Brenda reluctantly accepts her fate ...

Brenda cautiously swallowed the lump in her throat, nearly **** as she did so. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, no life outside the one she created with Mitch. She didn't have a real option presented to her, and her mind was filled with too much rage and emotional turmoil for her to think rationally. The thug tugged her hair tightly once again, yanking her head back, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” she sighed, her body, heart, and soul, sinking towards the floor. Brenda felt as if a door had been slammed to her future, forcing her down a darkened hallway of doom and despair. The only positive outcome of her decision was the sudden release from pain she'd been enduring. The menacing grip on her head and the disgusting touch of his gloved hand to her face was now gone. She slumped her head forward and felt the tears of shame and defeat stream down her face, through silent sobs. Visions of being a mob floozie was not what she had in mind as her future. But now in survival mode, Brenda had **** but to take what was offered.

“That's a very good answer,” the brute muttered. “Mac will be pleased to hear that.” His voice was deep and thundering in her head. “Mac will call you in the morning and make arrangements to meet.” She sat motionless as the three thugs left, but not before they exacted some more damage to their property and to Mitch as well.

She didn't move a muscle, didn't twitch a limb, never moved her eyes, and never uttered a single sound, for several long minutes after the sound of the car leaving their property was heard. The only sound throughout the entire house was an occasional groan of pure pain escaping Mitch's lungs. Brenda ignored Mitch with every fiber of her being, determined to make him suffer every indignity he deserved.

As she sat, the anger, fire and hatred she had towards Mitch began replacing her fears and worries. It didn't take long for her to fill with such vile towards the man that once was her lover. The thought of adding her foot to his pain wracked body and face crossed her mind. With a renewed sense of energy, Brenda jumped to her feet and stormed across the room to where Mitch lay on the floor. She was just about to kick the man in his balls, and felt a sudden surge of sorrow for the soulless creature; however it didn't change her anger. She bent down, making sure his swollen and bloody eyes were taking in her vision as best they could. Screaming at the top of her lungs, her shrill cries filling the otherwise silent house, she laid into Mitch with a verbal ****.

“LISTEN … you sonofabitch! Consider yourself lucky that I don't keep my promise and cut your dick off and shove it down your throat. But that doesn't mean I won't either! Right now I'm going upstairs, and I don't want to see your fucking face, or hear your fucking whining either. You got us both in this fucking mess, and fucking put my life in that bastard's hands! DEAL WITH IT!” Brenda turned sharply and did her own smashing of precious photo memories hanging on the walls. “THIS IS YOUR FUCKING MESS,” she yelled from the steps, “YOU CLEAN IT UP!”

Brenda pounded up the steps and ran directly into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She heaved her trembling frame onto the thick mattress, face first. Pounding her clenched fists into the pillowy bedding, Brenda resumed crying. Her flowing tears soaked the sheets beneath her until she literally cried herself to sleep.

Brenda did not have a restful sleep. Being alone in the bed was a new experience that she was not accustomed to. It didn't help that the home invasion replayed itself over and over again in her head, repeatedly. Visions of her perceived future danced through her dreams as she dreaded the details.

When she woke, Brenda felt no better than when she had plopped into bed. Grudgingly and warily Brenda dragged herself into the bathroom and eventually made it into the shower. She took longer than usual, taking time to relax in the warm water, delaying facing the inevitable when she walked downstairs. Standing nude before the full-length mirror when she got out, Brenda wondered if she'd ever be the same when … if … this ordeal ever came to an end?

Not feeling particularly pretty at this point, Brenda threw on an over-sized sweatshirt and sweatpants, not bothering with any underwear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was going to have a lot of cleaning to do when she finally got motivated. She grabbed the mane of hair and wrapped a band loosely around it, making a ponytail at the back of her head. She wearily walked to the steps, still not certain if she wanted to face Mitch.

Taking each step one at a time, Brenda looked for any signs of life, or any remnants from last night. To her shock and amazement, she saw neither. While the area wasn't clean by any sense of the imagination, the bulk of the mess that had been created had been cleaned up. Broken furniture was now missing, broken glass had been swept up, and the toppled furniture had been up-righted. Mitch was nowhere to be seen, so Brenda crept quietly, looking for the sot. Moving from the living room to the foyer, Brenda peered through the peep hole and noticed that his car was missing from the driveway. She found it hard to believe that Mitch was in any shape to make it to work, and wondered how he'd explain the cuts and bruises to his face that he suffered the night before.

“Serve's him right,” Brenda thought to herself as she turned away and headed towards the kitchen, feeling a flash of relief, knowing she didn't have to face off with the shithead this morning.

Standing in the kitchen, Brenda made herself a cup of coffee and went about making a light breakfast to keep her stomach from doing somersaults. As each minute passed by, Brenda grew increasingly angry that Mitch wasn't there! As much as she was relieved, she also despised the fact that he ran off, not having once, explained himself, or uttered a single apology. The god-damn coward, simply dealt her away, then walked away, avoiding the confrontation with her! By the time Brenda was done eating, she was seething and wanted to bite his head off … and maybe something else.

Not sure what she was going to do next, Brenda knew she needed to get rid of this aggression and hostility before it totally consumed her. Storming through the house, Brenda looked for something she could take her frustration out on, something of his that she could utterly destroy. However, before she managed to do just that, the phone began ringing. Brenda didn't feel like talking to anyone, more so Mitch, if that was him trying to apologize and console from afar.

She ignored the incessant ringing, yet the caller never gave up, the phone ringing constantly, waiting for the recipient to pick up the receiver and begin talking. Brenda finally yielded, not wanting to listen to the shrill bell going off all day long.

“HELL - O !!!” Brenda sharply spat out, letting the caller know she was not in a good mood.

The smooth, calm, and refined voice slipped through the line and into her ears. “Brenda? Misses Brenda Pinarelli?”

The strong, firm, and hypnotizing voice immediately put Brenda at ease. In almost a whisper, she meekly responded, “this is she.” Even Brenda realized the sharp contrast in her demeanor since picking up the phone. There was a slight amount of hesitation and trepidation in her wavering whisper as she listened carefully.

“Hello my dear. My name is Marciano Machiavelli. Most people call me Mac.” Brenda could feel her heart thumping in her throat as she continued listening, finding herself at a sudden loss for words. “I understand from my business associates, that I have acquired your services as remuneration in consideration for monies exchanged under a binding contractual agreement.” Brenda was speechless and dumb-founded as Mac made it all sound like a legal business deal being agreed upon. She was glad he kept talking, because she didn't have a clue how to respond, being blind-sided once again. “I'm extending an invitation for you to join me for dinner this evening, where we can discuss the exact details of our arrangement and agree to the exact terms. You'll have an opportunity to meet my advisory board at that time.” The smooth-talker paused for a brief moment, leaving Brenda, once again, confused and unsure how to respond. “I will send a driver for you. You can expect him to be there by five-thirty, please be ready. And, oh, by the way … formal dinner attire is expected.” The next thing Brenda realized, she was holding the receiver of the phone, listening to complete silence, until the annoying signaling sound coming from the phone startled her, indicating that Mac had hung up, quite some time ago.

Brenda's head was spinning. What was she supposed to do?