13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Remington
My captors come at all hours. Sometimes several times a day, so I don’t know how long I’ve been here.
Days at least. A week? Longer? It feels like months.
It’s impossible to keep track of time when you never see the sun rise or set.
When there’s only darkness and excruciating, incessant pain to keep you company.
My mind is mushy. It hurts to move. It hurts to breathe. My battered body is weak. Waves of pain roll through me with every beat of my heart. I’m sure my eyes are swollen. I roll them behind my eyelids, trying to clear out the sandpaper feeling.
Stay calm, RJ. You’re still alive. There’s got to be a way out of this. Just keep your cool. You’re alive.
You. Are. Alive. That’s all that matters.
I’m sleep deprived because I can’t get comfortable. Between the constant pounding in my arm, the pain coursing throughout the rest of my body, and the persistent nightmares, I’ve only slept in fits and starts, and that’s been brought on by pure exhaustion.
I can’t relax knowing, at any moment, they’ll be coming back for me. That the questions and torture will begin anew. I’m not sure how much more of this I can survive. But I’m starting to believe I’ve reached the end of my rope.
My captors continue to ask where the film is, where I’ve hidden it. When I give them the same answer, they follow up with pain. A punch to the face or stomach.
Sometimes it’s the water.
“You’re dirty, let’s get you cleaned up, Chica,” they tell me before laughing and hitting me with the full force of a fire hose. The powerful spray knocks me off my feet, rolls me across the floor, and slams me into the concrete wall.
I’m not sure which I dread more—the beatings, the fire hose, or the times they waterboard me with rum.
My only consolation with the rum is the satisfaction of it spectacularly reappearing all over anyone close to me.
But the worst is when they hang me by my bound wrists from a hook in the ceiling and leave me there.
The pain is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
The screams that come out of me don’t sound human.
No amount of begging or pleading stops it.
The pain it causes in my broken arm is so intense it’s made me pass out twice.
Everything in me wants to fight back, but my body is so damaged and broken I don’t have the strength.
No matter what they do, the man in the expensive suit is always there, watching from a nearby laptop.
I try to stay strong. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower, scream, or beg.
I’m never able to accomplish it for long, but I always try.
Although resisting their torturous tactics is getting harder and harder with every passing minute.
While being locked in my cell provides relief from the torture, it’s also filled with nothing but agony and despair.
I can feel myself giving up.
I keep feeding them the same answers. I know what they want me to tell them, but I won’t give it to them. At least I haven’t yet. Whenever I feel close to breaking, I remember the sight of Danny and those men being shot. I refuse to change my story.
I know the second I give up that film, I’m dead. So, despite everything they do to me, I remain steadfast. I continue to tell them their comrades who ambushed us and killed Danny must have taken the film. When those same men, including Goliath, call me a liar, I call them liars right back.
I lick my dry, swollen, busted lips. I’d sell my soul to the devil for a drink of water.
The familiar scrape of the key in the lock makes my heart rate spike. Fear gives way to terror. They’re coming back for me.
This time, it’s only Golden Smile who’s come for me. I’m weak, my legs scarcely able to hold my own weight. I stumble and stagger beside him as he grips my good arm and leads me down the corridor and up the familiar stairs.
I’m confused when I’m taken to the same room where they brought me that first day. Two men are already inside, standing guard. I’m pushed into the chair, but this time it’s not violent, and that makes me suspicious.
The man in the suit looks out at me from the laptop on the table. “Leave us. I wish to speak to Ms. James privately.”
The men exit without question, closing the door behind them.
I’m braless, still in the thin t-shirt and pajamas I was wearing when I was taken. His cold, dark eyes roam over me in a way that makes me feel exposed and decidedly uneasy. Still, I sit silently. Waiting.
“I didn’t expect you to hold out this long. I must say, I admire your strength, Ms. James. You’ve earned my respect, something that is quite rare. I find myself impressed. For a woman, you’ve proven yourself a worthy opponent.”
Opponent? Is that how he justifies this?
As much as I want to tell him to go fuck himself, I keep my mouth shut. But I hope my eyes are relaying the message.
“I’ve decided to strike a bargain with you. Give me what I’m asking for, and you have my word I’ll protect you. If not…”
“You’ll kill me,” I finish for him in a raspy voice.
“No, Ms. James. Much worse,” he replies with a slight shake of his head. “I’ll sell you to the highest bidder. Someone with your looks and…stamina for pain will fetch a significant price.” He shows no guilt or remorse. He simply announces it like he’s telling me what he’s having for dinner.
The reality of what he’s saying hits me on a primal level. There isn’t a way for me to hide my reaction. Fear slithers up my spine, quick and sharp, flooding my bloodstream. My chest rises and falls with every shaky breath in and out of my lungs.
What he’s offering means losing any semblance of control. Annihilation of my free will. A life ensnared to someone else’s desires and whims.
Imprisoned.
No options.
No choices.
No escape.
The stakes are high. But I know with resolute clarity the evidence is too vital to give up. If I hand over the photos, he’ll either kill me or sell me anyway.
Even without the pictures, I can tell the story of what happened here. I can identify him. I can disclose what I saw him do. The only reason I’m still alive is because he needs my photos. Until then, I’m too dangerous to both him and the Consortium.
He won’t—can’t—release me.
Besides, what’s the promise of a deranged, murdering sex offender worth anyway?
His next words snap me out of my thoughts. “However, if you give me what I want, I’ll bring you into my household, where you’ll be under my protection.”
“Into your household. What does that mean?” I ask, my voice clogged with emotion. I’m terrified I already know the answer.
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes run over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “You’ll become my property.”
I jerk as if he struck me. My previous fear is nothing compared to this.
This isn’t fucking happening.
I understand what he’s proposing. It’s a no-win situation. Either I’m sold to the highest bidder, or I become the man in the suit’s sex slave. I need time to figure out an alternative, but I’m afraid it’s already too late.
I fight my emotions, trying to control my trembling voice. “May I think about it?”
“I must attend an important meeting. I’ll return in two days for your answer.” With that, the screen goes black.
I don’t move. My breath is unsteady. All I can do is sit, trembling, while a sinister sense of imminent peril engulfs me.
It isn’t long until Golden Smile opens the door. How he knows his boss is done with me, I don’t know. He slaps a strip of duct tape over my swollen mouth and puts the hood back over my head. I expect to be tortured again, but instead, I’m hastily taken back to my cell.
The door clangs shut, and I hear the padlock engage. This time the sound feels final.
I try to remove the hood, but it’s not just over my head, it’s cinched and tied tightly around my neck. The more I try to loosen the knot, the more frustrated and panicked I get. With only one hand, I’m unable to do it.
I can’t see through the thick hood. There’s nothing but blackness. A small hole between my nose and mouth lets in air, but it’s hot and I’m already sweating.
My breathing is amplified. Every inhale and exhale echoes in my ears. The air is stale, soaked with a rank smell, most of which I’m sure is from me. Claustrophobia creeps in. The hood feels like it’s smothering me. I have to force myself to calm down.
I’m consumed with overwhelming despair. Hopelessness blankets me. Hot tears fill my eyes, spilling over and rolling down my cheeks.
The only way to freedom is escape.
But how? There’s no way to breach the door.
It’s made of metal, sturdy and unyielding, and padlocked from the outside.
I’m not strong enough or in any physical condition to fight them.
They’re bigger, stronger, and outnumber me.
I’m weak and broken, making it impossible to overpower them, get away, or run.
I have no options. It’s time to accept that escape is impossible.
With that thought, I begin to cry in earnest. My sobs echoing and filling the corners of this desolate room.
I cry until I pass out from exhaustion.
When I wake, I’m not sure if it’s the next day or later the same day. The minutes crawl by. Since my conversation with the man in the suit, his goons have left me alone. While that means I haven’t been beaten or tortured since then, it also means I’ve had no food or water.
Although I’ve done it many times, I spend my time feeling around every inch of my cell in the darkness with a growing desperation.
Today, I find something tucked under the foot of the mattress.
It’s a rock. Or maybe a chunk of crumbled wall that recently broke loose.
It’s not very big, about the size of a baseball, but large enough to hurt if I get a lucky swing at someone’s head.
I hold it against my chest like a prize. I have a weapon.
Prior to his ultimatum, I began to wonder if the man in the suit might have started to believe me. I overheard him questioning his men why, after everything they’ve done to me, I still haven’t changed my story.
The men here enjoy torturing people. The man in the suit has had to stop them more than once, chastising them for being overzealous and losing control. He isn’t concerned about the way they brutalize me, only that they might kill me before he gets the information he wants.
His men want to kill me. They torture me with malicious glee. My plan is to give them a reason to do it.
It’s a suicide mission.
It’s not a great plan, and one I take no pleasure in making. But with no chance for escape, other options are nonexistent. It’s the only choice I have left.
A life of trying to survive unknown terrors, of being debased and abused, of being raped day after day, isn’t a life. It’s a nightmare. A slow, horrific death sentence. I’d rather go out quickly and on my own terms.
Lately, only Golden Smile, the most brutal of them, comes for me.
I imagine they’re only sending one thug because I’m so damaged they no longer see me as any kind of threat.
Despite his smaller stature, Golden Smile is strong, and that man has serious rage issues.
He’s got a hair-trigger temper, and the slightest thing sets him off.
More than once, I’ve seen him attack his fellow goons when they’ve said or done something he doesn’t like.
When he comes for me again, I’m going to attack him. My best chance is right after he takes me out of my cell. For this to work, I need to be on my feet.
I’ll fight back as long as I can and hope that, in the struggle, he loses control and kills me. I’m so broken it shouldn’t take much.
I’ll have the element of surprise on my side, and who knows, maybe I’ll get a few good hits in before it’s said and done. I might be weak and battered, I might be giving up, but I refuse to go down without a fight.
There are things worse than death. I cannot live the rest of my life as someone’s property. My future will not be as a sex slave.
Here, in this horrible place, is where it ends for me. Because I’d rather die than experience the alternative.