I held his stare, doing my best not to panic or struggle.
He smirked, leaning into me to whisper in my ear. At least he had the decency to keep diabolical plans for adult ears only. “Listen up, Olin Moss. And yes, I know who you are. I know about you and Gil at high-school. I know about your failed dancing. I know everything there is to know about your pathetic little life.”
His fingers relaxed a little, granting a much-needed gush of air. His nose tickled my throat as he dragged his lips along my painted skin. “You want to know what’s going to happen? I’ll tell you. We’re about to hit the road. I’ve had a long day. I wanted to sleep before we began our long journey, but you’re just so eager to get started that I’ll be a good host and do what you want.”
His sour breath sent goosebumps all over me. He angled my head toward Olive, his thumb pressing hard on my pulse. “And that little girl is going to come for the ride. We’re heading to Italy. There’s a market there in a few weeks. A market for men who want exclusive, pretty things. That gives me plenty of time to train you up for whoever is stupid enough to buy you. And it gives you time to stare at that cute kid and know what her fate will be. Every time she plays, you’ll know that in a few short days she’ll belong to some man who will pay a fortune to fuck a child. You’ll know that her time of innocence and freedom is ticking away, hour by hour, and there is nothing, nothing you can do about it.”
Bringing his lips to mine, he forced words into my mouth even as I struggled to get away. “You’ll do your best not to get attached to her. You’ll try to save her. To be her friend. To promise her you’ll both get free. But you can’t stop what’s going to happen. You’ll hope that each day will bring rescue, and each day it won’t happen. That’s what will kill you. Not the fact that this rope will never leave your wrists. Not the fact that you’ll be chained to this caravan until your new master takes control. Not the fact that I will fuck you daily until some other bastard pays for the privilege.”
He kissed me harshly, pulling away with a feral gleam in his eyes. “The thing that will kill you, Olin Moss, is hope. Idiotic hope that this is all a crazy mistake and will be over soon.”
Letting me go, he stepped out from the bench seat and towered over me. “Do you know what I loved about letting dehydration and exposure kill those painted girls?” He sighed with contentment. “I never got my hands dirty—apart from the last one—but the thrill was just the same as if I’d been the one to snuff out their lives.”
I couldn’t unlock my jaw to be human and speak words. If I opened my mouth now, I’d snarl and spit and howl like a trapped animal that held nothing but loathing for its captor.
“It was the anticipation. The journey of watching them fight; their eyes bright with hope and expectation of being found in time. Then slowly, minute by minute, that hope vanished all while their bodies gave out.”
Olive bit her bottom lip, acting as if she couldn’t hear her uncle talk about murder.
He clapped his hands. “Olive. What time is it?”
Olive leaped to her feet, scurried around him, and bolted to the bunk beds at the other end of the caravan. In a flash, she dove beneath covers with pink ponies on them and stared back at us with big, grey eyes. The obedience and quickness in which she moved broke something inside me. She didn’t smile or seek reward for her good behaviour. She didn’t obey him out of respect.
Just fear.
“Bedtime, Uncle Jeffrey.”
He beamed like a proud gorilla. “Good girl. You stay there until I come get you.”
Snatching me, Jeffrey unlocked the caravan door and hauled me from the couch. His fingers wrapped around the rope on my wrists.
Light-headedness made me sway while I blinked back residual drugs.
“We’re going for some private time.”
Stark fear clogged my veins. “No.”
He didn’t reply, just dragged me down the caravan steps and into the chilly awning. His yellow teeth glistened in the hanging lantern by the boxes of belongings. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pressed himself against me, rolling his hips into mine, revealing the horrid hardness in his dirty jeans. “Time to learn what my nephew saw in you.”
“Take your fucking hands off me.” I squirmed and tried to knee him in the balls, but his hold was too tight. My wrists burned as I fought to get free. My heart raced faster than it ever had before.
Jeffrey let me wriggle, unfazed and gloating, knowing he’d won. “Let’s see why he never got over you, shall we?” Throwing me onto the threadbare couch, he cupped my jaw and held me down. His knee landed on my belly, pinning me onto my back. “I’m telling you now, I’m more experienced than my nephew. I also have different needs.” His rancid lips landed on mine. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”
I bit his bottom lip, spitting onto the floor as metallic copper hinted I’d broken his skin.
I braced for a fist or retaliation. However, he just chuckled as if my rage was mere melodramatics. His hand landed on my naked, painted breast and squeezed so hard white light exploded behind my eyes.
I gasped and bucked, trying to run from the painful whip of hot agony.
He stopped.
He shoved my arms up and looped my roped wrists around a hook holding the metal framework of the awning.
My shoulders screamed for release.
My soul bellowed for salvation.
Jeffrey climbed off me and pulled the gun he’d shot Gil with from his waistband. He stroked it as if it were alive and a very good friend of his. “I didn’t like guns before tonight, did you know that?” He placed the heavy weapon onto the chipped coffee table reverently. “I’m more of a fist and blade kinda guy.” He smiled. “That’s changed. I’d rather enjoy another excuse to use it, so by all means, fight. I’m sure whoever bids on you won’t mind an extra hole somewhere on your body.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Maybe.” He unbuckled his trousers, his belt buckle dangling as he winked. “Deranged or not...you’re mine now. And I’m ready to play.”
Chapter Seven
______________________________
Gil
I’D WITNESSED MANY things children shouldn’t see.
Things any person—young or old—shouldn’t see.
I’d watched men beat whores. I’d heard whores scream behind walls. I’d lived in hell where the devil constantly drank and slurred and punched his only son.
I’d dealt with all of it.
I’d blocked out what I couldn’t process and focused on a future that he could never touch.
Before Tallup put her claws in me, before I lost O, before Olive was stolen, I still believed in hope.
But now, I didn’t have much left.
My boots crunched and tripped as I followed the flashing dot on my cell phone. My vision faded around the edges, my breath shallow, my blood decorating the forest floor like a cookie crumb trail back to freedom.
The pain had become unbearable.
The urge to drop to the ground and die a sinister whisper in my veins.
Keep fighting.
I texted Justin, willing my fingers to move over the tiny screen.