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“Eighteen,” a voice I don't recognize speaks.
“She looks young,” my trainer speaks again, and when I look up, I see him hovering over me, his eyes lighting up with a grin on his face.
“Verretti told me to bring her here to you. Just give me the cash.”
My arms are refusing to move, and when I look up, I realize it's because I'm chained. My wrists are fixed to the wall of this damp, depressing place. I hear water dripping in the distance and cries for help. My head is fuzzy, and my mouth is dry. Even when I wet my lips with my tongue, it doesn’t make any difference.
“Leave us,” my trainer orders the man he’s speaking to, and I hear his footsteps move away, followed by the scrape of metal and a bone-shuddering slam.
I blink my eyes open again, fighting the darkness as he crouches down in front of me, his long pointy nose almost touching mine before I feel his hand on me. He tears open the front of the nightdress I’m wearing, and his cold, firm fingers slide up my thigh. I have to draw on all my strength to keep my legs tight together. But he’s too strong, and I'm too weak. He manages to pry them apart, so his hand can move closer to my bare pussy.
“I’m going to teach you so much, Muñequita,” he whispers as his cool touch slides through my sensitive flesh.
It makes me shiver, and the tears that slip over my cheek, leave a salty taste on my lips. His cold finger moves up my body, over my stomach, and between my breasts until it’s touching my lips. “We’re going to have good times together, you and I.” He stands up tall, and I keep my eyes closed until I feel something hard and warm touch my face. The tip of it is smooth as it replaces his finger on my lips, and when I open my eyes, I want to scream. I want to fight. But I'm frozen to the spot, too scared to move.
He rubs himself all over my face, slapping my cheeks with it before he spits at my face, his sticky saliva mixing with my tears.
“That's right, Muñequita, give me more. You look pretty when you cry for me. You’ll look even prettier when you bleed.”
I want him to stop. I pray that he does, but he doesn’t. He has one hand in my hair now, pinning me to the wall, while his other wraps around his length.
“Please stop,” I beg before a sharp sting swipes my cheek.
“You don’t talk to me, not unless I permit it,” he warns, and I screw my eyes shut to try to block him out. If this is just a nightmare, he’ll go away.
I feel the smack of his knuckles as they move up and down his shaft, and his low grunt is followed by warm jets that land on my face and hair. I taste it when it drips between my lips, and his palm engulfs my face, blocking all my airways so I can’t spit it out.
My eyes shoot open in panic as his hand continues to crush my mouth and nostrils. He smiles while he suffocates me, a dark, calculated smile that I know will haunt me forever. His palm moves away, swiping over my face and spreading stickiness all over my skin before he steps back to admire his handywork.
“I’m going to enjoy this.” I don’t know if he’s speaking to me, or himself, as he moves away from me and toward the light. He rattles bars that I never even realized were there, and the door automatically opens up for him.
“See you soon, Muñequita,” he promises before vanishing.
I want to wash him off me. I can still feel him on my face, setting into my skin, but I can’t move my arms. I fight against the chains, rubbing my skin against the metal, trying to be free. The sweat seeps from my pores, and when I cry for help, no one comes. My throat is raw from screaming, and still, I remain alone.
“Wake up.” I hear my own voice, but it’s distant.
“WAKE UP!”
I use what's left of my strength to obey it, forcing my eyes open and lifting my body so I can finally breathe again.
I’m not in the cell anymore. I’m in Screwy’s cabin, in the room he gave me where I never have to shut the door. His clothes are sticking to my skin, and my chest relaxes as my hands slowly release their grip on the sheets. I’ve only just woken up, but I feel tired, so tired that I need to close my eyes again.
I’m just afraid that when I do, he’ll come back to me.
I don’t know where I was in my nightmare, but the cell is another memory coming back to me. I don't ever want to visit it again.
The temperature has dropped dramatically, and when I get out of bed and leave my room, I realize the doors that lead out onto the decking by the lake are wide open. I stand to admire the view for a few minutes before I close them up.
I really should try to get back to sleep, but as I’m walking back to my room, I notice Screwy’s bedroom door open. He’s not in there, his bed is empty, and I don’t know how long he plans on being away from me tonight, but I already miss him.
I wonder if that feeling will go away when I find the family I belong to? Slowly, I step inside his space, touching my fingers to his pillow and remembering how warm and safe I felt waking up in his bed this morning. I close my eyes and remember his hands on mine, his chest against my back, and his heart beating fast. Those sharp, heavy blows that I expected to sting my back had never come. What I received instead was his warmth. A warmth I could really get used to.
It’s late, most of the brothers have gone home to their old ladies. I still have more drinking to do. I can’t go home yet, not while I’m still craving to touch her again.
Storm’s sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. He's been on bar duty all night, and he’s been staring over at me like he’s got something he wants to get off his chest.
“Your share from the Mexican run.” Thorne drops a brown envelope onto the table in front of me. He’s the money man. The club treasurer. Thorne’s got a good few years on me and is the only one, barring Prez, that the sluts around here try to act all respectful for. He’s loyal, dependable, the type all women look to settle with, which sometimes makes me wonder why the fuck he hasn't settled yet.
