Fractured

I can’t help but grin like a kid at Christmas.

Chapter Fifteen

Autumn

I’m cold. So cold, I’m not sure I’ll ever be warm again. The clothing they’ve given us doesn’t cover much, and it’s the skimpiest I’ve ever worn. A shiver trickles down my spine. Even in the strange surroundings, I have a feeling I know what they’re expecting of us. All females. All young. Five girls, including me, are staring at each other like we’re lost at sea with no life raft.

“Ten minutes,” a deep, gruff voice states from the other side of the door. Another tremble snakes through me, and my chest tightens with fear. I’m not sure what they’re going to do to us, but it can’t be good.

Two girls whimper as they pull on the tight, black dresses. I glance around, realizing I have no other choice but to obey for now. Until I can get an idea of where we are, it’s best to do as we’re told.

They haven’t hurt us just yet, but if the man can kill JD’s father, he can do the same to us. I miss my mother to the point of pain. My heart bangs against my chest, hard and fast, and my throat is thick with anxiety. As much as I try to tell myself JD will find me, with each passing day, I don’t think it’s possible.

When the door to the room swings open, we’re called with a mere crook of a finger. I’m sure if we didn’t obey, we’d be hurt. My feet move of their own accord. Shuffling behind each other in single file, we make our way down a long, dark hallway.

My muscles are tense, and my stomach coils with ugly images racing through my mind as to what they’re expecting of us. But the moment we’re led into an enormous ballroom, which is furnished with expensive sofas and tables and a bar running along one wall, I’m confused.

The man in front of us grins, and I notice he’s perfectly poised as if walking through the door somehow transformed him from an angry ogre into a gentleman.

“This is where you will work. Any of the boss’s clients will come to you and request certain services. If you refuse . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I don’t expect him to because the darkness he glares at us with makes my skin grow cold.

The thick scent of cigars lingers in the air, and there’s a cloying smell of expensive alcohol. I’m not too familiar with whiskies and such, but from the look of this place, I doubt they’d be drinking anything cheap.

The cocoa-colored leather of the sofa shimmers along with the crystal chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling. There are a handful of girls in the room, but each one is seated with a man in a suit.

Most of the girls look younger than me, and revulsion slithers up my throat. Some of them are kneeling at the client’s feet, others are perched on their laps.

“Move.” The order is gruff, and another icy shiver attacks me, freezing me in place. Dark eyes land on me. “If you don’t move now, I’ll make you move.” His eyes glint with humor that doesn’t show on his serious expression.

I force myself to walk deeper into the room until I’m at the smooth, shiny bar. The glass surface is so polished I can see my reflection. One of the girls behind the bar stops in front of me and offers a smile.

“What can I get you?”

“Uhm . . .” I glance around, watching the other girls, noticing them holding glasses of dark liquid. “Water, please.”

“Darling, you’re going to have to start drinking a lot stronger to get through this.” Her warning is clear. I’m not escaping. I’m not being rescued.

“How long have you been here?” I ask as she sets the glass down on a coaster in front of me.

A sad smile plays on her lips, and I notice how pretty she is under all the makeup adorning her face. Her long, dark hair falls in waves down her back. Green eyes peer at me as if I weren’t real.

“Too long,” she finally responds before acting as if I were nothing. But when a cold awareness trickles down my back, I know someone’s behind me. His large, looming figure has me slowly turning to regard him.

The man is probably over six feet. His broad shoulders are encased in a black suit jacket with a gray shirt underneath.

“You’re new.” He lifts a hand, and I can’t stop the flinch that appears when his fingertips stroke my cheek. “I won’t hurt you,” he muses. “Not if you don’t want me to.” The promise is low, the huskiness of his voice causes my stomach to convulse. I think he’d enjoy hurting me.

I suppress a shudder when he tilts my chin upward so my eyes can lock on his steely gray ones. I can’t find words, so I play demure, hoping if I appear fragile, he’ll treat me as such.