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And she did. Swollen cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and the thick waft of hair covering one of them would distort me, blurring me as I sat next to her.
“Remington Cole...” It sounded nothing like my name—nothing like words. Blood dripped from her mouth, dripping onto the sheet of paper as she quickly penned another message.
I was at your show.
“You were?” I searched my thoughts, trying to remember her. Too many girls were at my shows. Lots of them ended up in places like this—places that altered and ruined their pretty faces.
I drew a blank.
Years ago.
“I would think so. I haven’t sung for a crowd in eight years.”
Her next note didn’t ask why. It asked something worse, churning every sick feeling inside me.
My sister wore a silver dress. You told her she looked nice.
Do you remember her?
You probably don’t.
That wasn’t true. I did remember her. My shows were sellouts. So crazy busy that I often had headaches and needed a vacation from people afterward. I never remembered anyone...except one pretty redhead—her sister.
“I told her she looked sexy.” I nodded.
A flash of life flickered in the woman’s eye, and it shot into my head, implanting a thousand painful memories of Cat in my mind, each one making me twitch. I couldn’t shrug them off.
“Pretty redhead in the sexy dress.”
You remember her?
My head bobbed, and I swallowed so many emotions that I choked on them and had to clear my throat.
Daniel couldn’t get her on the bus. He said she’d be coming later. I tried to get off. I wanted to get off. I thought she’d panic without me.
He said she was with you.
She never showed up. She never got taken to where we did, for men to use and break us.
More blood dripped on the paper, a tear, too, and she brushed both away, smearing her painful words. She turned the fully used page, needing more room to write.
I was so scared for Cat. Where is she? What happened to her?
I couldn’t say.
The weight of bad memories tipped my head forward, and my knees came up for me to hide the story written on my face.
Using the notepad to do it, she—Rhylie—nudged me, and then she tossed the newest message into my lap, conveniently hitting me in the cock, just like she probably wanted to, and then, she shifted back. I let my eyes scan the words I didn’t need to read because I knew what she’d ask.
He called you and called you, but you didn’t come. And then we had to go. And she wasn’t there. I begged him not to go back for her. I said I’d do anything. But it wasn’t enough.
Some others and I were loaded into a truck, seven of us crammed in a crate.
They huddled together, but I couldn’t be touched after what happened to me. So, I stayed on my own, facing the corner, cringing when one of them brushed me with their naked skin, and I prayed for my sister.
I prayed that if she were with you, she’d be safe. Because she liked you, and it seemed like you liked her, too.
Was she safe?
