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“Let’s go,” he pulls again. I wrap my hands around the taught rope between us hoping to alleviate some of the pull around my wrists.
Nearly dragging my naked body behind him, he pulls me up the stairs and down a few hallways in a dirty, rundown building. Darting my eyes around, I try to take in my surroundings.
Pushing open a door, he pulls me inside and shoves me into a chair. I breathe a moment of relief when he removes the rope from my wrists, both red, bruised, and bloody. He grips one, causing me to cry out, as he pulls it down roughly to the arm of the chair before using a zip tie to keep it in place. I place my other arm against the chair, in hopes that he won’t grab this one as well.
“Look at you,” he cinches the zip tie, “such a good girl. The boys are going to love you.”
The boys?
Those two words elicit a fear in me unlike any I have ever felt before, and I don’t know why.
Eddie bends down in front of me and roughly grabs my ankle, tying it to the leg of the chair. Squeezing my thighs and knees together, I try to keep him from doing the same with the other. Even if I wasn’t bound to this chair, I am no match for his strength. Forcing my legs apart, he binds my other ankle to the chair.
My body recoils when he places his hands on my upper thighs, His head presses between my thighs and he takes a deep breath, letting out a moan as he stands in front of me.
“I am definitely getting a taste of that sweet cunt before I get rid of you,” he licks his lips while adjusting the obvious erection in his pants. Slightly rubbing himself, he continues to stare at my body on display for him.
I spit at him, and his hand violently grips my chin, “Now now, sweetheart. Ladies don’t spit. Besides, where you’re going you are going to be expected to swallow.”
My entire body shudders at his words.
I would rather die.
Letting go of my face, he steps back from me and looks at his watch.
“Not much longer now,” he takes a bump from the snuff bullet he carries in his pocket, “How many women are this lucky?”
“Lucky?” I mumble back.
“You’re about to learn if your husband actually loves you,” he rubs at his nose, “or if he just keeps you around for that little pink cunt between your thighs.”
He takes a second hit of drugs, and within minutes he is pacing and rambling erratically.
“He says he loves you,” he pulls the gun from his pants, “but what man in his right mind would give up his empire – his family legacy – for a stupid fucking whore?”
I’m not a stupid fucking whore…
“He’s been pushing me out for years. It’s always been him and Andres,” he rambles to me but more to himself, “But then you came along. Now I’ll never be more than his number three. He’ll never listen to me like he listens to Andres. Or to you.”
“That’s what this is about?” The words sputter from my mouth, “You took me because you want to take control?”
“It’s more than that,” he repeatedly taps his gun against his thigh, “He brought you into our inner sanctum. He didn’t ask. Didn’t care if you knew who we were. You took family from me.”
I don’t speak, my brain too overwhelmed trying to follow what he’s saying.
“With you, I’ll never be more than his number three,” he waves his gun at me, “and with every fucking baby he puts in you I’ll become less.”
His eyes are red and crazed as he continues, “Why be his number three…or four…or five…when I can be El Jefe?”
“He’s letting you take everything from me,” he continues to rant, “So I’m going to take everything from him.”
Eddie stalks toward me and shoves his gun into my stomach. My heart stops as he speaks, “Starting with his family.”
A tear rolls down my cheek when he pulls the gun from my stomach.
“Pregnant whores don’t make money,” he smirks at me, “The men I’m giving you to will take care of that for me, so they can put you to work.”
“I’m thinking I let Alejandro live for a little while,” he strolls away from me, “bring him to visit you from time to time. Let him watch you get strung out and fucked by strangers all day.”
