Chapter 74
The soft knock at the door makes me jump from the bed. It could be Cara or El Jefe, and both make me equally nervous because I don’t know what to expect.
She closes the door and moves closer, setting the food down on the bed.
I watch warily, unsure what to expect from this woman.
She looks too young to be pregnant, but perhaps her diminutive size doesn’t reveal her true age.
She is beautiful with bright brown eyes and a wide mouth.
A nondescript, shapeless dress covers her pregnant belly.
She turns back to me, and her smile puts me at ease. “Hello, I’m Cara. I brought you food.”
She sits on the bed and rests her hand on her stomach, smiling at me.
As if I’m not in some stranger’s house, who kidnapped me.
As if she’s not sitting on a bed with shackles embedded in the wood.
Over the last six hours, I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I will become some sort of sex slave, and she’s sitting waiting for me to sit down and eat food.
The hesitation must show on my face because she points to the food. “It is safe to eat. Savannah cooked today. She is the best cook of all of us.” She tilts her head down when she talks, and I immediately understand why. She does it to avoid the camera catching her words or reading her lips.
Her earnest expression eases something inside me. Everything else is bizarre, but her demeanor comforts me a little, and I slowly move to the bed. She lifts the tray, waiting for me to sit. Once I’m down, she rests the tray gently on my lap and waits expectantly.
I pick up the fork, looking down at the simple white plate filled with mashed potatoes and some baked chicken.
I lift the fork, scooping up some of the mashed potatoes.
They are hot and salty. That’s about it.
My stomach rumbles as I continue to eat.
I test the chicken. It’s perfectly cooked, but like the potatoes, it’s only seasoned with salt.
It’s filling and I don’t complain. Kidnapped girls can’t be choosy.
Cara leans toward me once I’m almost finished, her soft voice whispering, “It could use seasoning if you ask me, but El Jefe doesn’t want to taste flavors in our mouths when he kisses. He also doesn’t like us to leave food residue on his penis.”
I choke on my last bite, coughing. Cara picks up the glass of water and hands it to me. I quickly slurp down the tepid water. I set it down and stare at her in disbelief. “W-what?” I stammer.
Before she can answer me, there are three knocks on the door. Cara’s face blanches. She’s as white as the walls. She quickly gets up and picks up my tray, moving to the wall. Her head is bowed, and the glass shakes, water sloshing on the tray.
Frowning, I’m about to ask what’s wrong when the door opens and a gorgeous man walks in.
I take him in. He’s slender, somewhat muscular.
Dark black hair and bright blue eyes meet mine.
He’s very urbane. Polished. It’s shocking to see him wearing a full three-piece suit and shiny black loafers.
The suit is bespoke. I recognize the craftsmanship.
Jace and Father have their suits made just for them.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
It wasn’t this tall, good-looking man dressed as if he were ready to conduct a board meeting.
I guess I thought this El Jefe would come in dressed in dark clothing, dripping with blood.
I expected a grotesque face and body. He looks me over, and I feel my blood chill.
Despite his handsome face, there is something evil about him.
And after what Cara told me, he is grotesque. He’s a monster dressed in a suit.
His voice is soft and higher than I’m anticipating. I stand up, refusing to show fear. Not one hair is out of place, and he’s very clean, almost too clean. Unlike the group of men I’ve been around since I got here, he smells expensive. Rich.
He looks at my face. The part of my face that still feels puffy from the blow I got earlier.
“Who did that?”
I touch the swollen knot above my temple. “The bastards you sent to take me. They aren’t exactly gentle.”
His eyes narrow, and I catch his expression. He’s angry. “That will be remedied.”
He lifts a hand and touches my face, the barest hint of his fingertips. His hands are soft and sweaty. I turn my face away, and he laughs. It’s cruel, mocking.
“Ahh. You will learn to like my touch.”
I frown at him. “I won’t like a fucking thing about you. Who are you? What am I doing here?” I start to raise my voice, and he frowns.
“I don’t like a woman who speaks that way.”
“Yeah? Tough shit.”
I don’t expect the pain. It comes as a surprise when he grips my jaw and squeezes, bringing me closer to him.
My jaw bones feel like they’re going to snap.
He forces me to my knees, and I grab at his wrists, trying to remove his hand, but he continues to squeeze, and tears leak out of my eyes. The pain is blinding.
He looks down at me, his face twisted in a malicious sneer. “You will learn manners. I won’t tolerate your disobedience.” He removes his finger from my jaw, and I slump back against the bed. This time, I don’t respond.
“Who are you?” I whisper, standing, facing him.
He takes out a handkerchief from his inner pocket and mops his face, frowning at the cloth. He smooths his hair back. “Your man stole from me, so I returned the slight and took from him. I will enjoy defiling you and returning you to him broken, and battered, perhaps even filled with my bastard.”
“What man, you sick asshole! I don’t have a man!
” Even if Stone comes to mind. My head jerks when he slaps me.
Crying out, I hold my cheek; the throbbing it left behind leaves me groaning in pain.
My hair is ripped back, and he pulls me closer, getting right into my face.
His warm breath fans my face. He smells like oranges.
He drags his slimy tongue up my cheek, and when he laughs.
I want to vomit at the slimy feel of his saliva on my skin.
“I told you about your mouth, and you’re a lying whore.
I know all about you Camryn Whitter. Park.
” My eyes widen as I realize he knows my real name.
“You think you can hide. My men are everywhere. I bet your father would pay a lot of money to get you back. Or your brother. You are worth a great deal of money, my dear. Maybe I’ll ransom you.
Just for fun. I don’t need their money, but I’ll enjoy taunting them.
Then when I get the money and they think you’re safe, I’ll send your rotting body back to your family and your man once I’ve had my fill. ”
Fear paralyzes me at his words. I don’t hear hesitation, but certainty.
Whoever this man is, he is serious. I try to pull away, but the grip on my hair tightens.
I feel his hands travel down between my breasts, between my legs, and he grabs me cruelly.
He releases me, and I sink to the bed. My knees feel weak, and my skin crawls from his touch.
He straightens his suit and turns to Cara. I forgot she was even there.
“I want her bathed. She stinks of his smell. I want his cum washed off.”
With that, he leaves, opening the door and walking out. I wipe his spit off my skin with my sleeve, simultaneously grossed out and terrified.
Cara leaves the wall, and I slump on the bed, shaking. She sets down the tray on the floor. “We need to hurry. He won’t want to be kept waiting.”
I look at her, tears coming down my face. Frustrated, I dash them away, hating that this bastard is making me feel so helpless.
She goes back to pick up the basket and takes out a towel, a washcloth, soap, and a razor. I stare at them, confused.
“Do you need help undressing?” Her voice is urgent.
“Undressing?”
“Please. You must hurry. You made him angry. He will beat you and then me.”
Her words bring me up short. “Beat you? Why would he hurt you?”
She shakes her head and mumbles under her breath. “Please.”
I want to refuse and stay clothed, despite what that asshole says, but her fear hits me in the chest. She’s so young, and she’s pregnant. “How far along are you?”
“I am close. Almost 38 weeks.” She walks to the sink, her long shapeless dress moving stiffly.
“Is the father of your baby here? With you?”
She turns from the steaming water, seemingly unfazed by the temperature. “He is here.”
“Is he one of the men?”
She washes the washcloth and returns, spreading out the towel. She pulls out the razor and the shaving cream. “No. El Jefe is the father.”
My eyes bug out. “That monster is the father of your baby?” My stomach revolts at the idea of that man fathering a child.
“Shhh. He is watching.” Her lips move like a ventriloquist. She motions slightly with her chin to the cameras. I ignore her precaution and ask, needing to confirm what I think. Her face is too young. She’s too young. “How old are you?”
“I am 15.”
“Jesus.” I cover my mouth with my hand.
“How long have you been here?”
“Five years.”
I gasp. “You were 10?”
“Yes. I was 10 when they took me, but I am lucky. I only belong to El Jefe. The other men do not use me.”
She was 10 years old when that bastard first raped her. Swallowing back down the food that is threatening to come back up, I continue. “How many children have you had?”
She looks sad then. “Three. This is my fourth baby. One died, but the other two are healthy.”
I close my eyes. It just keeps getting worse. “Where are they?”
“I do not know. Some of the other girls say they were sold.”
“How many other girls are here?”
“There are 11 of us. Now there are 12 with you.”
“Are my friends here? The women I came with?”
“You mean the woman with the curly black hair? And the blonde?”
I nod, frantic for news.
“They are not here anymore. They have gone to other men. They will belong to them.”
I start to shake. Jacinda and Kamilah are gone. Oh God. “Where have they gone?”