shifted, my eyes darting toward the sound, and there they were—Raya and Kalina, pressed against a stone pillar under the tracks, caught in the passing train’s lights.
Raya’s red dress was crumpled, her hair messy, while Kalina’s silver one-piece glinted faintly, her face flushed. Three more men stood around them, gripping bats and metal rods, their postures tense, ready for trouble.
The one yelling at Raya—Henry, I guessed—had a shaved head and a leather jacket, his fist clenched like he might hit her again. The guy with Kalina, lean and smoking, glared at her, his cigarette dangling as he muttered something I couldn’t hear.
My gaze flicked between them, and in a heartbeat, I understood. The brothel, the night we’d spent together, their mafia boyfriends—Jonathan’s warning clicked into place, sharp and heavy. This was a setup, a confrontation, and I was the one they’d dragged into it.
"He’s here," the scarred man in front of me said, his voice low, nodding to the three men with bats.
Their heads turned, eyes locking onto me, cold and calculating. Raya and Kalina looked too, their faces catching the dim light.
I was expecting for battered, pitiful expressions, tears, fear—but no. Raya’s lips curled into a secret smile, her eyes glinting was a game, like she wasn’t scared at all. Kalina’s gaze was steadier, but there was a spark in it, a hint of defiance that threw me off.
I sighhhed deeply, my breath visible in the chilly air, my expression settling into something normal, almost bored.
It’s gonna be a tiring night...
I thought, my hands still in my pockets, my bag on my shoulder. The men with bats stepped closer, their boots scuffing the concrete, while Henry’s glare burned into me.