Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 3)

A group of three girls with colorful hair was singing and playing the guitar at the next corner, and I headed for them. When they finally took a break, I approached them. I really hoped they spoke English. They looked to be in my age. “Hey. I was wondering if you know of any places where I could do what you do and sing for people? I’m out of money and this is pretty much my only shot at paying for a room tonight.”

The girls exchanged a look and I was half convinced they hadn’t understood me when the girl with short blue hair said in an accent I couldn’t decipher, “You need a permission. The authorities are pretty strict in Munich. They’ll fine you if you make music or any kind of other art in the streets without permission.”

“Damn. Is it easy to get a permission?”

The pink-haired girl shook her head. “No. They only hand out a few permissions and they make sure you can sing and actually play instruments before they allow you to make music here.”

I sighed and slumped against the wall of the building. The three girls exchanged another look, then whispered in a language that definitely wasn’t German before they turned to me. “We’re sharing a small apartment. If you want you can sleep on the couch in the living room until you find a job and can afford your own place.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

Blue haired girl nodded with a smile. “You’re a backpacker, right?”

“Yes. Traveling through Europe before college.”

“We’re all from Croatia, but we’ve been spending the last few months in Munich. You’ll love it.” Pink-haired girl stood. “So what’s your name?”

I hesitated a moment before deciding who I wanted to be. “Gwen.”

Maybe Munich would finally become a place I could stay and figure out what I’d do with the rest of my life.

***What was meant to be for a few days only had turned into two months. I was still sharing an apartment with the three crazy girls from Croatia. We’d become friends and I paid rent for my spot on the sofa, albeit not much. Of course every part of my life was built on lie after lie, but sometimes I almost forgot that I wasn’t who I pretended to be. I’d even found a job as a waitress in a café that catered mostly to tourists and my German had improved greatly.

Now that I’d finally found a place where I wanted to stay, I’d decided to give dating a real shot. When my flat mates introduced me to Sid, a fellow musician from Canada with long dreadlocks, I knew he was someone I could get used to, and maybe even make me forget that stupid kiss I’d shared with Matteo.

Sid was nothing like Matteo. He was nothing like men in the world I’d grown up in. He was a vegan, peace-loving idealist, and he never hesitated to convince others about his ideals. He could spend hours talking about the horrors of dairy farms and the dangers of the NRA. Sometimes I wondered what he’d say if he knew who I was.

This idealistic world-improver was his mask, I’d realized. Maybe everyone wore some kind of mask. What had been a novelty and endearing in the beginning, quickly started to annoy me. Still I couldn’t break up with Sid because it would seem like the ultimate failure. If even someone like Sid couldn’t stop me from thinking about Matteo, who could?

Sid’s hand crept under my shirt, then unhooked my bra. I made a sound of protest. We were in the living room of my shared apartment, so if one of my flat mates returned she’d get a show. His fingertips were rough from playing the guitar. He pushed me down until I lay flat on my back and he was half on top of me. His tongue seemed to take up too much space in my mouth and he tasted of stale smoke. Why had I thought a smoking guy was hot? Maybe in theory, but the taste and stink weren’t something I was too excited about. He started unbuttoning my jeans and kept rubbing his bulge against my leg like a horny dog.

“I want you, Gwen,” Sid rasped, already trying to shove my pants down my legs. Gwen. For the first time, the name didn’t make me pause. Two months using the same name seemed to be the magic barrier for getting used to a new identity. Pity that I got the feeling I wouldn’t use it for much longer. Munich was getting too comfortable, and Sid was simply getting too much. He was being too pushy.

“Not yet,” I gritted out, trying to hide my boredom and annoyance. It wasn’t his fault that I wasn’t into our make-out sessions. We’d been going out for almost four weeks, so it wasn’t really all that surprising that he wanted to sleep with me. And I wasn’t even sure what the hell was stopping me. Sid wasn’t a bad guy. He could be funny after he’d drunk a couple of beers or had a few drags of pot, and his guitar play and singing weren’t even half bad. And yet I didn’t want to commit to this relationship fully, didn’t want to go another step. Before I’d run off from home, I’d thought I’d jump into bed with every guy I met once I was free of my bodyguards; to spite Matteo and my father, more than anything else, so what was stopping me?

“Come on, Gwen. I’ll make it good for you,” he said as he tried to shove his hand into my panties.

I clamped my legs shut and pushed his hand away. I didn’t want him to touch me there. For some reason the idea that he’d be the first to do that made me sick. “I’m really not in the mood. And I’m getting my period,” I said to stop him from bitching around any more. It was a fucking lie. The stress of the last few months had pretty much stopped me from having much of a period at all.