Page 4

THREE

Inaya

I awaken to the stench of unwashed bodies and a throbbing face. I don’t need a mirror to know that goon left behind a bruise. My eyes focus on my surroundings. I’m in a dark, dank cell with other women. Some look numb while others are crying and shaking with fear. The numb ones are a mess, with dirt and God knows what caked on their skin, tattered clothes, and their hair is greasy. The upset ones are fairly clean.

I know what’s going on, and while I’m sick to my stomach, and bile burns the back of my throat, I know I cannot cry. It’s not a luxury. We need to get out. I refuse to believe being used repeatedly for sex will be my new life.

Heavy footsteps have me on alert, the hollow echo making me shudder. I don’t know where I am or how I got here, but I know the sound of evil. A big guy stops in front of the cage, leering at me like I’m the main course on his dinner plate.

“Boss! The black one I told you about is awake! She looks healthy, like a prime piece of pussy.”

It takes everything in my power to withhold my reaction. He wants to see me sweat. Begging won’t help; I learned that from my brief interaction with The Reaper. People like this will do what pleases them, whether you want them to or not. Our fear is just another perk that they crave.

I do look different than the other girls. While they're cleaner than the veteran sex slaves, they don't look like they've recently showered. It’s obvious the younger ones are runaways. The best way for this to work is taking women most people aren't trying to find. I'm sure some of these women were already considered lost.

He unlocks our cage and folds his big body to step inside. Another woman interrupts his reach for me.

"Please let me go," she begs from his other side. Her brown hair lays limply on her shoulders, and she's still bound like me. She must have been recently taken as well. As she reaches for the balding asshole who was just in my face, he kicks her in the ribs as a reward.

"Don't touch me, whore," he snarls and spits in her direction.

He has muscular arms, but his belly sticks out and his already strong cologne becomes more pronounced as he beats her. I want to help, but I know jumping on him will not help her in any way. The poor woman cries from the beating until her urine runs down her bare legs.

“Enough!" I look around but cannot see who's talking "I've already warned you about your temper! Bring the healthy one,” some man says from a distance, possibly over an intercom. His voice is cold, but I swear I’ve heard it before. I just cannot place it.

I grunt in pain when the goon grabs me by my hair. The sting brings tears to my eyes, but I don’t say anything. Mentioning my dad may put a bigger target on my back.

He guides me up a dark corridor, through another room, then up some stairs. Stopping just before the door, he cuts off my restraints, then opens the door. A beautiful mansion awaits us on the other side. Bright marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and art most people cannot afford speaks to the wealth of the “boss.” I’m pushed into a massive bedroom that looks as lavish as the rest of the place.

The rug I fell on feels like it’s made from the finest materials. Shiny shoes grab my attention as I follow them up the tux to the face of the boss.

Michat Kaminski, tech billionaire, smiles down at me. He’s not classically handsome, but his money and audacity that ooze off him makes him catnip for women. He’s a somewhat mysterious dark-haired billionaire. I used to call him Bruce Wayne as a joke, but he’s no Batman. He’s the devil in a suit. I hate how his dark eyes roam over me.

“Which one of you bruised my prize?” he asks without averting his gaze.

“Jakub,” the one who dragged me in here says. “He had to subdue her after she hit me during her extraction.”

He reaches out his hand to me, and I take it. I can recognize evil when I’m looking it in the eye. “Tell him to come apologize.” He rubs my cheek with his thumb, and I know pulling away would be a death sentence. I want to punch him in his crooked nose, but that brief satisfaction will get me hurt more. “This one was purchased to be in my personal collection.”

He pulls me outside onto a balcony, which is almost as big as the room. The sun hurts my eyes, but at least I’m getting some fresh air, unlike the poor women in his dungeon.

“What’s your name?” He shakes his head before I can answer. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll name you.” I’d be offended, but I’m too mentally occupied trying to find a way, if any, to survive this mess. “Sasha. Don’t think I don’t see the spark in your eyes when you want to protest. I’m just happy someone has already taught you how to shut the fuck up.”

“Boss? Jakub is here.”

I almost recoil when the completely bald one with the scar on his cheek comes outside.

He's just as big and mean as the one who beat the girl.

The memory of him smacking me is still fresh. Time has gotten away from me, making me unsure of how long I’ve been under. Knowing that I live in the same city as this asshole, I’m assuming it didn't take long.

“You’ve bruised my prize, Jakub. Apologize.”

Jakub sniffs like I’m beneath him. Like I’m the scummy kidnapper in this scenario. His scar looks angrier in the sunlight. He murmurs something in his native tongue, but Michat silences him. With a snort, he delivers a subpar apology for my bruise.

Two loud shots make me jump. Jakub spurts blood before he collapses. The other guy yells, “My brother!” then runs to his brother’s prone body. Michat shrugs and shoots him as well.

“Look. They’re back together again.”

New men rush out and start to clean up his mess. I want to vomit, but I need to remain appealing to him. Grabbing my jaw, he forces me to look at him.

“I’ll kill for you, Sasha.” He puts the gun under my chin, and his sneer makes his veneers look even bigger. “But don’t make me kill you.” As he leans in, the scent of his cologne mixes with the cigarette smoke on his breath. “You will get dressed, be my perfect little mistress for my party, and fuck me like you mean it once it’s all over.”

He kisses me hard, and I try not to gag at his bitter taste. I may be invited inside the mansion, but I’m not sure I have a better fate. I want to cry when his hand slips under my shirt to fondle my bare breast. The relief from him letting me go is short-lived.

Holding back tears, I nod my acquiescence right before he rips open my shirt and takes a better look at my breasts. He cups them and weighs them in his hands like they’re produce. My anger builds, but there isn't anywhere to expel it.

"Mmm. I'd fuck you right now if I didn’t have so much to do." Squeezing my boobs, he pinches my nipples. I hate that I feel any kind of sensation. His breathing is labored, like he's ready to come, and my stomach turns. "These are nice. I don't have to get you new ones."

I release a small breath when he steps back. Michat isn't done with his seduction game. He adjusts his unimpressive erection while staring at me. I want to gag, not because he looks bad, but because he's disgusting on the inside with all those poor women rotting in his basement. I’m led out by a brunette with dead eyes; he called her Sapphire. She must have been here long before me.

Once we’re out of earshot, she begins to speak. “Look, bitch. Do your job to not die. Trying to escape or ask for help will only get you killed. You have no friends here,” Her blue eyes shine with annoyance, proving how she’s been brainwashed. “I’m his number one. You’re just a novelty. Remember that. Now get in the shower.”

I just nod and start stripping what he didn't rip off, since she looks like she’s itching for a reason to get me killed. Stepping under the spray, I stay in the shower as long as I can until Sapphire comes back and tells me to hurry up.

Grabbing the fluffy gray towel, I wrap it around me as another woman comes in and gives me new lingerie. As I slip into the silky, lacy nonsense that would come in handy if I were attracted to the guy, I allow myself to reel.

The tech billionaire who’s praised in the media for all his altruistic acts is the man funneling women through his house. Is he at the top, or is he a contact who gets first dibs on some of the women? The way he shot those men has me thinking it’s the former. The rest of the “preparation” flies by as I zone out. When I’m aware again, makeup covers my bruises, my hair is dried and styled to show my natural curls with most of them pinned up. My dress is black and much too tight, and my lips are hooker red. Not my choice, but my life isn’t my own right now.

I make my way back to the room in heels I’d never pick and prepare to serve myself on a metaphorical platter to the worst kind of man.

The party is about as nice as it could be, despite the evil lurking underneath. Michat’s hand keeps finding my ass, and I must school my face to not recoil every time his lips find any part of my body. I’m a little tipsy because I take a sip every time he does something that makes me sick to my stomach. In passing, I’ve heard some girls call me lucky, but they have no idea. It all seems so civilized, but it’s sickening at best.

Caviar, truffles, seafood towers, and the finest champagnes do not distract me from what’s going on under some of these people's noses. Some of the guests have gold bracelets with a red stone on them. Periodically, those guests disappear in the direction that the girls are being kept. Some are government officials and other celebrities I’ve seen before. I try not to sneer at them and remain on Michat’s arm like a stupid sex toy.

“Get us some drinks and don’t wander too far,” he tells me in an artificially sweet tone.

“I’ll be right back, dear.” I cringe internally, since my tone is equally fake.

Eyes track me as I move to the bar. There has to be a way to escape. The bartender turns and steals my breath. It’s not the time to find anyone attractive, but there’s no other way to describe him. His dark hair is slicked back out of his face and brings attention to his thick eyebrows and full lashes that encase his molten brown eyes. His lips look like they were made for kissing, but he doesn’t seem friendly. He doesn’t speak but passes me the exact drinks I need before I can order them. I hide my disappointment because he could be one of Michat’s eyes. Although he continues to study my face, neither one of us speaks.

One awfully friendly guy comes to chat with me but the bracelet on his arm sours me to his conversation. Still, I must see what’s being said about them.

“Your bracelet is lovely,” I tell him. “That stone is an interesting shade of red. Where did you get it?”

The graying fellow smiles cautiously, and I watch him formulate a lie. “It was a Christmas present.”

“From Michat? He’s very generous. I saw other people with them. I was going to ask for one but figured they’re only for his male friends who get to go in the VIP room over there.”

His brow furrows and his wrinkled face tells me he thinks I know too much. “Yup. Vintage wine only for his close friends.”

“Ah. A modern twist to a gentlemen's club. I like it.”

Pain shoots through my wrist as Michat squeezes it until I fear he’s going to break it.

“You’re not supposed to be bothering my guests, sweetheart.”

The old sicko walks off and leaves me at the bar with Michat.

“I’m not. He started chatting with me. I simply told him how much I like the bracelet.”

The bartender passes Michat another drink, and he smiles, as if remembering we’re in mixed company. He grabs the back of my neck and squeezes. The bartender watches with no emotion. “Thank you. Bitches can’t do simple tasks like bring back drinks.”

The bartender leans in, and I notice he has a bracelet as well. “Sometimes they need to be trained.”

I want to gasp. I’m in a world full of sickos and I want out. “Take a load off and go enjoy the wine.”

The bartender nods, then walks off, disappearing where the girls are kept. I lose my focus because Michat’s grip tightens on my neck.

“This is the only time I’ll tell you this. Stop asking questions. I saw how you looked at him. He’s dead right after he pays for pussy.” He bites my ear and pulls me closer. “In fact, I might fuck you while you watch him bleed out. That way, you’ll remember that I own you.”

I fall forward when he lets me go, taking deep breaths to keep from crying. Part of me wishes my dad would show up. I’d be happy to leave with that psycho. At least he doesn’t expect these kinds of things from me since I’m his child.

The party dies down with no sign of the bartender. It’s frustrating to think Michat got his way again, but isn’t that like my dad? A terrible guy who gets away with everything? Whiskey is the only thing that keeps me sane, since his words become lewder and his hands take more liberties. More of the like minds hang back until I see only red bracelets in the crowd. I don’t need to be a party veteran to know this is when shit gets dirty.

We’re in the company of two other guys when Sapphire and another girl appear and climb into their laps.

“Sasha,” he huffs in my ear from behind, his erection pressing against my ass, making me fear I’ll see my whiskey again. “You should kiss Sapphire for me, baby.”

“I’m not into women.”

He slaps me, and my dress rips on my way to the floor. “Did I ask you what you’re into, bitch?”

Michat is not a small man; he’s about two hundred and fifty pounds and well over six feet. I scream when he presses all his body weight onto me and grabs my neck. Flinching, I prepare myself for the sting of his meaty hand when it flies in the air, but it never comes.

His grunt has me opening my eyes, seeing his ugly face contorted in pain. The sound of bone cracking echoes in the room as Michat screams. The guys push the girls out of their laps and yell for security, but no one comes. Michat lies on the floor, clutching his disfigured wrist as he cries from the agony. I tear my eyes away from how his hand dangles to see who hurt him. The bartender, now dressed in all black, points his gun at the other two men as he stands over Michat.

“Leave him alone, you monster,” Sapphire yells, but he doesn’t bother to look in her direction.

Instead, he bends and holds a cloth over Michat’s nose and mouth until he passes out.

“No witnesses,” he whispers before he shoots to kill the other two men.

Reaching down, he pulls me until I’m standing. Then he grabs Michat by his collar to drag him out. Sapphire throws her shoe at his back, then she and the other girl attack him by jumping on him and punching him. I inch toward the door on trembling legs, my pulse pounding in my ears. This is the best time to escape. I hear one of them scream, then a thud and groan from the other. He has them on the floor, but they get up to try again.

“I don’t fight women,” he announces, then shoots both in the head.

When I gasp, he turns his dark eyes to me. I’m happy and sad that today isn’t the first time someone has been shot in my presence. It’s the reason I ran. My dad murdered some guy in cold blood, not knowing I was there. While I’m still not numb, I know how to separate for now and fall apart later.

“Listen, I don’t care what you do to these freaks. Kill them all if you want. I just want to get out of here. Michat had me kidnapped this morning.”

He nods and motions for me to follow him as he drags Michat around several corpses. A quick survey of the mansion tells me he’s been busy. Every man with a bracelet is dead by different means. I sidestep the puddle of blood from one with a slit throat but turn to go the other way.

“I should free the girls!” I offer in explanation.

“Done,” he grits out and keeps moving to the door.

Rerouting, I jog to keep up, uncaring about the carnage as long as I can escape. He is shoving Michat in his trunk when I make it outside.

“Thank you for getting me out.” I turn to look at all the cars that no longer have an owner, then locate the valet key box. “I’m happy to be done with this.”

My forward movement is halted when his arm wraps around me. I shriek in surprise, but there’s something familiar about his hold.

“I thought you were letting me go,” I whisper in fear, stomach sinking to my feet. “I thought we were done.”

He clicks his tongue and one of my worst fears is confirmed. I know what I’m facing before he speaks.

“Nonsense, Gatita. We’re just getting started. You were such good bait.” He rubs my head when I begin to cry. He’d masked his accent at the party. “Shh. None of that, cálmese.”

The Reaper is a ghost, and from the looks of it I’m the only person alive who has seen his face. Another prick sends me back into the darkness.

What did I do to deserve this?