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“Don’t try anything,” Juan’s low growl against my ear sends fear racing down my spine. “Remember what happened last time you fucked up, whore.”
Still nursing a black eye, split lip, and a body covered in bruises from my last beating, every step I take sends pain coursing through my tired body. This time, rather than send me to the warehouse to tend to the girls, my father is having them brought to the mansion. He’s certainly remained true on his promise of not allowing me to leave under any circumstances.
Another girl is carried into my bedroom by Diego, and dropped onto my bed where she bounces a few times before coming to rest. My eyes immediately go to the fingerprint bruises scattered across her thighs and hips.
“Ten minutes and I’ll bring the next one in,” he says before storming out of my bedroom as though he’s on a mission.
I could spend ten hours with each girl Diego brings in, and it still wouldn’t be enough time to repair the damage they’ve done.
The past few days have been fraught with anxiety. Something is going on within the compound. About a month ago, I overheard the men talking about a murdered cartel member and a package my father received. Inside was a necklace belonging to the dead man, along with some kind of warning that set the entire cartel on edge.
Then, two days ago, while I was preparing dinner, the mansion’s alarms went off. Juan grabbed me by my already bruised arm and slammed a hand over my mouth, warning me to remain silent as he dragged me through the kitchen and downinto the wine cellar in the basement. There, I was shoved into a narrow crawl space beneath the floorboards and threatened with death if I uttered a single sound.
Footsteps pounded the house, and hurried down into the cellar. Flashlights moved across the floor, and with my hands clamped firmly over my mouth, I watched, unblinking, as a team of police officers searched the cellar. I’m not stupid enough to believe they were looking for me, or that they’d find anything remotely untoward in the house. Even if I was found, I’d be handed back to my father immediately, the same way my mom was on the rare occasions she gathered up the courage to ask for help.
My father has always had police officers and federal agents on his payroll, so I held out no hope that freedom had finally found me.
“They won’t come back here for a while,” my father had said later that night. “Move the product. Half here, half at the depot. Let our informants know.”
As the days pass by, hollow and devoid of hope, I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to tolerate this life before I put an end to my own pain and suffering, or before someone else does it for me.
“Help…” the broken voice murmurs from my bed.
I dunk the washcloth into a tub of warm, soapy water and begin the heart-breaking task of cleaning yet another ruined girl.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispers from between split lips. “Just…” She sucks in a breath and curls into a ball. “Get away from me.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.I don’t say those words out loud, I merely repeat them over and over inside my head. A mantra I will carry with me until my dying breath.Sorry for doing this. Sorry for being his daughter. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Empty promises mean nothing to these girls, and getting to know them is out of the question. Giving them hope only to have it ripped away would add to the pain they already suffer each and every day. I don’t want to be responsible for their next beating, so my only option is to tend to their wounds and send them back to the monsters who call themselves men.
My mother’s voice floats through my mind, a soft, gentle whisper that carries with it a lullaby she’d hum to me when I was sick or afraid. As I hum the tune, I continue to smooth the washcloth over the pale, bruised flesh of the young girl. For a brief moment, her eyes meet mine and it’s in them that I see the truth.
We’re not so different, her and I. Both caught in the spider’s web, trapped with no escape, waiting for the moment we’re devoured… by demons, by men, by hopelessness. It’s all the same now.
We’re bound for inevitable destruction.
Haunted by the regrets of our pasts.
Betrayed by the beauty of our bodies.
We’re sacrificed for their pleasure, and they feast... leaving us washed in blood and silenced by sin.
A loud crash is followed by gunshots, then shouting and pounding footsteps. Panicking, I throw a blanket over the naked girl and pull her to her feet. She stumbles and her knees hit the floor. “Please, please, please get up, you have to walk.”
Eyes darting between the bedroom door and my walk-in closet, I attempt to remain calm. I don’t know what’s happening or who’s coming, but we need to hide.Now.
Hefting the girl to her feet, I wrap an arm around her waist and slowly but surely lead her to the closet. Once I’m situated, I shove my dresses out of the way and press my hand to the small door that leads into a safe room. As a child, I used to hide in here when my father was on the rampage. Of course,he’d always drag me out kicking and screaming, but those few moments of respite while his temper cooled likely saved my life.
The door opens with a soft snick and I kneel down, urging the girl to go ahead of me. She shakes her head, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. “No, no, no, don’t put me in there, please don’t.”
“It’s safe, I promise,” I say, reaching in to flick on the light switch. “Please, you can trust me.”
With a shuddering sigh, she finally relents and climbs through the small opening. I follow her in and pull the door closed behind us, locking it for good measure.
With her back pressed to the wall and the soft, fur blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she stares at me, eyes searching mine. “This is your house?” She pulls the blanket tight around her shoulders. “You live here.” Her tone is accusatory, but her voice remains quiet.
Swallowing down the lump lodged in my throat, I nod. “Yes… but I’m—”
