Chapter Six
Dre
F or over a year I’ve been held here in this godforsaken place.
I never imagined this would be my life. That I would be the prisoner of assholes I believed had died years ago.
They may biologically be responsible for my existence, but they aren’t my parents.
They lost that right when I was a child, when they tried to use me for their own gain while simultaneously treating my older brother like he was worthless.
I can still remember the day they were told I had a talent with numbers; you’d have thought all their birthdays and Christmases came at once.
They saw me as the golden goose and were determined to exploit me any way they saw fit as long as it worked in their favor.
I hated my childhood; having all their attention focused on me wasn’t even remotely fun.
They were determined to use my natural talent with numbers to grow their wealth.
I couldn’t just be. I didn’t have the option of being a child like everyone else my age.
I didn’t get to play and have fun like every other child I saw.
My days were spent in front of computers and paperwork with my parents hovering over me, demanding I make them more money.
The way my childhood was is probably why I’m a homebody nowadays.
The wallflower most people wouldn’t notice in a crowd.
I had my fill of being noticed as a child, of being the center of attention; I can do without ever having to go through any of that ever again.
The only bright spot I have from growing up is my older brother.
He did everything in his power to try and shield me from our parents, though he couldn’t do as much as I’m sure he wanted to, just being a child himself.
While I was what my parents saw as their golden ticket, my brother was the opposite.
To them he was a stain on their reputation, all because they couldn’t exploit his talents the way they could mine.
They saw his ability as useless, all because he was talented in a creative manner.
Being an exceptional artist meant nothing to them, and in the grand scheme of things to them, he was utterly useless.
They told him that enough times over the years.
I fucking hated the way they treated him.
Their shortsightedness where his talent was concerned was a massive oversight on their parts.
They couldn’t see the bigger picture; they didn’t realize just how sought after he would become as he got older, and all because of that talent they dismissed like it was nothing.
Honestly, between the two of us, I don’t know who had it worse with our parents.
Me, because I had all their attention, focus, and demands, or Avery, because he was an afterthought, ignored and mistreated, all because they didn’t think he was worthy.
It doesn’t matter now though; we survived our childhoods.
We might have a few scars internally from our parents, but we’re both thriving as adults, or well, I was before I ended up fucking here.
You’d think after almost a year of finding out they didn’t die in that plane crash like we were all led to believe, I’d have gotten over the shock by now, but I haven’t.
It still fucking hits me out of nowhere some days.
It’s all fucking insane; it’s like the plot from a movie or one of the books I love so much.
This shouldn’t be my fucking life. This shouldn’t be anyone’s fucking life.
Nobody deserves to be ripped away from their life the way I was.
Being woken up in the middle of the night, surrounded by four masked men, was terrifying.
I was groggy and half asleep, but I still knew the situation I found myself in wasn’t good.
Despite the state I was in, I still tried to move from my bed to get in a better position to protect myself.
Not that it did me any good. Before I was even more than halfway to sitting up in my bed, one of the masked figures jabbed me with a needle.
Plunging whatever drug was inside into my system, and it was lights out for me.
I woke up in this fucking place. A basement room that had been kitted out as my new home.
Not that it’s very fucking homey. A double mattress on the floor, a metal toilet and sink that look like they belong in a jail cell, and a single exposed light hanging from the ceiling.
At least they were nice enough to provide me with a decent blanket and some entertainment in the form of books.
Not that it makes the situation I’m in any better, but it could certainly be worse.
Confusion was the dominant emotion I first felt when I came to.
I had no fucking clue who had taken me and why.
That was until the fucking door opened and in stepped two fucking ghosts.
Honestly, at first I thought I was having some sort of reaction to the drugs I’d been given.
That was the logical explanation for seeing my dead parents standing in front of me.
It didn’t take me long to realize that wasn’t the case at all.
That somehow I was actually staring into the eyes of the people responsible for my birth.
Two people who should have been very fucking dead.
Who I thought were buried six feet under in the family plot.
My confusion soon turned to shock and then anger.
Not that anyone can fucking blame me for that.
The assholes had faked their own deaths for some unknown reason that still to this day I can’t figure out and then had the fucking audacity to have me drugged and kidnapped from my own home.
My own bed. Finding out the reason behind what they’d done didn’t help curb what I was feeling either.
Of course they had me taken because they wanted to exploit me the same way they had when I was a child.
Some things never fucking change; a leopard definitely never changes its spots.
They overlooked one thing, though: I wasn’t a scared child anymore, doing whatever my parents asked of me, hoping they’d love and care about me the same way other parents did their children.
This time I was a grown man; who knew they would never be like other parents.
I had no plans to ever do what they wanted.
There was no chance in fucking hell. They could keep me locked up here as long as they fucking wanted.
That was never going to change. Doesn’t mean they didn’t keep trying to force my hand.
Two months ago things changed for me once again.
They gave up trying to convince me to do what they wanted using threats and violence, at least for the time being anyway.
They had a new plan for me. One I could never have fucking predicted, not in a million fucking years, but here we are.
I’ve spent the past two months caring for a newborn little girl who they dropped in my lap without a care in the world.
Their only instructions were to keep her alive and healthy.
I have no idea where she came from, who her parents are, or even her name.
None of that matters to me though. She’s an innocent, helpless child who doesn’t deserve the way her short life has turned out.
She doesn’t deserve the plans these assholes have for her.
Originally, I was more than okay to just ride this shit out and wait to be rescued.
I knew for a fact that Wreck, that’s what Avery goes by now, would be searching for me and would eventually figure all this shit out.
He’d get me the hell out of here. I can’t afford to wait around for him to come to my rescue anymore though.
The stakes are just too high after what I’ve learned.
Bile begins to rise in my throat when I think about what they have planned.
Two months old, and those assholes have a buyer for her.
Yeah, you heard that right; they plan on selling a helpless fucking baby.
A baby who they dumped in my lap without a care in the world just mere moments after she was born.
I had no idea how to care for a baby when she first came into my care.
I’d never been around one before, so I was more than a little bit out of my comfort zone.
I figured it all out pretty quickly though.
I didn’t have a choice; she was relying on me to keep her alive and healthy.
I think I’ve done a decent job since she’s been in my care.
She is growing at a steady rate, and despite the way we’ve been living and the horrible conditions we’re in, she’s as happy as can be.
She never fails to put a smile on my face when I need it.
She’s a precious and innocent little girl who I couldn’t help but fall in love with.
She stole my heart. She’s my little darling.
She doesn’t deserve what grim plans these fuckers have for her.
They took great pleasure in telling me what the buyer wants her for.
How they plan to mold and train her to meet all their needs from a young age.
Emphasis on all. They didn’t have to say the words; I know what they were hinting towards.
Anyone with any sort of moral fucking compass would feel as sick as I do about the thought of her being used in that manner.
It’s bad enough when adults are the victims of sex trafficking, but it’s a whole other thing when it’s a child. No, a fucking baby.
I can’t wrap my head around how someone could be so fucking evil as to have no issues with sentencing a child to something so diabolical.
It’s even worse when I remember I share DNA with these disgusting people.
I have three days maximum to figure out a plan.
A way out of this place for me and my little darling before her buyer arrives to take her away and she’s sentenced to a life of horrors.
I have no idea how the hell I’m going to do it, but I need to try.
I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t.
Is it too much to hope for some sort of miracle?
That someone would have figured out what happened to me and is planning on riding to my rescue?
Yeah, probably. Shit like that doesn’t happen in the real world. Our continued survival is down to me.