Dismay gripped Pamela with cold fingers as she recalled the instructions the Mafia had given her in a text;

"Kachemak Bay. 6:pm. COME ALONE."

Her feet felt rubbery as she made her way to the rendezvous. She had parked her car feet away and decided to ply the rest of the way on foot.

Kachemak Bay was located at the southern Cook Inlet of Homer, the small town that she and her family lived in. It was known mainly for marine activities like fishing.

As she passed through the noisy fish market, some people that knew her waved from their tents and she smiled back, hoping they wouldn't start to wonder why she wasn't with her bodyguard this time.

Her heart tightened as she remembered how devastated Philip's pregnant wife and his mother had been when the news of his death had been broken to them. The fact that it had been her fault tripled the pain. They had been given pecuniary compensation but she knew no amount of money was enough to ease the pain of losing a loved one.

She was an expert at this because she lost a loved one too, and despite the money she had, despite the support and love she would get from her town – her family being popular in Homer as they were the only ones who owned a pharmaceutical company there – despite the joy she would get from her annual charity ball to support the struggling people, she would never be compensated enough if she didn't get to say goodbye to her father.

Pamela used to love the sight of the market and the traders with their goods hung up for display. She used to love the smell of seafood mixed with the other traders selling fruits and vegetables, but today, it made her want to puke. Today, the sea air reeked of chlorine and that repulsed her. Her stomach was twisted in a very stubborn knot because she was nervous.

She wondered why the Mafia would choose this crowded and noisy place for pickup. It seemed very suspicious and that made her feel worse.

Thank God she wasn't alone.

"Can you hear me, Miss King?"

Pamela used her handkerchief to cover her mouth as though she was coughing. She might be watched by the Mafia who had given strict instructions that she came alone.

"Yes, detective. I can hear you. Can you see me?"

"Certainly. We have audio and visual. Remember, stay calm and play along. You don't want them suspecting anything. I'm really glad you called us, we've been after this drug dealer for years. He traffics arms and ammunition too."

Pamela groaned. Great. She was walking right into the arms of a hardened criminal and a fugitive. This was just great.

"Don't worry he won't hurt you. We are on the alert. We won't let him get within six feet – "

Pamela jumped as her phone rang. It was a hidden number.

"It's him." She said licking her lips nervously. Her eyes briskly scanned her surrounding. Everything seemed suspicious to her from the man cutting iced fish to the child playing barefoot. She cautiously moved to a building and hid behind it.

"What should I do?!" She cried, then smiled at a pregnant woman who was passing by with three crying children – boys precisely. The woman smiled back but Pamela had a strong feeling the woman's smile was as phony as hers.

"Pick up and play along."

She clicked the green icon to answer the call and with a trembling hand placed the phone over her ear.

"You broke our deal." Those were the only words he said before she was suddenly grabbed from behind. She tried to scream but rough and big hands were placed on her mouth, blocking her screams. She fought to wiggle free or jerk her hands and legs to get the attention of someone when a cold metal was pressed against her neck from behind. She became still instantly. Her attacker loosened up his hand from her mouth.

"Come with us willingly or I'll – "

"Or you'll what?" Pamela mumbled furiously. "Shoot me?"

"Shoot a kid."

Shivers ran through her spines. "You don't have to threaten me. I'll go willingly."

"This way then." He said.

She obeyed. She walked as he led, all the while praying the cops were going to rescue her. But if they did, how would she get her father's body back? A thug who didn't care about children wouldn't care about a body. Besides, they would've manhandled it by now. More than ever, she wished he was already laid to rest in his age-long family cemetery so he'll have his dead family to take care of him.

Pamela grimaced. She was being ridiculous, but she couldn't help it. She loved her father, dead or alive.

They got to a black van which was just like the one that had attacked them the day before and two huge men in black suits with dark sunshades walked towards her with precise steps, probably to take her with force. Her eyes fell on the gun straps attached to their belts. They had come prepared.

"Easy. I'm going willingly." She said hurriedly as they moved towards her with so much vigor, but it was as if she was talking to herself. They walked towards her, one grabbed her hands and the other held out a blindfold over her eyes. The next thing she saw was blackness. She cringed when she was placed roughly into what felt like the back of a van.

"What is going on? I am going willingly! You don't have to treat me this way! Is it because I decided not to call the cops?" The blindfold was yanked off and she blinked, thinking they had reconsidered their rough ways. "Thank you for – " A cloth was stuffed in her mouth, cutting off her vote of thanks, gaging her, and then she was blindfolded again.

After struggling to talk or to even set herself free to no avail, Pamela ended up keeping quiet. She couldn't help but wonder why the cops weren't on their tail yet. What was happening? She was edgy and frustrated and wanted to cry but couldn't. She was paralyzed with fear and didn't have the strength to cry. Within minutes, due to the stress and strain of the past days, she slept off.

She opened her eyes again to a hand roughly taping her awake. The gag and the blindfold had been removed.

"Get up. The boss is waiting for you." Said the bastard that had threatened to shoot a kid if she didn't comply. He looked fortyish, had a crusty voice, a hard and rectangular chin, and an overall unappealing physiognomy. Pamela decided to name him Grumpy for the time being – not that she was going to stay long enough to know his name. The cops would be here soon.

She stood and wobbled unsteadily but regained her balance and stretched. Her muscles popped in protest because crouching in one position for a long time had made her legs numb. She was led in by Grumpy and she took in her surroundings.

The mansion was a huge block of ancient buildings that looked like it was built millenniums ago and had been passed from generation to generation. It had a fountain that stood right at the center of the property. From the outside, it looked fairly typical but on the inside, it was luxurious. The whole foyer was the size of an average house alone. It had expensive couches and armchairs. A beautiful chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a skylight provided light in the foyer. Pamela was awestruck.

This place did not seem like the house of a ruthless Mafia, it, instead, looked like a place she could use for a vacation. Perhaps it was the beautiful mansion or the breathtaking interior but Pamela realized she didn't feel as frightened as she had been on the ride. However, the security checks unnerved her. She was afraid they would detect the wire she was wearing but to her surprise, they didn't.

As they got to the top of the stairs, she noticed three dour-looking men who stood to the side, wearing black suits and dark sunglasses, Sylvester Stallone style. They had their arms behind their backs, guns bulging out of their gun straps, making them intimidating.

They ascended the broad spiral steps up one floor before they got to an elevator.

"Get in." Commanded Grumpy.

Powerless, she got in. She just had to be hopeful that she would be fine. So far, the only dire thing she'd encountered was Grumpy. Chances were, he wouldn't hurt her – or couldn't. His boss wanted her for something and so she must be needed alive. But she couldn't bet her life on it. Mafias, drug dealers, and the likes were inhumane lots who wouldn't hesitate even for a microsecond to kill her if she got in their way.

She shuddered as the elevator made a chime. The time to meet the Mafia was getting near and she wasn't ready to. She didn't want to put a face to the monstrous voice that had plagued her dreams. That would be an extensive misery.

They alighted from the elevator and went through a narrow passageway. Hung on the walls were firearms and animal heads and skin. Pamela shuddered again. Drug dealer, illegal arms dealer, murderer. This was just great. Would her dad want her to take this risk for him? No. But she wanted to, no, she had to.

She avoided looking at the...artifacts – for lack of a better word – hung on the walls and told herself she was being paranoid. The guns irked her the most. She convinced herself that they were not real and even if they were, they wouldn't be loaded.

A gun had killed her most trusted bodyguard and destroyed her property. Thankfully, the EMTs who had been unfortunately stuck outside during the shootout had survived but still, the damage was done. Pamela became furious. Why a person would have the power to wreak havoc and nothing would be done pissed her. Her anger, coupled with the fact that the cops were on the way gave her courage.

She wanted to see who the mighty boss was, what he wanted and why he was doing all he was doing. Maybe one day she would pull a trigger on his forehead. Maybe. She took in deep, steadying breaths.

"They aren't real, are they?" She asked Grumpy and winced. Her efforts in making small talks to distract herself were terrible.

"They are. And they leave quite a hole in the head." His reply, howbeit clipped and rude was the longest sentence he'd said to her. Bastard. If the errand boy was this difficult, how would the boss be?

Two men walked towards them. One stood before her and scanned her with a hand scanner. She held her breath in apprehension. She was wearing a wire and had a GPS tracker fixed on her wristwatch. Any working scanner would blare like a train's horn. It hadn't been detected at the first security point but what if it is now?

"Clean." He said.

Pamela let her breath out in relief but instantly became skeptical. Was the scan just for show? How did it not detect her microphone?

The answer came to her almost immediately: she would have been searched and debugged during the drive. Of course. Several images of being invaded flashed through her mind and that got her very distraught, then it graduated to anger.

"In." A deep voice responded.

The door opened and Pamela was led to another stylish room with more guns out on display. Is this a gun museum?

One of the men in black suits walked in first. Then some moments later, she was urged to enter the room. She walked in courageously, bearing in mind that if he wanted to kill her, she would be dead by now, which meant she had to tread carefully and play her game smartly.

And as soon as she stepped inside, a man sitting behind the desk caught her attention. He was sitting with his back to them, one gloved hand holding a Cohiba Berhike cigar and the other a brandy glass.

"Sir, she's here." Announced Grumpy.

He turned around slowly and Pamela found herself catching her breath expectantly as if watching a movie scene that was filled with suspense. When he finally did, she couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped her lips.

The man was someone they would call devilishly handsome; one that emits sexuality, intentionally or not, and sends women into reboot mode. He had jet black hair and brown eyes that were the color of honey and they studied her so intently that she felt he could see into her soul. His jaw which sat on his proudly arched neck was finely carved, clean-shaven, and prominent. In a nutshell, he looked like a very hot demi-god.

She'd expected a scrawny old man with protruding tummy so large that he couldn't button his jacket. She'd expected a fat, old toad who smelt of booze and whose teeth were charred from tobacco smoking. She hadn't been prepared to see someone so handsome, dammit, or someone on fire like the goddamned Apollo the sun god.

She snapped out of her lustful thoughts and willed herself to be cool. This "handsome" man was still a drug dealer and a Mafia. His exterior was only a facade. She'd prepared to be strict and businesses-like but he seemed sort of...disarming?

"Hello." She said smiling, stretching her hand for a shake. At least they could come off on a good start.

He didn't smile back. Neither did he take Pamela's outstretched hands, or acknowledge it, for that matter. Put off, her hand dropped to her side. She was beginning to dislike him, and fast. Not like she'd exactly been best friends with him.

She tried to make conversation. "I'm Pamela King. The child of Robert King, the CEO of King Pharmaceutical. You called two days ago after wreaking havoc on my house. My bodyguard was killed in the process."

He still didn't respond but continued to gaze at her with his creamy brown eyes that made her feel naked. She could have been speaking to a brick wall, for all the attention he gave her.

All of a sudden he smiled. A bright beautiful smile that accentuated his beauty. Dear, was he handsome. It was a mixture of scrawny and sweet. His beauty added to his dangerous streak made him somewhat...appealing. His smile was also unnerving. She fought the urge to run.

Don't forget what he did, she reminded herself. He's the enemy, remember that girl.

"Pamela King." His hard-edged voice was sardonic. "What did Rob call you then?" He angled his head to the side as if deep in thought. "Was it Pam Pam?"

"You can't call me that." She snapped and regretted it. She mustn't let him know he unsettled her!

"Why not?" He stood deliberately – somewhat predatorial – from his seat, and signaled for his guard to leave without breaking eye contact with her. He leaned on his oak desk and probed her, his eyes mocking.

Pamela was not in the mood for humor. She was as angry as she was invested in his muscular arms and broad shoulders that looked so snug in his suit. His humor, if anything was ill-fitted. How dare he joke about it all? How dare he find humor in her dismay?

"You see Pam Pam – "

"I thought I just explained to you that no one calls me that except my Father."

His facial expression turned sour that one would think he'd sucked on a lemon. "First off, no one interrupts me when I'm speaking. Also, your father is dead." He made a quote sign with his fingers when he pronounced 'father'.

Pamela shut her eyes against the hurt that welled up in her. She didn't want to hear it. It was clear as day that the bastard had no feelings. She gave him a look that was a fifty-fifty mixture of pain and anger.

"Besides, I love the name so I'll always call you that, Pam Pam."

Pamela regarded him with exaggerated calmness when inside she was simmering with anger. Her emotions were ricocheting off the walls of her mind like a buzzing fly. How dare he? She just met a person but she has so much spite for him already. So unlike her.

"Why did you attack my house? Did you know what that caused? A person died. A whole human being!"

To her horror, he smirked. He smirked.

"Goodness, I was worried. I thought you wanted to say as a hundred died. So it's just one?"

Pamela blinked in shock at his nonchalance. She shook her head sideways in indignation.

"He has a family," she whispered fiercely, trying to keep the frustration welling up inside her at bay. "A pregnant wife. An aging mother. His unborn child that will never know him." Her voice shook as she pressed her hands against her clenching stomach. "It's all your fault!"

He slowly placed his brandy glass on the table and placed his cigar on an ashtray with a lazy graze that ate raw on her nerves. His eyes flew up to meet hers with a cool gaze and she held it as he walked slowly to where she stood. It took all the willpower Pamela had to steer her thoughts from the fact that he looked good. How can an asshole be blessed with such?

No doubt, she hated him, so much that she wouldn't spit on him if he were on fire but she had to call a spade a spade and a handsome man a handed man.

He moved so close that the space between them became less than two feet. However, she stood her ground and wasn't intimidated. When his hand grazed hers, she had the sudden urge to press her thighs together.

"I don't give a flying fuck." He said grimly. She flinched at his use of vulgar language.

He stepped back. "You should be scared of what I can do to you Pam Pam," His large hand, surprisingly gentle, touched her under the chin and drew her gaze upward. He then used his fingers to stroke her hair and used his thumb to trace the outline of her lips. He brought his face close to hers, their lips almost touching.

Pamela stood there, determined not to falter. She would show him she was strong and was immune to his touch. She would prove that she couldn't be intimidated. And she wasn't.

Right?

"Cody." He said so suddenly that she jumped.

The door opened almost immediately and Grumpy – Cody – entered. Like master, like servant. Assholes.

"Boss?"

"Take her to her suite." He walked back to his chair and sat behind it, relaxing. "And tell Susan to provide her with all she'll need." He picked up his cigar and waved his hands in dismissal.

"Yes, boss." He held her arms tight. "This way."

Pamela dragged her arms away. "That hurts! Don't you people have emotions?"

"Cody, treat her softly. She's our Lady."

"What?"

He ignored her. "As from today, she's lady Pamela. Clear?"

"Yes, boss." He touched her elbow. "This way lady Pamela. "

"Are you mocking me right now?" Pamela looked from Cody to the dark-haired brute.

"And why would I be, my lady?" He replied with feigned innocence. He had a cocky smirk on his lips and his eyes danced with humor. Pamela wished she could slap it off his square and angular chin.

Breathe, Pamela. Breathe. You're in this for Dad. Just breathe.

"I hope you die in your sleep and you wake up in hell and the devil pokes your eyes with a pitchfork." With that she stormed out of the office, chin jutted, head raised.

She was a survivor. She will survive this.

~

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading. Please vote, comment your thoughts, add to your library and reading lists, and share.

Thank you :)