1
The fogginess diminishes, draining out of me.
My head drops to the side as my eyes spasm to open, searching for Charlie. It’s a misty visual at first, until I see glimmers of shapes in the darkness surrounding me, the outline of a couch and a side table against the farthest wall. It’s so quiet all I can hear are my melodic breaths. Too quiet.
A tall, slender figure clothed in white drifts past in the shadows, a nurse, most likely. I must still be in the hospital.
Where is Charlie? I can’t sense him, smell him, or feel his warmth. In fact, I’m so cold my teeth chatter. From above, a cool gust blows over my naked stomach and chest, followed by a marathon of pimples, and a shiver rips through my body. I huddle over on my side to get warm, scratching itchy spots on my inner elbows. My calf muscles convulse and cramp, enough to make me wince. That’s when I feel the surface beneath my body is springy and lumpy, and the rough material chafes my skin. Odd. The bed I dozed off in didn’t feel like this, and I had a blanket. I wasn’t cold.
Flashes of orange illuminate my sight, followed by a flicking sound, like a cigarette lighter. A heated, vinegary scent floods the air, so toxic my breath hitches on every inhale.
What the hell is that?
Footsteps thump toward me, piquing my attention, and someone shoves my shoulder to turn me over on my back. I moan with discomfort radiating all over, tangled in my long, messy hair. I reach out for security, trembling with weakness, and it’s then I notice something is very wrong. I don’t feel right. I feel...missing and out of touch. Fuzzy. I can’t really remember anything.
“Can you hear me, girl?” says a woman with a husky, Arabic accent. I don’t recognize her voice.
I lift my eyes to find she’s standing there in floaty white clothes, blurry in my line of vision. The nurse...she must be the nurse. She’s holding something in her hand. It’s thin and long with a sharp, needle end. A syringe, I think. She flicks it with her finger, tapping it with her nail. I squint to study her face, but I can’t make out any features.
No. This isn’t right.
“Charlie?” I whisper for him, but break in to coughs. I curl over on the mattress, choking so hard my eyes bulge and stream with tears.
I hear no reply from Charlie. He must not be here.
Before I explode with panic, I try to remind myself everything is okay, that I must remain calm. Charlie won’t be far. He promised he’d be there while I had the operation, and he promised he’d be there when I wake up. Light in the darkness, he is. Every scar on my back has led up to him, and now, they really do remind me of how strong I am, not how strong I have to be.
No. He won’t be far.
“Why were you sick?” an Arabic accented man speaks this time, when I’m done coughing. His voice is lacy but raspy, a gargle in his words.
I don’t recognize him, either.
“Why were you sick?” he repeats. “The man we took you from said you were in the hospital. He said you still needed medical attention.”
I don’t answer him as I’m not supposed to speak without permission. I just lie here playing a mantra in my head, Charlie needs to come back now. Charlie needs to come back now.
“The scar,” the woman whispers, stroking the edge of my tummy, making it quiver. “Here, take this and dose her up. If she is ill, she’ll show signs soon enough.”
I briefly wonder why they aren’t aware of my afflictions if they are medical professionals, but my arm is yanked out. A rubbery length of material wraps around my bicep and pulls tight, restricting the blood flow. I hiss through gritted teeth as a spot on my inner elbow pinches, but then heat blasts through my vein, a rush—a power like no other, and it carries my soul from my body.
I breathe out in slow motion. My arms fall slack at my sides, and my legs go numb and tingly before I lose all the feeling.
A hand taps my face, gently knocking my head from side to side. I don’t react, practically drooling from the high. I lie staring into oblivion, ecstasy dancing over my senses. It’s like the mattress is hugging me with magic. It goes on for so long that I’m not sure if I ever want to leave this place, as nothing hurts here. I don’t need to care about anything here. Until the euphoric rush begins to wear off, and I’m left feeling cold and restless.
I embrace myself, nestling in my hair to keep warm, but the chill lingers deep in my bones. It doesn’t last long, though. The Arabs stab spots on my body like they’re making artwork of me; my ankles, thighs, wrists, inner elbows, and my neck. Every time, it propels me to a place of ignorant bliss. It leaves me numb to the world. I vaguely register moments of food being crammed in my mouth or cool water being squirted in my face, but I’m too fucked up to care. I’m too fucked up to eat or drink.
At some point, I’m plucked off the lumpy mattress and shoved to sit against a wall. A length of material is strapped across my forehead, holding me prisoner, and a tube is shoved down my nose. It rubs the back of my throat, and I heave from the pit of my stomach. My floppy hands flick out to stop whoever is doing this, but my fight is languid and sloppy.
“You need to eat, girl,” the Arabic man says near my face, causing the heat of his breath to beat against my cheeks. “You can’t exist on drugs alone.”
Drugs?
A sharp bleep goes off and a low humming fills the room. My stomach bloats, filling with fluids, and I projectile vomit. It splutters everywhere, covering my arms and my naked lap. It burns my sensitive skin.
“That is enough milk,” the Arabic woman says, followed by another bleep.
The low humming sound vanishes, and the tube is pulled out. It tugs at my tummy, slipping up out of my throat. I gasp for breath, gagging on the acidic taste of vomit. “What...what are you doing...to me?”
“Just a little hit this time,” one of them whispers, and my senses narrow. My heavy eyes whizz about for whoever promised another hit. They mean the ecstasy. I’m sure of it.
I want the ecstasy. I want to be lost again. I don’t like this dream.
Elastic fastens around my inner elbow and the skin there scratches, causing me to hiss in reaction. But I don’t scream or resist. I let the euphoria take me.
The strap is removed from my head, and I go lax against the wall like a corpse, slouched there indulging in the stimulating, floaty sensation. The ground hugs me, and I think I smile. The magic strums at my senses, and I think I laugh. In all my life, I’ve never felt so free. I can’t remember anyone or anything. No pain. Only pleasure. Especially when grabby hands knead my body, my waist and my hips. A rough mouth nips at my collarbone and licks up the beating vein in my neck.
Hmmm, Charlie.
My core tingles, and I ache between my legs for his mouth. I ache for the sensation of his smooth face on mine, his kisses and his voice in my ear, whispering, “I love you, Blaire.”
“You want dick,” that mouth purrs in my ear. His breath tickles, and I feel so fucking high I could fly.
“Charlie...hmmm, Charlie...”
Knees nudge my thighs open, and my legs are so slack they just fall apart. Heavy weight presses me into the ground, crushing me. Something fat and long smears up my inner thigh, to rub against my groin. My body grinds back, seeking out my lover.
But he smells weird. He smells...musty.
Charlie doesn’t smell like this.
“You like that, don’t you? You want it hard, you little whore?”
Whore?
I digest that Charlie would never call me a whore, and my eyes flutter to open.
The damp head of a cock rubs my private lips. I clamp my legs shut, but he’s wedged between them.
“No one but me is allowed to touch you, My Little Pet.”
“Blaire, I want you...I want you to come and live with me in Mexico. I want to be with you.”
My mind twitches, Maksim’s orders and Charlie’s promises of love flicking on my black switch. The essence of it charges in my core, emanating outward with fierce power.
“Open up and let me in, whore.”
“No! Get...off...me...!” I barely manage to scream. Tensing from within, I battle to shove at the man’s chest but I’m so weak. “Get...! Off...!”
“Stop!” a woman screeches, her voice so sharp it makes my skull throb.
The weight on top of me jumps off, and I turn over, grumbling for strength to crawl away. A hefty smash hits a wall in the room, and I flinch, screwing my eyes shut. I would get up and deal with them both but I can’t. I physically can’t. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.
“I told you not to touch her!” the woman cries, spitting a bluster of foreign curses. “She diminishes in value if she’s not pure! If we get caught, and she’s been raped, you know what will happen, ya kalb!”
They detonate in a ruckus of shouting, with more smashing and doors slamming. I paddle to all fours, fighting to crawl away. Charlie. I need to get to Charlie. Though, I can hardly move. My body is so heavy it feels like it’s made of steel.
Another door crashes open but before I can get away, sharp nails grab at my feet and yank my limbs out from under me. My head smashes on a hard surface, and the impact knocks me sideways. Everything swirls, shifting out of focus.
“Get her cleaned up, now!” the woman shouts in an echo of words, heaving my half-conscious body across the gritty, dirty floor. “We need to leave! People are waiting!”
Leave? Leave to go where?
———
“As you can see, the item isn’t fit for arousal,” the Arabic man says in the vapor of my mind. “She is scarred all over, though certified pure by my medical professional.”
I stumble around on unsteady feet, heels arched higher than my toes like I’m wearing stilettos or something. My body is draped in a lightweight cloak made of silk, hair combed down my sides. I can smell the noxious stench of bleach; feel the heat of beaming lights all around. Reality is warped. I try to focus on the cloudy white lights for a sense of stability, but they’re too bright. They make my eyes sting.
“Show them what’s on offer”—a sharp nailed hand clamps down on my jaw, turning my head from side to side—“see for yourself, ladies and gentlemen, she is a pretty girl.”
When the hand lets me go, I stagger back a step, groaning under exhaustion. I cannot be bothered with this, whatever this is, or wherever I am. I just want to lie back and slumber in my own architect of nirvana. The last rush they forced me to endure was different. It was more...indolent. There hasn’t been any ecstasy. I want the ecstasy—or I want Charlie.
Where is he?
“If you enjoy sadism,” the Arabic woman appears, her voice circling me as she speaks, “I guess she could be of use, and knowing you are the only person to have ever played with her could be appealing.”
“You are all most likely wondering why she is on sale, no?” the Arabic man’s voice shadows the woman’s. “So, let me explain who this girl is. Her name is Blaire-Markov.”
“I knew it!” a Hispanic-accented lady shouts from across the room.
Deep gasps fill the distance, too, as chairs scrape against the stone floors. It’s too many noises. Men begin yelling in a gust of foreign profanities, warning they’ve made a big mistake. The Hispanic lady disagrees. She thinks this is justified punishment.
I can’t keep up, too hazy to understand. I tumble to my knees and my palms smack the smooth stone floors, ringing with pain. I don’t move. I count down the seconds, hoping that by the time I get to ten they’ll leave me alone, and let me rest in peaceful silence.
“Ensure our departing guests checkout with no issues, will you?”
“Idiota,” someone snorts, and I catalogue people are leaving.
“We should stop the auction,” the Arabic woman insists, but the man shushes her, promising it’s payout day.
Payout day?
I’m desperate to figure out what’s happening, but my head starts to spin. It gets faster, and faster, and faster, until I collapse. I tumble over on my ass and lie there in an incoherent whirl, legs splayed out. My hands rest on my chest where my heart beats low and measured, and the dark ceiling churns in slow motion, twitching to keep going.
Focus, Blaire, I beg myself, but I still don’t know where I am or what I’m doing here. The last real thing I remember, I killed Maksim, and then Charlie was telling me to close my eyes and think of something nice. He said he loved me. I was having an operation. We were going to be happy once I woke up. But now, every time I wake up, it’s to this crack-head sensation and extreme loss of reality.
“Credible hacker and martial arts trained fighter,” the Arabic man pitches his sale, “as you all may know, Blaire-Markov is virtually priceless to any government body. But this is the black-market, people; everything has a price.”
“You’re selling the boy, also?” the Hispanic lady asks.
“The boy comes as a freebie,” the Arabic woman says, walking past my head in her clinking heels. “He’s a necessity to keeping this girl in check, for if you don’t, she will end you.”
The boy...the boy... A young boy? Or are they speaking disrespectfully about someone? Charlie does that. He calls James a boy.
Tears prick my eyes while a spot in my chest constricts with emotional agony.
Where is Charlie?
“Before the auction begins, I must offer full disclosure.” The Arabic man laughs, and for some reason, I imagine he’s rubbing his sweaty hands together. “The leader of the Los Zetas claims this girl is his—he’s been searching for her for three weeks now, and with brutal force—so you will also need the boy as collateral to ensure she keeps your identity a secret, unless you want the Los Zetas hot on your ass.”
A kafuffle of voices dominate the room again, swearing they’re having no part in this.
“He will rape our daughters in front of us for this!”
“He made a public warning!”
“The bidding starts at one million sterling!” the Arabic man calls regardless of the warnings. “Ignore the eccentrics. Charlie Decena has no idea where she is or who took her—and he certainly won’t know who buys her—so no one is going to rape your daughters.”
Charlie Decena?
I register they’re talking about Charlie, and worst of all, James. They’re saying they need to use James to control me.
“No!” I scream—or groan, rolling over on my front. I don’t even know what’s processing in my mind, but it’s the most intense sentiment. I will myself to get up and fight. I press into the ground, but my elbows buckle, and I whack my head. “Not James! Pwease!” My words come out slurred as I reach, clawing to get to them. “Pwease, not James!”
“Subdue her, now!”
Heels clink across the floors, rushing in my direction, and then I’m crushed into the ground with a knee between my shoulder blades. From behind, scrawny hands wrestle to get me under control as my arms fly about in a pathetic attempt of battle.
“I-I’ll kill you!” I stutter to warn. “You...you know I will!”
She grunts while shackling her fingers around my wrists and yanks out, pushing me face down, so I’m spread out like a starfish. There is no flickering lighter, and there is no heated, vinegary scent. A ready needle scratches the skin on my inner elbow as it has a hundred times before, and my every sense blasts with elation fueled heat.
“Pwease, I-I’m begging you!” I cry, eyes rolling to the back of my skull. “Not...not James...anyone but him...”
“Just be quiet, girl,” the woman bends to say in my ear, “be quiet, and everything will be okay. Your new master is paying top dollar for you, so everything will be okay.”