At first when I came to, I didn’t realize I had. Utter darkness surrounded me on all sides, and the panic set in quickly as I remembered what had happened. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rocked myself back and forth. My whole body shook with dread. Where was I? What happened to me? Was I dead? Did Bang decide to kill me in my unconsciousness? What about my parents? Were they looking for me? I couldn’t bear the thought of my mother face when she found out I was missing.

    The built up emotion in my system reached its breaking point, and I let out a low sob. Before long, tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked, choking sounds erupting from my throat. I was alone. I let the sorrow deafen and blind me for several hours–or several minutes; I had no sense of time–before there were no more tears left. 

    As I became more aware of my position, I noticed I was swaying back and forth; almost as if I was on a boat. Reaching my hand out, I moved it through the darkness until it hit something solid–a wall. I backed up against the wood, keeping my arm stretched out, and inched my way along. Three walls and three corners later, I realized I was in a very tiny box-like cell, too low to stand up in…and with no way out. 

    But that’s impossible, I thought, swallowing down the claustrophobia. They had to get me in here somehow.

    Crawling my way across the floor, I ran my hands over the boards, but blind to any sense but touch, I found nothing. My heart raced; what if I was trapped here forever? What if they left me here to starve myself to death? I pounded against the wood. 

    “Help! Someone help! Please!”

    I laid down as best I could, unable to stretch out completely, and kicked against the walls. “Help! Anybody! Please, I’m trapped!” My foot slammed up against the ceiling, and I froze when I heard a hollow thump. 

    Sitting up and almost bumping my head, I felt around and realized the ‘door’ was just above me. With a jolt of hope, I tried to open it, but it was locked tight. Sinking back down, I continued to throw my feet against it. 

    “Someone! Anyone!” The air seemed to thin out, making it hard for me to breathe. “Please!”

    Suddenly I was blind. Bright sunlight shone directly upon my face, searing my vision. As I gasped in pain, loud, thumping music filled my ears and body with its rhythm, and laughter filtered through the wind. A shadow passed over me, and I managed to squint up at it.

    I found myself staring at the handsome face of a young man I didn’t know. Lifting my arm, I shielded away the sunlight. He gazed down at me with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his suit.

    “No need to imitate an earthquake.”

    His voice sounded vaguely familiar, and I paused. Then it hit me: it was Bang. My heart leapt up to my throat, and I backed away from him, knocking my head against one of the corners. He sighed, squatting down and extending a hand.

    “Here, let’s get you out,” he called, voice raised slightly. The wind whipped his clothes around his body.

    I shook my head violently. “No,” I managed through a tight throat. My voice shook terribly, but I pressed on. “No, l-leave me alone. Go a-away.”

    With a level gaze, Bang surveyed me. “So you want to stay in the cargo hold? ‘Cause I can just close this door and leave you here again.”

    Swallowing, I realized with a sinking feeling he was right. I didn’t want to stay there. I couldn’t bear the thought of being shut back up in that…prison cell. So, even though every fibre in me screamed ‘no’, I grabbed his extended hand and let him pull me up out of the hold.

    The wind hit me like a brick wall, and I tripped over my own feet, unable to balance myself. I wasn’t used to walking on a boat. As my eyes adjusted, Bang lead me briskly through a throng of people, and I barely had time to register my surroundings before he pushed me into a tiny room. 

    Two, small couches sat across from each other with a narrow table in the middle covered with papers. Large windows covered all four walls, and even the door, so I could see out across the water. In the distance, the shadow of land decorated the horizon. Bang gave me a light nudge, and I turned to glare at him. 

    “What?” I snapped. “Where am I? What’s going on?” 

    “Hey, ease up,” he said, holding up his hands. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

    “Yeah, right,” I muttered, taking a step away from him. “You’re full of it. At least explain things before you get rid of me.” The thought made my voice waver.

    Running a frustrated hand over his face, he took a deep breath. “Look. I’m gonna leave. You’re making this way too difficult. But just…no one’s going to touch you. I can promise you that much.” With a final, piercing glance, he stepped out of the room and shut the door.

    I heard the distinct click of a lock and clenched my jaw. I was trapped. Again. Wrapping my arms around myself, I looked out the windows, taking in what I could. 

    The boat was a yacht, as far as I could tell, and it was crowded with the scantily clad figures of fairly attractive women. Pulling a face, I grunted in disgust; I had absolutely no desire to see a bunch of floozies twerking the day away. Amidst the girls, I caught sight of a few young men as well, each dressed in evening wear and holding glasses of wine in their hands. Bang was one of them, and I wondered if the others were his buddies. The thought made my stomach twist.

    I jumped when one of the girls turned towards the window and looked directly at me. Inching away from her, I almost snorted when I realized she was checking her reflection. In fact all around me different girls were pausing to touch up their make-up and fix their clothing, completely ignoring my stiff form directly in front of them.

    I was about to go tap on the glass when the door opened again. Heart skipping several beats, I jumped away from the man stepping into the room. My knees made contact with one of the couches, and I stumbled down onto it, clutching the leather cushions for support.

    “Don’t kill yourself.” 

    Gaping, I slid as far down the couch as possible, my back hitting the armrest. “W-who are you?” I stuttered.

    “Relax, I’m not allowed to touch you.” He threw himself down onto the opposite couch, throwing an arm across the backrest.

    Silence descended, and I stared at him, not so much scared as I was curious. He had quite the babyface for a gang member, but I could see the hard glint in his eyes. As I mulled over this in my head, he spoke again in a nonchalant voice.

    “Do you have a name?”

    Blinking, I said nothing. The last thing I wanted was to give anyone on this yacht information about myself.

    “Oh, come on,” he prodded, swinging his legs up onto the table between us. “It’s just a name.”

    “You can learn a lot about someone, with just a name,” I countered in a small voice.

    With a growing grin, he nodded, cocking his head to the side. “True. Well, mine’s Youngjae. Do with that what you will.” His laid-back demeanor eased some of the fear from my heart.

    I was still wary, but I let myself relax slightly into the cushions. As I shifted around, he continued to gaze at me, his dark brown eyes narrowed. Fighting self-consciousness, I averted my eyes from his direction and looked back out the window.

    “What’s going on out there?” I asked, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

    Youngjae followed my gaze and hummed. “A party.”

    Pursing my lips, I frowned in a slight annoyance. “I can see that, but what’s it for?” As I spoke, a group of girls passed by inches away from the glass.

    “I guess you could call it a celebration,” Youngjae replied, drumming his fingers on the couch. “Sort of a way to spend our extra money.”

    “Extra? What did you do with the rest of it?”

    He squinted at me for a long moment before lifting his legs off the table and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “How ‘bout this: for every question you ask me, you have to answer one of mine.”

    Taken aback, I faltered. I knew the smart thing would be to keep my mouth shut, but my burning curiosity got the best of me, and I nodded slowly. “Ok,” I said, “but I have the right to remain silent.” I was only half-joking, but he grinned.

    “Fair enough.”

    “So what did you do with the rest of the money?”

    Leaning back, he swung his legs back up onto the table. “Weapons. Supplies. A new car.”

    My eyes widened and a little bit of the fear returned. Several different scenarios of where they would need those things filled my head, none of which I wished to dwell on. But before I could say anything, he broke into my thoughts.

    “I still don’t have your name.”

    With a sigh, I relented. “Miyoung. My name is Oh Miyoung. Happy?”

    “Very,” he replied, grin widening.

    We continued in this way for some time. I learned more about the rest of the group; Bang was the leader, Himchan was a mechanic. Youngjae claimed he had a way with negotiations–I didn’t doubt him, seeing how he’d so easily gotten me to start talking–and Jongup and Junhong, both the youngest, were mostly just along for the ride, although they proved useful on many occasions. He kept rather quiet about Daehyun, however, muttering something along the lines of “It’s complicated” and I decided not to push it.

    In turn I told him some things about myself. I was 19 years old, an only child, and had lived in the city my whole life. My dad was Caucasian and originally from United States, making me a mixed baby. I could speak fluent English and had a dual citizenship, though I’d never lived in America.

    I noticed his questions for me were much more trivial than mine for him, and I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to ask me what my parent’s social security number is or something?”

    He shrugged. “Not really.”

    Tilting my head to the side, I scoffed softly. “Then what’s the point of you asking me questions?”

    “To get to know you.”

    I stared. He wasn’t acting at all like a kidnapper should, and it confused me to no end. So rather than dwelling on it, I abruptly asked, “Why do you guys do what you do? What’s the purpose?”

    Youngjae paused. I could see the wheels turning in his head, though I was unsure if he was thinking about how to answer or if he was debating whether or not to answer at all. But before he could as much as open his mouth, but door once again swung open, and a teenager, not much younger than myself but nearly twice my height, walked in, his bleached-blonde hair hopelessly windswept. He eyed me for a moment before turning to Youngjae.

    “We’re done here,” he said. “Bang wants to drop the girls off and head back.”

    Youngjae nodded and stood up. “What about Miyoung?”

    The boy frowned. “Who?”

    Motioning to me, Youngjae shoved his hands into his pockets. “Her. Did he say anything about her?”

    With a nod the boy lifted up a pair of handcuffs. “She has to wear these.”