by J. L. Beck
When I straighten, I take another look around the empty room. How long has she been here? I can’t fucking remember but I know the auction is not for another three weeks.
I exhale a ragged breath, scrubbing a frustrated hand down my face. I shake my head in anger. I can’t worry about this shit. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of this for her. I just need to go have a drink and forget this whole shit show ever happened.
I take a few steps toward the door and glance into the tiny bathroom. It’s fucking filthy, and there is no soap or a towel… not even fucking toilet paper? How the fuck can she be expected to remain sanitary when they don’t even give her the necessities needed to do so?
Fuck, what am I thinking? She isn’t being treated like a human because she isn’t going to be seen as one here. I’ve never thought about the women brought here because I never saw them. I never paid an ounce of attention to them because I didn't want to.
But now that I have, I’m appalled. My blood boils, and I have to stop myself from slamming the door shut behind me when I leave the cell. I want to find someone to punch and yell at, but I really have no one to blame other than myself, and that makes this ten times worse. Guilt is a bitch, and it’s hitting as hard as it never has before.
The men working for me just follow my orders; they don’t come up with this shit on their own. If I don’t order them to do something, then they aren’t going to fucking do it. This is on me.
I walk from the first floor up the stairs to the second floor, my feet pounding across concrete. When I reach the door to my room, I unlock it, and twist the knob, walking inside. I slam the door closed behind me and walk into the bathroom connected off the bedroom. I shouldn’t be feeling shit for this woman... and still, I can’t get the image of her without a single fucking thing to give her comfort out of my head. There are other women here, all on that same floor, experiencing the same things she is, so why the fuck don’t I care about them, too?
Because they aren’t her.
Holding her in my arms, feeling her cling to me, reminded me of the one person in my life that I failed to save, failed to protect. I grit my teeth, grabbing onto the sink that’s barely fastened to the wall. Things were easier before she escaped and ran right into my arms like I was the hero in this twisted fucking story.
But I’m not the hero. I can’t save her. I can’t even save myself. I force air into my lungs and swallow down all the emotions swirling out of control inside of me. This is my job. The only life I’ve ever known, and some tiny, fragile fucking woman isn’t going to ruin it for me.
I lift my eyes to the mirror, and I see the man I’m meant to be.
The hardened criminal, the killer, the fucked-up asshole.
I was born to do this. It’s in my blood.
Chapter Three
Violet
I blink my eyes open, feeling a little warmer than I have in a long time. My jaw throbs, and I fight back tears at the pain. When I shift against the mattress, I feel an unknown fabric rubbing against my naked skin. I gaze down at my body, which is now covered with a large black shirt. I look around the room expecting… hoping the owner of that shirt would still be here, but I’m met with nothing more than disappointment when I realize the room is completely empty, as always.
I suck in a ragged breath, and the faint scent of cinnamon and whiskey tickles my nostrils, which I quickly realize comes from the shirt covering me. I get up and shimmy the shirt off of me while trying to keep my boobs covered.
Now that I know for a fact this mirror isn’t really a mirror and that someone might be watching me right now, I am not going to give anyone a show. I turn my back to the door and slip the oversized shirt over my head. The soft fabric falls over my body, swallowing me whole. The shirt is so long on me it fits me more like a dress than a t-shirt, coming to rest just below my knees.
I sit there for a long time, wrapped in Ivan’s shirt. It still smells like him, and I can’t help but revel in his unique scent. It calms me, makes me feel safe, and reminds me of how he made me feel when he was holding me in his huge arms. He said that he couldn't help me, but he doesn’t realize how much he already has.
Not only did he save me from being raped by those two men, but he also held me for I don’t even know how long. After being without any human contact for so many days, his gentle touch meant everything to me… not to mention the warmth he provided me with. Because of him, I felt a little more human again. For the first time since I got here, I smile. He even left me his shirt; he cared enough to leave his shirt, knowing how cold I was. If that’s not kindness, then I don’t know what is.
I pull my legs up to my chest and rest my head on my knees, trying to relax, when I hear someone unlocking the door. I’m instantly on high alert, staring at the door, waiting to see who is going to come walking through it. Ivan told those guys not to come back. Surely, they would listen to him? They called him boss, so I’m assuming he’s the one in control of this entire thing.
When I see the food door flap open and a tray being shoved through it, I’m equally relieved and disappointed. It’s not Ivan, but it’s no one coming in here to try and hurt me either.
I almost don’t get up, leaving the food sitting there, when I take another look at the contents on the tray. It holds the normal paper plate and water bottle, but there is something else on it.
I jump up and run to the door, my bare feet slapping against the cold concrete.
Toilet paper. Fucking toilet paper. I never thought I could be so happy about such a ridiculous little thing as toilet paper… but I am. I’m so happy about it that I decide to actually eat a few bites of the sandwich. The inside of my mouth hurts like hell and my jaw is swollen, but I manage to chew anyway. I twist the cap off the clear bottle of water and wash down the dry PB&J pieces in my mouth. They land in my belly with a heavy thud.
I eye the door, knowing there is no way one of the men put that toilet paper on the tray. They wouldn’t care enough about such a small thing. After all, I’m nothing but a piece of meat to be sold. I know for certain Ivan had to have done it. He was kind enough to leave his shirt for me, so there is no way it was anyone but him. Which leaves me wondering how he became the boss of this godforsaken place? He seems different than the other men here... or at least the ones I’ve met. He’s kinder, gentler, and that gives me hope where I’ve had none.
***
Days bleed together, and I completely lose track of time. I don’t know how many days I have been here; all I know is that with each passing day, I hope for Ivan to return. He is the only person who has treated me like a human being since I arrived here, and I crave human interaction.
I’m so fucking lonely. I just want to see another person... they don’t even have to talk to me. I just don’t want to be alone anymore. My stomach is so empty it aches, throbs, but I can’t bring myself to eat anything.
What’s the point anyway? It’s not going to change the outcome of what happens to me. Maybe if I don’t eat anything, I’ll lose some weight... and maybe then I won’t be appealing to anyone?
Dinner or lunch, whatever it is, was served a few hours ago, telling me it’s either late afternoon or night time. My face still hurts, but not as badly as it did a few days ago. I look at my reflection in the mirror. An ugly array of purple and green bruises mar my chin, jaw, and right cheek. The swelling has gone down immensely, but I still don’t look like myself. My hair is a greasy mess on my head, and my body has become sickly thin.
With nothing else but my own mind, I spend every day asking myself the same questions over and over again. Why did I go to that stupid club? Is Ella looking for me? When am I going to get out of here and what's going to happen to me when I do?
I have no answers to my questions, and that terrifies me. I don’t know why any of this happened to me and, most of all, I don’t know what my future holds. Parts of me wonder if I'm better of dying?
I crawl into a tiny ball and let the tears stinging my eyes
fall. I cry for the unknown, for my future, and for the past I'm certain I'll never get to go back to.
Chapter Four
Ivan
I’m just looking over the weapons export reports on my desk when someone knocks on the door of my office.
“What?” I growl.
Gabe opens the door, popping his head in as if he's making sure I don’t shoot him on sight. I have been in an extra foul mood for the last week, and my men have all noticed and most likely felt it, since I've been handing out ass kickings more often.
“What do you want?” I don’t even look up at him. I just keep sifting through the papers, wishing he would just turn around and leave already.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss, but I thought I should tell you that one of the girls hasn’t been eating.”
My head snaps up at his words and suddenly, he has my full attention. “Which girl?” I ask, irritated. I really hope it’s not the same one as before. I’ve been trying to get her out of my fucking head all week, but the image of her beautiful face, her big blue eyes looking up at me and how she felt cradled in my arms, is permanently embedded into my brain. Everytime I close my eyes, I see her in that damn room, cold and alone.
“Number five.”
I sigh at his words. Of course, it’s her. Out of the ten women on that floor, it's got to be her.
“For how long?” I ask, trying to sound uninterested
“Almost a week.” A week? A whole fucking week? I remember her face and how swollen it was when I left her. Maybe she can’t eat. Fuck, I should have let the doc check her out. No one is going to buy her if she is dead.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Gabe stares at me for a second longer than I’d like, looking at me like he is waiting for an explanation or something. I don’t owe this guy anything.
“Get the fuck out of my office,” I snarl at him and watch him scurry away, shutting the door behind him. I shove the papers on my desk away from me and open the drawer underneath. I rummage through it until I find the pill bottle I’m looking for.
Demerol is going to numb her up and help her sleep. I wrack my brain on what I’m going to say to her. I’m not sure what I’m going to tell her, but I can’t let her starve herself.
I get up and walk out of my office, making my way down to the cells. When I get to her cell, I stop in front of the one-way mirror and watch her for a few minutes. She is curled up on the mattress in the fetal position.
Most of her body is covered by my shirt, and even though her eyes are closed, she doesn’t look like she is sleeping. Her features are too tense. Her cheek and jaw are still bruised, but her lip has mostly healed. Her face looks skinnier, and I’ll bet anything she’s lost weight. What the fuck am I supposed to do with her?
I shake my head and unlock the cell door. Immediately, she sits up, looking at me with wide eyes, When I step closer, she scoots back on her mattress until her back hits the wall.
“You need to eat,” I tell her, walking until I’m standing right in front of the mattress.
“Why?” Her voice is quiet and raspy, as if she hasn’t been drinking enough water either.
“If you don’t eat, you are going to die.”
“Aren’t I going to die soon anyway?” She looks up at me with those big blue eyes of hers and even with the dark circles underneath, the beauty of them still pours out of her.
“Not necessarily.” I know the chances that she is going to end up dead are high, but I don’t want to think about that, not right now.
“I doubt men buy women like they’re at a meat market just so they can take them out on nice dates. I’d rather starve to death then die at the hands of some sicko.”
I know she is right, and it would probably be a kindness to let her die this way instead of selling her to the highest bidder. Yet, the thought of her dying has my chest aching.
I pull the pill bottle from my pocket and hand it to her. She looks down at it but makes no move to take it. Jesus, this woman is infuriating. Instead of forcing it into her hand like I want to, I throw it onto the mattress beside her and turn around, heading for the door.
“Don’t leave… please,” she begs.
I almost lose it right then. Balling my hands into fists, I grab the tray of food from the door. When I turn back around to look at her, her eyes are watery like she is about to start crying. Fuck me. She looks like a mess, but a beautiful mess, like the sky after a horrible thunderstorm. I close the distance between us and hold the tray in front of her face.
“Take a pill and eat,” I order.
She looks down at the tray, examining the food. “Will you stay if I eat?”
Bargaining. She’s bargaining with me. I consider her offer for a moment, even though I already know what the answer should be. I sit down next to her on the mattress, holding the tray of food on my lap. As soon as I settle, she scoots over to me, so her body is pushed up against mine.
I should push her away… I should get up and walk out of here, but I know I can’t. I feel compelled to see this through to the end, to at least make sure she’s safe for the rest of her stay here. I break off a piece of the sandwich and hand it to her.
Her small hand reaches out to grab it, and her thin fingers brush against mine as she does. Her skin is still cold, and suddenly, I have to fight the urge to pull her onto my lap and throw my arms around her. I want to hold her close, protect her, make certain she’s taken care of. Everything I shouldn’t do for her, I want to.
She starts taking small bites of the already bite-sized piece I’ve handed to her. I watch her chew, and it seems as if even this simple task takes an enormous effort for her. After a few bites, she leans her head against my shoulder and closes her eyes while she eats.
“You need to take one of these. It’s just some pain medicine.” I don’t tell her that this is more like morphine and less like Tylenol.
“I don’t want to take any drugs,” she tells me sleepily.
“It’ll help you feel better.”
“Yeah and make me weaker... easier to be taken advantage of.” Her words spark a fear deep in my belly. She’s right. If she’s sleepy, knocked out on pain meds, then any of the fucking bastards in this place can come in and take advantage of her.
“No one will touch you.” The words vibrate out of me.
“Don’t lie to me, Ivan.”
I straighten up a bit at her use of my name. I didn’t think about it when the guys called me by my name in her presence the other night. And now, I suddenly wish I knew her name.
“I know that far worse is to come for me. The least you can do is be honest with me, if you aren’t going to let me go.”
“No one will touch you or hurt you again. I won’t let them.” I don’t realize how much I mean those words until I say them, and I know deep down that I won’t let anyone hurt her or touch her again. I can’t let her go, no matter how compelled I feel to, but I can protect her at least while she is here.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asks, and I hand her another small piece of the sandwich. She eats it slowly. I’m not sure I want to tell her what’s going to happen, not when I shouldn’t even be in here to begin with. If any of the men saw me in here, I’d have to come up with some kind of excuse, I have no real reason to be in here. It’s unlike me, and I think the men are already starting to notice a change in my behavior.
“Just eat.” I hand her another small piece, but she doesn't reach for it. I want to offer her more than this dry piece of shit sandwich, but I can’t. Yet another item on the long list of fucking things that I can’t bring myself to do for her.
“I’m done.” She shakes her head slightly.
“You need to eat more than a quarter of a sandwich. You haven’t eaten for nearly a week.”
She sighs while continuing to shake her head. “I can’t... I’m not hungry.” Her body sinks more into mine, like she is too weak to keep holding herself up. She stretches out her legs in front of her and the shirt ride
s up to above her knees, revealing a little more of her skin. I almost throw the tray across the room when I see some dried blood on the inside of her thighs.
I twist to look at her, and she slides down the wall. I catch her before her head hits the mattress. My hands are on her thin upper arms, pulling her up straight before I can stop myself from doing so. Her eyes fly open, and she looks up at me, shock reflecting in her eyes.
“Who hurt you? Did someone come in here again?” My voice comes out much harsher than I intend it to, but I’m fucking furious.
I ordered them not to touch her, told them I’d kill them myself if they did, and yet here she fucking is, clearly hurt. I grit my teeth, wanting to leave the room right this second and find the fuckers who did this to her. All I feel is burning rage. Her eyes go impossibly wide, her body stiff with fear underneath my touch. Fuck, and now I’m hurting her, too. I loosen my grip, and she shakes her head slowly.
“No one came in here again, no one but you.”
“Then why is there blood between your legs?”
She looks down at her thighs and squeezes them together as if out of reflex, as if she’s trying to hide the evidence of whatever the hell happened.
“It’s… It’s nothing.” She tries to pull away from me, but I don’t let her. I watch her face closely, but she won’t meet my eyes. She tries to pull the shirt down to cover her legs more, and her cheeks turn a faint pink. Is she blushing? Now that I’ve taken another look at her, I realize she looks more embarrassed than scared.
“I’m… well, I’m on my period,” she says without looking at me.
I release her at once, feeling like an even bigger asshole than before. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make all of this go away. When I open my eyes again, I find her staring back at me with tears in her eyes. I look up and down her body. Her hair is matted in spots and greasy. Her legs are filthy, and she has been wearing the shirt I gave her for over a week now.