Chapter 2
JADE
He was the first man to ever look at me. Really look at me.
As more than a stripper. As more than a whore.
That’s what I am, though. A whore. I have been for too long. Nine years long. I don’t know who I was before. Not anymore.
That woman has long disappeared into a dark abyss where I can no longer hear her or feel her. She’s someone I can never be. Was I ever her? Was it all a dream I made up to erase the agony of my current life?
No. I remember it all. My family. My friends. My son.
Robby.
God. How I wish I could hold him. Love him like a mother would. But he took him. From the moment he was born, he was theirs.
The monsters. My tormentors. That’s who they are.
They run my life. This club. Their teeth have sunk so deep into every facet of my existence, I’ll never scrape them off.
They’ve imprinted their mark on my soul.
I’ll never escape them. How could I? They watch the house I live in, with cameras running twenty-four seven.
The whole place is covered with security night and day.
Every girl watched like I am, I’m sure. Every one of them is just like me. Someone who never had a choice. Someone stolen. Robbed of her life. Of her family. Of her dignity and self-respect.
They call us sluts.
Whores.
They beat us.
Rape us.
They control us.
If it weren’t for my beautiful boy, I would’ve found a way to die. He’s the only one keeping me tethered to this world, instead of finding myself sinking into another.
He looks so much like me. From the moment he was born, I saw myself, and to this day, at seven and a half, he has his mama’s eyes and my hair too.
I don’t think I could’ve handled if he looked anything like his father. A shudder rolls down my arms, the tiny hairs popping up. God, even the thought of that man sharing DNA with my baby makes me violently ill.
My mind drifts to Patrick as I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to find the pieces of the woman he saw, or at least I hope he did. If anyone could find her again, maybe I could too. Maybe there’s still hope for her.
For me.
Was he genuine? Was he really looking for a friend or was he like every man here, wanting to sleep with me for free? They try. They want everything.
They can pay for that too, though. It’s on the menu if they ask.
We’re not supposed to talk about it, and my boss, Chiara, has no idea it happens, but her father, the one who owns the club, and Agnelo, the one who’s in charge of us, allows it to happen.
Well, allow is a loose term. His people kidnapped me and my two friends and made us work for them.
We were locked in tiny cages, the size made for dogs.
We were barely fed. We showered once a week or when they needed us for work.
Once they decided to make us permanent somewhere, such as a strip club, or their members-only sex club, then we were put up at shabby houses they own, usually multiple girls in one home.
If any girl tried to run, to talk to another about anything related to what happened to us, they were killed.
I’ve had roommates shot to death right in front of me, their bodies never to be found.
That’s what the men told us, that our bodies would be gone forever, that our families would never even find pieces of us.
That fear, it worked, and we kept quiet, not even talking to each other about anything.
For me, it’s even worse. They have my son. They always use him as leverage. If I don’t do what they ask, they’ll kill him or sell him to some pervert, and I’ll never see him again. I can’t let them harm my baby. I’ll do whatever they want. However they want it.
They call me Joelle, but once, I was Jade Macintyre.
“I really don’t want you going, Jade,” Mom says from behind me, her tone gripped with worry. “Do you really need to go?” She leans a hip against the doorframe of my bedroom as I peer over my shoulder, folding the last few items of my clothes and laying them into the suitcase.
Once I zipper it up, I walk up to her and place both hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”
She shakes her head, fingers pressing into her temple.
“I’m nineteen,” I continue. “I’m not your baby anymore.”
“Oh.” She huffs with a grumble, playing with the edge of her short, blonde hair, framing her jaw. “Thanks very much for reminding me.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I tease, the corner of my mouth lifting. “I’ll have my phone. You can call me anytime. Okay? Stop worrying so much.”
“How can I stop worrying when you’re planning on driving around the country like a crazy person? Who does that? Why couldn’t you do something else? Like skydiving? Swimming with sharks? There are so many other reckless possibilities.”
“I need this, Mom. I’ll be in school for so many years. And I’ll have Elsie and Kayla with me.”
“Again, not feeling any better, young lady. Can I come with you? I’m quiet and fun. I can hang with the cool kids.”
I let out a laugh, the kind that has your whole body shuddering. My mom is fun, but she’s always been more mom than friend. She knew when to let me fly and knew when to keep me close within the safety of her wings.
She had to be both mother and father to my brother, Elliot, and me, who’s three years younger.
My father left when she was pregnant with him, and we’ve never seen him again.
No cards. No letters. Nothing. He met another woman at work and started a family with her instead, forgetting the one he already had.
But we’ve survived without him just fine.
My mother was more than he could’ve ever been.
She worked two jobs to keep us fed and housed.
She made sure we had new clothes, healthy food.
She was our rock and still is. That’s why I’m planning on going to med school once I finish college.
Not only do I love kids and can’t wait to work as a pediatrician, but I want to make money to help her for once instead.
“Great, Ma.” Elliot’s voice travels as his feet prod across the tiles. “So, you’re going to abandon the one child who isn’t leaving you for the one that is? Nice one.”
Mom turns as he makes it beside her. Her arm wraps around him, bringing him into her side.
“I’d sneak you into the luggage. Obviously.
” She rolls her eyes. “Just don’t tell your sister,” she half whispers while her gaze is on me, the edges of her pale blue eyes crinkling from the smile radiating through them.
“Yeah, okay. You’re both staying here,” I tell her. “I’ll be just fine on my own.”
“Good.” Elliot coils his mouth into a playful smile. “I didn’t want to come anyway. You’re too loud and annoying.”
“Me?” I screech. “Ha! Look who’s talking.” I prop a hand on my hip, twisting up my brows. “Remember the time you put shaving cream all over my lips while I slept and sprinkled it with cinnamon. Who even does that?”
Elliot hysterically laughs, while Mom lets him go, her rounded eyes flying between my brother and me. “When did this insanity happen?”
“While you were at work one morning.” I glare at my brother, remembering how pissed I was when I sneezed, and the cream flew into my mouth. He ran so fast while I chased him, shaving cream dripping down to the floor.
“I always miss the good stuff.” Mom frowns.
“How about we get some shaving cream now and re-create the scene, hmm, Elliot?” My eyes zero in on my brother. “But this time, it’s your ass who’s grass.”
Elliot gets ready to run.
“Oh, stop, you two,” Mom chides. “You’re leaving tomorrow for two ridiculous months,” she says to me. “Why don’t the three of us have a nice day at home with a movie, too much popcorn, and lots of ice cream?”
“Okay, but I pick the movie,” I say.
“Um, no!” Elliot grimaces. “I’m not sitting through some stupid chick movie.”
“It’s called a chick flick, doofus.”
“Whatever it’s called, I’m not watching it.”
“I wasn’t even going to pick a girlie one, relax. Sheesh.”
“Fine. Whatever. Pick something good.”
“I’ll make the popcorn.” Mom takes a step back, heading for the stairs. “Hopefully that’ll shut both of you up for a while.”
“Hey!” we both mutter in unison while she grins facetiously, waving as she disappears down the stairs.
That was the second to last time I saw them before I left in my Jeep the next morning, all smiles, my two friends waving to my mom and brother as we drove away. I never thought that would be the last time we were all together.
They’re states away from where I am. I’m to have no contact with them, or Robby and I will be killed. I’d cut my own throat before I let anything happen to my son.
My focus is on doing whatever they say and trying to find a way to get Robby away from their grip, and eventually run away with him.
I realize that dream is far-fetched, but if I don’t visualize our escape, if I don’t try to come up with some kind of plan, I’ll feel even more hopeless than I do already. But how? How could I not only get away, but save my son in the process?
They only allow me to see him once a month at an undisclosed location, and that only began when I tried to kill myself shortly after he was taken from me.
They have a driver pick me up, put a hood and blindfold over my eyes and take me to where he is.
Every time it’s a different place, and every time I only get to see him and hold him for ten minutes.
Once they say we have to go, Robby cries so hard, while I sob on the floor as one man in a mask drags him away, and another pulls on my body, my soul already gone.
It’s like a never-ending wound, festering, eating into the agony that’s always building with a fresh coat of pain.
I have no one. No real friends. No boyfriend. And even if I were allowed to have a man in my life, who’d want me anyway? I sleep with men for money. I can’t fall in love.
Love. It’s laughable really. How would a man feel, knowing what I’ve done? What I have to do? What I’m not allowed to stop doing?
The center of my chest burns from the shame, from the disgust of my actions, even when I don’t have a say.
I’ve been drugged. I’ve been beaten by those who pay to do whatever they want to me. They’ve captured my tears, the cries, begging them to stop, but they never do. They rather enjoy my suffering.
After a while, I learned to stopped screaming, not giving them what they wanted.
They’d hurt me harder because of it, hoping to break me, but my mind went somewhere else.
Somewhere they aren’t. Somewhere beautiful.
Somewhere my son and I can be together, along with my mom and Elliot.
We’re happy, watching a movie with too much popcorn and lots of ice cream.
Yeah, that’s what we do. Maybe, one day, we can actually do it. Together.
Something tickles my cheeks, and when I look into the mirror, sitting in the dressing room, I realize I’ve been crying.
I don’t even cry loudly anymore. I haven’t been able to do that for years.
The tears sometimes come silently, but I rarely feel them on my face or in my heart.
It’s like I’ve become numb. And maybe that’s a good thing.
So whoever this Patrick is, however nice he seems, I need to stay numb. I can’t develop any sort of feelings for any man, friendship or otherwise. There’s no point. I can’t tell him who I am. I can’t be with him. He’s nothing but a customer, a gorgeous customer, but still, someone I can’t know.
Patrick, with his thick, mahogany strands and strong jaw, is nothing more than any other man whose money is the only thing I’m after. It’s the only way to keep my enemies happy. He can have what he pays for and nothing else.
My heart seizes in my chest when I remember how he looked at me, those emerald eyes analyzing me as though burrowing into my brain, into my heart—it was unnerving.
He read me like an open book, as though he’s the one who typed the pages. No matter how badly I wanted to convince him that he was wrong, it’s like he knew my thoughts. Knew me.
Was I really that easy to read? Could the monsters see it all too? Or are they not even paying attention?
We hate them, but we pretend we don’t. We have to pretend, or we die.
Patrick may think he knows me, but there’s so much he never will. I won’t allow him to. Those chapters have been burned, their ashes forever gone.
Just like I am.