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CHARLOTTE

10 years ago.

Chicago.

J ust as Mom is cutting into my chocolate birthday cake, a resounding knock batters on our front door. I jump up and my father’s face pales.

“No,” he whispers.

“Who is it?” I ask. I don’t have time for distractions, today is my black belt grading day.

A stern look washes over his features as he hunts through the cupboard, retrieving a gun.

“Dad! What the hell? You’re scaring me.”

Mom wraps her arm around me and hugs me close, just as another flurry of aggressive pounding echoes through the house.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully. In my dressing room, behind the shoes, there’s a keypad to a safe room. The code is your mom’s birthday. Go.” His voice almost cracks.

“Tell me what’s happening! Why do you have a gun?” Tears stream down my face.

All my life I’ve been sheltered. Homeschooled. Martial arts was my only escape to a normal teenage life. We moved to Chicago after my sixth birthday. I always wondered why I was different. I was kept away from the real world. I used to watch kids playing outside and get upset that I couldn’t go.

But the fear on my father’s face tells me everything as he brushes a shaky hand through his graying hair.

He steps forward and grips my shoulder tightly.

“I love you, Charlotte. I’m proud of you.”

It sounds so…final.

“Go!” he bellows and points to the ceiling.

Holding on to Mom tightly, we race through the hallway. As we reach the stairs, we come to a halt as the air vibrates from the heavy blows.

“Shit. Run!” I shout, dragging Mom behind me.

I’m just to the top of the landing as the front door crashes open. My mother’s screams rip through the air. I feel leather gloves on my bicep, and I use all my force to rip my arm away from his grip.

As I turn, I stare into devious black eyes. His hand shoots out and I duck. Swiping his feet from under him with my leg, he tumbles down the stairs. My lungs burn as I run as fast as I can to my father’s room, slamming it shut behind me. Flinging open the doors to the wardrobe, I head to the shoes.

“Fuck, where’s the keypad?”

Taking a breath, I scan the surroundings from top to bottom, looking for something out of place.

The gray shelves stand out from the white ones. As I look closer, they come out further than the others. Standing in front of it, I shove the boots from the center onto the floor, revealing the number pad and start to jab in the digits with my trembling fingers.

“Come on, Charlotte,” I hiss.

As I hit the second to last button, the door creaks open.

“Little bitch.” The distinctive Russian accent turns my blood to ice. I step back, holding up my arms when I see the gun in his right hand.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

A sadistic smirk spreads on his lips as he stomps towards me, grabbing me by the back of the neck and pressing the muzzle against my temple.

He leads me out of the room and down the stairs. I keep my breathing steady as I am pushed into the kitchen.

I let out a scream when I find my mom and dad on their knees with their hands behind their head.

Tears run down my father’s cheeks, my mother is shaking in fear as she looks at me.

A tall man stands behind them, he must be in his mid-twenties. His eyes are like the first guy’s, almost black, except he has a defining scar over his left eyebrow. His gaze drags over my body, almost with satisfaction on his face.

He jabs the pistol into the back of my dad’s head.

“Pretty little thing, your daughter. I’m going to have a lot of fun. This is a very rewarding deal for me after all.”

The Russian guy runs his tattooed finger along his lip, and I want to throw up as I watch him. Blood pulses in my ears and the room starts to spin.

“Vlad. No. Take me. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t harm my girl,” my dad pleads, and Vladimir simply laughs.

It’s menacing. It’s evil.

“No more chances, Damien. You’re lucky I’m not burning your house to the ground with you all tied up inside.”

My mouth falls open as the guy behind me tightens his grip. I am frozen in fear.

“You aren’t taking her!” my mom yells. Jumping to her feet, she launches herself at Vlad . The guy behind me throws me down, my head smashing against the tiles. As I look up, I hear the shot go off, and she falls to the floor. My father’s cries rip through the air.

“Charlotte, run!” he bellows.

I scramble to my feet and wipe my tears as I run. Before I can grab the door, a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I thrust my elbow into his ribs and spin to face him so I can block his next move.

When his fist flies towards me, I snatch his arm, moving out of the way and twisting hard enough to elicit a growl from him. I smash my foot into the back of his calf, dropping him to his knees. I push him forward until he topples and use my weight and force to hold him down by the back of the neck, pulling back his left arm, waiting for the pop of his shoulder.

“You cunt!” he grunts out in agony. He tries to shake me off, but I hold him in position. Grabbing him by his chestnut hair, I smash his face into the tiles as hard as I can, not once, but twice. As his body relaxes under mine, I leap off him and race for escape.

As the door opens and the air hits my face, gunfire makes me jump and glass shatters next to my head.

“Do not take another step or my next bullet will be in the back of your skull, Charlotte.”

I hold up my hands. He knows my name.

“Turn around,” he commands.

I do, slowly, keeping my head down.

“Look at me.”

As I slowly bring my chin up, he looks at me with amusement. And then down to his man on the ground.

“Is Emil dead?” He raises a brow, his pistol pointing between my eyes.

“P-probably not, I don’t aim to kill.” My voice shakes.

He slowly nods as he moves towards me, I instinctively step back.

I suck in a breath as his aftershave assaults my nostrils and I shiver in fear as he runs his fingers along my bare arm.

“We will have a lot of fun, Charlotte. I can see it now. You will make the perfect wife.”

My heart stops. The blood drains from my face. I snap my eyes up to him and he laughs.

“Daddy didn’t tell you that?”

I shake my head and he presses the muzzle of the pistol between my breasts.

“You could now be my most valuable asset. He’s paid off his debt and more. Perhaps I will keep him alive if you behave. Can you do that for me, printsessa?” he whispers in my ear. The acid burns my throat as I take in his words.

I’m frozen.

I hear my dad’s faint whimpers coming from the kitchen. He’s injured. But alive.

I look into the devil's black eyes and my fate is sealed. Visions of my mom falling to the floor terrorize me. There’s no escape. But I can play a clever game perhaps, my dad’s words of warning fresh in my mind.

I’m trained to survive.

This might be the worst eighteenth birthday in the history of birthdays.

But if my years in martial arts have taught me anything, it’s that I can fight.

So I nod.