Fourteen
Paisley
4 weeks later
The next few weeks passed in a blur. I knew days were passing because it kept getting colder and colder in my cell. There was no heating, but they did bring us some blankets eventually. I huddled under those at night, trying to pretend my shackles weren’t there. The only time they came off was when they led me to the cafeteria.
I didn’t know how long they’d make us exist like this. I assumed we had a higher purpose, and we weren’t just some cheap entertainment for a bunch of twisted guards in black uniforms with a gun kink.
One day, I was waiting to be led to the cafeteria. But instead, several armed guards entered my cell. There were always two when it was time to eat, and my stomach protested hungrily as they unshackled me without saying a word.
I was led down the hallway, past the cafeteria and into the fresh air. I hadn’t seen light in weeks, and my eyes struggled to adjust to the blinding, but grey sunshine.
I felt damp grass beneath my feet, relishing the feeling as they ushered me to a van. I was alone with the guards. One of them knocked on the partition separating us from the driver, and we drove off.
I stared out of the window pointlessly. There were no buildings - we were still in the middle of nowhere. Not a single car passed on the road, and I figured if it did, it would be another grey van, just like the ones they always seemed to use.
The drive wasn’t long. We stopped in front of a nicer building this time, and my heart pounded with fear as I was ushered inside the white-walled cottage.
It was simple, but well-equipped and modern. Several people milled about inside, guards and women.
I quickly realized the women were on their side, though their scared glances told me they were on strict orders. They didn’t speak to me. My tattered T-shirt, the one a guard had tossed at me, was peeled off me.
I was grateful for it. Back in the cells, we had daily group showers, and they remained a humiliating memory. Being sprayed with ice water, huddling with other naked, vulnerable women, was degrading and made me feel helpless.
Putting on the dirty shirt after felt like an additional punishment.
Now, the wordless maids led me into a fully equipped bathroom. I could have cried with relief as I sank into a warm bubble bath. I would have, if I didn’t know what it all had to mean.
I was being transported, likely to a nicer place, with richer, crueler people. I didn’t want to imagine what the power of money did to corrupt people who paid for a sex slave.
It became abundantly clear that was what I was meant for. The women shampooed and conditioned my hair, shaved me everywhere, and polished my nails. The water went cold by the time my nails finished drying, as had my mood.
I couldn’t believe they did their jobs with steady hands, but then I remembered my own fear when I was being raped, forced to stay still at gunpoint.
After they dried my hair, two women wrestled it into shape. Another applied my makeup with painstaking precision. I avoided my reflection the entire time they were working, painfully aware of the weapons in the room. The guards carried and aimed their guns so casually.
One of them kept pointing his gun at one of the hairstylists, showing off. She didn’t flinch once, and it pissed him off. I could feel him getting more and more agitated, his friends mocking him for failing.
The makeup girl led me away once the other two finished. A guard followed, yawning as she wordlessly dressed me in pink, barely-there lingerie.
A gunshot rang out in the front room.
Panicked, I glanced at the door.
Silence followed.
The woman led me back into the room moments later. Two guards were pulling away the withered form of the girl who’d styled my hair, the one they couldn’t manage to rattle. My eyes widened at the sight of blood on the floorboards.
I didn’t have much of a chance to react. The guards forced me back out of the house and into the van. At least they hadn’t sprayed me with perfume. I couldn’t bear the thought of fragrance anymore. Something about it reminding me of my life before was just too painful.
Surrounded by the inoffensive smell of lotion, I felt safer, even though they were leading me to my emotional death.
I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. How many more weeks would I last?
I needed to find a way out, soon.
The van drove down the abandoned street. I glanced hopefully at a gas station we passed. It looked half-abandoned, and as we sped by, I saw several grey vans parked there. I couldn’t read the signs on it well, some of them were covered in graffiti. No clues to our location were given throughout the journey.
We kept driving, and at some point, I was forced to switch vehicles. The new car was black and shiny. I didn’t recognize the model, and it had no plates. The windows were dimmed, and I could tell it was soundproofed, because inside, music blared on the speakers.
A single guard got in the back with me. As we drove forward, he pulled up a black bandana around his neck, covering his mouth. He loaded his gun, too.
Despite my stupid makeover, I was back to my shackles.
Once the car stopped again, the guard tensed. The gun was pointed at my back as the car door opened. I glanced around in a panic. It was dark by then, a few stars lighting the way as he shoved me forward.
Another dark car pulled up. The engine didn’t come off as the guard opened the backdoor. He shoved me inside with the butt of his gun, making me stumble into the backseat.
The door slammed shut and the car sped off. I was greeted by an icy presence behind me, so intense I was too scared to turn around.
The windows in the new car were dimmed too. Music was playing, but it was soft, classical. The ominous, bittersweet piano’s melody rang out as I felt a strong fist wrap in my carefully curled hair.
He yanked me off my knees, forcing me on his lap. I winced as I felt his cold, gloved hand on my ass.
“My new toy,” he muttered. I couldn’t place his accent, but it wasn’t Italian, like most of the guards seemed to be, though they spoke in fluent English. “What does this button do?”
He pressed a gloved finger against the crotch of my panties while I struggled on his lap. His other hand left my hair, and it cascaded down my back as he toyed with my chains and shackles.
I wanted to scream, but something told me this man wouldn’t stoop just to bruises. He’d fuck me up mentally. I could tell by the smooth, expensive leather of his gloves - the mere feel of it - he was rich.
Men like him paid money for people like me.
What the guards turned me into was a sex toy for a rich guy like him. He’d probably shake hands with them after raping me, congratulating them on a job well done.
He turned me around on his lap, and I shut my eyes forcibly. I couldn’t bear to look at him.
“Go on, little toy,” he laughed. “Look at me while I hurt you.”
The almost gentle request was followed by three sharp slaps to my cheek. He didn’t even give me a second to obey.
My eyes opened, heart pounding.
He was wearing a mask, made of black leather like his gloves. It covered most of his face, revealing only the ice cold, blue pools of his deep-set eyes. The mask was skull-shaped, with soft lines to suggest his bones.There was a hole for his mouth in the mask, barely there, a slit amid black teeth caught in a snarl.
I swallowed thickly and he laughed at me, frozen in fear on his lap.
“Paisley,” he said, my name rolling off his lips as if he’d practiced this moment. “Did I get it right, little toy? That is your name, correct, darling?”
“Unshackle me,” I hissed, my eyes relentless as I stared at the slits of his gaze in the fucked up mask. “Then I’ll tell you.”
“Oh, already making demands, are we, darling?” he questioned, laughing behind the mask.
I wanted to call him a coward for hiding behind that thing while he forced me to be exposed like this. But I didn’t want him to think I actually had any desire to see his face. As long as he kept the mask on, I felt safer. I couldn’t tell anyone who he was if I didn’t see him, which gave me some hope.
Maybe he was going to let me go.
“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours, little toy,” he sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but I’m not going to save you. My girls die at my side. You will, too.”
Terror washed over me as he leaned in close.
“Why can’t I smell you, little toy?” he demanded. “Did they put perfume on you?”
I tried to crawl away, but he slapped me again, pulling me on his lap so I was straddling him.
“Stay like this, and I’ll unlock you, alright?” he teased playfully, like this was some depraved game of cat and mouse. I recoiled when he leaned in closer. I couldn’t bear his touch, his proximity. “Stay still, darling. Let me get a good look at my new toy.”
He seemed pleased when I didn’t react, like he’d taught his puppy a new trick. Disgust rolled over me as he slapped my ass. Not that I wasn’t used to it by then, but he did it with cruel finality, knowing he could do anything he wanted to me and nobody would stop him. Not in this lifetime.
I bit back the spiteful remarks on the tip of my tongue.
It was easier to go limp, but spare him the satisfaction of my tears and sounds. My lips remained stubbornly pressed together as he rained slaps over my exposed ass cheeks.
He laughed at me, then pulled out a key from his pocket. My eyes widened as he removed the shackles from my wrists and ankles. Though they uncuffed us to eat, I relished the almost forgotten freedom.
How long had I been traveling? How long since I’d last eaten?
My basic needs were pushed aside so many times in that sick cell, I’d learned to ignore them when I had to. Now, my stomach gave a hungry gurgle as the man’s fingertips slipped over my skin, exploring.
“Good toy,” he muttered thoughtfully, and I fought the urge to spit in his face. “We’ll have a lot of fun together. You’re quite obedient. I bet they forced you to be like this, though. I can tell you want to fight me. Would you like to know my name?”
I shook my head. The less I knew about him, the better.
The masked man laughed, then slapped my cheek with full force. “How impolite my new toy is. Ask me what my name is, darling. Or else.”
I seethed from the welt he’d left across my face, but I knew better than to ignore him. He’d just hit me again. “What’s your name?”
He leaned forward until I was staring straight into the slits in his mask. His blue eyes glinted. “Glasgow. But you’ll call me Master. In every fucking sentence. And if you forget, I’ll make you forget what you look like without bruises over every inch of your goddamn skin.”
Like hell I would.
Before I could react, something popped and a red liquid splashed across the partition in front of us. I screamed, and Glasgow cursed.
The car swerved.
I gasped as I flew off Glasgow’s lap, my hip hitting the partition with a thud.
The vehicle skidded and the music stopped.
Smoke filled the backseat, and my captor cursed out loud as the door of the car flew open.
I was yanked out by my hair, my knees hitting the pavement in the darkness. I felt the gritty concrete digging into my skin, scraping me, and I screamed when I heard gunshots.
Figures blurred together in front of me, and I scrambled to my feet, limping in my shackles to get away from the wreckage. I felt bullets flying past me, adrenaline pushing me forward. I couldn’t stop screaming.
There was another car in front of me, but I couldn’t focus on it. I heard screaming, arguing and more gunshots and glanced back. The masked man was forced out of the car, and put on his knees with his hands behind his head by a group of other masked men.
They were going to execute him.
Fucking good.
I turned around to the sound of screaming and gunshots.
I screamed again, running toward the other car. In the quiet landscape, it was my best chance of getting away.
I couldn’t believe my luck. It was my first chance to run, and I knew it was going to work this time. I just had to be a little selfish, and never look back again.