Chapter 6
Zoe
My desperation called for action. I was not going to remain a prisoner at Sebastian’s mercy. He was taking too much control over things for himself and excluding Father’s choices. He actually thought he could do as he pleased with me and get away with it.
I knew that no matter how upset my father was with me he would never condone Sebastian laying hands on me, especially in a manner that left deep bruising.
In my entire life none of his men dared harm me because Father’s wrath was more than they could handle.
Even now, without any authority left to me I was still his princess, his most prized possession.
Damaged goods did not get top dollar when they were sold.
Every time my door opened I prayed I would see my Father and he would tell me I was free again. That never happened. Instead, I overheard whispers of what was planned for me and laughter over my downfall.
“Did you see the one who arrived this morning?” a guard I had once heard called Bryan asked his cohort.
“Was this one barely old enough to vote like yesterday’s?” the reply came.
“The opposite. He was old enough to be her grandfather. Petrov turned him out almost immediately. He knew no one that old could control his daughter and he’d never live long enough to take over in Petrov’s place anyway.
That’s the whole damn point right? To have her marry a man who can keep her in line and control this part of the organization once Petrov is dead? ” Bryan questioned.
“How many interviews for Zoe’s hand does that make now? A dozen?” the other man inquired.
“I’m not counting, but the old man got tired of it and flew out again.
He’ll be choosing one soon. That girl’s gonna pay for thinking she’s better than us.
She’s doomed herself to marrying some hardhearted mafia man who’ll screw her but otherwise ignore her.
She won’t be so pretty soon,” Bryan declared and laughed hysterically.
I figured they wanted me to hear since their whispers were louder than necessary and the door was cracked far longer than usual.
They were hoping to hurt me, to possibly hear me crying.
But I would never give them the satisfaction.
Instead, I was escaping tonight, or I would die trying.
Death was the lesser evil to marrying someone who used me and most likely hated me.
I thought of Prime and his handsome face and muscular body.
He had thick dark hair that begged for my fingers to run through it and strong luscious lips that any woman would want to kiss.
Why was he not on the list of choices? I was more than willing to have him touch me, eager even.
Plus, he would never use me and toss me aside.
He valued my intelligence and considered my opinions. With him I was an equal.
And that was the catch. Father wanted a man to dominate me, overrule my ideas and just hold me hostage.
He wanted me locked away having grandchildren and being a pretty face to bring out at parties.
In other words, he wanted to be rid of the care and keeping of his far too impulsive and smart daughter.
There was also the sticky fact that the president of a motorcycle club was not good enough in his opinion to take his place when he died, nor was he Russian.
And obviously I was not good enough either.
I was a woman and that made me less than human in the other leaders’ eyes, so I would not be able to keep control even if Father was willing to give it to me.
For days I had been working on the window bars to unlock and open them.
I was close to being successful. Tonight, I was going to gain my freedom, shimmying down the same tree I had used as a teenager.
That tree was the reason for the bars in the first place.
I had broken out for fun at night too many times.
I packed one backpack with essentials, including the cash I had stashed under a floor board.
It was all I could reasonably carry down the tree, across the compound and down the darkened city streets.
I was going to leave everything I knew and loved behind until Father came to his senses and realized I was not going to do as he planned.
At 2 a.m., when the guards were getting sleepy and inattentive, I was able to screw out the last rusted bolt and lift off the heavy bars.
I looked around my room one last time, saying a silent and tearful farewell, then awkwardly climbed out onto the closest tree limb, hoping it would still hold my weight now that the tree and I were both older.
It made a cracking sound but held. As quietly as I could I climbed down, dropping the backpack to use both hands when things got scary.
Once on the ground I breathed a sigh of relief, but I also knew I was not safe yet.
There were motion sensor lights and alarms that required finesse.
Thankfully, I remembered how to maneuver and miss every single one because I had been in on the planning which my Father had overlooked or forgotten.
Trouble did not arrive until I stumbled over the guard at the side gate.
I had thought he was gone, possibly walking the length of the wall, but he was actually asleep beneath a bush.
He awoke and grabbed for me and his radio at the same time.
I swung the backpack knocking his hand off me.
Without hesitation I punched him so hard hitting his chin in just the right spot that his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Since he went out like a light I decided to take his phone, his key card, his gun and his cash.
The more money I had the better off I would be, and the key card meant I did not have to climb over the wall.
The one thing I had always feared was the razor wire at the top.
The cuts I had made in it during previous escapes were long since repaired.
“Now what?” I asked myself once I stood outside the compound. “You’ve gained your freedom, Zoe, so what do you intend to do with it? You did not think this through very well did you?”
I began walking and planning out loud with the stars in the sky my only companions.
“I cannot run straight to Prime and the club. It is the first place my Father will search for me. I do not want to cause them any more trouble. Nor can I call Prime because Father will have him beaten to learn of where I have gone whether I have actually told him my location or not. I need to hide where he will not think to look, then once a few days have passed I will ask Prime for asylum.”
The least likely place someone with my wealth and connections would go was the slums, the drug and gang infested part of Houston.
It smelled bad there, the streets filled with trash and a wet stickiness I did not care to think about.
Every corner was busy even in the wee hours of the morning.
They held either prostitutes or the twitchy, scrawny addicts offering drugs for sale while they sniffed lines of coke off the filthy brick walls or worse the nasty, sticky concrete.
I ignored the taunts and offers for sex and drugs, though I shuddered with fear and a sickness in my stomach. I was shaking badly when I paid the exorbitant weekly price for what was normally a pay by the hour motel.
I was not foolish enough to touch the bed. Instead, I used the cleanest wash cloth I could find in the disgusting bathroom to wash down the vinyl sofa so that I had a place to sleep where bugs were less likely to chew on me.
This was to be my home while I waited for Father’s search to wind down. Of course, he would never stop searching, but he would soon believe I had left the city or even the country once I was nowhere to be found. Then, I would not be endangering Prime when I begged for help.
I only dared to step out of my room during daylight hours. I bought enough food each morning to take care of my needs until the following day. And I purchased cleaning supplies as well, so I felt reasonably safe to shower and use the bathroom.
Nighttime was too risky. I was lucky on the night I arrived.
I knew that because I saw the news on the fuzzy screen of the tiny television in my room.
That same night another young woman had been raped and murdered along the same route I had taken.
I cried for her as the tepid drizzle in the shower washed me clean.
After four days of living in loneliness, a constant fear of someone busting the flimsy lock on my door and attacking me, very little sleep from watching the door and listening to the sounds of sex and drug deals in the rooms next door and eating cold meals with little nutrition and tons of empty calories I decided a hot meal was worth the risk of an hour outside the thin walls of my hideaway.
I knew immediately it was a mistake. I was followed by a man in pants with heavy chains on them, a gun visible in his waistband and eyes that held only a meanness with no actual life.
I made it to the end of the block before trying to circle back to my room, but in order to do so I had to turn into a shadowy alley.
His footsteps seemed loud in the eerie silence.
He did not try to be quiet. I was a mere woman and he figured I was his for the taking.
With nowhere to hide I ran. Faster and faster, I went, but he kept up on his skinny legs despite the heavy chains that made his overly large pants sag close to his bony knees.
A sob left my throat when I got close to my tiny room, the only sanctuary I had.
Others saw him pursuing me, yet never stepped in to intervene.
They did not give a damn. What they saw was a daily occurrence.
I struggled with the key to my door which allowed him to catch up to me.
He yanked me by the hair and slammed me against the brick wall next to my door.
“Why’d you run, bitch?” he spat into my face. “I’ve been watching you for days. You ain’t taken a man into your room in all that time. Don’t you need the money, whore? I ain’t got much, but I can pay for an hour. You got time, so let’s play.”
“I am not for sale,” I said in the bravest voice I could muster. “I am not a whore. Let me go before I scream.”
He grinned, his nasty breath huffing from between his rotted, yellow teeth. “Scream all you want, bitch. Nobody here gives a shit. If you don’t take money for that body, then I guess that means I get a free screw. Otherwise, why would your pretty ass be around here?”
I fought to free myself, kicking, butting my head against his and reaching to rip his eyes out of his head.
He was surprisingly strong and agile, able to evade most of what I did, mostly because I had little room to maneuver.
I left long bloody scratches on his face and arms and a knot on his forehead.
All that just angered him, seemingly giving him more strength.
He slammed my head into the wall, dazing me for long enough to kick open the door to my room, shattering the flimsy lock as well as the door frame. He shoved me onto the floor inside and began ripping at my clothes.
I fought like a tiger, wishing my stolen gun was not zipped up in my backpack.
It had been foolish to leave it there rather than carrying it with me.
Tears streamed down my face as I screamed.
I was not going to give my virginity to a fucking rapist!
I pushed my thumbs into his eyes, and he screamed.
My shirt was ripped off me as I squirmed to get out from under him.
His hand went to my neck and tightened as he blindly fumbled with the snap of my jeans with the other one.
Tears of pain and frustration ran from his swollen eyes, but he still tried to reach inside my pants and touch me intimately.
Something fell from his pocket as he raised his hips to yank his own pants down.
It was a syringe, and it was full. I did not know what it contained, nor did I give a damn.
While he yanked out his dick and tore at my jeans I stabbed the needle into his arm.
He yelped and slapped me hard, making my head ring and causing me to lose my sight briefly.
I pushed him in the chest, and he fell over.
Whatever was in the syringe had saved me.
He lay on the filthy floor barely breathing.
I shed my torn clothes and dressed in the extras I had in my backpack.
I no longer cared that I could be seen through the broken door.
I grabbed my belongings and ran. Tears dropped from my chin as I left the slums behind.
I was a tough woman, but this place had taken too much from me.
It had shattered my confidence. And once one man saw me as prey others were certain to follow. It was time to get help.
I hunkered down in the doorway of an empty building and called Prime, praying he would answer the unknown number of the stolen phone. I was shaking uncontrollably by the time he answered because the adrenaline that had seen me through the terror was gone.
“She’s not here!” he screamed into the phone, causing me to jump and bang my head on the brick wall in the same spot that was already oozing blood. “I’m searching for her too. She’s out there alone somewhere. Stop hassling us and find her before she ends up in a damn coffin!”
“Prime?” I whispered through the pain and blindness caused by the head injury; a sob escaped me as I heard his familiar voice. “Help me.”
“Zoe?! Is it really you? Where the fuck are you?”
“Please,” I begged. “Give me asylum. I do not have anywhere to go. Father is searching for me, and I will not marry some old man just to make an alliance. I am cold and scared, please help me!”
“I’m well aware of your father’s search. He’s torn every building we own apart three times looking for you. His men call me hundreds of times a day hoping I’ll slip up and tell them where you are. But I can’t tell what I don’t know. So, it’s better that you stay wherever you are,” he replied.
“I cannot. I am so scared. I was attacked and almost raped today in broad daylight. Father will not search your places again. He will look elsewhere now. Please, let me come to you. I have no one else.”
He finally heard the desperation in my voice and asked, “Shit! Are you hurt? Do you need a hospital?”
“No. I am not badly hurt, just bruised, scratched and terrified. I do not need a hospital. I need you,” I declared. My pride was gone. Begging was easy. I trusted him above all others.
I heard reluctance in his answer, but also worry for me, which overcame any fear of retribution he had. He cared in some way, and I was glad.
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”