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“Good for me?” I scoffed, finding a little bit of strength to put behind my voice. “How is this good for me?”
“Because your father sheltered you from the true darkness that comes from the world that we live in. You are arrogant and spoiled. That's why you refused to marry me. That's why you refuse to give in. You think you're better than me.” His voice rose along with his anger.
I trembled. I didn't want to seem weak in front of him, but I was.
“You didn't know how dark this world could get until now. But this is also giving me some time to get to know you. You see, I realize that you are a very selfless, sacrificing woman. You would give up everything, even your life for your family and that only makes me want you as my wife more. It only heightens my determination. But I also realize that I could easily damage you beyond repair before you would ever agree to marry me. It pains me to see such beautiful flesh marred by the stripes of the whip or the ugly bruises on your face.”
He ran a crooked finger along my face, dragging his knuckle along my bruised cheek, and I instinctively pulled away. “You should be in fine clothing with your hair and makeup done to perfection. The perfect trophy wife. Your beauty is wasted in a place like this. So, I'm going to do you a favor.”
With those words I looked up at him in a combination of something like shock and curiosity.
“Do something for me?” I asked without thinking.
Andrea smiled and nodded. “I'm going to give you a way out. One that will let the suffering stop and give me everything that I want while allowing you not to feel guilty over giving in.”
I didn't know what he had planned, but I knew it couldn't be good. Another sense of dread built up in the pit of my stomach.
“Bring her in,” Andrea commanded to someone outside of my line of sight and the cell door opened once more with the loud screech before slamming closed again.
A man I hadn't seen before forced another girl into the cell onto her knees beside Andrea, turned to face me. She looked close to my age. Her hair was stringy and unkempt, but she was clean and wearing a slinky cocktail dress that didn't fit with our current situation. I looked at her curiously before looking back at Andrea for an explanation.
“This is Abigail. Abigail is one of my girls.” Andrea ran his knuckles down Abigail’s cheek, and she flinched at the contact but otherwise didn’t respond.
“One of your girls? I asked curiously.
“I own her. Just as I own several other women. A gentleman who owns a club nearby rents her from me to work hisspecialVIP rooms.”
I looked at her and felt sick for what I knew that she had been through.
“Abigail is a good girl. Aren't you, Abigail?
“Yes sir,” she whispered softly, keeping her eyes down.
“You see, Abigail wasn't always such a good girl. She was dumb enough to get knocked up the first year that she was here. By one of those fucking John's of all things. But I was forgiving, wasn't I Abigail?”
“Yes sir,” she stated with no emotion.
“Why don't you tell her what I did for you? Let my future wife hear of my benevolence,” Andrea urged her.
Abigail looked up at me for a moment before turning her eyes back to the stone floor. “I was allowed to keep the baby. I was allowed to raise her and be her mother. She was cared for and provided for as long as I continued to work at the club and do as I was told without causing any trouble.”
“And what happens if you cause trouble?” Andrea coaxed her.
The girl hesitated, her lip trembling, and her eyes glossing over as she looked back up at me with a pitiful expression that I couldn't even put into words. “If I don't do what I'm told, then I will be killed, and my daughter will take my place at the club.”
She looked as though she might get sick from just having to speak the words and I couldn’t help but gasp.
“How old is your daughter?” I whispered the only question that came to mind.
Abigail swallowed hard around a knot in her throat. I could see the struggle to speak again. Andrea nudged her with his foot.
“Go on. Don't be rude. She asked you a question.”
Abigail glanced up at me and took a deep breath. “Eleven.”
I looked up at Andrea in surprise and disgust. “She's a child. You wouldn't. You can't.”
“On the contrary. Abigail belongs to me so anything that is hers is really mine. Her clothes could be taken away from her in a moment. Her daughter belongs to me. As does her life. Any of these things can be taken in a moment because I own them, and it is my right.”
