Page 4 of Haze of Obedience

His eyes turned to slits. "You have a lot to learn, Zoe."

He spent several minutes explaining to me how the Global Leaders owned my management firm and thus me. When I tried to deny it, he showed me exactly what that meant. I tried to fight him off, but it was pointless. He was too strong. After that, every event I saw him at, I knew what my role was. To get through it, I would utilize the drugs that were always laid out on my dressing room's vanity.

One night, he didn't show up to an event, and I wondered why but was relieved I wouldn't have to be with him anymore. While having a drink with my guitarist, I heard someone say that he was sent to the embassy in the Middle East and had gotten shot.

That same night, the U.S. president requested me. A few months later, the British prime minister. Then came Jonas Torres, the Drug Lord of Belize. After I initially attempted to get away from them and it was clear there was no way out, I didn't try to fight any of them and let them have their way with me.

A new pattern formed.

Entertain the most important men on Earth between legitimate concerts. Keep the man who wants me for the evening happy, so I don't get hurt. Take whatever drugs they give me to make it bearable.

At least, physically. Mentally, I never escape the guilt or the shame that follows me all day long.

But since Jonas Torres took possession of me two years ago, he's made it clear that I'm his. Part of me is relieved. I know who I'm getting when I have to sing at parties at the embassies and what he expects. And like the U.S. President and British Prime Minister, Jonas uses condoms. Maybe it's stupid at this point to even care, but at least I have a chance of not getting some disease from him. During my last doctor's appointment, I had a full workup done. When everything came back negative, I started crying. I didn't realize how much I was worried about it until the tears wouldn't stop falling.

Singing is how I've always gotten through everything, but even my songs can't stop the emptiness or helplessness I feel inside.

My bloodshot eyes and pale face are a good representation of the mess my life represents.

I'm Zoe Diego, a pop star to all of Latin America who tops the charts and has everything. If only they knew that my greed for fame and more money made me a whore to the most powerful men in the world. Or that I'm now a drug addict who can't seem to go a few hours without getting another hit. And that Jonas Torres, one of the most dangerous criminals and drug lords of all time, destroys me a little more, every encounter I have with him.

If I could shout to the world that I made a mistake and that everyone, no matter what country they are from, needs to pay attention to what's happening right under their noses, I would use my last breath. The world is in for a rude awakening.

The Global Leaders are untouchable.

Anyone who crosses them will die.

And the war that is about to shake the Earth will decimate every freedom the citizens of the free world currently have.

But there is no way to yell, so others listen.

Jonas's arms circle me, and I jump out of my haze. He holds a finger up to my nose, and I don't even hesitate. I plug one side of my nose, and inhale the white powder, lean back into his chest and close my eyes while my heart beats faster.

"You have four hours until your concert. As soon as it's over, we'll leave for Costa Rica."

"Costa Rica?"

"Birthday party for Santiago Gómez."

The Colombian Drug Lord?

I may be fuzzy, but that seems odd to me.

"Why?"

Jonas sticks his finger in my mouth that had the cocaine on it, and I suck it off.

"It's time that prick learned who's in charge."

Fear surges through me, but I do my best not to show it to Jonas. I saw what happened to one of his men who displayed anxiety over Santiago Gómez. I don't want that fate.

"Why am I going?"

"You're going to sing for that bastard."

My heart pounds harder, but this time, it's not from the drugs.

"I don't want to."

Jonas's eyes turn to slits. "Are you attempting to disobey me?"

"No." I hold my hands in the air and somehow manage to come up with a coherent answer. "I sing for you, not him."

"Well, tonight, you sing for him. And you better not miss a note."