Dance of Fear

(Kelly's POV)

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The boss, a man of considerable size with a thick beard, was sitting behind a large mahogany desk.

He was surrounded by an array of expensive wines, his hand casually resting on a half-empty glass of what appeared to be red wine. A thin trail of smoke rose from the cigar he held in his other hand, filling the room with a heavy, sweet scent.

"Walk in," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes, cold and calculating, never left my face as I approached the desk. I could feel the man in the suit behind me, his presence like a shadow.

"Sit," the boss ordered, gesturing to the chair opposite him. I obeyed, my legs shaking slightly as I lowered myself into the plush seat. The boss took a long drag from his cigar, the tip glowing brightly in the dimly lit room.

"Now, Kelly Williams," he began, leaning back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me why you're cut up in all this?" His tone was casual, but his eyes bore into me, making it clear that this was no friendly chat. I swallowed hard, preparing myself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

I stuttered, "He... he's my boyfriend." The boss let out a low chuckle, putting down his cigar and looking me up and down.

"Ohhh Mamacita," he replied, his gaze lingering on me. "Get up," he ordered. I didn't understand what he meant, so I remained seated. He repeated his command, this time with a harsher tone, "Get up!"

Startled, I immediately stood up. He then said, "Dance, Mami." His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stood there, frozen in fear. The room was silent except for the crackling of the boss's cigar and my own shaky breaths.

Without missing a beat, the boss turned to one of his men and ordered, "Ponme música," which translates to "Play me some music." The man quickly moved to a vintage record player in the corner of the room and put on a record.

The sultry sounds of a Spanish guitar filled the room, adding another layer to the tense atmosphere. I stood there, tears streaming down my face, as I prepared to dance for my life.

"Dance, Mamacita, dance!" he commanded, a cruel smile playing on his lips. I moved awkwardly from left to right, trying to keep rhythm with the strange, haunting melody of the Spanish Mexican native song that filled the room.

As I danced, a chilling sound reached my ears - the muffled cries and grunts of Rashad being beaten in a room downstairs. Each thud was like a dagger to my heart, but I forced myself to keep dancing, to keep up the facade.

The boss watched me, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, seemingly oblivious to the sounds of violence echoing from below.

Suddenly, the boss rose from his seat. Each step he took towards me sent a new wave of fear coursing through my veins. He moved with a predator's grace, his eyes never leaving mine.

As he reached me, he took hold of my waist, pulling me closer. His smile was wide, but his eyes were cold. I could tell he was enjoying himself, even though I was far from happy.

He began to dance slowly, spinning me around in time with the rhythm of the song. His foot tapped hard against the floor, creating a beat that echoed throughout the room.

He danced with an intensity that was almost uncontrollable, leading me in directions I didn't want to go. I had no choice but to follow his lead, my body moving to the rhythm of the music and his guiding hand.

After a while, the boss seemed to tire. He crashed onto the sofa in the room like a mighty stone, his laughter echoing around the room. "Ahhh Mamacita, eres tan dulce," he said, which translates to "Ahhh darling, you are so sweet."

His gaze met mine, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh back. I kept a stern face, unwilling to smile at his wicked, ugly-looking gaze. His laughter filled the room, but it was devoid of any genuine joy. It was a sound that sent chills down my spine, a reminder of the danger I was in. I could only hope that Rashad and I would find a way out of this nightmare.

I thought to myself, "The reason I care so much about Rashad's well-being is because he's the one who got me into this mess in the first place. And he's the only one who can get me out of it. If not, I don't care if he rots because this is all his fault."

These thoughts were a stark contrast to the light, carefree music still playing in the background. The boss just sat there, watching me, his smile never leaving his face. But his eyes... His eyes told a different story. They were cold, calculating, and for the first time since I met him, I saw a flicker of uncertainty.

"Well, Mamacita, sit down," the boss said, gesturing to the plush sofa. I sat on the edge, my body tense. He began to approach me, and with each step he took, I found myself shifting further back into the sofa.

"Mamacita," he began, stopping just a few feet away from me, "Rashad doesn't deserve you." In my mind, I thought, 'No news there. I already know Rashad doesn't deserve me.'

The boss continued, "I've got all that would take good care of you - dinero," he said, using the Spanish word for money, "cars, and all you need. I've got them all, and they will take good care of you."

His words hung in the air, a promise and a threat all at once. I could only sit there, my heart pounding in my chest, as I considered his words.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to have settled over my thoughts. 'What the hell is wrong with me?' I thought to myself. 'Why do I always get caught up in feelings at every chance I get? This is what got me into this mess with Rashad in the first place. And here I am, about to make the same mistake with this monstrous Mexican.'

Before I could gather my thoughts, the boss reached out and laid his hand on my leg. I immediately pushed it away. Undeterred, he leaned in, attempting to kiss me. I pushed him away again, standing up abruptly.

"Mamacita, sit down please," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "I can take good care of you." His words were meant to be reassuring, but they only served to heighten my fear. I stood my ground, refusing to let him intimidate me.

Seeing that his attempts were futile, the boss called out to one of his men, "Paulo, keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't leave your sight. You got that?"

Paulo, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, nodded, "Yes, sir." The boss patted his shoulder twice, a sign of approval, then left without looking back.

As the door closed behind him, I felt a chill run down my spine. It was at this point that I knew we were doomed. I was left alone with Paulo, his menacing gaze never leaving me.

Paulo reached for a glass mug and a transparent jug filled with a green liquid that had an awful smell. He began to pour the liquid into the mug, and I assumed he was preparing a drink for himself. But to my surprise, once he was done, he started walking towards me with the mug in his hand.

My heart pounded in my chest as he extended the mug towards me. The pungent smell of the liquid filled my nostrils, making me feel nauseous. I looked at Paulo, then at the mug, unsure of what to do next.

"Take this," Paulo said, extending the mug towards me. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the mug. He yelled, startling me, and I quickly grabbed the mug, holding it with the tips of my fingers.

I raised the glass a little, bringing it closer to my mouth. Paulo was staring at me, his gaze intense. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks.

"Will you drink up fast?" Paulo yelled, his voice echoing around the room. I flinched at his harsh tone, the mug shaking slightly in my hand. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what was to come.

With fear gripping me, I closed my eyes and placed the glass cup with the awful-smelling liquid to my lips. I started gulping down the green liquid, each swallow harder than the last. Paulo was seated in front of me, watching every move I made.

Feeling frustrated at the way I wept while taking the liquid, he raised his voice again, "Finish it!" His command echoed around the room, adding to the tension that was already thick in the air. I took a deep breath, bracing myself as I forced down the last of the foul-tasting liquid.

The room spun around me as I set the empty glass down, the taste of the drink still lingering in my mouth. I could only hope that I would find a way out of this nightmare.