Page 4 of The Bronze Garza
But the first time I sawhim, my body reacted in a way I still can’t comprehend. It wasn’t with revulsion, or fear, or anger, or hate. Wasn’t with any of the revolting things I generally feel toward each ballsack that prowls through this penthouse, looking us over like plums in the produce aisle, picking the rosiest, the juiciest.
No, what I felt was something else. Something delicate. Like a dulcet melody that only I could hear. Something I can’t quite explain.
And, for the first time since I was smuggled here, Iwantedto be chosen. I wanted him to look at me with those austere green eyes, I wanted to see lust and desire seep into them, and I wanted to watch those thick, brown lips form the word, “You.”
Of my own free will, I would let him have me without resisting, without gagging, without screwing my eyes shut and counting the minutes until it was over. I would even let him kiss me if he wanted to.
Alas, all I’ve ever received from him are cursory, dismissive glances. He’s been a client of the Diamond Club for over a year now and he’s never once chosen me.
The Bronze Man doesn’t stop for anyone this time, though, and instead heads straight for the stairs. Igor’s office is upstairs, so he must be here for another meeting.
Oleg and Viktor are standing at the interior balcony that overlooks the entire main area, keeping watch on us. They offer chin jerks to The Bronze Man as he strides past them.
With a sigh, I sag in my chair and fold my arms over my stomach to hide the rolls. Not because I care, but because I just need tobreathefor a bit after sitting up straight and sucking in for so long. Something Ihaveto do when we’re on display, otherwise I get barked at or smacked by Igor for looking like a “svin’ya.”Which Oleg had derisively informed me means “pig.”
I sweep my gaze around the room. Eleven women. All from different backgrounds. Prisoners inside a tenth-floor penthouse in a foreign country.
Diamond Girls. The label given to the “rare and valuable captures.”
We are stolen princesses, heiresses, or spawns of the filthy rich.
For Igor Gusev, it’s apparently a sort of proud brag to be in possession of such privileged breeds. Pedigrees. Seeds of the wealthy who believed their money was tall enough to protect them, to wall them away from devils like himself. I assume he grew up poor, as he seems to have a strong detestation toward the inherently wealthy.
I’ve heard whispers that, after three years, after we’ve been “used up” and are no longer “profitable”, he ransoms Diamond Girls back to their families.
I’m sixteen months in, and I’m counting the days. Though I’m worried—considering I’ve been classified as a “low performer”—that I won’t be “used up” enough in twenty months’ time.
No one is coming to save me.
~
Igor’s Diamond Girlsare given the “privilege” of this luxurious penthouse in a ten-story building smack-dab in the middle of a busy city. Either Igor is greatly untouchable in this country to be able run such an operation in such a busy location, or he’s hiding in plain sight.
Diamond Girls are also given weekly beauty treatments, strict dietary plans, and monthly checkups by a stony-faced female doctor, who somehow manages to look us in the eye with apathy while she sticks her gloved fingers inside us.
Diamond Girls are availableonlyto the deep-pocketed big-wigs who demand “clean, healthy, and compliant” girls, and extreme confidentiality.
How fortunate.
The “regular” girls are on the floors below. The “low-value” ones that are pumped full of drugs and sold to anyone no matter their stature.
Even in captivity, I’m still privileged.
And at the same time, still not enough.
All of us, who’ve been rudely ripped from our lives and smuggled here, have, at some point, come to the realization that no one was coming to save us. That juncture where we said goodbye to hope and shook hands with acceptance.
And, with all hope gone and nothing left to hold onto, the Diamond Girls stopped seeing themselves as captives and began seeingeach otheras competition, wanting to be the one to win their master’s affections.
Smug when they’re chosen.
Flaunted when their master Igor praised them.
Felt special when he took them off to fuck them.
Of the fourteen Diamond Girls, Kristie and I seem to be the only two who are stillawareof who and where we are. We haven’t lost sight of the fact that we’re women who were abducted and forced into prostitution.
Kristie, though, doesn’t have the luxury of being as unpalatable as I do. She’s stunning. Tall, thin, and submissive. So she’s right up there with Zoey and Kimbella as the “clients’ favorites.”
