by Lyra Parish
A woman cried in the corner, and others with bright pink cheeks and dark eye shadow consoled her. Then they strapped a rubber around her arm and shot her with liquid. Her face went slack and then filled with a smile. The drugs controlled them, and it sickened me.
"Where are we?" I mumbled. But he ignored me and dragged me up a flight of stairs that led to a stage. Smells of decay and mold hit my nose, as warm flashing spotlights beamed down on me. I stood half naked in the little bra and panties, and the room of people turned and stared.
It couldn't get any worst than this, could it?
I didn't want the answer to that question, because it could always get worse. I knew that as a fact.
I stood in a room full of dirty whistling perverts. My legs went slack, and I almost fell, but my bastard guide picked me up in his arms and carried me to the edge of the stage. He spoke to the crowd, and I only caught bits and pieces of his speech. Frustration covered me because I felt like I was slowly losing myself to whatever that asshole had shot into my arm.
Words like: "virgin," "twenty-two," "stage name: Butterfly Wings," "for sale," caught my attention. Then he walked me over to a cage in the middle of the room, pushed me inside, and locked the door to my own personal prison.
I lay on the ground completely numb and stared into the lights, as women stripped on the stage, and men begged for a taste of me. Bastards crowded around and reached their dirty hands inside to touch me. If my name were Butterfly Wings, they had ripped them completely off. For the first time, I felt helpless and broken.
That unforgettable night in Vegas when I pretended to be a whore to lash out against Finnley, I said dirty fucking things to the people in that club. I knew why Finnley was so upset with me now, because the profession could be dangerous. It had an ugly side to it, and I was in the middle of the cesspool. Reminders of that night stung, as the dirty words that I had once said to strangers were being spat back at me. Lady Luck hated me, and Karma was a bitch.
But what did I do to deserve this?
I couldn't think clearly.
I closed my eyes. I had been taken and brought to a sleazy underground prostitution ring somewhere in Europe.
But the accents. They weren't European. Right?
With all the strength I had, I stood. I grabbed onto a bar that hung from the top of the cage and steadied myself.
"Where am I? Where the hell am I?" I screamed. My throat was raw with pure hatred.
"Dance for us, virgin slut. Give us what we want." A man yelled and threw sweaty dollar bills at me. I couldn't hold my body upright any longer and slumped back to the floor. The shock of it all, and the drugs that swept through my body, were too much.
Virgin slut. Virgin. Vir–
Why did they keep calling me that? Wet dollars stuck to my skin as I lay there contemplating, and trying to calm myself and grasp onto some sort of reality.
I grabbed a fist of money and crumpled it in my fist. U.S. currency. As my vision faded in and out, I made up my mind to be the most uncooperative bitch in this place. Jennifer Downs did what she wanted, when she wanted.
I wasn't sure how much time passed or how many songs played. After several women danced, the perverted men became bored with me and left me to lie on the bottom of the cage like a filthy fucking animal. I would cry if I could muster the emotions to do it, but weak people cried. I wasn't weak or strong, but somewhere in the middle: numb and void of all emotions, other than hatred. But what was the opposite of hate? Love? It couldn't be that simple, could it? Stop it, Jennifer.
Lights flashed across the room and reflected on the floor. Regrets flowed like water down a stream. If I weren't found, having to live this type of life would be a nightmare where death would be the only escape.
I had found my new low and was waist deep in it.
Welcome to your personal dark paradise, I thought.
FINNLEY
Twenty-seven
"I don’t fucking care how much it costs, do it," I yelled into the phone before slamming it on the counter.
Seventy-two hours had passed.
She had been gone for seventy-two, long agonizing hours, and no one knew what was going on. Not even me, and it angered me to an unhealthy level. Private investigators swept London, and I even hired people in Paris. Everyone came up short, which was in-fucking-excusable. The fuse on my patience had been lit, and I was going to blow the fuck up at any moment.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn't recognize who stared back: a man with crazy hair, wild eyes, and scruff. Fucking scruff! I was always clean cut. Always. Impressions were important, and I liked to be ready for the stalkers that lurked behind buildings to take snapshots of me: the most fuckable CEO under the age of 30. Give me a bloody break.
I had no control over my appearance while not knowing if she was okay. Shaving was the least of my fucking worries. I hoped for once she would close her mouth and not talk back, but if I knew Jennifer—an unnerving feeling tugged in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't quite place it. Statistics say after three days, the odds of finding a missing person decline significantly.
I would drive myself mad thinking about her skin on mine.
Her smile.
Her lips.
The way her hair felt between my fingers.
The last look on her face.
The horror in her voice as she screamed my name.
Earlier, Luke called. I told him to leave and go back to Vegas. He'd finished his project quicker than expected and said he would stay for me, but I told him to leave. A part of him blamed himself for Jennifer's disappearance but for no reason. Luke did the best he could, and there was nothing more that could be done. Abbot and his men were on the prowl. If anyone could find Jennifer, it would be them. The men that were born to fight and steal, and would do anything for money. They were loyal to Luke and I because we ran with them when we were younger. Actually, we ran them.
I knew that whatever I did in life, I would be leading. Never been much of a fucking follower. Being in control of situations was what made me tick. Give me a challenge and I will accept and conquer. But at this moment, I would follow anyone who would lead me to Jennifer.
Mark my words, if they touched or hurt her in any way, whoever was responsible will wish they hadn't. Love made people do ridiculous things. With love, I would destroy the world with my bare hands and make it my bitch. Destruction raged dangerously inside of me.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I stared out the window and watched the people scurry on the sidewalks. My hand wavered. Control slowly slipped through my fingers.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up.
"Felton speaking."
"Abbot."
The silenced droned on.
Abbot didn't play well with others, but what could be expected from the man that ran the underworld of London. He was the sub-culture and so were all the men that ran in his pack. Although he was one of the most frightening gang leaders on this side of the Atlantic, he didn't faze me. I beat his ass when we were teenagers, and we both knew that I could and would do it again, especially in my current state.
We bled together. We fought together. We laughed together.
Nothing could take that camaraderie away, not even a fucking ocean or time.
"I've found your driver. Shall I slit his fucking throat?"
I heard muffled screams in the background, and an evil smile crept across my face. Abbot's weapons of choice were really sharp knifes, and I was certain the point of his favorite one rested on the driver’s throat. Abbot could find anyone if I asked, but nothing came without a price. I didn't pay monetarily. The cost was merging my current life with my past, something I never intended on doing.
"I'll be there."
"I'd like to kill him where he sits, filthy piece of shit," he said to the man as if I weren’t on the line then hung up the phone.
I grabbed the keys to the Mercedes and traveled to a warehouse on the east side. I parked in the
back and composed myself. I hadn't seen some of the people inside since I left for Columbia. What a fucking reunion.
Abbot wasn't stupid enough to conduct business in the open warehouse but rather preferred the basement. I walked to the corner of the room and found the inconspicuous door that led to the stairs below. I clenched my hands into fists and tried to get ahold of myself. I wanted to beat the stupid fuck senseless, but I had a goal: to find out who he worked for and where they took the woman who stole my heart. When she was taken, they subsequently took away the last ounce of love I had left. If something happened to her, I would swear off all emotions for the rest of my fucking life. I'd take it as a sign that I wasn't meant for love, that maybe life had a different path for me. I hoped it wasn't a vicious one.
When I entered, Abbot put the knife to the bottom of the man's chin until drops of blood dripped on the floor. Then he smiled, stood, and greeted me with a hug.
"Welcome home, brother. Sorry the circumstances are fucked." Abbot kicked the driver in the side, causing him to double over. A small part of me felt sorry for the man, and the other piece, the one that was slowly becoming numb to emotion, didn't give two shits.
Jerking a handful of hair in his fist, Abbot moved the man's head and leaned into his ear.
"Now. You can either answer the questions you'll be asked, or you can fucking die. Simple, really. I'd really like to add another mark to my wall, so don’t test me."
The scary thing was, Abbot wasn't kidding. He placed the knife under the cloth that was wrapped around the man's mouth, and nicked his cheek but left the blindfold on. I couldn't be seen or noticed by anyone. I needed to stay completely anonymous. This face was one everyone seemed to recognize these days.
I watched the blood stream down the man's face, then cleared my throat and spoke.
"Who are you working with?"
"I'm not sure." His voice was raspy, and he was struggling to speak.
"Give him some fucking water. Jesus," I said.
"Pieces of shit aren't given the special treatment. He can drink water if he makes it out alive. Gotta give the fuck something to look forward to," Abbot said.
I exhaled deeply.
It wasn't worth arguing about right now.
I shook my head at him, and he smiled, of course.
"Do you know where they were taking her?" I asked.
"No. The man that hired me knew she would be in London, and I was to make sure she was at the train station that night. I don't know how he knew she would be at your parents’ house. I had to send a text when we left. I didn't ask questions. I did as instructed."
"You said a man. Who?"
"He calls himself Jester. I don't fucking know anything else," the driver said.
"Watch it," Abbot interrupted.
"I know they were bringing her to the airport. That's it. I don’t know anything else. I swear on my life," he said.
"The airport? Which airport?"
"Don't know. They were adamant about getting her there in time. Something about a plane leaving for the states."
"Fuck," I yelled. "The fucking states? This isn't a random kidnapping."
Abbot squeezed my shoulder. "Told you she wasn't here. I would have found her by now. I know all the slave runners, kidnappers, all those filthy fucks."
I moved his hand from my shoulder and shot him a look.
"I know that look. Don't go dark on me, F. If anyone will find her, I know you will," Abbot said.
"Don't kill him, but keep watch. I may need him later," I said. Before I walked up the stairs, I turned around and gave Abbot a nod. He knew it was my thank you.
"Come visit me if you get bored. Might need your help," I said then climbed the steps two at a time.
"Might take you up on that. Like to get my hands on a semi-automatic," he said, and the men around the room all smiled. Bastards love their knifes, but guns, oh God. They'd be even more deadly with those, but I knew they had them. Guns were easy to find on the black market.
Once inside the car I called Mum, Luke, and let them know I was taking a private plane back to Vegas as soon as possible. She wasn't here, but no matter where she was, I would find her.
She had better be alive and well, and no one better have fucked her. Jennifer Downs was mine, claimed, and if anyone ruined what was mine, I would end their life.
Twenty-eight
Time was elastic, a rubber band that stretched and would eventually snap. I hoped.
The minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, and I had no idea how long I'd been in the pits of my own personal hell, surrounded by whores. My bastard, the man that brought me food and clean clothes, slowly grew on me. He never spoke, but seemed to care if I ate and had clean clothes, even though they were barely anything. Maybe it was my mind fucking with me, or he was protecting me in some weird-ass way, but my thoughts seemed to betray me lately. I wondered if anyone was searching for me, or if I would be found. The look on Finnley's face as I screamed his name… nightmarish.
The droning music, while it could have driven someone else crazy, became nothing more than nuance for me. A torture tactic used to drive people insane by playing the same song over and over again until they couldn't stand it anymore, didn't seem to work on me. My attitude about everything became bring it bitch.
After a few days of lashing out against my bastard, I was deemed unfit to be around others. I asked too many questions but never received any answers. I couldn't be trusted to play nice so I was secluded to a room with a dirty mattress and a bathroom. My keeper would let me out of the confines of the filthy walls once a day to stand in the cage in the middle of the room where the men of the underground sex trade ran rampant. They talked about taking my virginity. Why the fuck did they think I was a virgin? Oh wait, because Finnley lied to everyone. Only three people knew I was no longer a virgin. I supposed I was the last virgin left in Vegas, or so they thought, so everyone wanted me.
I hoped the rest of my days wouldn't be the same as the others. To ensure that didn't happen, I began saying whatever I wanted, which caused my bastard to bind my mouth before throwing me in the cage. Apparently, I said things that pissed people off. Who knew? The more they silenced me, the angrier I became, until I was hollow and robotic. I was a little automaton dressed in sleazy clothes.
The door clicked open, and I sat on the bed staring at my feet. I no longer felt the need to look at my bastard. He did the same thing every day. Put the tray on the table and walked out of the room. When the man didn't leave, I looked up at him, and realized it wasn't the same guy.
He snarled at me, and something about him seemed familiar. I recognized him.
"You. I know you."
"You don't know me, bitch."
I thought back, and after a few moments, it came to me.
"Yes, you're the..." Oh God, no. "You're the taxi driver."
I was two notches away from a nervous breakdown. My adrenaline spiked.
"One of the reasons I was late to Simon & Fitch," I mumbled.
I didn't notice the other man in the corner until he laughed. I zeroed in on him.
"And you. The guy at the club. You almost killed me."
"You think you're so smart? You've got it all figured out, Jennifer?"
The smell of musty cigarettes and liquor emanated from him. He knew my name. He knew me. Cab driver walked toward me, pushed me back on the bed, and I struggled to get out of his grasp. Then all of his body weight was on top of me, holding me down, while asshole guy inserted a needle into my arm. My world spun, and I drifted in and out of realities. I knew these men, and they knew me. Nothing was a coincidence. My eyes fluttered. I tried to focus as everything settled and unsettled.
After minutes, I no longer had the strength or energy to fight them or to even speak. I was in my body, but no longer in control of it. They sat me upright on the bed and both looked up and down my body, then laughed at me.
"Not so fucking smart mouthed now are you?"
I yelled fo
r them to stop, to shut the hell up, to leave me alone, but nothing came out. I no longer had control and could barely comprehend the situation.
"We ought to fuck you right here. Show you what a real dick feels like, since you're such a whore, but we couldn't do that, could we?" the cab driver asked. "I think it's time you meet your fucking maker," he continued.
Minutes passed, then the men leaned against the wall and waited. The numbness in my mouth gave just a little, and I barely licked my lips. When the door opened, all I saw were blue eyes staring into mine. I tried to move my arms and legs, anything, but I couldn't.
No. No. No, this cannot be happening.
Luke walked near me, leaned over my body, and whispered in my ear, "Surprise."
The numbing feeling I'd been experiencing since I had been there completely overtook me. I was losing myself and nothing seemed real anymore. Luke, one of the only men I trusted, did this to me?
When he pulled away from me, he looked me in the eyes and smiled.
"I hate you," I choked out.
But he continued to smile, a look that I had once held so much adoration for, now held none of that. It was now tainted.
He said so softly, "one day you'll regret that you said that."
"When Finnley finds out—"
He raised his arms and mocked me. "When Finnley finds out, oh when fucking Finnley finds out." He cut his smile off instantly. "How does the saying go? Blood is thicker than water? Or in your case, thicker than a whore."
The two scoundrels in the room chuckled and heat rushed to my face. Luke grabbed my cheeks hard and forced me to look at him.
"He doesn't give a shit about you. He never did."
My heart hurt. I pulled back from the situation and brought my mind to the dark place that I hated to visit. The one that replayed my parents’ funeral, the reckless girl in the hospital, and my anger built. He held my cheeks so hard in his grasp that they throbbed when he let go.
The cab driver placed a set of keys in Luke's palm.
"To her room, since you've paid for the bitch."
