— I found her. _I declared with absolute certainty, weeks after the day I saw her with my own eyes._
— I confess I had hoped this woman wasn't my daughter. _The biggest bookie in Syria spoke with disgust._
I switch the phone to my other ear while brewing coffee.
— Whenever you want me to bring her back, just give the order, and I'll do it. I'd hate to leave a job half-done. _I let out a smirk, recalling how I had her all night that day._
— I need to talk first with the man she's promised to. I need to know if he'll take her back or if death is the better path.
Quickly, I pull the toothpick from my mouth, which I'd been chewing out of habit.
— You didn't tell me that detail. I didn't know she was promised to anyone. _My tone drips with fury._
— She betrayed the commitment I chose for her. My daughter gave herself immorally to a nameless boy, and when she found out I had him killed, she fled. I didn't tell you out of shame. She disgraced me.
I turn, staring at nothing.
— That's not quite the story you told me. _I'm pissed._
— What difference does the story make? My daughter betrayed her commitment to a respected man, gave herself to another while promised, and then fled, becoming a harlot. Those are reasons enough to condemn her.
— In that case, knowing the customs and traditions of your country, your daughter is as good as dead either way.
— Yes! She's dead. The government has already issued orders at the borders—if she steps foot here, she's dead! But since she was promised to a respected man, he might be able to reverse her situation.
— How much time do you need?
— Give me a few months, and I'll tell you if she'll return to be stoned to death in the public square or marry the man I promised her to.
I furrow my brow.
Why delay the inevitable?
The little slut is doomed.
— What respected man in such a strict and rigid country would want a prostitute for a wife? Surely the girl is dead, and you're just looking for a way to profit from this marriage.
— That whore owes me a lot for tarnishing our honor. She's a lost harlot.
— The one who tarnished this family's honor was you, for not asking the girl if she wanted to marry that man and for killing the man she truly loved. Your daughter became a lost soul because of you and no one else. _I roar, wishing I could jump through the phone screen and rip the guts out of this hypocritical bastard._
— I'm not paying a fortune for a hired killer to lecture me. Do your job and don't take your eyes off that wretch.
Look at the nerve of this son of a bitch.
As if he didn't read my résumé properly.
— Goodbye. _I hang up in his face and toss my phone into the sink, turning around and letting my coffee spill as it boils, savoring the smell of roasted, burnt coffee._
This son of a bitch hid the story from me... and I hate lies.
***
Arriving at the damned brothel, I entered the lounge and ordered a drink.
After grabbing it, I scanned the packed place and wondered why so many people were crammed together, as if they had nothing better to do.
Narrowing my eyes at the barstool beside me, I saw a woman sitting there, dressed far too decently for such an impure, filthy place. She even wore a veil and hat on her head.
She was sipping some drink of questionable color, and many men passed by, daring to touch her crossed legs. Even nuns turn into whores here, huh?
What a disgrace!
Frustrated by so much promiscuity, I downed my whiskey.
Suddenly, one of the girls from the place approached the woman dressed all in black, her face covered by a veil.
— Margaret's calling you to go up on stage. You'll be announced.
I hear it and shake my head at the bitterness of the strong drink and the situation, realizing I wasn't wrong—she's a prostitute.
Then I saw the woman being dragged away, ordered another drink, and turned to the stage, watching as she was cheered while stepping into the spotlight.
Curious about her, I slipped one hand into my pants pocket and wove through the crowd, swirling my whiskey in the glass and stopping at a spot where I could see her. The nightclub lights flickered over her, and for a moment, I felt a malignant hatred for the veil covering her face.
It didn't take long for the old madam to climb onto the stage as well, receiving applause from the fanatics of her disgusting cabaret.
— Gentlemen, those who follow us on our website already know what's happening here at our house tonight.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and google it, clicking and entering the brothel's page. I grimace reading the repulsive ad:
"Our fresh meat will be enjoyed not just by one, but by three of you. Imagine ending the night with a good orgy with our Black Widow."
I scroll through the ad and glance at the prices, but what catches my attention is the cropped photo showing only the girl's eyes, and I swallow hard at the expressive, unmistakable amber gaze. It's her. The almost-dead slut.
Turning my attention back to the stage, I stare at her with narrowed eyes and wonder why she accepts so much humiliation. Is it all for money?
I see that her scumbag father isn't entirely wrong. The deflowered daughter was addicted to debauchery.
What better place for such a corrupted soul?
— Have the three predators been chosen yet? _Someone shouted the question._
I shift my attention to the miserable madam. She was smiling ecstatically. It was clear that half the fortune she priced the girl at was the reason for that cynical smile, since it belonged to the house.
— We're just missing one more to release our Black Widow.
Black Widow. Why? Because the man she loved died?
Sipping my fine whiskey, I turn my eyes to the lost girl, and I'm certain her amber gaze met mine, because I saw her shoulders shrink, her hand grip the hand of her madam mother, and she take a short, almost imperceptible step back. She had seen her executioner, her tormentor, among so many men obsessed with her, but she knew that the one who would take the third spot to possess the so-called Black Widow was me.
Shifting my neck from side to side, I crack it, wanting to relax.
Because tonight, I wouldn't leave here without screwing that woman again, no matter how many men I had to share her with.