Page 65 of Hostile Rival
25
DANIELA
PAST
I’m ruthlessly dragged by the hair along a shadowy corridor, hunched over, shivering, and clenching my buttocks tight. If these things slip out...
My eyes dart left and right, up and down, trying to get my bearings. All I see are stud walls, making me think this place is a temporary structure.
Grittiness from a concrete floor stabs the soles of my bare feet as I trip and stumble, reluctantly following. We stop outside a different room this time and my stomach churns.
I’ve quickly learned darkness is how these bastards maintain control. Strip my sight to stop me studying details and then burn my eyeballs with a blinding light to disorient me.
Except this guy, with his grubby hand fisting the lengths of my long hair, yanking it hard, isn’t hiding. No, his sharp features are burned into my memory and one day, if I survive this, I’d scorch those evil eyes of his with a blowtorch.
He unlocks a door, kicks it inwards, and shoves me into absolute darkness. I scream, terrified of what could be inside.
Staggering, I’m swallowed by emptiness and cold air. I gag, the eye-watering stench of ammonia catching the back of my throat.
Instinctively, I turn back to rush forward and wait for the exact moment when his hand connects with my face. The slap knocks me sideways, yet somehow I manage to stay standing.
“Keep the drugs in your ass, puta,” that’s all he mutters before slamming the door closed.
My hand jumps to the flaming skin on my cheek, the other reaching across my chest in a half hug. Fear knots in my stomach and tears sting my eyes. Frantically rubbing my arm, the quick friction offers me a little bit of heat.
I draw my teeth between my dry lips and hold in a sob, scared of what is going to happen when he returns.
From outside of my whirling panic, a shuffling noise whispers through the never ending blackness and creeps over me in a shiver.
“Margo?” I whisper. “Are you in here?” Nothing. “Hola?”
I swallow hard. My heart jumps into my throat, the pulse thrumming in my ears. Uncomfortable, I continue to battle against the ejection impulse. I have to keep the Souza drugs inside of my back passage.
What they’ve done to me is degrading––inhumane. And terrifying.
Unsticking my feet, I inch backward, not sure how much room is around me. When my hip clips a wall, I stay there, standing upright, afraid to sit, crouch, or even lie down.
The shuffling comes again. I throw my hands out and swipe, hitting only space and air.
“I know someone’s in here…” I call as confidently as I can. “Talk to me…please.”
“No…” a distant feminine voice answers.
“Why not?”
“Because the girls always get taken away. There’s no point.”
I lean into the wall for support, talking into the darkness. “Did another girl come in here recently? Her name was Margo.”
“Girls come and go.”
“Do you know where we are?” I ask, needing something—anything to give me even a glimmer of hope.
“Yeah. Hell,” she replies matter-of-factly. “And there’s no way out.”
Prickles scurry over my scalp at her statement. My mother’s words replay in my mind. They remind me of a name––the name of a man who could easily be my savior.
Except, the once naïve girl who was caught selling drugs far from home knows better now. Rather than use his superiority as a get out of jail free card, it would get me killed.
