by Cameron Hart
“Craig?” Angelica barks a laugh. “No, honey. He’s so far up the food chain, I’ve never even seen him. Fuck, is that who brought you here?”
I nod. I’m sure she’d see the color drain from my face if it weren’t for the twenty-seven layers of makeup I have on.
“Shit, girl. You must’ve fucked up real bad.”
I shrug, not really wanting to talk to her about it.
“Well, Craig is kind of the boss, I guess. He’s got a wide range of investments, as I’m sure you know. With his political connections and cops in his pocket, he can pretty much get away with anything. Girls usually end up here when they are desperate or when they fuck up.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” she continues, clearly liking the feeling of having more knowledge than me. “We answer to Mac. It’s short for McDonald’s. His face got all fucked up in a fire a while back. They used to call him the Hamburgler, but then it evolved over the years to Mac.”
“Oh, shit.”
Angelica raises her eyebrows. “You know something about that, newbie?”
Fuck yeah, I know something about that. It’s my fault his face looks like hamburger meat. My silence must give me away.
“Well, fuck me sideways! Here I thought you were gonna be a boring, sad little shit. I like knowing you have a little fire in you. Hah. Fire. Get it?”
I give her a half-hearted laugh even though acid burns in the back of my throat.
“Enough talk, bitches,” a scratchy, all too familiar voice growls from down the alley. “I heard we have a special guest with us this evening,” Mac says.
I try to hide my face in my ridiculously large hair, but Mac grabs my chin and yanks my head up to meet his gaze.
“Emma. It warms my cold, dead heart to see you here on the streets,” he sneers. “I’m going to enjoy watching the fight drain out of your eyes as they turn cold and gray like your mom’s. And then I’ll pump you full of heroin and make you suck my cock for your next hit.”
Mac laughs, a hideous, joyless sound that digs into my gut like barbed wire. Then his hand moves to my neck, which is still sore from when Craig strangled me. Mac tightens his grip and slams me against the wall before forcing his chapped lips and rancid mouth on mine. I turn my head at the last minute and he ends up licking my cheek. Mac drops his hand from my neck and spits on my face. “Still too good for me, huh? Give it a week or two. Soon you’ll be begging me to show you a good time.”
He walks away, leaving me slumped against the wall for support as my legs tremble beneath me. The other girls pretend not to notice our exchange.
Soon a car pulls up and Angelica walks towards the open passenger side window like an old pro.
“Evening, gentleman,” she says in a super sweet and fake voice. “Looking for a good time? Fifty for a blow, two hundred for a fuck, or a five-hundred for an hour to do whatever you want.”
Angelica gave me the same spiel earlier, but something about hearing her say it to a car full of disgusting men makes it really real. One of the guys must say something because Angelica gets in the back of the car and then they all take off.
I close my eyes and picture Roman, how he was that first morning after I woke up in his bed. How he kissed me awake even though I was grumpy and sassy. How lifted me up on the counter so I could watch him make me breakfast like it was something we'd be doing for the rest of our lives. How he kissed my nose and told me I was perfect. Despite my current circumstances, I find myself smiling.
“What’s got you so happy over there, gorgeous?” A nasally voice asks.
I snap my eyes open and see a short, fat man lean over the passenger seat of his rusted-out Dodge Neon. "I bet I could make you smile too. What's your rate?"
I push down the urge to vomit or hyperventilate and somehow make my way towards his car. I lean over the open window like Angelica did, giving him a bit of a show with the way this tube top is pushing my boobs up.
“Fifty, um, for a…blow, a hundred for, for…for—”
“Cat got your tongue? That’s okay. Whatever your price is, I’ll take you. I like my girls shy. It makes me feel good when I can get them to scream my name.”
I blink back tears and try, unsuccessfully, to tap into that numb feeling I had earlier. Opening the door, I step in and buckle my seatbelt.
“No need to get too comfy. I’m just going to park around the corner.”
We get to the parking lot and Mr. Scream-my-name unbuckles his seatbelt shortly followed by his belt as he tugs his pants open. I close my eyes before he can whip himself out. I feel him tug down my top, and my hands instinctively go to my chest to cover myself up.
“Oh, c’mon now, doll. No need to cover up. You’re a pretty little thing.”
I feel him grab my wrists and pry them away. I try again to picture Roman, the look in his eyes when we were together, how he really thought I was beautiful, that I was his treasure. Instead of calming me down, however, it just makes me more upset, knowing I'll never have that again. I don't realize I've started crying.
“Shit, girl. You really don’t want to do this, huh?”
I whimper, not sure how to answer. Fuck no, I don’t, but I have to.
“Look, I’m not going to force myself on you. That’s not my thing. I’m paying you good money to fuck you. I’m not a sick bastard though.”
Fire shoots through my veins and the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“No? You’ll knowingly support a system that objectifies and oppresses women, paying them for their bodies so you can use them for your own sick pleasure, but you’re a fucking saint because you draw the line at rape? What a hero.”
He slaps me across the face.
Goddamnit.
I’ve been hit more times in the last forty-eight hours than I have since I was a kid, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it. Or, I could try to keep my mouth shut. I suppose that will eventually happen one way or another. Honestly, I don’t regret telling this jackass off though. I like knowing I still have some fight left in me.
He tucks himself back in and peels out of the parking lot to drop me back off. When he gets to the corner, I open the door and he shoves me out on my ass. I stumble to the ground as he yells, “Stuck up cunt! You don’t get to shame me, you whore!”
Almost as soon as the prick drives away, I feel a large rough hand grip my bicep and yank me off of the ground.
“What the fuck happened? That was your first John and you fucking left him unsatisfied and didn’t bring back any money?” Mac screams at me.
“I-I…I…”
“Shut the fuck up when I’m talking.” He tosses me on the ground, my head smacking against the pavement. “You’re done for tonight.”
Oh thank fuck.
“But before you think that’s a good thing, let me show you what happens to little girls who think they can sass customers and not pull their weight around here.”
I know the blows are coming, so I throw my arms up to shield my face. His boot connects with my chest, my ribs, my knees. He rolls me over with his foot and stomps his boot down between my shoulder blades, causing my face to scrape against the pavement. Blood drips down my face, mixed with tears, snot, and saliva.
Mac still has me pinned to the ground with his foot as he leans down. “This will take a few days to heal. I can help you with the pain, give you a little something to numb all this shit. Then you’ll come back out here and earn your keep.”
I make some sort of noise in acknowledgment, but it's not good enough. "Tell me you understand, Emma. Tell me you know what your place is now."
Before I can answer, sirens start wailing at the end of the alleyway.
“Fucking cops. Get out of here and come back in a few hours. If you get caught, you better not fucking talk. And if you don’t come back, I will find you, and I will end you. Your fat friend, too.”
He’s gone before I get the chance to react, not that I could anyway. The sirens get closer, echoing in my alr
eady pounding head. I struggle to get up on my knees, and somehow crawl alongside the wall until I get to the set of dumpsters. I squeeze myself in the tight space between the dumpster and the wall and wait for the cops to leave.
I close my eyes just for a second and try again to think of Roman. I imagine him scooping me up in his arms and brushing my hair back from my face as he calls me his dandelion. When I blink my eyes open, I swear to God I see Roman’s silhouette against the backdrop of flashing lights.
“Dandelion?” The soothing voice washes over my bruised and broken skin.
I open my mouth to say something, anything to hold on to this moment that I’m sure I’ve conjured up.
“Jesus Christ, Emma…” He crouches down in front of me, and I try blinking him away. Surely, it’s not really Roman, right? I mean, how could it be?
“Can you talk to me, little one? Are you hurt? I mean, fuck, I see that you’re hurt. I just…shit, baby. Can I touch you? I don’t want to hurt you more than you already are.”
My body responds to him and I launch myself in his arms. He catches me and holds me close. I feel his tears on my face, his forehead resting against mine.
“Fuck, dandelion. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, little one. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re okay now.”
I still don’t really believe he’s here, but I’m just happy to ride out this delusion for as long as I possibly can.
Chapter 18
Roman
Emma is safe now. She’s okay.
It’s all I can think about as I hold her in my arms. I look down at her beautiful face hidden under layers of greasy makeup, and survey the damage done to my precious girl. She has so much blood on her face, I’m not sure where it’s even coming from. I see bruises forming on her neck and I feel a knot on the back of her head where she’s resting against my arm.
Her tiny body is shaking in my arms, her fists gripping onto my shirt, pulling her impossibly closer to me. I want to fucking murder everyone who touched her, everyone who looked at her. I have no idea what she’s been through, but it fills me with violent rage. My dandelion doesn’t need to see me like that though. She needs me to protect her, to take care of her like I wasn’t able to do before.
Fuck, I can’t stop my tears of relief, of anger, of so many emotions. They roll into me, one right after another.
“Let’s get you checked out, okay, little one? We’ll get you all bandaged up and then I’m taking you with me. You’re never leaving my side again.”
I stand up and carry her over to one of the police SUVs.
It didn't take long for Tyler to connect the dots with the crimes reported in the area, the address, and the name "Craig," to come up with a pretty solid theory. Since we had a legitimate case, I was able to do some work using the police databases to track down a few leads.
Craig Winthrop is a local politician who is seedy as fuck, though nothing could be associated directly with him. We made a few calls to the Tampa PD, and even though I'm not on their force, they did me the courtesy of letting me ride along for this bust once they heard about Emma. This is only the beginning, of course, but we have strong evidence tying this prostitution ring as well as several mid-level drug dealers to Craig.
“This her?” One of the officers asks when I get to the car.
I nod. “This is my Emma.”
He opens the door for me, and I gently set her inside before climbing in with her. The officer gets in the driver’s seat and takes us to the nearest hospital without me having to ask.
“Thank you,” I say, sincerely.
We wait in one of the exam rooms in the ER. Emma hasn’t said anything yet, but that’s okay. I’m sure she’s in shock. They gave her a blanket to wrap around herself, covering up the skimpy clothing she is dressed in. The thought of anyone seeing her like this, touching her…fuck. I have to stop thinking about it before I ram my fist through the wall.
She’s sitting on the exam table while I stand next to her. I hold her hand and she leans into me. The doctor comes in after a few minutes, looking at the chart in her hand.
“Emma… Oh.” Yeah, I get it. It’s one thing to read about the injuries on paper, and another thing to see them on someone’s body. The doctor’s face immediately softens as she puts the chart down. “You’re a fighter, huh?”
Emma won’t meet her gaze.
“I just need to examine some of your cuts and bruises, okay? Can I help you into one of our gowns?”
Emma looks up at me as if defaulting to my answer. My dandelion looks so lost. But not defeated. I'm determined to help her find her voice, her confidence again. I nod and squeeze Emma's hand.
“It’s alright, little one. She’s going to help. We can trust her.”
Emma nods at the doctor.
“Sir, I have to ask you to leave—”
“No!” It’s the first time Emma has spoken. Her voice is small, and it sounds like it hurt for her to say even that small word. Her hand grips mine and she starts trembling.
“I’m not leaving you,” I tell Emma. I give the doctor a stern look, and she backs off.
“Then you can help her into the gown. I’ll be back in a few minutes for the exam.”
After the doctor leaves, I help Emma off the table. I slip the blanket off her shoulders and carefully take her outfit off. I notice she’s lost some weight since I saw her last. Her already slender figure now shows her hipbones a little more, as well as her ribs.
I try not to focus too much on the damage done, but I can’t help it. She already has bruises forming over her ribs and stomach. Even her perfect little breasts bare angry red marks. Emma tries to cover herself from me, so I help her with the gown. Not because she’s disgusting, but because I know she’s vulnerable right now and I want to do everything in my power to make her feel safe again.
Once she’s seated on the exam table again, I take her hand and place a kiss on top of her head. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, dandelion. You’re perfect. I missed you so goddamn much.”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. She places the smallest of kisses on my arm and then rests her head there. It’s like it’s too painful for her to do anything else. Even so, I know my Emma. She’s telling me she missed me too.
✽✽✽
An hour later, Emma is discharged and I'm able to take her back to the hotel room I rented for a few days. The investigation is still underway, but I got the officers to agree to give Emma and me tonight to regroup and recover before she gives her statement.
When we get back to the hotel, I turn on the shower for Emma. The doctor and nurses cleaned up most of the blood on her face and wiped away her thick makeup, which only revealed more bruises and marks on my precious Emma’s skin, but I know she needs to be fully cleaned up, and not just from the dirt and dried blood. Then I’ll take her to bed and hope she lets me hold her fragile little body.
Emma hasn’t left my side once. She’s standing next to me while I adjust the temperature. Her face is blank, completely devoid of any emotion.
“Can I help you get in the shower, dandelion?”
She nods once. I take off the scrubs she was given at the hospital. There was no way in hell I was going to put the skimpy outfit back on her after I took it off for her exam.
I open the shower curtain and hold her hand while she climbs inside. I'm not sure if I should stay or go. I don't know what she needs from me. It would be totally understandable if she doesn't want to be touched or feels suffocated, but I don't want to leave her side.
“Stay,” she whispers.
“Do you want me in there with you?”
“Please,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
I take off my clothes and join her in the shower. Her hands immediately go to my face. She skims her fingers over my eyebrows, my nose, my jaw. I turn my face to kiss her palm. It’s like she doesn’t believe I’m really here.
She hasn’t met my gaze yet, so I guide her face gently up towards mine by
placing my forefinger under her chin. Her once brilliant blue eyes look faded. Tired. Blank. It kills me to see her this way.
I tuck a few wet strands of hair behind her ear and tenderly cup her face in my hand.
“Come back to me, dandelion. I’m right here.” I take her right hand and place it over my heart. “I’ll always bring you back, Emma. Please… Please come back to me.”
I see the moment it all hits her. Whatever she’s been through. The trauma breaks through the surface and her eyes flash with every emotion she’s tried to stuff down. Tears spill down her beautiful face and she gasps for air. Her eyes display panic, fear, anger, pain. She claws at my chest and buries her face against me. I don’t want her to hurt herself, but I can tell she needs this.
I wrap my arms around her and rock her back and forth.
“I’m here. I’m right here, Emma. You’re safe now, dandelion.” I keep whispering reassuring things to her as she cries in my arms.
After a few minutes, she’s cried herself out and she stops shaking in my arms. I reluctantly pull back so I can wash her hair and body. I pour some body wash in my hand, thankful that Harper thought to pack Emma’s favorite soap and shampoo and conditioner. Anything familiar that will help ground her is good.
I gently skim my soapy hands over her tiny body, careful not to hurt her. When I’m done, I turn her around and work the shampoo into her hair, cautious of the bump on the back of her head. I do the same with the conditioner. Emma lets me take care of her, her eyes never leaving me.
I quickly wash myself off and then dry Emma and me off with a towel. I dress Emma in some underwear Harper picked up for her before I left and one of my shirts. Leading us to bed, I pull the covers down and tuck her in. Emma doesn't let go of my hand, so I take that as a sign to join her.
Crawling in next to her, I lay on my back and let her decide if she wants to be touched or if my presence is enough. I’m relieved when Emma shuffles over to me and curls up on my chest as close as she can get. A tear hits my skin and dissolves into me, her pain becoming a part of me.
I want to hold her close but I’m not sure how sore she is after getting the shit kicked out of her. As if reading my thoughts, Emma reaches out for my arm and wraps it around her waist. I move my other arm to her head, running my fingers through her hair.