Indian Village Girl trapped in USA Ch. 04

Thanks again to rustyoznail for painstaking editing this series. Its his help that enables to see these series the light of the day. This part contains a bit of nonconsent and bad words,so proceed with caution. It was mentally exhausting to complete this chapter

At the break of dawn on September 11, 2001, a hopeful soul named Shahid Khan touched down on the bustling shores of JFK Airport. Armed with insurmountable hopes and dreams, the young IT programmer left his humble hometown Faisalabad behind, eager for a slice of the American dream. But as fate would have it, the day was to become an unforgettable turning point in global history - shaping Shahid's journey in a way he never could have foreseen.

The alarms in the airport shrieked with deafening urgency just as he was about to check out. The normal humdrum of the airport came to a sudden, chilling halt as news of the notorious 9/11 terrorist attack rapidly spread. The world seemed to stall in time, and so did Shahid's breath as he stared up at the smoke-filled sky. Far away from the safe confines of his home, Shahid was caught in the throes of a terrifying chapter of American history.

The day after these horrendous events unfolded, he gathered the courage to dial home. His mother's hysterical pleas pierced his heart like a dagger - stories of hate crimes against Muslims were rapidly spreading across the globe.

"Return home, Shahid," she pleaded, scared for his safety in the same land of opportunity he had dreamt of. But Shahid, who had come to this foreign soil with nothing but resilience and determination, held his ground. He reassured his mother, and most importantly, himself.

He would not turn back; this was the land of blossoming opportunities reserved for those with the will and spirit to work hard. Shahid was one such spirited dreamer, ready to fight in the face of adversity. Summoning his strength, he joined the ranks of countless immigrants who etched their stories in the history of America. Shifting amongst numerous companies, he steadily climbed the ladder of success.

Every job switch brought new career prospects, materialising into a better offer than the last, creating a promising trajectory of growth. After a tenacious ten-year journey, he achieved the much-coveted Green Card, marking a milestone in his American journey. This moment gave Shahid the courage to set his footprints deeper in American soil. Alongside former colleagues Bilal and Usman, both from his homeland, he embarked on an entrepreneurial journey and established his own company.

Initially smitten by the apparent straightforwardness of Americans, a refreshing contrast to the corruption and nepotism he had witnessed back home, his perception soon took a sombre turn. The top echelon of corporate America revealed a dark side. He discovered that corruption was as rampant in his new home - it was just better hidden and guarded, ensuring it never seeped towards the common man.

For example, when a Bangladeshi manufacturing unit of a famous shoe company gets gutted because of lack of proper fire safety laws, the company would make a statement that their contractor illegally subcontracted to another factory with no such laws. Similarly, they knew that cocoa of a famous chocolateur is sourced from a war ravaged African country with child labour, but they instead showed the pictures of a well fed, happy community.

Similarly, Shahid knew that every company wanted to digitise their processes, but they wanted to do it as cheaply as possible. That's why the Indian IT companies mushroomed all of a sudden, but despite that, some companies felt it was still too costly to contract work out to these companies. This is where Shahid's company - "Innovative IT Tech" acted as a body shop for very cheap labour.

Gone were the days where the immigrant students from South Asia were the best and brightest the world could offer. Now every Tom, Dick and Harry could find his way into some of the shady universities where they spent close to $100,000 and then they would be picked up by the H1B sponsors who would do body shopping. Shahid's company not only provided them visas - they also gave them fake degrees and references and even helped them in preparing for interviews as well. The clients knew what went on behind the curtain, but they pretended to be fooled as long as the employees didn't create a stink. Everyone was happy.

Prasad was one of the unscrupulous H1B holders who has been working with fake jobs on his CV. The ones who had them normally tried to upskill themselves and then move out with actual jobs. Shahid had no issues with such men, as he knew he would have done the same thing. Prasad knew he wasn't good at his work, so he was stuck with this same company for close to five years with no hike in his salary or job position. It was more of a marriage of convenience.

Shahid wasn't just a charismatic person, he was also a womaniser. Standing at 6'1" and with striking Pathani features, he had several admirers even during his college days in Lahore. But his appetite for seducing women was too big and he pursued them relentlessly once he had his eyes on his target. His obsession grew as he became older and started rising up the corporate ladder. Once he started his own company he became a total predator.

Too many NRIs desperately needed the H1B visas to cling on to their American dreams. It was easy to use them or their wives, throwing the carrot and stick bait approach. He fucked his employees or their wives. He was a walking example of a #Metoo# about to explode.

Like a chess player, he would size up the situation, careful to avoid those who might strike back. It was an illicit game he'd been playing for years - and remarkably, he'd never lost. There was no shortage of willing women; H1Bs on the line, dreams at stake.

The debauchery of Mr Khan was well known in his company circles but he never cared. He, in fact, craved the notoriety it brought him and made him an alpha male. But he was also a reasonable man. He would reward those who were good to him. Not every employee had to barter his wife as long as they were good employees.

Every year, he held an office party for all his employees and it was unofficially mandatory to bring their spouses. He used this opportunity to size up their wives so that he could make moves on them when he had the opportunity.

Prasad was already facing questions over why he was no longer attending the get-togethers by his friends/colleagues so he knew he had the option to wiggle out of this one. He half heartedly informs Meghna about the party hoping that she might try to read his sad face and sacrifice herself into not going. But Meghna no longer cared about Prasad's feelings anymore and she wanted to use this opportunity to actually tell his friend's wives that she has no issues with the get togethers.

Maria Lucia, who was Esmerelda's daughter, was studying beauty courses as there was a huge market for unlicensed but cheap beauty services in the Mexican immigrant communities. It was a good way to hustle money. Meghana agreed to receive a full makeover free of charge although Steve, her neighbour and secret lover, slipped Esmerelda, another lady he attended to, a twenty to cover her material costs. She harboured a silent apprehension about how her husband Prasad would react, as he never allowed her to spend money on luxuries like salon services. After being ignored for so long, she no longer cared about him as she wanted to look radiant for Steve.

What followed was a marathon six-hour beauty session. It started with a relaxing facial meticulously done by Maria, who projected an expertise beyond her years. Next came the hair cut, a simple yet chic style that framed her face perfectly. As the day wore on, Meghana made a bold decision - she decided to get a full-body wax and most dauntingly, a bikini wax. He remembered how Travis, Steve's horrible son, called her muff "Osama Bin Laden". She also wanted to surprise Steve, not her husband.

Now adorned in a simple red chiffon saree, her transformation was complete. The simple piece of attire had taken on a designer's aura, accentuating her newfound grace.

When Prasad arrived home that evening, his wide-eyed gaze met with a stunning Meghna, her beauty enhanced by an expansive beauty treatment. The sight however, which was supposed to bring joy to Prasad's heart, only made him nervous. Prasad was worried because of the corporate party they were to attend in the evening. The party was hosted by his company, and he knew all too well it was swarming with men who had a crush on Meghna. But no one was more afraid of than his CEO - Mr Khan.

Rumours about Mr Khan's taste for beautiful women circulated the company, fuelling Prasad's fear. He had always kept Meghna hidden from the piercing gaze of his CEO. But the upcoming party gave him no room to keep her concealed. He found himself in the corners of dilemma and fear, and tried to find an excuse to skip the event. But there was none he could see. Attending the party was mandatory, and there was no way out for Prasad.

Meghna had always been a little self-conscious about her clothing choices, which had been limited due to her husband's tight budget. She had never owned any partywear, and her simple red chiffon saree was the best she could manage. Upon reaching the venue, she immediately noticed Prasad's boss, Khan. A man of impeccable taste and power, he had the presence to turn heads wherever he went. Smiling politely, she greeted him and then quietly slipped away into the female section to join the other wives.

Meghna found comfort and camaraderie among these women. They shared stories and the occasional gossip about their husbands and their antics. It was a breath of fresh air for her; these simple yet meaningful connections she made greatly contrasted from her usual lonely days at home.

Khan called his friends Bilal and Usman. Although in their 40s, they were ogling and rating the women like a pair of teenagers. Khan had already eyed his prize and he instructed Bilal and Usman to be part of his scheme. They circled Prasad and for the first time in five years, praised his work ethic. With devilish smiles, they teased Prasad about his drinking prowess, or the purported lack thereof. Challenged and somewhat tipsy, the obedient employee gave in to the pressure and began drinking heavily. Khan then slipped away from the crowd, leaving his friends to ensure Prasad remained occupied.

Khan had noticed Meghna, and her simplicity and grace struck him. Ignoring the irrelevant imaginings of his friends, he was intrigued more by her depth than her physical beauty. He wanted to talk to her, to understand her and maybe, if things fell into place, bring some relieving happiness into her monotonous life.

With a glass of champagne in his hands, he walked over to the female section. He had a charm, an affable ease that made even this invasion appear gentlemanly. Joining the ladies, Khan engaged them in lighthearted banter, making sure to include Meghna in every conversation. While Meghna enjoyed the attention, she knew to carefully tread the line between proprietary and familiarity.

Soon Khan left the female section consisting of cooing ladies. He attempted to maintain an air of casual indifference as he strolled back towards the main party area.

"What an interesting man," giggled Riddhi, Meghna's friend. Her eyes followed Khan's retreating form through the crowd. "Did you notice, Meghna? He was trying so hard to appear nonchalant, but his gaze was fixed on you the entire time."

Meghna flicked her narrow gaze at Riddhi, quickly dismissing the notion. "Please! He might charm the rest, Riddhi, but he's not my type. I've no intention of entertaining his attention," she said firmly. But hidden in her words was the flicker of curiosity tinged with alarm. An unexpected absence caught her attention: her husband. Where was he? Unbeknownst to Meghna, her husband was being cautiously led into an upstairs room by Bilal.

Meghna's husband, lured by the promise of exquisite single malts, found himself drinking heavily with Bilal, each glass he raised making his vision blur a little more, his mind increasingly foggy. This was part of a well-woven plot. Their aim was clear: to incapacitate him and to leave Meghna alone and in need of help.

It had been a long night of socialising and celebrations. The night air was thick with the intoxicating appeal of the unknown. As the party crowd slowly began to dwindle, people slipped away quietly into the night, hand-in-hand with their loved ones. The leftover champagne bubbles lay stagnant in their abandoned glasses.

The laughter that once echoed across the ceiling dropped to a hush, leaving behind an ominous silence. In the crowd of disappearing people was Meghna. Her laughter was now silenced and the smile had been replaced with worry lines. Her eyes, once sparkling with thrill and joy, now made frantic searches for her husband, Prasad. She was waiting for him, but he was nowhere to be found. As she watched her female friends leave with their husbands, a pang of envy pinched her heart. She felt abandoned.

Khan, sipping whiskey from his glass, played the silent observer. His keen eyes scanned the crowd and his gaze fell on Meghna. He could see the discomfort clouding her eyes, mirroring the anxiety in her restless movements. He observed, unruffled, while the tension grew as the last of her companions closed the doors behind them.

Alone with a few drunk bachelors who were oblivious to her predicament, she stood, her misery magnified by the contrast of her surroundings.

Khan approached her. "May I help you?" he asked, his tone a soothing balm to her frenzied nerves.

"I'm looking for my husband," she replied, her voice shaky with pent-up distress. At that moment, the man himself, Prasad, tottered out of a hidden corridor, allowed to leave his confinement by his captor Bilal. His walk was unstable, reflecting his inebriated state. He was a mess.

"Can you drive?" Khan asked, focusing on Meghna who watched Prasad with a mixture of relief and anger.

"No," she sighed in resignation.

"No worries," Khan offered, a gentlemanly gesture underneath the mocking gleam in his eyes. "I will drive you home."

Meghna, although grateful, remained reluctant to accept the offer from her husband's boss. "No, thank you. We will take an Uber," she countered.

But Khan insisted, a stir of challenge kindling in his eyes. "It's almost 12 am," Khan said, his voice steady. "Don't worry, I'll drive you. "

Meghna wasn't comfortable with the situation, but what choice did she have? With her husband stumbling around and a long distance to get back home, it felt like the only workable solution.

Khan and his friend Bilal helped Prasad into the back of the formidable black Jaguar while Meghna got into the front seat. Once the car had left the opulence of the gala venue, Khan turned towards Meghna, "Where's your address?" His commanding voice had a hint of curiosity, mixing business with a necessary act of kindness.

"150 Martin Luther King Boulevard," she uttered nervously, anticipating his reaction.

Khan let out a surprised laugh. "What? That's the east side of the city! Do you realise how dangerous that area can be during the night? Especially when a Jaguar enters - it spells trouble. I don't want to risk getting carjacked or mugged. Let's rest at my penthouse instead."

Meghna knew the statistics all too well. She was often greeted by the echoes of gunshots, just as much part of her life as morning coffees. But staying at Khan's penthouse? She hesitated, weighing her options, before finally nodding. After all, the man was offering shelter on a perilous night. But she knew it might be a trap.

Meghna's heart pounded against her chest like the thudding beat of an unsympathetic drum. Beneath the silver gleams of the high-tech garage's ceiling lights, Khan parked the sleek Jaguar in its rightful place. As the engine's murmuring hum faded into silence, he turned to look at her, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Meghna," he said in a low, persuasive tone, "we'll leave your husband here. He's passed out drunk. No need for him to be dragged along."

Fear clawed up her throat - a real, tangible thing, but she hastily swallowed it down. She had no choice but to go along with Khan; it was, after all, his penthouse and his party. Nonetheless, Meghna felt a shiver of unease as they ascended the elevator to the impeccably decorated bachelor pad. Its sparse aesthetics, however modern, failed to mimic the comfort of a home.

The penthouse boasted a massive home theatre, where a wall-to-wall screen monopolized one side of the room. Adjacent to it, an entire wall fitted with a display of a liquor cabinet shone under the subdued lights - grim ornaments that made her feel more uncomfortable. She found a spot on the plush black couch positioned away from Khan's viewing range.

Khan, effortless and charming in his deadly allure, leaned against the opulent liquor cabinet. "We have time to spare," he declared smoothly. "Care for a drink, Meghna?"

"No, thank you," Meghna replied, doing her utmost to hide her tremors beneath a calm exterior. Her mind was a battlefield of thoughts, the war between worry for her unconscious husband and her own safety prevailing.

"Don't worry," Khan said, a predatory smile gracing his lips as he slid out a glass from the cabinet. "Your husband won't know. How about a margarita?"

"No," Meghna repeated, refraining from meeting his gaze. She remembered downing just a single glass of champagne during the party, her senses still perfectly clear and unimpaired. Khan had sent waiters to spy on her, she had noted, clearly aiming to keep her at an optimum amount of inebriation - enough to be compliant, but not enough to be completely overcome by alcohol.

Oozing charisma, he said, "Try this, this is tequila." He handed a shot glass to the woman beside him.

Meghna held her tiny glass tentatively, the smell of strong alcohol piercing her nose as she cringed.

"Ewww, it's so strong!" she said, but Khan only laughed at her reaction.

"You just need to down it in one go," he advised, lifting his glass.

There was a touch of anticipation and impatience mingling with the good-humoured disguise on his face. They clinked their glasses together and, without waiting for a second, Khan downed his tequila. Taking a deep breath, and against her better judgement, Meghna followed suit. The resulting fire in her throat and the unfamiliar steam in her stomach left her gasping. She didn't think such a small amount of alcohol would have so much punch. Before she could recover, Khan had already handed her a margarita, a sweeter, more palatable drink. Meghna welcomed it with relief, the sugary taste removing the lingering bitterness of the tequila.

"So tell me, Meghna, where are you from in India?" Khan's question seemed innocuous, but his eyes snapped in predatory expectation. Oblivious, Meghna began unfolding her story. She told him of her childhood in the colourful small village in India, of the freedom and innocence and her subsequent marriage.

As Khan nodded and smiled, there was a cold disinterest that belied his warm facade. He wasn't really interested in her story. His only interest was in the drowsiness that started to creep into Meghna's eyes, a clear signal that the alcohol was starting to take effect. Patiently, Khan held his glass to his lips, waiting. He had set the stage and now, he was ready to make his move.

"How about a dance, Meghna? I'm sure you can tap your legs. "

Meghna hesitated, shaking her head, "No, I can't, Sir. "

"Don't worry," he reassured, a playful smirk on his face as he tapped his phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker that permeated the room with soft whispers of music, "I have a collection of good Bollywood and Pakistani music. "