From A Harlot To A Princess

by Cage Thompson

  Morris lifted his shoulders in a seemingly careless shrug, that would’ve fooled anyone else. “The woman I think I fell for just by gazing at her beauty,” he chuckled darkly, and shrugged once more. “I don’t even know her name; she refused to tell me,” he snapped. Even after he had wined and dined her the whole evening, and peeled her clothes from her slender body hours later.

  Carter made a sympathetic sound, before pulling up the file that he had gotten Tyler to retrieve from the club’s database but first, he had to know something. “So, now that you know that she’s basically a prostitute…” Carter’s voice dwindled, as his friend’s face flushed with anger, and he launched at him, only to fall back to his seat as his seatbelt dragged him back to his former position.

  His twin held him in his position with a few stern words before he unruffled a few of his feathers.

  Nodding his acceptance of his friend’s grumbled apology, he put his in before turning the screen once more. “I had to make sure before I handed their female database over to you,” he stated, and placed the sleek gadget on Morris’s knees. The other man’s white grip on the side divulged the intensity of his emotions, though his face remained cold.

  Morris’ blue eyes clashed with his green. “How will I get her out, even if I find her?” He questioned.

  Carter leaned into the butter leather and rested his elbow on the armrest. “The club is like the mafia, Thorpe, blood in, blood out. The only way we can get either of them out is to tear the company apart by becoming a part of it,” he murmured, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes darkening to an almost moss color.

  Morris’s knuckles whitened some more, as his eyes found what they had been searching for and he raised his head, blue eyes flashing with fire. “If that’s the way, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Be careful what you ask of the devil.”

  —C.A.G.E. Thompson

  ROCHELLE LOOKED AT HER mother’s pallor against the white hospital sheets. She had watched her like a hawk throughout dinner, but she had never expected the sight of blood when her mother had clutched her stomach with a cry. She didn’t even remember how they reached the hospital.

  “Rochelle, you have to report this,” Samuel Davison, Officer Robinson’s rookie, pleaded once more, as the nurse upped her mother’s drip.

  She remembered the shocked expressions, and sounds of both cops when the doctor had cut off her mother’s jumpsuit. Cuts and bruises marred her mother’s body; there was barely an inch of skin left that wasn’t black and blue, that at that moment, even the trauma doctor had asked if she had been in a car accident.

  “And say what? That the awed Justice Minister is the most flawed politician appointed to take down criminals? Who would believe us?” She questioned quietly, sorrow replacing her anger at the position that they had found themselves in.

  Samuel gestured to Officer Robinson, who was snapping away at her mother’s sleeping frame with his digital camera, ensuring to preserve as much of her modesty as possible. “That’s evidence, Miss Jones,” he stated firmly, and she eased off the doorframe to take in his stiff posture.

  “Samuel, this is new to you,” she stated, gesturing widely. “The justice system is not as smooth cut as the textbooks make it sound. Percival can make all those photos disappear from your system without you even knowing. What will raking up old coals cause, Samuel? You’ll lose the position that many covet, and he’ll still be in his high place,” she murmured. “He can make things hard for you, very hard.”

  Samuel’s expression faltered, but his chin was still held in a stubborn slant. “This is also able to destroy my life, Miss Jones; I am standing here perverting the course of justice,” he mumbled starchily.

  Rochelle sighed softly- the devil and the deep blue sea, right? “Therefore, it’s your call to choose your battle, Samuel; just make sure you choose the one that will help you win the war.”

  They both turned as a well-built, dark-skinned, handsome, middle-aged doctor, walked towards them. Briefly, surprise flickered through his coal-like eyes, when he saw Officer Robinson, before he controlled his expression.

  “Rochelle, I am utterly surprised to find you here,” he muttered, and looked at her mother’s file attached to the wall outside her room.

  Rochelle shrugged, and Samuel stiffened at her side. “It was an emergency, and we had guests. They volunteered to rush her to the hospital. I did leave a message on your answering machine, however,” she stated, as the other doctor walked from the room, pausing mid-stride when she saw the senior doctor.

  Rochelle watched the woman blush, and tuck a loose lock of permed hair behind her rapidly reddening ear; no doubt the two were more than a little familiar with each other.

  “Doctor Lewis, we tried to reach you, but your pager was off and so, the chief assigned me to her.” Dr. Bowers swallowed shakily, before continuing. “It was an emergency; seeing that she had already had a history of four miscarriages.”

  Rochelle froze, blood draining from her face, and Samuel flinched at her side. Dr. Lewis, on the other hand, merely nodded his understanding, even though his eyes remained hardened. Plucking the file from its holder, he began leafing through it. “I had been at my son’s graduation; he was the head boy at the Munroe College down in Saint Elizabeth,” he murmured, with a hint of pride.

  Throughout all of that, Rochelle’s mind was still grappling with the fact that she had already lost four siblings that she had had no knowledge of.

  That son of a bitch, she thought- her heart clenching tightly.

  ✽✽✽

  A few minutes away from the airport, Carter’s frown deepened as the personnel kept sprouting garbage in his ear. “What do you mean by saying that you can’t give me Miss Jones’s private Jamaican number?” He demanded, and the young woman stuttered down the line once more. “Hand the fucking phone over to your manager!” He snapped, and Martin raised an eyebrow.

  A few seconds later, he was transferred to the branch manager. “Mr. de Silva, am I to understand that you’re requesting classified information on one of our clients?” The man questioned, and Carter’s fingers flexed around the steering wheel, as if it was someone’s throat.

  “I am guessing you are Mr. Black from the Kingston branch.” Upon confirmation, Carter’s voice hardened. “Then I am going to assume that you have no idea what the fuck you are doing,” he snapped, and paused at the stoplight as the lights turned red. “I suggest you get one of your wimps to pull up your database, and get me Rochelle Jones’ number in the next ten minutes. And if my tone isn’t enough to get you into gear, you can call your CEO, Zack O’Connor, and tell him not to let me gut Digicel like I did Miphone!” The phone cluttered into Martin’s lap when he tried to save it from going through the window.

  “I’m guessing that Rochelle Jones is highly protected,” Morris murmured, from the backseat, in a mocking tone, and Carter flashed him a black look in the rearview mirror as he slid on the indicator.

  “That’s fucking ironic, considering that her father beats the crap out of her and her mother, and no one seems to notice!” He bit out. Grinding his teeth, he turned into New Kingston, just as his phone lit up.

  ✽✽✽

  Samuel turned to Rochelle, as Dr. Lewis disappeared down the hall to consult with another physician. “So, the great doctor is the family doctor, and he’s no doubt in on all Minister Jones’s dirty little secrets,” he muttered, and she nodded. He motioned with his hand towards the young doctor. “And no doubt it’s not a coincidence that they sent the doctor that he’s toying with- while his wife stays home- to treat your mother.” He sighed, before shoving his hands into his pockets as Robinson came to stand beside them. “So, we have no credible witnesses to any of this.”

  Rochelle stiffened, and Robinson grunted. “And I have the feeling that the good old doctor is not one to reason with,” Robinson stated, and rubbed his brow, his words pushing Rochelle into a time that she wished she could for
get.

  The good doctor really didn’t have much of a choice. Rochelle remembered how she’d flinched, as the needle found its mark into her seventeen-year-old flesh, and Dr. Lewis had injected the morphine. She’d dug her nails into his hand before he could move away, bringing his eyes to her battered face. She had no doubt about how bad her split lips, and black eye looked to the older man, and she would try to milk the opportunity for all that it was worth.

  She had only just turned seventeen- just a year after her father had pulled her into a horribly black world. It had been the first time that he had allowed a client to have sex with her, and it hadn’t been exactly paradise.

  The man had been an obscenely rich, oil tycoon from Texas, who hadn’t believed in being gentle, because she was a slight thing who barely reached his shoulders, and her slight cream skin tone hadn’t improved matters.

  It being her first time, she had been scared as hell, but he hadn’t taken that into consideration either. He had taken, and taken; she flinched remembering the reason that she was lying against the starchy white sheet of her bed- torn vaginal muscles. Oh, she had fought off his last attempt when he had tried to have anal sex with her, but he had easily constrained her with her taut muscles and fists. He hadn’t bothered with the anal sex, but he had taken her without the marginal gentleness of his former attempts.

  Breathing out a shaky breath through her swollen lips, she held the doctor’s gaze, and saw his eyes soften momentarily before he recovered his stark expression.

  “Please, help me,” she whispered, and saw him lean towards her sympathetically to hear her words. She saw a flood of emotions fill his face before he sat on the bed, taking her hands with her now broken and chipped nails between his.

  “Rochelle, I wish I could, but your father is a very powerful man, and there’s not much more that I can do, other than trying to talk some sense into him.” The man sighed, and rubbed his brows briefly as if whatever was going through his mind was giving him a headache. “Talking to him twelve years ago, after he gave you a hairline fracture, had only worked until you were sixteen. That time it was less serious than now- your role in his life that is- so I’m unsure that it will help.”

  Rochelle turned her head away, as a fat, mournful tear, rolled between her swollen lids. With a compassionate hand, he’d brushed it away and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

  Hours later, when she had fallen back into another medically induced slumber, she had heard her father and the doctor arguing and only moments later, Percival Jones had almost strangled her to death. After that, the doctor had separated his personal feelings from his work. He, from then on, stayed detached when dealing with her or her mother. But Rochelle had always been able to see the armor that the doctor pulled around himself whenever he was called; she could still see the shutter that had fallen over his eyes then, just as it had a few moments ago.

  Though Percival’s treatment towards her had never changed, she had detected a change in the clients’ attitudes towards her. Her mother’s treatment was a whole different story.

  Robinson’s touch on her arm pulled her as frighteningly from her reverie as a reveille. She shook her head at his former statement. “He couldn’t help even if he wanted to,” she murmured. With a sigh, she threw a pained look at her still sleeping mother. “Father will probably make them discharge her into his care by this evening. I should go to the house and get some fresh clothes for her,” she stated, her voice hitching over the latter, as she remembered how the nurses had had to cut the clothing from her bleeding body.

  Samuel touched her shoulder in understanding. “Would you like me to take you?” He questioned gently, and she forced a slight smile.

  “Stay with her, I’ll just call a cab,” she murmured. “Thank you though,” she said, before turning to leave. Halfway down the corridor, Robinson caught up with her.

  “What will it be reported as, Rochelle?” He questioned, causing her to freeze mid-stride, turning towards him with her eyes ablaze.

  “Why don’t you leave it alone, Omar? This is a battle that neither of us can fucking win!” She hissed, and he grabbed her arm as she began stalking towards the exit.

  “Listen to me, Rochelle!” He snapped, bringing her attention to the hard lines of his face. “We aren’t the only ones who saw the marks on your mother’s body, and I’m sure that they too got a fucking look at the damn gauze that you’re trying to hide with your hair. This is a public hospital, and your father is a very public figure; tongues will start to wag, and they’ll no doubt come home to the truth.” He paused, when her eyes widened as her brain absorbed his words. “You have to report it as something before it gets out, because rumors might start a whole different battle that the person who started it wouldn’t want to stand up to, and that might leave you in a worse position than before. Not to mention, your siblings and mother.”

  Rochelle nodded her understanding, remembering that with such a history of miscarriages, plus the fact that she was carrying twins, her mother was going to be more fragile than she had ever been before. She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed. “Report it as a mugging; that will explain away my gauze as well, as you so wonderfully put it,” she stated, and he nodded in agreement. “I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Rochelle completed her exit before jumping into her private taxi.

  Throughout the whole cab ride, Rochelle’s mind kept unraveling the gruesome details of what her mother must’ve gone through. The closer to the house that she got, the angrier she became. She was on a path blinded by fury by the time that she turned the key in the lock. So much so, that she hadn’t even realized that someone else had been home.

  The slap resounded from her cheek, and had her careening into the table by the door before crashing to the floor. Her father’s shoe slammed into her stomach before she could even cover it, causing her to retch. Her weak hands reached out automatically to protect her abdomen.

  “Stop!” She groaned, as she turned onto her side and curled into a ball, her stomach somersaulting.

  She sucked in a breath, as he removed his foot long enough to hunker down and into her field of vision, but her draw of fresh air was soon stopped by his thick palm around her neck. Instantly, she reached up to try to claw his hand from her esophagus.

  “Why the fuck did I get a call that your mother is at UWI hospital?” He demanded coldly, as he watched her face change to a red hue from her struggles. He only eased back enough for her to gasp out an answer.

  “We had guests over, and they didn’t think that it was sensible to wait for Dr. Lewis when she was bleeding and in pain; especially when the great doctor wasn’t answering his phones!” She snapped defiantly, shrugging off his now loosened hand.

  He rocked back on his heels, before running his hands through his slightly greying, black curls. He looked only slightly apologetic, as he rose to his feet and extended a hand to help her to hers. Ignoring it, she pushed unsteadily to her feet, before leaning against the wall, and for the first time, she noticed that her bottom lip was bleeding. Wiping away the trickle that was running down her chin, she cast identical hazel eyes to his.

  He turned away to breathe out heavily before ruffling his hair with his hands once more. “Who were the guests?” He questioned.

  “Nobody of consequence,” she stated, not even hitching over the lie.

  Choosing not to tell him that they had been officers, was choosing to live to fight another day, and maybe, she could even win the war. Robinson and Davidson’s bits of knowledge could prove useful in the future; especially with Robinson quickly working his way up the social ladder of the police force.

  Percival turned to her once more, his shoulders stiffening, and Rochelle’s body automatically braced for a hit.

  The things that you’ve trained me to accept, Father, she thought bitterly, before his voice cut through her thoughts.

  “How did you explain away the bruises to the nurses that attended to her before Roland got there?” He questioned.
/>
  “I reported it as a mugging, and if I know the media well enough, they will run with it, trying to find the unknown criminal, instead of focusing on you.” She paused, forcing down the anger that was rearing up in an attempt to escape from its prison. As relief flashed through his eyes, she wondered how he missed the automatic barb with reference to a criminal. “So, now all that you have to do is to start your campaign against mugging,” she muttered, pushing off the wall when his cell rang. Excusing herself, she went to arrange the things to take to her mother. Halfway through grabbing her mother’s toiletries, Percival appeared at the door.

  “Dr. Lewis has informed me that your mother will have to stay for the night at the hospital, and that she’ll need a few things,” he muttered.

  “I was already doing that to take to her,” she responded flatly, shouldering past him to put the things into the overnight bag.

  “I’ll take them to her in a few minutes; you should stay.”

  Rochelle looked at him when his voice hardened over the latter part of the statement. She took in his defensive, no-nonsense stance, with a careless shrug, before turning her attention back to the bag, somewhat grateful that she didn’t have to explain the split lip to anyone.

  She looked up once more when he didn’t leave like he normally would. The hairs on her nape stood at attention.

  “Roland told me that you found out about the miscarriages,” he stated.

  Without answering, Rochelle pulled both sides of the bag together with a snap, allowing her body to speak what her lips dared not to.

  “Miscarriages are sometimes God’s way of doing things for the better.”

  The fire in his daughter’s eyes caused him to take a calculated step back, as her disdain washed coldly over him.

  “Don’t speak about God, Father, because she lost those children because you beat them out of her!” She spat. Her anger flared when he shrugged carelessly.

  “I wasn’t prepared to be a father again; you were just to please her parents and mine,” he muttered callously, unaware of the dagger that he had passed through her soul, and her fingers balled into fists so tight, that they left little crescent moons on her palms.