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I cry out.
Another man comes in as I’m sobbing, pleading.
“Do not touch her,” he yells to the other man in English. “No marks. That was the deal.”
The man who hit me rolls his eyes dramatically, spits on my leg, and walks out. Leaving the English man inside the room with me.
I shake, half looking at him but not locking our eyes.
“Stay quiet, you will not draw their attention. I can only contain horny, angry men for so long.”
I feel my stomach lurch.
But I nod, although I feel like one of those bobbleheads instead as I’m trembling so much.
“In the morning, you will be collected,” he says and I don’t know why he’s telling me this. I suspect it’s to keep me from causing him any more drama.
I have to try to save myself.
“Please let me go. I meant what I said. My family has money.” My voice shakes.
The man stares at me for a long moment.
“No money will save me from the cartel,” he says, shaking his head. “Lo siento, this is your life now.”
He’s sorry?
I know about three Spanish terms; coincidentally, that’s one of them. Sorry? If he was fucking sorry, he’d help me.
I drop my face into the pillows and feel a dark pit of despair envelop me as the door bangs closed behind him. Walls close around my heart as I shut down my emotions to prepare for what’s ahead.
I feel myself becoming an empty shell.
To survive.
Which I know I’m not going to, but it will make the end easier. However long it takes.
Visions of my family and friends float before me. Duncan, Sienna, and Mia at our favorite bar on Sundays for dinner. My boring commute to work and having to listen to my boss's boring music while he works on patient’s teeth. What I wouldn’t give to listen to Duran Duran on repeat right now.
Even Monday dinner with Todd.
Hell, I’d marry him with a smile if I got out of this alive.
I think about my goldfish at home and how I wanted to get a kitten but was waiting until Todd and I were married so I didn’t have to leave it alone during our honeymoon.
The poor fish will be dead now. I’d only planned to be away for two and a half days. I gave it a considerable sprinkle of fish food and knew it would be fine until I got home.
Wrong.
Turns out all of us are heading to heaven. In some ways, I hope this will be over fast, so I consider making a fuss and getting myself shot.
Decker will find you.
I let out a guttural cry as a sliver of hope sneaks inside my heart. I know he won’t, seeing as unless he has magic, I cannot see how he could know where I am. If he’s even alive.
Over the next few hours, I cry, doze, wake up abruptly, remember where I am, and then let myself fall back into the black oblivion.
Eventually, a fast food bag is tossed on the bed, and the door shuts. I sit up and almost gag at the smell. It’s probably fine, but I don’t recognize the name on the bag and all I want to do is vomit.
