Sicko

by Amo Jones

  Dark bed. Black sheets. No window. The smell of bleach was potent enough to burn the hairs in my nostrils.

  Someone stepped out from the shadow in the corner, his body wide, his jaw square. For a brief second, I thought he was beautiful until I realized I was looking at a corpse.

  I didn’t speak. Neither of us did. All I knew was that I had my task to do every day while I was there, and I was only collected once it was done.

  I don’t know why.

  I probably will never know or understand why James wanted him and I to do what we did. When I first met Wicked, I recognized him instantly. At first, I was worried that he had noticed me, but he hadn’t. He had touched every inch of my body, fucked me in every single place that the human body can be fucked, but he didn’t recognize me.

  I don’t think.

  Isaac is in the space that occupies the elevator, all air sucked from the small confinement. Isaac didn’t speak much, but when he did, he did it with purpose. I always wondered why, or what must have happened to him to turn him evil, or whether he was maybe just like James and born that way. The numbers on the elevator go down.

  11.

  10.

  9.

  8.

  7.

  6.

  5.

  4.

  Until we hit ground zero.

  And then we drop lower.

  The symbol that appears on the elevator number was simple, yet the very look of the light rose feelings inside of me that I tried to crush.

  The Diamond.

  The metal doors slide open and Sloane breathes from behind me in slow, deep inhales.

  I turn to face her as Isaac steps out, waiting for us. “Relax, okay? It’s going to be fine.” When I turn back around, I’m instantly hit with a flood of memories from over the years and images of the times that I’ve set foot in here. The room is dark, with leather bench seats lining the walls. There are orange LED lights beneath the seats, lighting the otherwise hazy atmosphere. The bar is in the middle of the room in a circle, and in all four corners of the vast space, there are platforms with white LED lights circling them. The stages are important. It’s where they display the girls. There are three showings throughout the night, twelve girls in total. Out of the twelve, at least one will be a virgin.

  Not every girl is sold for sex, this is human trafficking. It can be slavery, sex, mistresses, hell—it could be whatever the buyer wants it to be. There are husbands and wives who come in together, too. There are people who you might sit next to at church on Sunday who would come to a showing.

  The bartender’s face is covered with a cloth around his mouth, hiding his identity, as people are scattered around socializing.as they socialize. Soft, haunting music plays in the background, an organ with the keys being pressed a little too hard. It reminds me of the ocean, and of Pirates of the Caribbean. It reminds me of Davy Jones and his locker.

  I begin walking toward the curtain where I know James is, when Isaac’s hand comes to my arm, halting me. “You won’t be needing to go back there tonight.”

  I look down at his arm, before coming back to his face. “Why?” Dread fills my bones well before I asked the question, the ground falling away beneath my feet. If what I think is about to happen happens, then I can’t help Sloane. Not even a little. Her only way of escaping was through that curtain and in James’ emergency escape room.

  Isaac’s eyes flicker, but before I can catch it, it’s gone. “You know why, Jade.”

  “Me?” I ask through a whisper. “I’d rather die.” Yanking my arm out of his grip, I spin around and run toward the curtain, leaving Sloane behind. She would be safer out here for now until I figure out what James is planning to do. Whipping the curtain open, the room is empty. Stepping inside, I take a good look around. The black leather chair, the TV monitors, the whiskey tray, and the burning cigar laying in a glass ashtray.

  Spinning around to grab Sloane so we can make a run for it, I slam into James’ chest and just as I’m about to yelp, he stabs me with a needle in the crook of my neck and everything turns black.

  I was back to the first time I was brought here, only it’s different. It feels familiar, while the whispers of ghosts from the previous people float around the space.

  I was on my knees. Awaiting what James was going to do. I couldn’t get the image of the girl out of my head, though. It was bothering me. I didn’t know why, but it was like a mirror was behind me and I was staring at my reflection.

  “Jade.” James entered, naked from head to toe as orange LED lights softly lit up the room from beneath the seating. The bar was in the center. Where a few men were seated in this room. Maybe this was a more intimate area to what was happening out there.

  The men are a range of differences, suited, fat, skinny, young. Why would they be here?

  I turn to face James as he grips his large cock in his hand. “Show them how you suck cock.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his length, fighting the bile that was rising up my throat. I didn’t want to do this. I knew I had to. My body and soul repulsed from him, yet I continued to pump. When I didn’t open my mouth on to his smooth skin, his hand comes to the back of my head and he directs me over the tip. Sticky salt stuck to my lips like glue, as I parted them, taking him wholly into my mouth.

  Tears sprung to the back of my eyes. He had stolen all the firsts that I was supposed to give to someone I loved. Someone who made me feel the way Royce did, only not so forbidden. Every time he pumped into my mouth, the hole in my heart stretched wider and wider.

  When he had finally finished, he spun me around and yanked my panties over my ass from behind. My eyes came up to the men who were in here. One standing now, his hand hidden under the waistband of his pants.

  Another sitting, his legs wide while he rubbed his wobbly belly. His finger circled his button as his eyes turned heady. Another remained passive. Quiet in the corner but I could hear his grunts from here.

  The last one was in the same position, his eyes hard on mine. It was Isaac, I noticed, and I don’t know if he realized it, but I could see the way his features paled. It looked as if he was going to be sick.

  “She was a virgin and is still just fifteen. But don’t worry,” James says, dropping soft kisses down the nape of my neck. My stomach recoiled and spun like a tornado threatening to bring everything up from my belly. Don’t fucking touch me like that. “She has had her training, and the boy who trained her was excellent.”

  My arms are weighted, eyes sticky. My hair falls in tangles down the sides of my shoulders, my muscles twitching every time I move my arms. I look down to the ground.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Blood is falling slowly, hitting the shiny black tiles. I try to lift my arm again to stop the whites of the lights blinding me. Everything is hazy.

  I bring my hand up to my face, but it’s slow. Furnishings and people melt together to form indistinguishable shapes. There are four bartenders, but I think there’s only one. I shiver, my skin exposed to hungry eyes. I want to do something. Help. Yell. Find Sloane, but I can’t seem to move my limbs past standing up and swerving around like a limp Barbie. There’s a hunger deep in my belly, but I don’t know what for. The longer I’m awake, the more my head thumps, until I need to squeeze my eyes closed in order to talk myself down.

  Finally, I manage to look at my arms, dots track the inside of my elbows, but that’s not where the blood is coming from. There’s a fresh cut that slices down from my elbow to my wrist. It looks bad.

  I don’t care. I need something, anything to take away this headache, to make me feel good.

  “This next girl is my fallen bunny. Some of you may recognize her,” James’ voice pulses through the speakers. “I am well aware how many of you have had your eyes on her over the years, so her starting bid is at five-hundred.”

  A green light flicks in the corner as someone else bids.

  “Five-oh-eight.” James’ throaty laughs boasts through the roo
m.

  My eyes close.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Pop! Loud shots sound out from behind me, but I can’t move my body. I see out the corner of my eye as everything in the room shifts drastically. People scatter, probably heading for the emergency exit.

  I need something.

  Colors blur together in obscurity, before the muscles in my legs turn numb and I’m falling, the ground getting closer and closer to my face. The pain in my head is excruciating now, like jagged claws stabbed into the mush of my brain. Bullets rain down over me as I roll onto my back. Yelling, fighting, and glass shatters, splintering through the air. I’m ready to die.

  A shadow comes to the front of me as arms tuck beneath my body, lifting me from the ground. My head hangs over his arms. I’m unable to muster the strength I need to pull myself up.

  A curtain is being pulled back as I’m carefully lowered to the sofa in a room.

  The computer monitors.

  The cigar now gone from the glass ashtray.

  Another shadow is in front of me now, not the same one, and I bring my eyes up to find skinny arms, faded jeans, and a leather cut— “Slim?”

  His eyes fall down to me, his brows turned in in worry. He kneels in front of me as I try to sit up from the sofa.

  “No, Jade. Stay there. We need to stitch you up.”

  I grasp on to the polished leather of his cut, his is nowhere near as worn as Royce’s, and pull him into me. “Where’s Royce? Something’s not right with me.”

  His beady eyes fly to my arm. “He shot heroin into you. Just ride it out, okay?”

  As the minutes pass, lucidity spreads awareness throughout my mind, and I slowly find myself being able to focus a little more. The headache is still there, but it’s not as bad. Now I’m starting to feel the sting on my arm, the open wound that I will need to dress.

  Just as I finally push myself up into a sitting position, Wicked walks in carrying Sloane, his face turned in and animated. He’s angry. Feral.

  Sloane’s blonde hair is muddy, her forehead bleeding. Instantly I shoot up from the couch, as if finding my second wind. “Sloane!”

  Wicked lays her out on the sofa where I was, her face pale and unmoving. She’s wearing her panties and bra, white, where mine is black, just like our dresses. Her Valentinos are still clasped around her ankles.

  I look up at Wicked. “What’s wrong!”

  He shakes his head, his eyes remaining hard and passive on her frozen body. “She’s alive, I think she fainted.”

  Just as he says the words, she stirs, her eyes opening up to mine. “Jade?”

  I burst into tears, unable to contain the emotions that are exploding inside of me.

  “Thank god!”

  The curtain opens again and this time, Storm walks in, his eyes frantic until he finds me. They drop up and down my body, checking me over before he takes the steps needed until I’m in arm’s reach. Pulling me into his chest, he kisses me on my head.

  “It’s almost over.”

  I wish that were true, but I don’t have it in my heart to tell him that there’s no way this is over. That James would have run through that emergency door and through his passage and probably be almost at the private airstrip by now. I find the red door out of instinct.

  “Not possible,” I sigh, snuffing my runny nose.

  Just as I say the words, Orson appears through the emergency door, his large shoulders eating up the space. His eyes meet mine and soften before going to Storm. “Take the girls out of here.”

  “What?” I snap between the two of them. “Why?”

  Orson shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to witness what’s about to happen.”

  I square my shoulders, my fists clenching in my hand. The stinging on my arm is worsening. I know I need to clean it up quickly before it turns to fire and infection seeps in. “He’s gone! That!” I point to the door that Orson just came through. “Is his exit. Only I know where it is, and that’s why he announces the sales from in here, and if he didn’t get through his secret exit, he would have used the community one that—” Isaac steps through the door behind Orson, his suit stained with smudges of blood. At first, I think it’s because they’ve hurt him, until he turns to Wicked.

  “Jade, Orson is right. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “What’s happening!” I scream, frustration clinging to my nerves. “And where the fuck is Royce?”

  “Royce is coming. But for now, you need to go out the main exit and take your friend. Friends of mine will be on their way through those doors in thirty minutes, and that’s not enough time to do what is about to happen.”

  “And what’s that?” I snap.

  Isaac glares at me. “Creating a suicide.”

  I look around to all of them as Royce finally appears at the same emergency exit. “What the fuck!”

  He refuses to look at me. I see it in the way he’s watching Wicked.

  “Royce,” I wheeze, and I hate that I feel vulnerable. Exposed. The silence only angers me further, and my legs begin taking me to the door where he is. Someone reaches for my arm to stop me, but Royce shakes his head to leave me.

  I shove him. “Say what you’re thinking!” I can feel the pain in my chest growing. The years of abuse, being stripped of my innocence and choices is nothing compared to the sheer agony of being dismissed by Royce the way I am now.

  He continues to not stare at me. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll talk later.”

  Reality claws its ugly nails into me, carving down the edges of my spine. “You think I was with him willingly?” I shove him again when he doesn’t answer. “You motherfucker! You think I wanted your father to rape me every goddamn day after you left?!” The room instantly grew cold. I didn’t think twice about the words that flew out of my mouth, because I gathered, they had known.

  “Jade,” Isaac growls, his mouth in a thin line.

  “Fuck you!” I snap at Isaac, turning back to Royce.

  His face is pale, but not in a way that makes him look weak. His eyes turn to a shade almost black as his pupils dilate. “What did you just say?” The veins in his neck pulse beneath his ink, his soft lips curling up in a snarl. Before I can stop him, he’s turning around and heading back through the exit.

  “Royce!” Wicked calls out, shooting forward to chase him.

  I’m already running down the long exit, until I slam into Royce’s back, blanketed in the darkness of the tunnel. It leads to a street in the city on the other side of town. I look down at what he’s staring at and my body turns hard.

  James is tied, his mask still concealing his face and his arms and feet tied.

  My mouth opens, but then I snap it closed. My whole world is going to crash down and I know that I’ll most likely lose Royce forever, but he needs to know. I’m tired of secrets, and I’m tired of living in the shadows of another life that was thrust upon me.

  Royce leans down, his finger hooking beneath his mask as he whips it off. My eyes close just as he stumbles back from shock.

  James Doe aka Kyle Kane. I had no control over what he did to me all those years, so I decided to change his name. James Doe is the male equivalent to Jane Doe. What better name to call him than one of a soulless body.

  “Jesus fuck!” Wicked’s hands dive to his hair. “Not what I suspected at all.”

  Kyle’s face is calm, his eyes closed. He has bruises on his cheek and a bloody nose, but I know he’s not dead. I can see it in the way his chest rises and falls.

  Royce drops to the ground, his hand coming to his mouth, his head shaking. Slowly, he looks up at me, his eyes glassed over and his face contorted into pain. “I’m—” He swallows, his eyes closing as more footsteps patter through the concrete tunnel from the basement of the complexes.

  “Royce,” I say softly, tears falling down my face. I’ve lost the feeling in my hand now, but that seems irrelevant when the man I love is curled up after just finding out his father is the notorious K Diamond, the man be
hind the mask of the worst human trafficking and drug deals in the United States of America since the nineteen-hundreds. Someone takes my hand, but I keep my eyes on the top of Royce’s head. “I wasn’t working with him.”

  “I know,” Royce finally says hoarsely, standing to his feet and making his way to me. His fingers come to the back of my neck. “But…” He can’t find the words, but his eyes are telling a full-length novel. They shoot over my shoulder and he shakes his head. “She needs to be part of this. More than anyone.” He scoops me up by the backs of my legs and cradles me into his chest, carrying me back the way we came. “Bring that bastard with you.”

  Revenge or forgiveness. They’re the two words that sit on either side of the scale, as you decide where you’re going to add your weight. I had thought about this day a lot. I dreamed of it. I never thought it would ever happen because I thought Royce was dead, and if Royce was dead, no one else was going to save me.

  Not Orson.

  Not Storm.

  Not myself.

  Isaac shifts closer to where I’m seated back on the sofa. Slim has taken Sloane on Wicked’s orders, and the only people in here are me, Isaac, Royce, Orson, Storm, and Wicked. There are other men walking around in cuts that I don’t know, guarding the curtain.

  “You have fifteen minutes, Royce,” Isaac croaks.

  Royce removes his shirt and cut, slapping his father across the face with the back of his hand. I don’t recognize this side of Royce right now. It’s terrifying. “I’ve got questions. Wake the fuck up.”

  Kyle comes to, his freckled skin bruised and his eyes finding Royce.

  Nothing.

  Blank.

  Then slowly, a smirk lifts on the corner of his lips. “Tsk, tsk, so the cat’s out of the bag.” Then his attention lands on me, and his smile falls. “Unfortunate you’re still alive, Bunny.”

  Royce’s hands come to the front of his father’s throat. “I have fifteen minutes to end your life.” Royce leans in until his lips find Kyle’s ear. “But I only need one.” He pulls back. “So you’re going to tell me everything, and you’re going to do it now.”