Private London (Private 4)

Afternoon

Crossing Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, Hannah took her mother’s hand.

They were both laden with packages, bags from all the best stores hanging off their shoulders.

‘We have done very well with the shopping,’ said Hannah, grinning broadly.

‘Daddy said to make it up to you for missing breakfast.’

‘He’s doing a very good job.’

‘So far. But the day is young.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s good we have the time to ourselves. Daddy doesn’t do shopping.’

Hannah chuckled. ‘I know.’

Jessica Shapiro winked at her. ‘But your mother, darling … is a professional!’

Moments later, she fetched out the keys to the Mercedes convertible they were approaching in the underground car park.

She looked up, startled as two men suddenly appeared. They wore black hoods.

Hannah’s scream was cut short as a rough hand covered her mouth.

‘Tell the little bitch to shut it now! Or I’ll blow her brains halfway across California.’

Jessica nodded. Numb with fear. Unable to speak. Staring terrified at Hannah, she pleaded with her daughter with her eyes to be still.

Three Days Later

Hannah wanted to scream again. Scream till her throat bled as she watched what was happening to her mother.

But she couldn’t. Duct tape had been wrapped around her head, sealing her mouth shut painfully. Her nostrils bulged wide, as much with fear as the need to suck oxygen into her burning lungs.

She squeezed her eyes shut, images of memory flashing, snapshots of the horror that had led to this moment.

The black-suited hooded men grabbing them. The crook of an elbow jammed tight against her mouth. Throwing her into the back of a windowless van.

Forcing her down on the cold metal floor. Tying her hands with tape. Then her mouth, her feet.

The vehicle moving, bouncing her hard against the unforgiving side. Tyres squealing. Her own muted screams. A dark sack dropped over her head.

Darkness. The sound of her mother sobbing nearby. A mewing, hurt sound.

Her bladder voiding. The awful shame of it.

A world of hurt later.

Her mother lay naked on a bed. Her hands above her head tied cruelly to the headboard.

One of the men was on top of her mother now. Grunting as he raped her. Feeding on her pain, her humiliation, her helplessness. It didn’t take long. He stood up and gestured to the other hood leaning against the far wall.

‘You want a go now?”

‘Not on mommy I don’t,’ said the second man flatly. ‘I like my meat fresher.’