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Heading out to the living room, I walk directly to the bar and grab a short tumbler. I pull open the small bar freezer for a sphere of ice and drop it in my glass before promptly pouring in a double shot of bourbon. Lifting the glass to my lips, I swallow the still-warm, caramel liquid while standing at the bar.
Deep in thought, I place the glass on the bar and straddle it with my palms as I stare into my reflection in the mirror behind the rows of bottles.
What the fuck are you doing, Raf?
Uncorking the bottle, I refill my glass with two more shots. I opt to take these to the couch, to savor slowly while I wait for the two of them to finish. My drink is nearly empty when Dr. Aguilar walks into the room. I begin to stand, but she raises her hand gesturing for me to stay seated.
“I got her into bed, and she’s sleeping. I did give her a little something to help with that, so she will be out for at least a few hours.” She pauses briefly to hand me a stack of papers. Shuffling through them, I quickly realize that they are all pharmacy prescriptions. “Fill these. It’s not standard practice, but based on what I can only imagine she has been through, I’d feel better if we treated her for everything.”
In exchange for the prescriptions, I hand her an ample stack of cash—both as payment for her silence and gratitude for her sensitivity toward the woman now sleeping in my bed.
“I don’t know how else to say this…” Dr. Aguilar’s voice trails off as she attempts to find the right words. “You do understand that she’s not a battered puppy you can nurse back to health, right? She needs a lot more than a bath and a couple of bandages.”
“That’ll be all, Dr. Aguilar.” My tone is gruff and laced with my annoyance. She takes the hint, quickly gathers her things, and heads to the door where Doc is already waiting.
“You don’t fucking push it with these men,” he whispers loudly when she reaches him. Ushering her out the door, he closes it behind him.
eight
LUCIA
Fighting against my heavy eyelids, I struggle to open my eyes. I lift my hand to rub away the sleep, and I am shocked to find that although the movement hurts like hell, I’m not tied to the bed. Slowly, I rub my eyes, take a deep breath and a painful stretch.
It smells different…clean.
I smell clean.
Reaching beneath the soft, thick blanket covering me, I am further surprised to find that I have clothes on as well. Lifting the blanket and peering down my body, I find myself dressed in a large T-shirt and men’s boxers.
What the fuck is going on?
Where the fuck am I?
Racking my fuzzy memory, I try desperately to remember. Guillermo and Jorge wouldn’t have given me away. I know they were making a fucking killing off the men rotating through my bed.
Did someone buy me?
Who buys a dirty, used-up cunt?
My heart begins to pound in my chest, which begins to drastically rise and fall as my breaths begin to grow increasingly deep.
Was I traded from one hell to another?
My head falls hard against the pillow, every bit of my body thoroughly exhausted from what little energy I just expelled. Every bit of me—body and mind—is so fucking tired. Sinking into the mattress, I pull the blanket up to my chin. The coverage is more for protection than comfort.
For now, I’ll take a little solace in the fact that there isn’t a man buried inside of me.
Lifting my arm, pain grates through my wrist like thousands of razors. My bladder is so swollen and full that I am reaching the point where I will no longer be able to hold my pee. I futilely try to clench my thighs together, but my ankles are bound to opposite corners of the bed.
“Please. Guillermo? Jorge?” My voice cracks as I call for the two men who couldn’t care less about my well-being—just that the cunt between my legs can take a cock. But I desperately need someone to untie me so I can pee.
A breeze blows through the open window, and the cool air ripples goosebumps across my skin causing me to shiver.
And I’m done for. Unable to fight the urge any longer, warm urine pools beneath me saturating the dirty, sheetless mattress.
“What the fuck?” Guillermo stands over me with a scowl spread across his face. “Did you seriously just piss the fucking bed?”
His large, calloused hand crashes against my face, snapping my head to the side, as the clap of his skin against mine echoes around the room. He lifts his hand to strike me again, and I push backward trying to retreat into the mattress beneath me. Instead of striking me again, he grips my chin bruisingly hard and leans down until his lips are only a hair from mine.
