by Sonya Jesus
My breath hitches in my throat, and my heart races with the realization of where I am, or rather what's going to happen to me. Human trafficking.
Two of the men pick their girls. Screams erupt as they drag them out the door.
The last man, the one with the scar, rubs himself as he saunters toward the lineup. He stops in front of each, shoving their faces into his groin and grinding against them, then moves onto the emerald-eyed girl. Fisting his fingers through her hair, he yanks her up to her feet. He abrasively flips her around, shoving her face against the wall and scraping her cheeks over the gritted cement.
“Which hole do I like more?” he growls for all of us to hear, torturing both his choice and the ones left behind.
I expect her to plead for mercy, but she doesn’t. Her silence props his malicious behavior, and he elbows her in the ribs. “You still haven’t figured it out!” he shouts before whispering something in her ear. He steps aside, revealing the blood crusted beneath her butt cheeks and the trail it took down the backs of her thighs.
My heart shatters for her…for all of us. What are they doing? I can’t even find the courage to answer my own thought.
“Fuck you!” she snarls and whirls around to spit on him. “You disgust me.”
He spins her around, snaps her head back, and slams it against the wall. Over and over until the man beside me growls. “Enough!” he bellows, stilling everyone. “Pick and leave, Scar!”
I gasp silently, not because of the bleeding woman who barely moves, but because of the fear that flickers through Scar’s eyes.
The Butcher rolls his head, loosening his muscles, and leans against the wall, near the women.
Scar says, “I think 324 has had enough.” He releases the girl, and she falls to the floor—broken bones and broken spirit.
I lunge for her, but the grip around my arm tightens. A whimper escapes my throat, catching Scar's attention.
“Any chance I can brand the new heifer?”
“No,” The Butcher answers. “We don't have time to find new ones. There are enough carcasses to grind at the mill.”
The three men laugh at my horrified face while the women barely look at me. I'm never getting out of here.
“I'm in a good mood today,” The Butcher says, strangely. “Up for one of your games?”
I quickly glance between The Butcher and the man holding my arm, neither of them shows any emotion as they speak about moods.
The man beside me smiles. “I have an idea.”
The Butcher crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head. “Nothing good ever comes when you say that.”
The guy, who I now assume is either the boss or a second-in-command, says, “Let's give 327 a choice.”
“Humanizing them does not help,” The Butcher warns, stripping me of my species and branding me an animal.
A numbered heifer, my brain echoes the words as I glance at the girls on the floor. That’s all we are to these men.
“She can choose who will brand her first.”
First? I flinch, immediately stilling my reaction, cautious to disrupt whatever game was going on here.
“Kind of like a Russian Roulette.” The Butcher removes his apron, revealing a very defined torso. “Sick, but I’m up for it.”
Scar pats down his hair and winks in my direction, while twirling his finger in the air. He stops and points at me, his fingers in the shape of a gun, aimed in my direction. “Take one of us out of the running.”
The three men surround me, all glaring at me, like a piece of meat.
My blood pumps loud, thumping against my eardrums. My cheeks burn under their scrutiny. Make a choice before the option is revoked. There’s only one thing I can do. “Not you…” I say softly to the man with the scar.
The Butcher laughs and quickly dismisses him. “Get back to work.”
Good. Now which one of these two calls the shots? The Butcher’s indifferent. He’s rubbing at the dried blood on his skin, licking his thumb when the spot proves harder to remove. He glances at me for a minute and flashes me a smile. I cringe as his eyes see me because he’s not looking at me like a man.
I chance a peek at the man who grips my elbow. He looks bored with the situation.
Unlike the others, he is pristine and obviously dressed down, but I can make out the muscled ridges of his torso beneath his tight black T-shirt. His arms are thick and well defined, his jaw chiseled, and his cheekbones sculpted. Almost too pretty, yet rugged at the same time. Not an ounce of blood or a drop of sweat taints his perfect skin, and the way he towers over me gives me the distinct impression he is different... in charge.
“I choose… I don’t know your name.”
A huge grin encompasses his face, crinkling the corners of his normally hardened eyes. “Breaker.”
Immediately, I know I made the wrong decision.
I wake up, panting and sweating, with Breaker’s blue eyes engraved on the backs of my eyelids.
I can't go back! I scream within the barriers of my skull as I wrestle with the sheets holding me in place. Slowly the room comes into focus, and his beautiful, evil face disappears, taking his voice along with him. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and get out of bed. The anxiety rushing through me makes me light-headed, and I almost faint, but the sounds of the women and their children fill the room, soothing my nerves.
I’m okay, I tell myself as I drown out my fears and focus on the noise—a routine I’ve used to help deal with my past. I’m thankful for thin walls; they are so much better than cement cells and isolated rooms where no one can hear you scream. Laughter filters in through the slightly open door of my shared bedroom, the giggles serving as a reminder of my escape.
You’re not there anymore, I reassure myself as I check the time on the nightstand.
The bright red numbers flash, and I run my fingers through my chopped-off hair, feeling nostalgic for the vibrant color. After pulling the covers and tucking them under the pillow, I head over to the shared bathroom and splash my face, waking myself up from the nightmare.
You’re safe. It’s been three months, and he hasn’t found me. That has to be good, right?
I drag the small face towel over my skin, wiping it dry. Flashes of a different towel, no longer white from all the blood and dirt it had wiped away, flicker in my mind. I press it to my chest, clutching tightly as I slowly breathe in through my nose.
When the images clear, a reflection of a woman I barely recognize stares back at me in the mirror’s reflection. My hair, once long and vibrant, is now pitch-black and slightly longer than shoulder-length. My cheeks are rounder, from the twenty extra pounds I put on, and I’m healthier than I have ever been.
At least, physically.
Emotionally? It’s the complete opposite. I’ve always had a shit life. My parents died on my sixth birthday, the last day I ever knew what a family was. After, I went from foster home to foster home. Some were okay, but I never stayed long at those. The ones that had space always had space for a reason. Crawling on my knees, being starved, ignored, beaten, and broken were part of my daily routine until I ran away. At thirteen, I stole all my foster mom’s money, I bought a gun and bus ticket, and I fled after causing a fire in the basement.
Before Breaker, when I was just a runaway scraping to get by, life granted me a few seconds of peace every time I opened my eyes. After The Farm, there’s no escaping those months, not even when I’m asleep. I don’t sleep much though. I’m always scared, always on alert. I’m waiting for The Butcher to find me, to catch me on the street one day and gut me open right on the sidewalk, or worse, drag me back to Breaker.
I shiver at the thought and chastise myself. I chose him. Of all of them, he seemed the lesser of three evils—kinder, more in control—but he was worse than Scar, The Butcher, and all the men combined, because he let me retain my humanity, only to strip me of it, a little bit at a time.
“Hey, doll?” Adelaide knocks on the door to the bathroom, startling m
e. “You okay?”
I release the death grip on my face towel and glance back at the older woman who owns the shelter. “I’m just thinking.”
“You think too much,” she states and steps inside, closing the door behind her.
I smile, genuinely feeling at ease around her. “I agree.” I reach into the small contact case and then mask my irises behind brown contact lenses.
“You should bring it up during group sessions.”
“I’m not really into talking at those things.” Mostly because I’m afraid to. I rinse my brush under water and spread some toothpaste on it.
“Another nightmare?”
“Always,” I give her this much. The less she knows, the better.
“About the forest?”
“Not this time. It was about how we first met.” I jam my toothbrush into my mouth, so she doesn’t expect me to divulge much more.
“You know, he can’t get you here?”
I spit out into the sink, nodding my head before ferociously scrubbing. The gated community is a safe haven for battered women and children, and she runs this place with the help of a few security guards and staff. I feel like shit for taking advantage of her kindness.
The guilt eats at my insides, making me want to vomit. She thinks I’m escaping from an abusive relationship with my boyfriend, who left me naked in the woods, not a human trafficking ring that sold babies and organs on the black market.
I’m putting them all in danger by being here.
“Oh no, I know that look. You gals always think you’re putting me in danger. I can fend for myself, you know?”
I stop brushing and rinse my mouth out before giving her my full attention. “What if he comes looking for me or finds out I’m here? What if he hurts the people here, or you?”
“I’m more concerned about what that bastard would do to you.” She steps closer to me and leans against the double sink counter. “All the pain you’ve been through, and you’re worried about others?” She reaches for a strand of my hair. “You remind me so much of my daughter.”
My cheeks warm, and I blink rapidly, suddenly uncomfortable with the tender affection.
“I don’t want you to end up like her.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she smacks her lips together. “Promise me, if he ever does anything or reaches out to you, you’ll let me know. This old gal might be slow for the run, but she’s got a few slips down her tits.”
I snort. “I have no idea what that means, Addie.”
She swipes her hand through the air, flippantly. “It means if he comes looking, he has to go through me first.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t.”
“If he knew you were here, someone would’ve come looking for you already.”
“I’m still waiting…”
“I know, sweet girl. I understand what it’s like to be in your shoes—afraid of everything and everyone.” Addie tilts her head to the side and smiles softly, giving me the same look of encouragement she’s given me since the day she saw me in the hospital. She’s been nothing but kind and supportive, and has done more for me than any other stranger in my life.
“Does it get better—the crippling fear he’s coming for me again?”
“No, doll face,” she says with a shake of the head. “The fear is always going to be there, no matter what.”
“That’s not very encouraging…” I smile at her honesty though.
She takes my hand in hers. “Fear will keep you safe. Alert. Because men like that come back, and girls with hearts like yours always take them back.”
“I wouldn’t…” A pang of uncertainty courses through me, stirring up the tender moments between Breaker and I. Breaker never physically hurt me, he just ... I breathe in deeply and stall the justification process.
Addie watches my reaction, like she recognizes it all too well, and pats my hand gently. “That’s what my daughter said too, before she left the safety of my arms, and a day later turned up beaten to death in an alleyway. I don’t want that to happen to you—to any of you.”
She brings her wrinkled finger to the center of my chest. “Stop thinking with your heart, it forgives too easily.” She drops her hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Think with your brain, doll face. Be smart. You don’t have to be the devil to give someone hell.” She steps back, giving me a little distance to process.
I run the comb through my hair, to avoid her gaze, but I can feel her eyes on me. If she’s waiting for more, there’s nothing else I can tell her. At least nothing she wants to hear. Giving Breaker hell isn’t easy. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Before I came here, I had no idea the Mafia existed, let alone how deep their illegal ties went. Breaker isn’t an urban legend or some Hollywood dream, he’s real—nightmarishly real—and I’m working on forgiving my subconscious for refusing to forget him, for answering the messed-up longing in my heart and soothing it with images of him.
Images I cling to because without those…everything vanishes. For someone scorned by life, abandoned by love, and forgotten by the world, punches mean nothing. Life kicked me every time I was down. My past took the nothing I had, and Breaker emptied the rest of me.
“Do you still love him?” Addie’s voice cuts through my pensive state.
Love is a word I’ve bounced around in my head often, but it still rips through my heart, flooding me with shame. My knees weaken, and I rest my hands on the counter to hold myself up. Digging deep inside my mind, I stir up reasons to hate him.
They come quickly, almost overwhelmingly, but for every damn one I drum up, there’s a counter. The water. The choice. The promise not to touch me—kindness, but a monster’s kindness is dangerous. I thought I was different because I could’ve been one of those girls lined up against the wall, being passed around and branded a number, but instead, he offered me a choice.
He didn’t touch me after that, or the following day, or the next. He kept me alone, in a cement cell for days. His voice became the solace from my isolation, and the isolation itself, though meant to torture me, was his twisted way of protecting me. As time went by, he gave me a bed, a curtain for going to the bathroom, and he even let me shower in his office. He patiently listened to my sobs as he explained the process: after the branding, there were two choices, depending on the results of the blood tests—Crop or Herd.
Crops were sentenced to be butchered and death, the Herd was a prolonged and agonizing death. There was no alternative. So, I begged for a quick death.
He didn’t give it to me, not right away. First, he had things he wanted to do to me. He made me grateful for him—for selfishly saving me for himself. He was the first man I ever gave myself to—the first one I begged to touch me—and then after that, everything changed.
My feelings. My plan. My options. None of it mattered because all I wanted was his skin on mine. His voice in my ear, whispering his needs. It wasn’t love, or mercy, or kindness—just pure selfishness—but I craved the attention.
I still crave them: the tender moments where our tongues didn’t speak, and his lips breathed life into me, reviving the girl with a death sentence.
God, this is so fucked up. I blink rapidly, letting the words bounce around inside my head and wait for my thoughts to dwindle and my cheeks to cool down. I check my reflection in the mirror and find Addie’s eyes fixated on me, the furrow in her brow giving away her concern.
“You girls always love the unworthy. You need to fight it before those feelings get you killed.”
I sigh loudly and drop my shoulders in defeat. How do I fight and win with an opponent like Breaker Beneventi?
Addie’s hands are gripping my shoulders; she stands behind me, both of us watching each other in the mirror’s reflection.
“You, doll face, are worth more than a man who beats you and leaves you for dead in the forest. Remember the bruises. The blood. The night you spent frozen in the frost. The days where your words were trapped in your throat and the lengths you
’re going to hide from him. Do you think he deserves your love?”
Do I deserve it? “I’ve done some really shitty things in my life.”
“This isn’t Karma getting you back for the wrongs you’ve committed, honey. The girl you see in the mirror, she’s worthy. She deserves to smile, to love without fear, to walk ahead in life and not have to look over her shoulder.”
Her words are beautiful, but they’re meant for good people. Not people like me.
She steps to the side and taps my shoulder. “You’re lucky, you know?”
“I’ve never been a very lucky person,” I admit, with tears welling in my eyes.
“Well, you found me, doll, and that’s pretty damn lucky.” Emotions run rampant as the sweet woman wraps her arms around me lovingly. The embrace is quick, but I instinctively feel the loss when she pulls away. “I’m here for you, this place is. I understand where you’re coming from, and you don’t have to go until you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I say, almost preferring the isolation to this. I’ve overstayed my welcome. It makes sense. I haven’t paid a single cent, and I’ve been eating, sleeping, and being clothed for free. “You’re right. I am lucky to be alive. I guess it’s time I move on from here.”
She clicks her tongue. “I’m not asking you to leave.”
“But I’ve been here for months…”
She places the palm of her hand on my cheek. Her tenderness hurts more than a slap to the face.
I flinch away. “I’m sorry.” For putting you in danger.
“Don’t apologize, my daughter…” Her voice is lodged behind the ball in her throat. She clears it and tries again, “I can use a hand in the kitchen? Do you like cooking?”
“I haven’t cooked a day in my life.”
“Well, then I’ll teach you, so you can help me manage the kitchen and the front desk. I’ll pay in cash, of course, so you can start getting your life sorted without worrying about him finding you…and you can move into the annex. It used to be my husband’s home office, and I’ve used it as a library for the women here, but with a few fixes we can spiffy it up for you. It has space and a bathroom.”