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The workers packing the drugs across the warehouse barely even spare a glance for the battered women. I try to tell myself that this is different, that these women aren’t slaves. That they chose to be here. But as I look at them, it’s hard not to see them as any one of the hundreds of girls I’ve come across in my captivity. They aren’t though. This is not the same.
Rafael says nothing for long moments, just watches them, smoke curling around his face ominously. “I’m surprised you’re still alive,” he finally says. “You can buy a lot of smack for half a million.”
The more defiant of the two glares at him, but she’s not brave enough to say anything. The look he gives her makes even me want to recoil away from him. He places a finger under her chin, tipping her head back even farther. His thumb skates over her jaw and something tight and uncomfortable settles in my stomach. I don’t like it. I don’t want him to touch her like that. “There’s a certain beauty in your rebellion,” he says quietly, smoke slipping through his lips like a fire-breathing monster. He drops his hand. “Stealing from me is…brave. And while I appreciate courage, it quickly becomes stupidity when the likelihood of living long enough to spend the money is so minute.”
The crying girl starts sobbing, choked breaths leaving her body. My heart clenches a little, almost as though it’s trying to feel something for her, but it quickly fades away.
“So, now what do I do with you?” He moves over to where I stand back from it all, his gaze sweeping over my face. “What would you do in my position, avecita?” What the hell? He places the cigar between his lips again.
“You’re asking me?” I notice Samuel shift awkwardly beside me. Rafael folds his arms over his chest, the only sign of his impatience. I pause and think about the situation for a moment. “They stole from you,” I say, and he nods. “And you paid them to do a job.” Another nod. “Were they paid well?”
He lifts a brow as though the question insults him. “Very.”
I peer around him at the two girls. “How much did he pay you?”
Neither says anything and Samuel sighs. “I suggest you answer her,” he snaps.
“Five,” the sobbing girl chokes out. “Five thousand.”
“American dollars,” Samuel clarifies. “Per run. It’s two days work.” Wow.
“That’s…”
“Reasonable,” Rafael clarifies.
“Enough to do it once and get out.”
He smirks. “Ah, but they never do.” No, because heroin and money often make for the strongest of cages.
“So, they are here, doing this by choice.”
“Yes.”
It may not be a legal or particularly nice job, and I know they probably don’t have many choices, but it’s a job that doesn’t involve them being on their backs. I know a lot of girls who would sell their very soul for such an opportunity. Girls being forced to spread their legs for nothing more than the luxury of being allowed to keep breathing. My fists clench, and I take a deep breath as the sting of my nails cutting into my palm helps ground my rage. It’s unfounded here. One situation cannot be compared to another, at least not by these girls. They know nothing, and it makes me resent these strangers, women I’ve never even met, for no reason.
“There are much worse fates,” I say quietly.
“Yes, little warrior, there are.”
“Can you…punish them, or something?” I cringe as the words slip from my mouth. Punish. It’s a word that brings a rush of vile memories to the front of my mind, and I swallow hard.
Rafael tips his head back and exhales a long stream of smoke before tossing his cigar to the ground and sending embers skittering over the concrete floor. “Or something.” His voice is cold enough to send a shiver down my spine. “The problem is, if I release them, no matter what I do to them before so, it makes me look weak. After all, what would most people do for half a million dollars? There are few horrors they wouldn’t endure for that kind of money.”
“You’re wrong.” I’ve endured things that no amount of money could make me relive.
I jump when his fingers brush my cheek. “Then you suggest I do something…memorable.”
No. I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath. I can’t…Why is he asking me this? “I’m not the right person to ask.”
“No? I think you’re the perfect person to ask.”
I open my eyes and look at him. “Why? I’m just a wh—“
The look in his eye cuts me off. “You understand this corrupt world we live in better than most, the injustice of human nature, the opportunity I have afforded these women.” His hand drops from my face to my waist, and he gently forces me to take a step back, and then another, his steps tracing mine until we’re a few feet away from his men and the two women.
