Page 46 of Hit and Run
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I mumble, thinking back to what she told me about her past. Which is part of what has me so worried. Knowing how Torres operates, he could keep her for himself or sell her with his next batch of girls.
“I can’t help but feel some guilt about all of this,” I admit to Rascal.
“You didn’t do shit to get her in this situation. From the sound of it, TJ would have done this whether you were in her life or not,” Rascal says. “And it’s lucky for her that you are in her life or she may not haveanyonetrying to bring her home.”
“Wren was all she had until recently,” I tell him.
“Now she has a whole tribe of a family.” He grins.
“Yeah. She does.” I smile. Now, if we could get her home and make it official.
28
Sienna
I’m awakenedby the clicking of locks. A man walks in as I sit up. He has black hair with dark stubble covering his face and an angry-looking scar on the left side of his face. The scar starts above his eyebrow and stretches downto his jawline, earning him the nickname Scarface. I’m obviously not here to get to know the guy. His eyes are hard. It’s been said that the eyes are the window to your soul and you can tell his have seen some shit.
“Get up,” he orders without moving from the doorway. His voice holds authority. I stand from the mattress.
“Quitate la ropa,” he says. “Take off your clothes.”
I hold my head high in defiance. An evil grin stretches across his face as he closes the distance between us. Before I know what’s happening, there’s a sharp sting across my cheek and I’m knocked to the mattress.
“Get up and take your fucking clothes off,” he growls out. I spit on his shoes and he lunges at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanks me to my feet. “There is no room for defiance where you’ll soon be going.”
He pulls a knife out of his pocket. With his hand still in my hair, he manages to cut my shirt off me.
“I’ll enjoy breaking you.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. He tucks his knife away before grabbing the waistband of my pants and pulling them down. He releases my hair and takes a step back. His eyes roam over my body giving me a creepy-crawly sensation all over my body.
“El Jefewas right. You have a very nice body,” Scarface says with an evil smirk. “Once we break that disobedient attitude, we’ll be able to make a pretty penny off you.”
He takes his phone out and snaps some pictures. After taking pictures of my front, he turns me around to take pictures of my ass. Then he slides his hand down my back to my ass and squeezes. I move away from his touch.
“Pinche puta.” Scarface grabs my hair, yanking me against him so my back is flush with his front.
“You will learn not to fight me,chiquita,” he says. He moves his free hand down my stomach and into my panties. I clench my teeth and try to stay calm. His fingers slide through my folds and into my cunt. Something inside me switches and I elbow him in the gut.
“Oomph!” His grip on my hair tightens, but his fingers are no longer inside me. “You think you can fucking get away with that?” he growls out before shoving me face down on the mattress.
He straddles my legs, lifting my hips up, and pulls my panties down to my ankles. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth. This is worse than his fingers inside me, but I can’t let him see my fear. If I learned anything from my stepfather and stepbrother, it was that men like them feed off your fear.
“Mmm . . . look at that pussy,” Scarface says, caressing my ass. There’s a pounding on the door.
“Hermano, el Jefe te quiere,” a male voice shouts.
“Hijo de puta,” Scarface mutters as he stands from the mattress. “Today must be your lucky day,chiquita.”
I don’t move until I hear the locks click back into place. I pull my panties up and run into the bathroom. Slamming the door, I lean back against it and let my body fall to the ground. Tears fall down my cheeks despite my attempt to stop them.
I let myself cry for a few minutes then stand at the sink. I look at my reflection. The stress of yesterday and today has caused the dark spots under my eyes to be more pronounced.
“You’re stronger than this. Don’t let them break you,” I tell myself.
I splash some cold water on my face, careful not to swallow any. The last thing I want is to get sick here. I walk back into the room and grab my cut shirt on my way to the mattress. I slip it on, pulling it closed, and cross my arms in an attempt to keep the shirt closed and sit on the mattress. Leaning against the wall, I draw my knees to my chest and rest my head on them. The past two days have been more emotionally exhausting than anything, and I know it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. I start dozing off when I’m startled by the locks being unlocked,again.
A younger man walks in carrying a tray. He looks like he could be related to Scarface, but his features are a lot softer. He can’t be much older than sixteen or seventeen. He doesn’t look like he’s been through whatever it is Scarface has. The further he walks into the room, the better I can see what he’s carrying. He has a couple of bottles of water and some food.
“I brought you some dinner,” he tells me. His voice is quite the opposite of Scarface. Where Scarface is intimidating and authoritative, this kid is soft and kind. He sets the tray a foot away from me.
