When she stood where he wanted, he opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a first aid kit. He opened it and her eyes bulged when she saw the different sized needles lined in one side and small vials of clear liquid in the other. She took a step back.
“I am not a junkie.”
“I know. I am going to draw blood, not shoot you up.”
He was good to his word, for now. He pulled out a clean needle and did just as he said he would. She tensed up a bit when he pressed the ball of cotton to the puncture mark on her arm and wrapped it so it would stay in place. She couldn't help but watch him. It was better than watching the depressed and scared faces of the other girls.
The guard pulled out more equipment and covered the top of the table.
“Now I am going to take your prints. Give me your hands please.”
Her mind now in a numb fog, she did as instructed. It went on for another few minutes. He poked and prodded at her wounds, sometimes applying ointment and making notes on others. She twisted and turned as he continued his inspection of her injuries.
“Do you want me to give you anything for the pain? None of these injuries are life threatening, but you are going to hurt like hell by morning.”
She shook her head and pleaded with tears in her eyes. “Please, don't make me a junkie.”
“No. you misunderstand. You don't have to take anything. If you would like I can give you a mild pain reliever. Nothing too strong.”
“No, thank you.”
“Fair enough.”
She turned too quickly and fell into the guard when a woman came bustling through the one of the side doors.
“Oh my, Mr. Buchanan did well. We have a huge lot today. Tell him, I said well done.”
The guard handed her off to the woman and she was in too much pain to protest.
“This is Miss Camealle, she will handle you from here. If you change your mind about the pain meds, my name is Lewis, just ask for me and I will see what I can do.”
She shook her head, but said nothing as Miss Camealle ushered her through the door and into the arms of another woman.
“Miss Travine, she has been injured. Nothing major, but she will need tending too. Please escort her to a room.”
Again, she couldn't believe her eyes, on the other side of the door, it looked like a spa retreat rather than a prison for potential prostitutes. They stood inside a large opening room full of fancy furniture with glass and diamond chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Velvet red carpet covered the floor and contrasted with the pure white banister winding up through the lower level to floors above. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief. This place looked like a lavish castle.
“Come, dear, I will show you to your room.”
Cradling the burning agony engulfing her ribcage, she slowly followed the spunky red head who was dressed like a real estate agent up the stairs. She had the sweetest smile and a soft voice. The woman held her close and helped her make it to the upper level and into the first room past the stair rail.
“Here, dear, this will be your new room.”
She followed along as she was led in and directed to the large canopy bed, draped in white silk, in the center of the room. The walls were done in a snow white and silver raised fabric, the floor offered the softest silver carpet her feet had ever touched. Tall wide silver satin curtains covered what she guessed were windows. Mrs. Travine spoke as she moved about the room gathering this and that. Her first order of business was walking to the antique Armour and pulling out a set of silk pajamas.
“All the clothes in here and in the closet are for you to wear whilst you are here. We have just about any kind of style you might like from jeans to suits. You will find Pj's and under things inside this bureau. Jeans, shirts, dresses and such in the closet. Through the door next to your bed is the bathing room, it is stocked with toiletries, towels and the like for all your hygiene needs. Next to the bed in the nightstands you will find books, pens and whatnot for reading and writing.”
The woman wore a sweet smile when she turned back.
“You will be summoned in the morning and you will need to be dressed, clean and ready for the day. There is an alarm clock on the far stand with a working alarm, if you are able to sleep, please set and an alarm. We will begin at eight a.m. sharp.”
She reached out and grabbed Mrs. Travine's arm stopping her from leaving. Biting back tears, “What will we begin?”
Mrs. Travine smiled even sweeter, “A photo-shoot. Please be sure to wear something to cover up all that bruising and feel free to use the large sunk-in tub in the bathing room. It has message jets.”
The woman pivoted and was gone. A small click on the door announced, despite the lavish surroundings, she was a prisoner none the less.
Now what?
Chapter 4
She stood in the center of the room staring at the closed and locked door, her mind full of unhelpful white noise. The throbbing in her ribs tickled like a bomb and felt as if it might explode. Exhaling carefully, she grabbed the pj’s and walked to the bathroom.
Maybe I can wash away the feel of their grubby hands...not to mention all this blood…my blood, unfortunately.
The bathing room was just as big as the outer room. Tall cabinets lined the wall on one side while a long counter ran the length of the other. Both walls lead to an enormous deep granite tub. Two fluffy purple towels were draped over the side just above the small step to get inside.
After shutting and locking the door, she shimmied out of her jeans and shirt and headed for the tub, dropping the pj's on the counter as she went. Off to the left, a small divider she first mistook as a cabinet was actually a nook where the toilet stood nicely hidden from view.
Well if nothing else, no one can walk in and see me doing my business...unless there are cameras.
That thought had her feverishly looking around for mechanical peeping toms.
Please don't let there be cameras.
Finding nothing that resembled a visual intrusion she sat on the corner of the tub and turned the silver handles. Crystal blue water ran like a raging water fall, and filled the porcelain and granite pool. Soon the steam swam into the air circling her as it engulfed the room. Carefully, she slipped out of her soiled under clothes and stepped into a liquid comforter. The heat felt good against her bruised and aching skin, soothing the trauma if only for a moment. Laying back, letting the water cover her up to the neck, she spied the silver button for the jets.
When she pushed the button, the entire tub erupted in ripples and bubbles. The strong feel of one of the jets hit her square in the center of ribcage ripping a scream from her lungs. Quickly as she could, she adjusted the strength of the jet, it wasn't long before it went from a baseball bat railing against her to soft hands gently moving into a relaxing gesture and she sighed in relief.
That feels better.
On a small caddy in the seal of the large tinted window were soaps and bottles of shampoo. It took a few minutes and attempts, but she finally got into a sitting position and reached for the soap. Holding it as tightly as possible without dropping it she tenderly lathered her body, scrubbing the dried mud and blood from her skin. Gritting her teeth, she worked at cleaning the wounds on her legs and feet.
Last thing I need is an infection in my legs. It would definitely hinder me getting the hell out of here first chance I get.
Catching her breath, tears in her eyes, she tried to put her focus on something other than the pain from her movements.
All this royalty castle business isn't going to mask what is really going on or what they really expect out of me. It might work to blind the other girls, but I plan to fight to my death if I have to. I would much rather be dead than to be someone's whore.
Already in so much pain, she knew washing her hair was out of the question and wetting it was the best she could do, so it would just have to do.
Using her toes, she pulled the plug on the tub and got out, wrapping herself in the soft fluffy towe
l. The chill in the air had her skin marked with bumps and her teeth chattering. As quickly as her wounds would allow, she put on the pajamas hoping for warmth. She opened the door, rushed out and fell into the big fluffy bed, muffling the cries of agony and despair.
Please let me fall asleep and awake from this nightmare.
Chapter 5
She awoke to the sound of Miss Travine barging in and jerking the warm blankets from her. Snatching them back, she rolled onto her back and looked up to see an expectant face staring at her.
“It is eight fifteen and you are fifteen minutes late. Did you not set the alarm as I said?”
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she smacked the dryness from her lips and began to move. “Wha-...I...”
The woman before her wore a horrid look on her face.
“What is this?”
Her stringy dirty hair knotted in the woman's hand as she continued.
“Did you not bathe?”
Pain, little sleep and the knowledge of being captive stole what small amount of politeness she had. Jerking her hair from the woman. “Yes! You try washing with cracked ribs.”
Mrs. Travine's expression changed and she dropped her hair.
“Get dressed and I will be back in a few minutes. All of you are going to the salon downstairs before pictures anyway.”
She stared back in disbelief and couldn't help herself say, “You have a salon in here too?”
“Yes dear, we have all that we need to get you girls where we need you to be.”
She screwed up her face. “What does that mean?”
“Never you mind. Get dressed. I will be back in a few moments to escort you down.”
With that the woman exited the room, leaving her chilled despite the warmth of the blankets.
Get you where you need to be? What do they have planned for us?
She got up from the bed, scared of what might happen if she didn't, and dressed in the clothes Miss Travine left laying on the end of the bed.
Apparently this is what I am supposed to wear. Thank God for clean bra and panties.
Although the undergarments, jeans and the silk top covered her nakedness she still felt very vulnerable. She spotted a pair of comfy socks sitting next to the bed and shoved them on her cold feet.
Screw the shoes, I can barely walk on my own two flat feet at the moment. I will fall and break my face if I try and walk in those heels.
She had just dropped her feet back on the floor when Miss Travine came back into the room.
“Come with me, please.”
Quickly, but carefully, she followed reluctantly behind the woman as they headed down stairs.
Chapter 6
Bright rays of golden sun shone through the upper level windows. The view it offered was an ugly one. The inside of this dream like vision of a castle was pleasant, but beyond the glass were run-down buildings with tattered curtains billowing from broken windows and dank streets full of winos, and things alike sputtering around like common rats. She pulled her eyes away and instead focused on the beauty inside her new found hell.
Mrs. Travine set a slow pace that was easy to follow as they made their way down the stairs. Halfway to the lower floor, she spotted people moving about as if it were any other day and no one was being held against their will. Business and usual. Several of the older woman carried clipboards and corralled the younger ones from here to there, sending them in the direction they needed to go. All the girls were dressed differently, some in business suits, some in everyday and a few looked like they were going out for drinks. She finally caved and asked what she was thinking.
“What's with all that?”
“With all of what?”
She nodded toward the commotion a few feet away. “Them. All of the girls.”
“What about them?”
“Why are they dressed differently? Where are they all going? Do Johns really want girls in suits?”
Mrs. Travine's small laugh was sweet as was her tone.
“No, dear they are not going to see Johns. They are however, going where they need to.”
“Which is...”
“None of your business. You are scheduled to be at the salon and that is where you are going.”
She stopped and yanked her hand free of the woman.
“No! What if I refuse? I want the hell out of here!” her voice cracked, “Why can't I just leave?”
The tears in her eyes hid the movements of the woman next to her. When she blinked her hands were in the grip of the woman, not too tight, but not loose enough to break free and her voice was full of sincerity.
“I cannot give you the answer you want or let you leave, but I can tell you that you are not here for what you think. After the salon, you have a photo shoot and an exercise class and that will fill your day today and tomorrow you have a seminar. I know it is difficult, but you must trust me.”
She stepped back and glared at Mrs. Travine.
“Why should I trust you? Because instead of some dingy building you keep us in this lavish one? You think since it looks pretty it’s anything less than a prison?”
“Calm down. This is not a prison and you are not a prisoner.”
“Really? If I am not a prisoner then I can leave anytime I want. So...” she jerked free and headed down the remaining steps toward the door, she entered when she first arrived, that lead out of the building. Mrs. Travine's heels clicked across the marble floor as she rushed after her. The cold knob just under hand and a guard appeared from thin air it seemed. His deep voice sent chills down her spine.
“Don't open that door. Go with Mrs. Travine and this doesn't have to get ugly.”
She looked back at the tall mountain of a man and recognized him from before. It was Lewis, the one who offered her pain meds. Her eyes went from the spot she stood to the guard, Travine and back as she worked to gauge her odds of getting away. Lewis answered the one question she had.
“I see that look in your eyes. Yes, there is a guard on the other side of that door and no you won't get far.”
Damn!
Defeated, she let go of the door and walked back to Mrs. Travine. Lifting her arm, she motioned for her to lead the way. Past the stairs, she followed the woman through a light colored glass door and once again, it was a more lavish dreamlike place. The floor, in decorative S shape patterns in gold and silver marble swirled and swam across the floor in intricate designs surrounding a large flowing fountain. What should have been 'salon chairs' were nothing more than fancy adjusted comfy looking recliners. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling sending sparkles of light across the entire large area like a disco ball. Looking around at all of it, all she could do was shake her head.
“Beautiful isn't it?”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
She turned back to Mrs. Travine.
“Why? Why all of this? Do prostitutes need all of this?”
A hiss filled the air at the mention of 'prostitutes' and she looked around to see she had everyone's attention. None of the hand full of people surrounding the salon gave her good looks. All faced her way, glared and growled at her. Mrs. Travine nudged her.
“We do not use that word here.”
She whispered back, “I see that. Why? That is what you have us for, right?”
The woman next her tsked.
“So much to learn.”
She was just about to toss back a retort when a tiny dark haired girl rushed up wearing a cute pair of jeans and top covered in a black stylists' apron.
“Hi. I’m Lissa. I will be your stylist for the day. If you will follow me, I will get that...”
Folding her arms over her chest, she glared at the little woman who looked to be shooting daggers with her eyes at the rats nest of hair atop her head.
“...I will get that managed and beautiful for you. Do you have a specific way you like to wear it?”
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Clean! Clean and straight.”
Lissa and her bounciness sprang in
to action by grabbing her arm and dragging her to a nearby chair.
“Great. I can do that for you.”
She fell into the koosh chair and the bright eyed stylist went to work. The seat fell back with ease and soon her hair was immersed in warm water and shampoo. As angry and scared as she felt, it was hard not to relax between the soft chair, massaging hands and the subtle scent of lavender floating in the air. Catching herself dozing off, she jerked her eyes open.
This is not a day spa...Stay on track...get away as soon as possible.
The chair went back into normal position and Miss Perky's voice sounded in her ear bringing her back from her mind.
“So, you want it straight? I can curl it up nice for you.”
“Do whatever. I don't really care.”
Mrs. Travine stood in front of her, from several feet away, looking very disappointed.
“What?” She threw her arms in a give up fashion. “If you want me to be happy let me go home!”
The woman looked as if she were going to say something, but was interrupted by Mr. Buchanan as he walked into the room.
“How are things going in here, Mrs. Travine.”
“Not well, I am afraid.”
She paid no attention to the brush raking through her knots as she listened to the conversation between the billionaire and pretty warden.
“What is the problem?”
Sinners and Saints Page 2
