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A surge of anger overcomes me and I have to let out. I’m so angry, furious. I need to break something but there is nothing in this fucking room… nothing and that infuriates me even more. My hands are balled into tight fists and I use one of those fists to punch the unforgiving concrete wall. It’s a stupid choice, one I’m aware of as soon as my knuckles kiss the concrete. This just adds to the long list of stupid choices I’ve been making lately.
“Fuck.” I bellow in pain, the sound of my voice is loud in this piece of shit nothingness, and I grit my teeth, letting the pain fester inside of me. My hand throbs, and when I flex my fingers, more pain radiates from it, up and throughout my arm.
I know what I have to do…and I don’t want to do it. I fucking don’t, but I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to her while she is here. She’s my responsibility now. I can’t just forget about her.
I unlock the door once more before I pick up her limp body from the mattress and hold her to my chest. I carry her through the building, and up to the third floor. As always most of my men are either sleeping or doing other things. I somehow manage to unlock the door while holding her in my arms. Once inside, I take her to my bedroom and place her down onto the bed.
She looks like she belongs here. I shake my head and walk out of the bedroom.
Her earlier question rings loudly in my ears. Why did they take her? I know they write everything down about each woman they bring in and place the information into a file but typically I don’t read the whole thing. I just glimpse over it. Yet, now I have the urge to know how she got here, and why she was taken.
I want to know everything about her. I clench my fists at my sides, I need to get her file…but the files are downstairs in my office. I walk back into the bedroom, telling myself I’m only doing it to check on her…when in reality I can’t take my eyes off of her. I’m obsessed, my protective instincts overshadowing even my duty to the job.
She is completely out, having not even moved an inch. There is no way she is waking up any time soon, which is great because I need to go get that damn file. With one last fleeting look I leave my apartment, locking the door behind me. I head down to my office to retrieve the file. The sound of laughter fills my ears. Sometimes the men have card night, drinking, and gambling money. I consider going down the hall to check on them but change my mind. I’ve got my hands fucking full as it is. As soon as I’m back in the apartment I go and check on her just to find her in the same exact spot I left her in. With the file in hand I sit down on the couch. For a long moment I just stare at the brown folder knowing that opening it will only make matters worse.
Knowing her name… knowing how and why she was taken is only going to act as gasoline on the already burning fury inside of me. Still… like the idiot I am, I open it. I swear I have a death fucking wish or something.
The first paper is the report that my men did on her when they brought her in. I read over it and my teeth grind together more with every word I read.
She was just too pretty to pass up.
Tiny. Five foot. One-hundred-twenty-five pounds. She looked like a virgin.
They weren’t even there for her. They just took her because it was convenient. She was leaving the club early and they just plucked her off the street and threw her into the van. I flip to the next page, damn near ripping the piece of paper in the process.
On the next page is a copy of her driver’s license and a small background check that they ran. She smiles on the grainy black and white picture on the ID, she looks younger… happier and I realize then that I’ve never actually seen her smile.Like actually smile, from pure joy. Yeah she’s given me a tiny smile but nothing compared to the smile I’m looking at in front of me. I look over her ID, and all the info on the paper.
Violet Rivers, eighteen years old.
Shit. I knew she was young but I didn’t realize she was that fucking young. I continue reading, my eyes can’t move fast enough. She just turned eighteen… I look at the date again and flip back to the first page.
