I stand up.
“Where are you going?” Giovanni asks, turning his attention to me and halting his conversation with Lorenzo.
I shift from foot to foot. “I need to go to the restroom.”
“Take Enzo with you,” he says dismissively before going back to his conversation.
I don’t bother telling him that I don’t need a babysitter. Instead, I move across the room, halting and looking around for Enzo, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Your bodyguard snuck off with Maximo,” Polo says, sliding up next to me. His long hair is loose today and as he smirks at me, he looks like a wild wolf. “Or else, I guess I should say that he was forced off by Maximo,” he corrects himself.
Of course.
I blow out a breath of annoyance. “Thanks,” I tell him.
I start to move toward Giovanni to tell him my guard is in fact gone, but at the last second I change my mind. If Giovanni was really worried about me being accompanied, he’d have volunteered himself. And plus, if I don’t go soon, I’m definitely going to piss on myself.
So, I leave the room without an escort. I know that I saw a bathroom when we came in earlier.
It ends up being further away from the owner’s box than I thought, but I make it without any incident, or accidents.
The bathroom is long and wide, stalls lining one side and sinks on the opposite side. I move over to one of the sinks, looking into the squeaky clean mirror resting over it. My brows pinch together as I take in myself.
I look too good to be a hostage.
Which is something I never thought I’d say, but damn if it isn’t true.
Now that the Costa’s aren’t trying to flat iron it into boredom and are supplying me with high quality natural hair supplies I’d never be able to afford on my own, my hair looks nice. No, more than nice, it’s luscious, the curls soft and full like one of those youtubers who always gets endorsement deals from natural hair care lines. My skin is glowing, whatever skin treatment they did at Luanna’s not appearing to be wearing off any time soon. The plaid blue dress that I’m wearing falls below my knees in a modern take that differs from the low cut top part.
I look down at the black flats on my feet and an eerie feeling of being Dorothy in the wizard of Oz moves through me. The shoes may be the wrong color, but fuck if I don’t wish I could click my heels together and find my way home, because I’m starting to not hate this life the way that I should.
Sure, the men are crazy, unstable to be exact, and I never know what mood is going to hit them. And I’ve had more people shoot at me in the last couple of months than I’ve ever had in my entire life, even being from the hood.
But…
The sex hasn’t been terrible, the exact opposite in fact, though I’ll never say those words out loud. Most of the time it still comes with a lot of pain, especially if Maximo or Giovanni is involved, but I come. And well, that isn’t something I’d done during sex before now.
What the fuck does that say about my twisted ass?
I swallow, rubbing the back of my neck and inhaling a breath as my face grows hot.
Shit.
Even when I take the sex out of the equation, there’s the fact that I may as well be a princess living in a castle. The house is fucking huge, people pick out my clothes and prepare my food, I don’t pay a single bill.
It could be worse.
It is fucking worse, dumbass.
Because as much as I want to delude myself into thinking I’ll make it out of this situation with a new luxury touching me, it’s not the truth. The truth is jaded and ugly.
I may come, but the sex is typically never actually for my pleasure, it’s for them to assert their dominance, to remind me exactly who I am, who owns me.
My food and clothes are prepared because I don’t have the freedom to take care of them myself.
And I am paying to live there, just not with cash, but with my soul.
Then there’s the fact that I know why Giovanni selected me, why I’m here.
Pin pricks burn along my skin and bile rises in my throat. I turn on the faucet, letting the cold water run aimlessly as I continue to stare at myself. After a moment, I sigh and lean down, dipping my head toward the faucet.
I hear the door open just as I dip my hands into the cool water. I bring the water up to my face, allowing it to cool my skin as footsteps draw closer. I have to wonder how I must look to the the newcomer, hunched over with my head damn near in the sink.
I blow out a breath, rising. Water drops drip from my lashes onto my cheeks and I barely register them as I look up into the mirror.
A scream rips from my lips as I try to scramble away from the man standing behind me in a black hood.
But I know it’s too late as he roughly grabs the back of my head, slamming it into the same faucet I’d just been using for comfort.
The last thing that I’m aware of is hot warmth running down the inside of my legs.