by C. N. Owens
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Howling Shadows
By
C.N. Owens
© 2017 C.N. Owens
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for brief quotations in a book review.
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First Edition
ISBN: 978-1983519888
Author page:
https://www.cnowensauthor.com
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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
To my good friend and editor, Starr Waddell of Quiethouse Copyediting. A truly gifted person with the written word, and an even better friend. Between professional chats about writing, or random conversations about our grunge days, you quickly became one of my best friends. You gave me the courage to finish a book, something I have wanted to do all my life. I am forever grateful.
To the inspiration for Leila: You live a world away and will never know this was written about you. That doesn’t really matter to me. You are now free and that brings me great joy.
To everyone else trapped in the world of human trafficking: May you also find your inner beast and tear your captors apart.
Chapter 1
Leila
The wait is always the worst part, that half hour before it happens, when money changes hands and rules are given. Vlad and Tomas are in the other room negotiating the deal, and I’m sitting in my office, otherwise known as a motel bathroom.
I just got out of the shower, and although I’m breaking a rule, I don’t put my hood back on. Times like these are rare, when no one’s watching or controlling me, so I make the most of them. Looking around, I find nothing different from any other bathroom in a cheap motel. It’s cold and sterile. The toilet, sink, tub, and tiles range in shades of green from snot to avocado.
“Of course, we have her.” Fragments of the deal echo from the other room.
I’ve been in here for longer than usual; it seems Americans are warier than others are when it comes to underage prostitution.
They talk for a while longer, and then I hear footsteps coming closer. My hood, a simple cotton sack, sits on the edge of the sink. It would be smart to put it on, but instead, I look in the mirror and shake the wrinkles out of my tattered white dress.
The door swings open, almost too fast for me to get out of the way.
“What are you doing in here?” Tomas charges in and gives me a shove toward the sink. “Put it on!” he says, when I don’t cower and comply like I’m supposed to.
I know I won’t win this staring match, but before I can move, he grabs me by my neck and pushes me so hard I lose my balance and hit the floor. He grabs the hood, and soon after, my vision becomes a muted white as it slips over my head.
I’m led by the arm into the main room and shoved forward, stopping when my knees bump into something. I don’t dare remove my hood; Vlad and Tomas have only had me for a month since I came to the States, and the guys always try to prove a point with the new girls. They wouldn’t hesitate to beat me right in front of a customer. No, removing the hood is the customer’s job. A long time ago, I heard that it stated intent and proved that the pimps aren’t forcing their customers to have sex with their kids. I don’t know, it all sounds silly to me.
I feel around for a moment before giving up, discovering knees in front of mine—my customer. Right now, he’s sizing me up, judging me, and even though I can’t see, I can tell he is speechless. I can almost feel his eyes exploring me. The wet-dog stench of sweat permeates my hood and fills my lungs—horny sweat. I don’t have to see him to know he’s an overweight man.
No, it’s not bleached, I want to say as he focuses on my hair spilling out from my hood. This wouldn’t be the first time my mouth has gotten me into trouble. Odd things have been happening lately; it started out like a game. Spending a lot of time lost in my own thoughts, blinded by my hood, I like trying to guess what people are wearing or thinking, mostly just to cure my boredom. Many times, I’ve found that I was right.
“Leila is one of our most unique girls… You like?” Vlad asks my customer.
There is a long silence. “She’s perfect,” he stammers.
Without another word, Tomas shoves me onto the bed. I know it’s him by the way he always manhandles me. Vlad tends to be sleazier, but oddly, he’s the gentler of the two.
“No… no, please,” escapes my lips.
He pins my arms over my head… I know what’s coming next.
“I don’t need drugs. I’ll be good, I promise,” I say, wanting to jump out of my skin. The needle is coming. If only it was a knife cutting my wrists, I could bleed out right here on the bed, I think. Maybe then I’d truly know peace.
My upper arm is so thin, Tomas can wrap his hand around it and squeeze, no need for a tourniquet. Soon after, I feel a familiar pinch, but it hurts more when the needle is drawn out and put back in a few times to find the vein. “This is a special customer; you will not be a bad girl for him,” Tomas says with his usual throaty voice.
“I’ll be a good girl, please don’t.” Tears sting my eyes when all my begging does no good. I let out a groan that slackens to a whisper. Out of fear or relief? I wonder, as the heroin burns a path to my heart. Soon after, a rush of euphoric peace spills over me like warm water.
“Look how she likes it,” Tomas says, laughing when I drunkenly moan. “She’ll like you, even more, big boy!”
My arms are released, and for a moment, I feel free. The cravings, which always cause pain and anxiety, are gone, and although I know what this stranger will do to me, I feel at peace.
“Where’s the romance?” my customer asks. I think I’ll call him Al.
“Give us a break,” Vlad says with his thick Russian accent. “We bring you the most beautiful forbidden fruits to fuck silly. We can only force them to give you all the pleasures that the law does not allow. She’s a feisty one; you would do good not to turn your back on her when she’s sober.”
“Makes no difference, my time will start now. If I go over, I’ll pay whatever the cost, now leave us alone.” Al’s voice shakes with excitement, but it’s no more than a distant echo in my swoon. Seconds later, big arms encircle me—Al lifting me up, cradling me like a child. “Where did you get her from?”
Neither of my pimps respond. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time Al has asked something like this. He should know they don’t answer that kind of question. “Can I remove the hood?”
I hear the door open. “You can do anything you want. Just don’t bruise her too bad; she’s a popular one.” Soon after, the door clicks shut.
I squint when the hood slides off, and Al’s
pudgy face softens… I think he might weep. I still don’t understand what men see in me: a scrawny, drug-addicted whore. It must be the thrill of breaking the law, or something sicker that I don’t want to imagine.
His finger slides across one of my white eyebrows. “You’re an albino, aren’t you?”
“I am what they want me to be,” I say, my head swimming from the drugs.
He nods. “Don’t you worry about them; I’m here now. Do you know who I am? I’m a federal judge. I can protect you.”
My heart leaps. I don’t know what a federal judge does, but his words sound magical. I take a breath and relax in the arms of this fat, balding old man, enjoying the fantasy that my nightmare could be over. “It has been so long,” I slur. I want to believe him; I want to believe that he’s going to help me.
“You’re safe, my dear.” He shushes me and wipes away a string of drool from the corner of my mouth. “Tell me, how do you speak English so well?”
“My dad is American, he was an English teacher,” I say, my words coming out like a chain of sighs. Even breathing is tiresome at this point; all I want is sleep. “How are you going to help me?”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” The truth? I turned eighteen a few months ago. This organization specializes in underage kids, so I must be a good actress. I guess being different doesn’t hurt.
“Oh, and you are gorgeous.”
I tumble out of his arms like a rag doll. Only for a second more do I feel safe until I feel his cold sausage fingers travel up my legs to where he pulls off my underwear. My teeth clench. I want to struggle, but I can’t move—my limbs could be made of cement.
Customers do this to me all the time; gaining a little of my trust seems to get them off. Somehow, that paternal, protective instinct becomes twisted into something horrible. That’s why the sex-trafficking industry flourishes. They don’t want to fuck their own daughters, so they seek out girls like me.
Anger enters my mind like a far-off scream. I want to put a pistol in this guy’s mouth, but I’m helpless. I’m nothing, just a body, a body born for men to take their pleasures from and discard like so much garbage.
“You said you would help me.”
“Not until I’m through with you,” he barks at me like a scolding parent. This guy isn’t going to help me—that is obvious. He positions me on the bed, stripping me naked and ripping my dress in his haste. I grasp handfuls of the sheets while he explores the length of my body with his mouth; licking, sucking, and kissing me until I’m shivering, covered in his disgusting spit.
I lie still, unsure of how much more of this I can take. My desire to cry is so strong, it overwhelms my ability to hold it in, resulting in a gentle whimper. Done with his fondling, I roll onto my stomach, trying to rise and get away, but I can’t stand up. He laughs, probably enjoying the view from behind as I try to crawl away.
The clink of a belt buckle—clothing hitting the floor. I might puke if I see this pig of a man naked, but really, what’s the difference between him and the other men from my past?
A loud crack echoes in the room, his belt hitting me from my butt to the small of my back. It scares me more than it hurts, causing me to jump and fall off the bed, hitting the floor face-first.
“Leila, get back on the bed, now!”
I roll over onto my back, feeling a strange rush of energy sweep into me, accompanied by searing heat. My hands and arms are blood red and so hot it feels like my skin could melt away. I rub my sore left eye and a couple fingernails pop off.
The old man rushes to me and, after taking my hand, helps me back onto my feet. I stand, and right when I am about to thank him, he punches me in the face hard enough to knock me back onto the bed.
Several teeth rattle around in my mouth as he drags me toward him and thrusts my legs open.
An ape suit of wooly white hair covers Al’s naked body. He licks his lips, eyes fixed on the places he intends to use while struggling to ready himself so he can violate me. I know what will happen if I fight. This won’t be the first time I’ve attempted suicide.
His hands reach for me again, and I kick at him. My heel makes contact with the bridge of his nose, resulting in a loud crunch and a spray of blood. He staggers backward, guarding his face. Now is my chance. I stand, grab the lamp to my right, and bust it over his head. He collapses, bleeding from an angry gash on his face.
I spit bloody teeth onto the floor. Aside from my own raspy, gurgling breaths, the room is silent. My lips sting, and my cheeks feel tight; the skin is stretching to make room for newly formed jagged teeth. Al, blinded and squirming at my feet, lets out a moan resembling the mew of a kitten. The scent of his blood fills the air… It only makes me angrier.
Vlad and Tomas pile into the room. There’s no time, so I drop to my knees and pound on the old man with my tiny fists. The two men struggle to drag me away, but I won’t give in. I kick Al when my fists no longer reach him, and I turn on my pimps. I go wild, biting, kicking, flailing… An animalistic roar echoes in the room, and it’s not until my throat starts hurting that I realize I’m the one making that hellish sound. Tomas jams a needle into my neck. It hits me immediately, a massive dose right into a vein, sending a tsunami of relaxation to wash my conscience away. I collapse onto the floor, wondering if this might be the dose that kills me because this time I’m paralyzed… a marionette without strings. Breathing has become a procrastinator’s chore… I’ll worry about it later. As my eyes slide shut, I say a silent prayer: God, please forgive me for the things I’ve done.
***
I wake to the sound of a metallic clank. I know that sound. It has been used on me before; it’s the sound of Vlad’s ASP baton expanding.
“Be ready to run,” Vlad says.
I’m afraid to open my eyes. I don’t want to look.
“Why are we doing this?” Tomas asks, his voice sounding strained.
“It doesn’t matter. Raoul wants it done.”
I hear a sigh.
“Sorry about this, sweetheart.”
My eyes snap open when I feel a sharp pinch, and I let out a shriek when I hear the terrible pop of my finger being cut off. I’m on my feet, but I don’t recall standing. The room is heavy with the stench of rotting meat, and for some reason, I feel taller. Tomas grabs me but it’s no good. I shrug him off and grab him by the arm. With a growl, my mouth eclipses his throat, and I bite down hard.
Tomas stumbles backward. My mouth is full of the meat I took from his neck. He clutches his injuries, choking for air, trying to control the blood spurting out in time with his heartbeat. To my left, Vlad is beating me with his baton, but I hardly feel it. I smile, still distracted, in love with the taste of Tomas’ blood. I’ve dreamt about this moment but never thought it would come true. With a swat of my left hand, Tomas spirals toward the wall in a spray of blood and flesh.
Vlad recoils when my attention turns to him. I’m now so tall he has to look up at me. “Leila, back off!” he warns. He swings his baton at my head, but I catch it with my left hand. My fingertips click against the cold-rolled steel.
What’s happening to me? I think, while marveling at my gnarled and contorted right hand. Gray barbed claws emerge from my fingertips. Catching me off guard, Vlad snatches his weapon away and hits me one more time in the face.
Chapter 2
Cassie
“Think you could be any louder in those heels?”
I freeze when I hear his voice. It’s Trent, my young protégé. I’ve known him for a long time, and still, he’s the only person that can catch me unsuspecting. He’s an expert at disappearing in a crowd or vanishing in a shadow.
“I didn’t know stealth was required tonight.”
“Wasn’t it you that taught me to always be on alert?” He smirks when I turn and face him.
“Yes, but you’re a bit more fragile than a seven-hundred-year-old vampire.”
“Fair enough, but for an old g
randma, you don’t look a day over two fifty.” He shifts in place and crosses his arms. I prefer women, and still, I grow shy when his honey-brown eyes lock onto mine.
I strut toward him, trying hard not to reveal what he does to me. Collect yourself, Cassie. It has been forever since the last time our paths crossed, and I’m so excited to see him, I want to run and jump into his arms, but I won’t give him that satisfation. “What brings you into town?” I wrap my arms around his V-shaped trunk and give him a quick kiss.
He clasps his hands just below my shoulder blades, locking me in place. “Had a mission nearby, then I caught wind of some top leadership rolling through this club… figured I would sniff around.” His smirk grows as I reach up and stroke the thick leather scabbard of his sword under his jacket. He’s such a good student, but tonight, I think he’s getting cocky.
“It’s very nice to see you, and I mean that in the sincerest way, but you shouldn’t be here.” I’ve missed the way it feels with his arms around me, and the scent of his old leather jacket brings back memories of the times when we were a couple. It makes me want to try again with him, but after so many attempts, weeks of bliss followed by an epic meltdown, I doubt it would be worth it.
“Why? A great band is playing tonight.”
“Trent, this is serious.”
“He’s here, isn’t he?”
Damn it. “Hey, why don’t you go to my house? I’ll be there soon. Perhaps I can get Andrea interested in a man and the three of us can play,” I say, knowing if I drop onto my knees and beg him to leave, it will only make things worse.
“Well, now I’m definitely going in there. Your offer screams desperation.”
I kiss him again and taste liquor. “You’ve already been inside.”
“For about an hour”—he smiles—“and I’m going back in.”
“Listen to me. Do not try to attack him, especially at night. He will destroy you.”
