Francesca storms into the room, appearing frazzled with her wild hair and eyes. Her dress is ripped at the collar, and I wonder just what kind of tantrum Rocco was throwing.
“Get in the beauty room. Now.”
Her abrasive footsteps carry her right back out of the room. I scramble from the bed, rubbing my dry eyes while I hurry after her. Rio clipped my broken nails and cleaned them up for me, but I still feel broken. Every step is a reminder of what happened in that room, and my stomach turns as I draw closer. It takes all my strength to focus on the lineup of girls and not the spot where I lost my mind.
None of them catch my eye. Except for Sydney.
Her bottom lip is fitted snugly beneath her crooked front teeth as she bites back a grin. She finds this funny, and I decide that Sydney-I do hate.
Ignoring the psycho bitch, I search out Bethany, and a lump forms in my throat when I spot a bloody open wound where her mole used to be. My chest tightens, the confirmation feeling like sharp knives grazing my nerve endings.
I was raped for nothing.
Fuck, I knew that. But it still feels like getting fucked all over again.
Clearing my throat, I stand straighter, embarrassment and shame burning my cheeks. I don’t know why. It’s not like being raped is something
I should be ashamed of. Maybe because I feel so fucking stupid.
“Today was supposed to be prepping for the Culling, but you had to go and cause a distraction,” Francesca snipes at me.
My heart sinks like a stone in water, too preoccupied with her words to feel embarrassed. Molly mentioned the Culling in her entries, but she didn’t go into detail about what it was-only implied that she was being hunted.
Licking my cracked lips, I ask, “What’s the Culling?”
Francesca smirks. “It means to hunt animals. The men will hunt, and you, my dear, are the prey.”
My chest tightens, but deep down, I knew that answer already. I just didn’t want to believe it. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they actually fucking hunt women like we’re game that will be shot and mounted above a fireplace.
This is purely for sport. To laugh and get their rocks off while a bunch of girls run for their lives and what-try to avoid being hit with a fucking bullet or something?
I have to fight to keep down the urge to vomit. I don’t want to be hunted. And it seems that’s all my life has been for the past several months.
Francesca casts her gaze down the line.
“The event will take place later this week, and I have an important client visiting-Xavier Delano. He is one of the top buyers in the market, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be selected for auction. But you will only be selected if you are deemed worthy after the Culling.”
Her glacial eyes find me, an abhorrent expression twisting her features. “Except you. You look repulsive.”
I swallow the retort sitting on my tongue and nod my head in acceptance, like a good little captive. Not like I fucking want to be selected anyway. Guess I should be glad I’m covered head to toe in bruises.
She clicks her tongue, as if she finds me stupid. “You will still be expected to participate in the Culling.”
Of fucking course I am. What’s another injury?
“Alongside Xavier, we have several other potential buyers coming here as well. You want to make the best impression on these men. I won’t tolerate any insolence, you understand?” Mid-speech, her eyes drift to the other girls, but by the time she ends her sentence, her gaze has locked back onto me.
I flatten my lips into a hard line and nod once. The other girls also acknowledge her order with a dip of their chins.
“The less interest they have in you, the less likely you are to leave my house. And you know what that means? That means that I don’t produce the best girls, and I will get very fucking angry if that ever becomes the case.”
How aren’t her teeth rotten from the vile things she spews all day?
It takes tremendous effort to keep my face blank with the turmoil rolling through me.
She approaches me slowly. “Let’s run some scenarios. What do you do when a man asks you to get on your knees for him?”
“Get on my knees,” I answer, my voice hoarse.
“And when he tells you to unfasten his pants and take out his cock?”
“Do as he says.”
She nods, studying me closely.
“And then what?”
Bite his dick off.
I know what the obvious answer is. Nevertheless, I also know what controlling men truly get off on.
Power.
“Wait for him to give me permission.”
Surprise flickers across her irises, and I hate the reaction that look pulls out of me. The last thing I want to do is make a sex trafficker proud, but in all honesty, it’s precisely what I need to do. I just don’t want to feel it.
During our training lessons, Zade had taught me a lot about human trafficking and how I could escape it, should the Society ever come for me.
Get them to trust you. Make them see you as a human being, not an object to be sold.
Would it even matter if they did see me as a person? People like this-they don’t have any compassion for humanity. Not when they’re hardly human themselves.
She sniffs. “Good.”
And then she moves on to the next girl, the one with hazel eyes and who had kept warning me to keep my mouth shut.
“Jillian, how do you address them?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies instantly, her eyes unfocused as Francesca stares her down. Our captor nods once and moves on to the girl with fiery orange hair.
“Phoebe? When they address you, do you look them in the eye?”
“No,” she responds confidently.
“Why?” Francesca tests.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.