Prey
They were idiots, thought Greg. They didn’t understand the opportunity. The desperation. It was practically slapping them in the face, and they just obliviously grinned like fools. Fat, sad losers who honestly believed the girls here were “nicer,” or that they were “connecting” with anyone. You didn't connect on trips like this. You harvested.
The man seated a row over, an apparent veteran of such trips, explained the difference between girls here and in America to a fellow passenger. “The women here, they appreciate a nice guy,” he whined. His voice was nasal. Pathetic. “Not like in America. Those girls… they’re just all so stuck up.” Heads nodded sympathetically. Greg swallowed, fighting the urge to snap. Were they really that clueless, or was it willful naivety and delusion?
The bus jostled over the uneven road and Greg watched as the raindrops slid down the window. The larger ones gobbled up the smaller ones, becoming even larger still in their race to the bottom. It’s the way of things - for the strong to feed on the weak. And Greg was strong. He knew it. Soon, Nadya would know it too.
The tour guide at the front of the bus was explaining what to expect to the men. It was part pep-talk, part motivational speech, and just a hint of a warning. These men had never known attention like this. Greg imagined many before had frozen up. Panicked, even. But he wouldn’t be surprised. Greg knew what to expect. Desperate bimbos. Whores. All throwing themselves at this pathetic selection of losers, selling the only thing they had for a chance at a better lot in life. He could almost taste the helplessness.
But Greg wasn’t there for the party. He was skipping the cheap, easy seduction. He had his eye on someone special. Someone perfect. Nadya. She was his wounded gazelle. She was his weak. His vulnerable. And he was hungry. He’d been searching for her for years - trolling the vast library of women for that perfect combination of beauty and helplessness. She checked all of his boxes, almost as if she’d been engineered for him. She was proof that he was simply filling his role in larger bestiary of modern life. There were hunters, and there were hunted. One couldn’t exist without the other. It was providence. Natural order.
The brakes of the bus whined at a stoplight, and Greg looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time, evaluating the little details. Those were the key - the little things. The devil’s in the details. That’s how fools got caught, or got into trouble. But he’d checked and rechecked them all, and now he looked at a soft, almost pudgy face, rimmed with thick glasses. The one last detail. It was a perfect disguise. Sheep’s clothes. A face like that would never hurt a fly.
The bus jostled over the rough parking lot as they pulled into a nondescript building. Words, presumably in Ukrainian, adorned the signs. All gibberish to him. Greg was so tightly wound. So alert. He almost retched. He could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins. He licked his lips and tried to calm himself, leaning back in the seat and breathing deeply. He was so close, now.
The bus squealed to a stop, the brakes hissing like snakes. The giddy men filed out like a troupe of baboons, alternatingly hooting with excitement and cowering as they jockeyed for position. There was no established pecking order here - it was a busload of habitual betas, none used to commanding anything, all awkwardly asserting themselves like a mass of middle schoolers.
Greg hung back from the group, waiting for his moment to slip away. He had a rendezvous planned with Nadya. Their first face-to-face meeting after months of poorly-translated emails. It was in a restaurant. Nearby. “Someplace public,” she’d said, as if the real danger waited for her here. But he’d agreed to the meeting away from the dunces and buffoons and sluts. It would be good to meet and have a chance to interact without blaring music or distractions. They needed to be able to negotiate in private.
The men were being herded into a doorway, and Greg slipped around the backside of the bus, then into an alley running along the side of the building. He had the route memorized, having run through the plan endlessly over the last few weeks. “Down the alley, turn left, walk one block, turn right, walk two more.” He moved quickly, eager to both put distance between himself and the tour group, and to reach his destination. The sun was low in the sky, and through grey clouds and drizzle, it shone like a dim orb. The alley glowed in the early summer twilight, long shadows and echoing footfalls in late day drizzle.
He reached the next street over and was already panting. He’d been going faster than he’d practiced, and he chided himself. Slow down. Remain presentable. It wouldn’t do to be sweating and wheezing when she arrives. He walked as slowly as he could force himself to, meandering through the dreary Ukrainian evening. He was early. Time wasn’t a factor.
Someone eyed him as he rounded the corner, and for a second, Greg wondered if what he was doing was a little dangerous. Separated from the tour group, in a strange place. But the street was as well-lit as it had appeared to be from his research, and a multitude of people jostled through it. He pressed on, and just as the sun was setting, found the cafe. It was a small restaurant, with a smaller patio out front, barely covered by an awning. The patio sat empty in the rain, but inside were several tables looking out into the street, a few of which were occupied. A quick glance confirmed that Nadya hadn’t yet arrived, and relieved, Greg eased himself down at a table with a view of the door.
The room was cool, with the evening air flowing in freely through the large bay window, and Greg kept his jacket on. Around him, the other patrons spoke to one another in their foreign tongues, while Greg sat in silence and waited. He wondered if they could hear his heart thundering in his chest. It pounded in his ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Drowning out their incomprehensible conversations. Thump-thump. He looked up with a start and realized the waiter had asked him something. He panicked, choking out the word “coffee,” hoping that the Ukrainian word sounded enough like the English variant. The waiter asked something else, and Greg only nodded, certain he wore a panicked look. Apparently satisfied, the waiter left him.
With a sigh, Greg eased himself back into his seat and began his watch of the door. The die was cast, and the only thing left to do was to wait and see what came of it. Minutes passed, and outside, the twilight slowly darkened into shadow. He checked his watch. 7:47. She was almost late. He adjusted himself, and then smiled awkwardly at the waiter as he brought him his coffee. The waiter left, and Greg returned his gaze to the door.
She was standing there, looking at him through the glass. He hadn’t seen her approach, but she was there all the same. Beautiful. Her long dark hair pulled back from her face, and her dark eyes almost shocking on her porcelain face. She looked delicate. Fragile, but beautiful. For a moment, they only stared at one another. Greg’s heart accelerated, thumping loudly in his chest. What was she thinking? He’d never been a good judge of that. What if she didn’t like him? What if she balked? His mind spun itself up rapidly towards panic, but he forced his hand up into a wave. She smiled, returning the wave, and relief washed over him.
She entered the cafe, gliding almost effortlessly to the table where he met her in a hug. She smelled like perfume. Flowers. They sat down at the table, and for another moment they just looked at one another. She was perfect. Beautiful, but not sleazy like many of the profiles he’d seen. She was dressed nicely. Casually. No massive platform heels or plunging necklines, and the jewelry she wore was simple. The things he’d do to her.
“It’s very good to meet you, Nadya. After all this time.”
“Yes. Yes. It is very good meet you too. Greg.” Her accent was thick, her English broken and slow. He wondered what she sounded like when she screamed. Would it be deep, in a throaty Ukrainian? Or higher, like a yelp? Accented, like he’d imagined?
“Your English is wonderful.”
“Thank you. I practice.” She smiled, and Greg look
ed into her brown eyes. They were bottomless, black almost, like whirling pools of dark water.
“Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”
“No. I eat at work. Thank you.”
Greg nodded, and smiled, cautious to look more timid than hungry. She can’t know yet. “You look very beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She grinned sheepishly. “And you. Very pretty.”
“Handsome, you mean?”
“Yes. Handsome.” She said the word slowly, breaking it in half, as she concentrated on contorting her tongue the right directions. Hand. Some.
Greg smiled and sipped from his coffee. It was much too dark for his taste, but he didn’t know how to order milk, and didn’t particularly want to ask Nadya for help. He was in control right now, and he planned to savor the feeling. He swallowed, and looked up to find her gazing at him from behind her long lashes, and he felt a thrill run up his spine. He returned her gaze for a moment, fighting the growing urge to fidget in his seat.
“When can I come America?” she asked at last. “With you.” She didn’t waste time. A part of Greg was disappointed that the chase would end so quickly, but another part of him almost tittered with joy. He was so close.
“How soon do you want to?”
“Very soon. I miss you. I am so lonely.” It was bullshit. They both knew it. A beauty like Nadya didn’t fall for a man like him. Especially not over google-translated emails. She was desperate to leave, and he was her ticket out. But he had to play the game. It was all part of the hunt.
He swallowed and grinned sheepishly. He’d practiced the look for weeks. It was perfect. “I miss you too.” He paused, considering the ways to precede. He didn’t want to come on too strongly and scare her off. Better if she proposes the next course of action. “But we can’t get you a visa any faster. You have to wait until that goes through.”
She reached across the table and grasped his hand. Her own hands looked so tiny around his large, plump fingers. He was reminded again of a porcelain doll. She was so beautiful, but so pale. “I can not wait.” Her eyes locked onto his, and burned deep into him. He felt like he was floating in them. Falling down into them. “I need you. I need be with you.”
Her hands were cold from the night air. Like ice. He licked his lips, his heart pounding. “Well, we couldn’t do it without a visa. We just have to wait.” She frowned and he pressed. “But as soon as you get one, you can come to America with me, and we can be together.”
“I do not want wait. I can not. I saw dream and we were together. Happy.” She pleaded with her eyes. “Is there something you can do? For me?”
She was his, now. She might not know it yet, but he was reeling her in like a fish. He’d find out soon how easily that pale skin bruised. “I’d love to have you. I’d be so happy. I adore you, Nadya.”
She smiled broadly. “Will you be desirous to have me? Even without visa?”
“Of course. I don’t care,” he leaned in, his stomach pressed awkwardly on the edge of the table, his face knotted in concern and sympathy. “I don’t care about any passports or visas, but… it would be dangerous.”
Her eyes narrowed at the word, and she too leaned in. Their faces were only inches apart. “How would be dangerous?” she asked.
“We could be caught. Smuggling you into the country, it’s… It’s illegal.”
“But you are so smart.” She eyed him coyly, an eyebrow cocked. “You know way?”
Greg sighed dramatically. “I know a person. A company, really. In Antwerp.” He paused, and checked his excitement. “They ship things to America. Lots of things.”
“What things?”
“Jewelry. Diamonds. Metals.”
“In…” she paused, looking for the word. “Vessel?” Greg only nodded. She thought for a moment before her next question. “How long?”
“It’s about a ten-day trip. You’d be in a shipping container the whole time. I’ll be waiting for you in New York.” It was a risky plan, but it was also the only way he’d been able to find to get Nadya into the country without a paper trail. He couldn’t have anyone from immigration snooping around looking for her when this was over. She needed to just… disappear. Fortunately, he happened to know the right people, and with a little bit of money, he was confident the whole thing could be taken care of quietly and with discretion. “But it’s the safest way. They only check something like four percent of shipments entering the harbor.”
“No. How long before I go?”
Greg blinked. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy. “Two weeks, if you want. If that’s too soon… A month and a half.”
She frowned. “That soonest?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Will have to do. I will be on vessel in two weeks for you. And then we will be together. In America.”
Greg couldn’t believe his luck. She really was as desperate to leave the Ukraine as he’d guessed. They’d both hinted around the topic in the past, but he’d never surmised she was on exactly the same page regarding entry into the US as he was. But that desperation made her vulnerable. No one would know she had entered the US, and there would be nothing to trace her to him. He could do whatever he wanted to her, for as long as he wanted. He felt himself getting hard at the thought. Maybe he’d keep her around longer than he’d anticipated. Perhaps she might become a permanent fixture in his home. He realized Nadya had said something and he looked back up. She was looking at him with those dark eyes again, and he had to repress another shudder. He felt a panicking reflex in his gut. A tightness that he sometimes got around women. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
She smiled sweetly. God, she was perfect. “I said I love you.”
He held her smooth hands in his. “I love you too, Nadya.”