Page 12 of Climb

But then the memory of the last time I saw Natalia floods in – her expression a mix of fear and determination as she escaped from our dangerous world. I didn't understand then how deeply her absence would affect me, how her departure would leave a void that nothing else can fill.

I run a hand through my hair, feeling exhausted and defeated. The endless nights spent searching, the countless leads turning up empty, the false hopes – they're all taking their toll. But giving up isn't an option. I have to find her.

The realization that she was taken while under my protection is a bitter pill to swallow. It's not just about finding her before something happens to her; it's the painful truth that something already has.

The dancer returns to my booth, her smile a little brighter than before. "You sure I can’t tempt you, honey?" she asks again, a hint of challenge in her tone. But even as her suggestive gaze lingers on me, I can only think about one thing – finding Natalia.

I gaze at her, truly taking in her appearance. She is young, with a look of longing. Her eyes seem to hold a world of possibilities beyond the bright neon walls that surround us. "Not tonight," I repeat, my tone softer this time.

She nods, understanding our unspoken agreement, and gracefully moves away. In her movements, I see a glimmer of the same resilient spirit that Natalia has; a strength hidden beneath her delicate exterior.

But something about her draws me in, and she makes her way back to my table with purposeful steps. She is a vision of allure, every movement calculated and practiced in the art of seducing men. Her hair falls in soft waves, catching the dim light of the club, and her eyes – a deep shade of hazel – hold a story waiting to be told.

As she come closer, I take notice of the details I previously overlooked – the faint strain in her smile, the weariness behind her attractive facade. She leans in closer, trailing her hand down my arm in an attempt to entice me. But despite her practiced confidence, her touch feels empty to me, much like the glass sitting before me.

On instinct, I grasp her hand, halting her advances. "Find another customer," I say firmly yet gently.

She pauses for a moment, surprised by my rejection. As she pulls away from me, I catch a glimpse of a small tattoo on her arm – delicate cursive letters and a date etched into her skin. It holds meaning for her; probably the name and birthdate of a child.

There is something about that tattoo that strikes a chord within me – a symbol of personal attachments in the harsh reality of working in a place like this. It's a reminder of how hard life can be and how easy it is to find ourselves on unexpected paths.

Reaching into my wallet, I retrieve a generous number of bills and place them on the table. "For your kid," I say, indicating towards her tattoo.

She looks down at the money, then back up at me with a softer expression than before. "Thanks," she murmurs, a real smile gracing her lips for the first time.

As she walks away, my mind drifts to Natalia – our worlds so different yet plagued by similar struggles. The dancer, with her dreams and responsibilities, and Natalia, trapped in a life not of her choosing.

It's a harsh reminder of reality, of the choices we face and the people we become because of them. Leaving the club, I feel a renewed sense of purpose. I need to find Natalia, not just for my own sake but for hers. To give her the freedom to make her own choices and live a life free from duty and danger.

I spring to my feet, tossing enough cash on the table to cover my drink and a generous tip for the dancer. The deafening noise of the club fades away as I emerge into the frigid night air. My search for Natalia continues, fueling a relentless drive to right the wrongs and fill the all-consuming emptiness in my life.

But at least there’s one tip I can follow, thanks to the bartender.

The fight club.

Each step towards my SUV feels like trudging through quicksand, weighed down by the crushing darkness of my thoughts. I failed her once; I can't afford to fail again. As I slide behind the wheel, the cold leather seat sends a chill down my spine as I start the engine.

"What the fuck did they do to you, Natalia?" I say out loud, grit my teeth, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Where are you?

They'll pay for what they've done.

7

Natalia

I could get usedto this town. I'm starting to settle in. It doesn't feel like home but it's serving its purpose.

As I stand in the cramped kitchen of the motel's diner, the rhythmic song of my knife hitting the chopping board fills the air. The smell of grilled onions and sizzling bacon floats through the kitchen, making my stomach grumble in anticipation.

I've been working here for a few weeks now, thanks to the kind motel owner who took a chance on hiring me on the spot, even though she never laid eyes on me before. I can't say that working in a kitchen has always been a dream of mine, but it's better than nothing.

The diner is small and humble, yet it has a certain charm that brings in the tourists who stay here at the motel, and attracts locals from all corners of town. From truck drivers passing through to regulars looking for a quick bite, everyone seems to have their own reason for stopping by.

I like most of my work here – creating simple yet delicious meals that bring smiles to customers' faces. It's satisfying to know that something I've made with my own hands can bring joy to others.

As I finish up prepping for the morning rush, my supervisor leans against the doorway with a smile on her face.

"Smells good in here," she says with a teasing tone.

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