We are their prisoners.
* * *
My eyes flutter open in a haze. I’ve been drugged. I can still feel the effects of the injection humming through my body.
I rub the back of my spine where the needle pierced my skin. That was after they dressed us, did our hair, and made us playthings.
But for who?
I’m dressed in a thin pale pink negligee, and I wrap my arms instinctively around myself. The clothes are see-through and leave little to the imagination.
I wear nothing underneath and sit up.
The room is dark except for the tiny light overhead.
I’m on display.
But for who?
Through my foggy gaze, I spot another girl being harassed by a man in a suit. He’s forcing her to sit on his lap, and his fingers run through her bright red hair.
My stomach flops. I stand. I can’t watch this anymore and not do something.
As soon as I stand, my legs give out from under me. The plush velvet of the booth I’ve been situated in cushions my fall. It’s not the same location where I’d been held at gunpoint.
My fingers graze over the collar. It’s still there.
Why did I think it would be gone?
I cringe as I stand again, determined to protect the other girls. The truth is that I need just as much protection and saving. Won’t Papa come and rescue me?
The spots before my eyes fade, and I pull my legs up beside me in the velvet booth.
Men are filtering into the darkened room. It’s hard to see them, but my eyes are adjusting to the darkness. Or maybe whatever they’d given me is beginning to wear off.
I seehimbefore I even realize I’m trying to stand. I want to gesture him over to help me, save me, and protect me. But then I realize he’s just like the rest of them.
Shame envelops me and burns right through my core. Daniel. He works for the Ricci Family. It’s the only assumption that I can make, and that’s why I’m here as a prisoner.
From my seat, I watch the confrontation between Daniel and his men. I can’t hear the words exchanged, but they look heated. They also have a gun pointed at him.
It seems he’s pissed off some important people.
I feel less bad about stealing his truck now that I know he works for a monster: Dante Ricci.
Shouts and shoves, heated words are tossed back and forth between the men.
Daniel really pissed someone off. I sigh, trying to watch the heated argument, when Rafael heads over toward me.
Is he my saving grace?
“Rafael?” He works for Papa. He must be here to save me.
“Zip it,” Rafael commands. “Your father will be here soon, and he’s already disappointed in you. Don’t disappoint him further.”
What?
He turns on his heel and grabs a drink off a waitress that’s coming around with shots of something. I wish I could have one, dull the pain and go back to that hazy state that I was in earlier.