by Sandra Raine
"Sir, Mr. Parker is nowhere to be found." One of the crew men reported.
"Well, did you check his room?" Viktor pressed with frustration. The crew man nodded.
"Sir," Jimmy then shouted out to Viktor as he swarmed up the stairs. "Mr. Ray appears to be missing, too."
"Oh, fuck!" Viktor whispered suddenly as that fear he had been suppressing for the last thirty-two hours trudged out from beneath its hiding place and ripped through Viktor's soul. "FUCK!" he then screamed across the Pacific Ocean.
Three Days Later.
"So, CeCe, what do you think?" Andrew Parker lovingly asked his childless wife as they both stood there in their modest two bedroom apartment in New Mexico staring down at the beautiful girl in brown hair and brown eyes.
"Well," CeCe then sighed out, somewhat interested, somewhat content, "she doesn't look to happy. But, I guess with time we can change that. You think?" CeCe presumed as she gazed long and lovingly into her husband's eyes.
"I'll tell you what I think," Andrew then said leaning over the girl and scooping her up into his arms. "I think she's going to make us a lot of money. Aren't you doll?" he then crooned at the girl.
CeCe laughed. "God, you're such an asshole! I mean, don't you have at least one compassionate bone in your body, Mr. Parker?"
"No." Andrew replied seriously. "And I'd like to keep it that way. Where's Douglas?"
"In the closet being punished. Unfortunately he didn't feel like playing with mommy today." CeCe callously retorted.
"And you think I'm uncompassionate?"
"Very well then. . .What should we name her?"
Andrew raised the girl high above his shoulders and studied every inch of her in absolute awe before he turned to his wife and said, "Jane. Anna Jane Parker."
part one
Chapter 1
August 19th, 2011
12:59 p.m.
Flagstaff, Arizona -
It has been roughly a year now since I first began "working" for my father, or shall I say “My family”.
I'm sixteen now.
And so far it feels like I've been prostituting forever. I mean, I've gotten so good at it, it almost feels like second-nature to me 'cause I've learned to survive and it's all I knew. And the reason that's all I knew is 'cause Bree is lying down flat on her stomach in our dingy motel room staring at the TV instead of watching it, and she's hungry.
"Mmm." Bree crooned as she gazed at cheeseburgers and cokes advertising off the TV. And I know it's just a matter of seconds before she turns to me and says those two dreadful words I've been hearing for the last ten days: I'm hungry. But in the meantime, I gazed down at my very own jewel encrusted Rolex with one thing on my mind: selling it.
"Fuck you!" I mumbled at the watch, a gift from my "so-called" parents for my sixteenth birthday. "Fuck the both of you!" I then added since I felt like I've gotten a good screwing from the both of them.
"Jane, I'm hungry. Can we go to McDonalds?" Bree inquired suddenly with hope desperately clinging to her voice. I cleared my throat and barely nodded.
"I have to get some money first." I said. Bree's expression glowered.
"Aw, Jane. Am I going to have to wait here all alone in this room again?" She complained. Again I nodded. "I hate waiting alone in this room, Jane. . .it's so lonely."
"It's only for a couple of hours, Bree." I consoled while the nerves in my stomach pinched. I detested leaving Bree all alone in the motel room unsupervised while I worked but it was the only way I could keep her safe and out of harms way.
I glanced down at my watch again, it was a little past one in the afternoon. I got up from the table and crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of skin tight jeans, a low-cut skin hugging tee, and jumped into the shower.
It was around a quarter to two when I stepped out of the motel room and headed toward the lobby to speak with the manager. On my way into the lobby I noticed a snazzy red looking BMW parked out front. It had Louisiana plates, and only for a split second did a light bulb go off in my head but I had to quickly dismiss it when it occurred to me that a woman could be the owner to the Beamer and not necessarily a man. As I walked into the lobby, a gentleman who appeared to be in his late thirties walked passed me. I held the door open for the man, and instead of voicing his appreciation he instead smirked. I nodded and headed into the lobby without another thought.
"So no room service today?" Mr. Martinez, a light skinned Mexican man in his obvious fifties with under eye luggage the size of his gut, then grunted beneath a set of imperfect teeth to match his imperfect accent. I assumed he was having a bad day since he had a bad night: A brawl had broken out in a party taking place in one of the motel rooms out back. And since Mr. Martinez couldn't handle a pair of young guys tag-teaming another guy, he called the police and a bigger brawl broke out this time with more guys and a couple of girls slugging it out in the parking lot. It took almost two hours to get things under control. And it was going to take Mr. Martinez about a good week just to remodel the entire motel room.
"No. Not today." I muttered while pretending to browse several tourist brochures as if I was really going to take a tour to the Grand Canyon. What I was really doing was trying to shift the conversation elsewhere and not necessarily on the fact that this was like my sixth day [of my tenth] bypassing room service. I mean, the last thing I needed was Mr. Martinez's suspicions on my requests.
"That was some scene last night, huh?" I chuckled nervously and said quickly to not give him reason to ponder on additional suspicions.
"Damn bastards have no respect!" Mr. Martinez snarled just as the phone rang. "Always tearing shit up!" he then complained picking up the receiver and covering the mouthpiece quickly to mouth slightly out loud. "You'd think I'd learn that shit by now. . .renting rooms out to young punks!" He uncovered the mouthpiece and very politely spoke into it. "Afternoon, Flagstaff 8."
I let out a sigh of relief and eased my way out of the motel's lobby, swung a left and headed back to my motel room. But halfway through my walk however, the man I had passed on my way into the lobby earlier was now stepping out from the snazzy red Beamer and shining me this smile that made my heart thud while a faint hint of fear clung to it; 'fear' 'cause I had recognized that smile - it was a predator's smile, a pedophiles smile, a smile that went far and beyond it's genuine meaning. . .a smile laced in treachery, deviousness and downright filth.
"Hello." the man then mused casually as he strolled my way with one hand brushing back the side of his wavy ash blond hair and the other hand tucked firmly in the front pocket of his Dockers. I quickly noticed that his gaze was literally undressing me from head-to-toe. I suddenly stopped walking to give this man my undivided attention while at the same time trying hard to keep my fear under control. I could feel tiny beads of sweat gathering lightly above my brow despite the fact it was windy out and cloudy.
"Um. . .he. . .hello." I stammered beneath a forced smile just as the man eased his stroll to a standstill not more than a few feet from me. The man smiled again. Only this time his smile bordered on edgy and uncertainty 'cause his eyes, no longer fixated on me, began to dance around the semi-emptied parking lot as if he were looking for someone, or perhaps looking out for someone.
"Um. . .are you. . .lost, or something?" I politely asked hoping to take some of the edge off his behavior with some form of conversational comfort but my eyes, too, began to dance around the parking lot.
"No!" The man suddenly burst out laughing while settling his attention back onto me with my heart thudding again. "Just not used to all the damn quiet." he then mused.
"Oh, that's right. Louisiana plates." I reminded, or was I reminding myself? "Don't mean to offend but you don't sound very American. . .your accent, I mean." The man chuckled. It was low, husky, borderline sensual like his voice.
But then, "Are you. . .Jenna?" he asked casually. I took an unnerving step back and glanced around the parking lot self-consciously while hoping my eyes wouldn
't deceive me with an unexpected arrest. "No, no," the man then laughed suddenly, a bit nervous himself. "I mean, if you are Jenna, then you're the. . .gir. . .I mean, the person I'm looking for."
I held my breath and said not a word to whether I was "Jenna" or not even though I had been passing myself off as Jenna and not as "Diamond" for the last several days to various men. And the man must've read my expression loud and clear like an open book 'cause he quickly countered. "An acquaintance of mine said I could find this Jenna here at this motel. I mean, I asked you because you seem to fit the profile he gave me."
"Hmm." I thought as I gathered up my emotions and held myself high. "Are you looking to hang out?"
"Something like that." The man smirked, lessening his defenses.
"Hmm." I then repeated this time gazing over his shoulder toward the motel room parked in front of his Beamer. "Is that your room?" I pried as I lessened my defenses as well.
"Yeah. For the night. Where's yours?"
"Around. I got time if you want to hang out." I said cutting to the chase. The man then wasted no time stepping aside so that he could escort me to his room.
As I walked into the man's motel room I glanced down at my watch and noted the time: it was a little passed two-fifteen. I figured I would be getting back to Bree around three-thirty or so depending on what the man wanted and how long the fuck was going to take.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" The man pried as he closed the door quietly behind him.
"Uh. . .no. . .it's an occupational hazard, I guess." I chuckled. The man smirked and said nothing. Instead he turned toward the window and drew forth the twin set of rose design curtains. The room darkened for a second but lit up after the man flipped a nearby switch, turning the bedside lamps on.
"Um. . .so what do you have in mind?" I inquired the man after a minute passed.
The man shot me another smirk only this smirk sent chills up and down my spine 'cause the impression he was starting to give me was far beyond than just a casual fuck. I sensed he wanted something else but I couldn't put my finger to it especially when he leaned over the king sized bed and zipped opened his suitcase which I assumed had not been touched since his time of check-in. My stomach slowly began to tighten in nervous, anxious knots while my gut pulled and tugged at my inner fear.
"Mind if I restrain you while I fuck you?" the man then politely asked as he took out a pair of plain silver handcuffs from the side pocket of his suitcase and dangled them playfully out in front of me. "I'll pay generously. . .say. . .a thousand. . .cash?" My gut pinched, and I nodded in spite of my obvious doubt.
"Um. . .thousand sounds good. You got a name?"
"Copeland," Copeland retorted eagerly, mechanically as he casually stepped around me and strapped the handcuffs around both my wrists. I mean, he did it so suave like and so quickly that I didn't grasp his next words until it was to late.
"It's Copeland, and you're under arrest."
Fuck! my mind screamed.
Then. . .
"Relax," Copeland chuckled suddenly after he read my alarmed expression. "It's just a game I like to play." he then comforted settling my nerves some. But then my body suddenly tensed when the door to the motel room unexpectedly opened and three other men I had never seen before walked into my life dressed in black pricey leather jackets and black trouser pant suits. Right then and there Copeland stepped away from me and my expression depressed when it occurred to me that he had no intentions on removing the handcuffs from me. I mean, he just stepped back, settling himself comfortably between the three men who, and if I wasn't already keen to the prejudices of men in my line of profession, were businessmen in the same nature as my father, as Bob Ray and Mr. Church.
"Rest, doll." the man standing to Copeland's left then said to me in an accent I couldn't grasp but clearly matched Copeland's which threw me for a spin. What I did grasp however, was that the man was as tall as Dominic, brawny as Justin, and soft-spoken as Mr. Church. This man was clearly a pimp particularly the way he slinked around me, slipping one casual hand around my throat and nestling his mouth dangerously close to my earlobe making it clearly known [to me] that he was the one who was in charge of my sudden misfortune. That it would be he I would abide by.
God, I shivered hoping that this man would not be the death of me.
"Ready to have a little fun?" The man teased cupping my chin and forcing me to whimper.
Chapter 2
August 19th, 2011
6:32 p.m. -
"Bree. . .Bree. . .Breanna, wake up!" I exclaimed in a state of great urgency. I quickly glanced down at my watch. It was late, and we had to go. "Bree, wake up. . .We got to go. Now!"
Bree at last turned to me. "I'm sleepy." she complained through a long wistful yawn. "And I'm still hungry." She hadn't forgotten to whine.
"Later, Bree. We-got-to-go-now." I stammered adamantly as I crossed to the dresser and pulled open all the drawers. I took out both mine and Bree's duffle bags from the bottom dresser drawer and settled them anxiously onto the counter.
"Where are we going?" Bree said at last sitting up in bed and staring sleepily at me. "Why are you packing?" she then asked, cocking her head curiously as she watched me shove our clothes and things into each of our duffle bags. "I thought we were going to Disneyland?" She fussed.
"Not tonight, Bree!" I grumbled shoving the last of my clothes into my duffle bag. I turned to Bree. She was still sitting there on the bed staring at me confused. "C'mon, Bree!" I then snapped, my voice high, restless 'cause I just wanted to get the fuck out of Flagstaff.
"So where are we going?" Bree pressed.
"Home." I said without giving the matter a second thought until an unsettling silence settled within all of Bree's questionings had I then realized what I said. And it was then had I regretted saying it. "We have to. . .go back. . .home."
"But I don't want to go back home, Jane. You promised! You promised me Disneyland, remember?"
"Yes, Bree, damn it, I remember!" I yelled while Bree balked. I mean, I wanted so bad to comfort Bree for yelling at her but I couldn't 'cause I couldn't even begin to comfort myself nor the very frightening fact I was going back to Hell, literally.
"I'm sorry, Bree." I said after I calmed my emotions down to think, to understand, to finally grasp the concept of actually going back home.
"Oh, okay." Bree muttered slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom while I just stood there at the dresser gazing down at the beige carpeting trying desperately hard to allow reality to settle in; to settle on the very fact of what awaited me once I got back home. I mean, not only did I get horribly fucked in handcuffs by those men, I also got robbed of a thousand dollars. I mean, it was a game. . .it was all a game: Mr. Martinez. Copeland, Copeland's associates, the men around Flagstaff. . .It was just a game to them. And I had to leave - now - 'cause more men were coming. They were coming for me. And I wasn't safe. Bree wasn't safe. We weren't safe. And despite how fucked up my family was they were the only ones I could trust to keep me and Bree safe.
"Ready?" Bree said suddenly pulling me from my petrified thoughts. She sounded cheery which coerced the back of my neck hairs to stand on end 'cause Bree had no idea what awaited me. She even managed to pick up her duffle bag from off the dresser and swing it over her petite shoulder, sporting this expression that exclaimed, 'Let's do this!'.
"Yes." I said choking back all my fears and smiling lovingly down at her. "I'm ready."
Chapter 3
August 20th, 2011 -
My father and Bob Ray were already waiting for Bree and I in the formal living room of my prison. I was nervous, scared, sick, a complete wreck when I presented myself to them with Bree's hand snug tight in mine, and neither were smiling. I mean, not that I would find either smiling but I figured they would at least be smiling for Bree, but there was nothing, not even a spark of happiness embedded in their obvious enraged expressions. I mean, they just sat there glaring up at the both of us. The tension between
our father and Bob Ray even caused Bree some distress particularly when she snuggled up to my side for protection.
"Come, sweetie." Tanya said suddenly from out of nowhere forcing Bree to squeeze my hand tightly. Tanya then slipped her hand gently into Bree's and smiled down warmly at her. I could feel Bree's grasp slowly lessening from mine; a clear sign that she trusted Tanya. "Let's get some ice cream, kay?" Bree lit up somewhat. And she only lit up 'cause she was hungry.
Once Bree was safely out of sight, I turned back around and faced my father and Bob Ray with the same disposition now inhibiting both their faces: disappointment.
"Why'd you come back here, Jane?" My father's sudden, yet unexpected inquisition then threw me for a spin. And just when I thought I would be forced to answer that very question he continued to speak. "I ask because, and not that you aren't already aware but I figured I would enlighten you anyways, but this is your third attempt to escaping me. I mean truly, seriously, Jane, you had it pretty made here, wouldn't you agree? I mean, considering the circumstance of the other underprivileged girls who work for me and Mr. Ray. Sure your freedom has been stripped down to nothing considering your contributions to this family but you lived in a beautiful home. You had plenty of pretty things; a family united, good friends. I didn't see a problem but it's obvious you did."
"You make it sound like I don't live here anymore, Dad?"
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Jane - "
"Sexual torment."
"You don't know the sexual torments of Hell, Jane. Everything you've experienced thus far has been vanilla for you. So what was the purpose of taking Bree, hmm?"
