Tears of Tess Page 5

  I moved.

  My body creaked and protested, but I stood and collected a bowl at a time, handing it with a piece of flat bread to each girl.

  They gave a timid smile, a glassy look, a flush of tears. I took comfort in helping them. At least they weren’t alone. We were in this together.

  When I delivered the last bowl and took my own, I had to swallow my tears. They threatened to drown me if I let them loose.

  Brax. My life. My happy, happy world dissolved and left me in hell.

  I didn’t belong to Brax anymore. I didn’t even belong to myself. I belonged to a bleak, unknown, and terror-filled future.

  Swallowing hard, I forced the tears away. Tears were not useful, and I refused to buckle. Taking a mouthful of gruel, I hiccupped and steeled myself.

  I would not cry.

  Not tonight.

  *Fantail*

  For two days, the little room was my world.

  Food came twice a day, giving us something to break up the monotonous waiting. Fear of what would happen siphoned away with every tick of the clock, leaving me devoid, empty.

  The remaining hours were spent staring into nothingness, or staring at each other.

  A few women chatted in hushed whispers, but I didn’t. I sat in a cloak of silence and plotted. My freedom had been taken, but I would take it back.

  All my life I’d been meek and a doormat. Even with Brax, I never had the strength to speak the truth. That all changed in the two days I sat in contemplation. I put away my fear of being reprimanded, and embraced ferocity. I conjured anger like magic, nursing it deep within, building on it like an impenetrable cape. Never again would I hide my true feelings, or fail to chase what I truly desired. And what I desired most was freedom.

  Our food was delivered by the same young man with the scar running from eyebrow to jaw. Whoever had sewn the injury did a hash job, and skin puckered in such a way I would’ve pitied him, if not for the fact he was in cahoots with my kidnappers.

  He wasn’t big, but moved with strength belying his scrawny frame. I watched closely, gauging if I could tackle him, if the other women would help me.

  Even if the women did rally together, how far would we get? There were guards outside the door, and I didn’t know what was out there. City, forest, urban, or country. No point making a move until I knew. Knowledge was power, and surprise was key.

  It was the evening of the second day when the door slammed open. It wasn’t dinner time and my heart rabbited when Leather Jacket prowled into the room. Predatory eyes immediately fell on me. All my plotting and scheming evaporated as he grinned nastily, heading straight for me.

  Fear sprinted through my blood, flaring my aching body, a reminder danger lurked in every inch of this place. Complacency wasn’t a good idea.

  “Come with me, slut.” Fingers wrapped around my sore wrist, yanking me upright. Licking cracked lips, he dragged me toward the door. No! I wouldn’t go, not like this.

  I locked my knees, bare feet scrambled to find purchase on the old floorboards, but I couldn’t get traction. He tugged hard, slamming me against his gross body. The leather jacket reeked of sweat and metal.

  The women started crying, a wail of confusion puncturing the once heavy silence. Our little oasis in the madness was shattered.

  I squirmed, trying to tear fingers off my wrist, but he reached back and slapped me. My cheekbone blazed with pain; I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Obey! Unless you want to be knocked out again,” Leather Jacket snarled. Readjusting his grip, he dragged me down a rank corridor. My face smarted, but I quickly pushed the discomfort away. Pain was a distraction, and I needed to focus.

  Men, all dark-haired and grim, dashed past. A woman cried, then screaming joined the horrible symphony. My heart went out to them. It wasn’t just me they’d come for.

  My pulse thudded every metre Leather Jacket carted me. We passed door after locked door, until he shoved me forward, sending me tripping into a shower block. Multiple showerheads, cracked white tiles, and well-used soap bars littered the floor, like a gym or a jail.

  Oh, God.

  Leather Jacket jerked my shoulder, swivelling me to face him. “Strip.”

  A burst of defiance blossomed, and I spat in his face. No way would I undress in front of him. I couldn’t. Only Brax had seen me naked—that was his gift, no one else’s.

  Fuck you. Fuck all of this. I’d never been so gung-ho or courageous, but everything about me had changed. It was time to embrace the new me.

  He chuckled. “So, you like it rough, bitch.” Before I could duck, his fist connected with my cheekbone, shattering my vision into pieces. Oh, God, the pain was so much worse than a slap. I moaned, clutching my face. I’d never been hit before, but this was the third time in a matter of days.

  Hands grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and yanked. The sound of ripping material echoed in the tiled shower block. I whimpered as fresh air licked my exposed stomach and chest. The haze of pain slowly left, and I feinted to the side, trying to get away. But he wasn’t suffering from a punch to the jaw and caught me.

  He grunted, slapping me again. “You’re a wild one. But that won’t save you. It’ll just mean you won’t get the good buyers, and you’ll end up drugged and brain-dead.” He leaned in and licked, dragging his foul tongue like a Labrador over my cheek, right into my hairline.

  I shivered, repulsed.

  “If you want another fist to your pretty face, move again,” he coaxed.

  Already, a hundred galloping elephants lived in my skull, I couldn’t handle more. My soul wanted to fight, but my body stayed still, obeying.

  “Good girl,” he cooed, reaching for my leggings and pulling them down in one swipe. A sharp tug on my hip broke my knickers, and hands fumbled behind to free my bra. It fluttered to the floor, leaving me the most exposed I’d ever been.

  Naked, I stood in front of a rapist, kidnapper, and evil sadistic son of a bitch.

  I trembled, clasping arms around my exposed chest. The man chuckled, eyes raping me with a transfixed stare. “You’ve got nice tits. You can’t hide them forever. Get in the shower and wash your filth.” He shoved me toward the soap littered area.

  I stumbled, but went willingly. It meant I was away from him, away from his stench, his rottenness. Don’t think about him looking at you. None of this can affect you if you don’t let it.

  Holding onto the thought, I stooped to pick up a dry piece of soap.

  More women arrived, corralled by hard hands and vile men. Each one was subjected to the same treatment, minus the beating, and I turned away as their clothes fell to the floor. The guy with the scar gathered the belongings and disappeared. The wardrobe of our past lives. Gone—just like that. It symbolised more than just undressing us—it was a message: they owned us. We no longer had the right to wear what we wanted, go where we needed, love who we adored. We were reduced to nothing but naked, trembling girls.

  The starkness of our reality hit some women hard, and they crumbled to the floor in tears, only to be kicked in the stomach and forced to crawl into the communal shower.

  I swallowed salty tears as I turned on the tap, attempting to froth the age-grimed soap.

  The water ran cold, but it was heaven to clean away gunk and hardship. I didn’t like to think about the reason we were being made to wash. That was the future—a place I couldn’t think about. I focused on the present, keeping sane by not letting my imagination run wild with horror.

  Bubbles slowly formed on the soap, and I spent the next ten minutes rubbing it over my skin, lathering my hair. I wanted to wash away what happened. Wishing the water would take my unhappiness and gurgle it down the drain, taking me, too. Surely, the sewers would be a better existence.

  “Enough!” a jailor shouted.

  We obeyed, rinsing under the cold spray, and proceeded to where a pile of moth-eaten towels lay on a bench. I wrapped a discoloured towel around myself, and a rope came from behind, noosing around my neck. I jumped, c
lawing at the tight bondage.

  The man with the jagged scar came into view, tugging gently. “You are no longer whoever you were. You are to forget about your past ‘cause you will never see it again.”

  He leaned forward, and I froze. I underestimated him. Because he brought us food, I stupidly thought he was nicer than the others, but he wasn’t. The same blackness lived in him, too.

  “Follow.” He strode off, yanking the rope. My back arched with the pressure, forcing me to trot to catch up. I’d been demoted from human to dog with just one act.

  Lowborn reactions rose; I wanted to growl and sink my teeth into his arm. If he wanted me to be an animal, I could be an animal.

  The shower block disappeared as I padded behind by leash. Where the hell is he taking me? I squeezed my eyes closed. I didn’t want to know.

  What if, now I was clean, they were going to rape me? Put me in some whorehouse and force me into a sea of chemicals and drugs. I’d never return to who I was. Never get free.

  No!

  I slammed on the breaks, digging bare feet into the floor. My toes ached as Jagged Scar slammed to a halt. My neck screamed as the rope pulled tight, choking.

  “Move!” Jagged Scar glared, pressing his body hard against my towel-wrapped figure. My entire being rebelled at being so close, but I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t step away in defeat. I wanted to hiss and head butt him, but I stood there, glaring into his endless black eyes, standing as regal as possible.

  “No. I will not move. You have no right to treat me or the other women like this. Let us go.” My voice wavered with fear, my heart wild. I could lose my life by disobeying, but I couldn’t go down without a fight. I couldn’t give up so easily. I let my family walk all over me—I wasn’t about to let these bastards do it, too.

  A gathering of shocked murmurs rose behind me. I glanced back, horror widening my eyes. My roommates were roped and standing in line, like sheep to the slaughter.

  They were shoved out of the way as Leather Jacket stormed toward me. Jagged Scar dropped the end of my rope, stepping backward.

  Oh, shit.

  Ducking, I threw my arms over my head, trying to protect, but it was no use.

  Leather Jacket threw me to the ground and kicked. His steel-capped boots cracked a rib as I collapsed under his abuse; the snap resonated, making me scream and curl into a ball.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even cry, the pain was insurmountable. Kick after kick. My breasts, stomach, thigh, ankle. Each blow exploded with heat worse than the last one.

  Another scream erupted as one kick caught my solar plexus, causing the towel to unravel. I was beyond simple agony. I was in hell.

  He raged something in his native tongue, fisting a hand in my hair, pulling me upright. My skin puckered in terror as he pulled back, gaining momentum to slam my head into the wall.

  “Basta!”

  I knew that word. Enough.

  Leather Jacket released me; I slumped to the floor. Every inch wailed with pain. The chill of wood against bare skin reminded me I was beaten and naked. So stupid, Tess. So, so stupid. You can’t win. Just give them what they want. I was worse off by disobeying: a shivering mess on the floor, incapable of anything but weakness.

  Brax. How I wished Brax was here. He’d know what to do. How to keep me safe. I was such an ignoramus to think I could stand up to these men.

  Who were they anyway?

  I latched onto a word: trafficker. It blared like an angry hurricane, hurling me further into terror. As much as I wanted to deny the realization, I knew.

  I was being trafficked. Me and these women were about to disappear around the world, exchanged for money, no regard for us as people—we were belongings.

  I’d read enough horrible news to know the window of saving a smuggled woman was very short—only a few days before they were never seen again.

  No one but my parents and Brax knew I was in Mexico. My parents wouldn’t know I’d ever gone missing—they never called or texted. It would be months before they noticed my absence. And Brax. My heart choked. Brax might be dead for all I knew. Dead and cold and blue under a man’s urinal.

  The man with the scar shoved Leather Jacket away, reclaiming my leash. He tugged the rope, twinging my neck. “Get up.”

  I wanted to laugh. He expected me to stand when my body was cracked and broken? The beating taught me something, though. Obedience was paramount. Nothing wrong in following orders if it meant I survived another day. So, even though it killed me, I fumbled to my feet.

  Breathing hard, my entire body wanted to weep, but my eyes remained dry. These men didn’t deserve my tears.

  Jagged Scar wrapped fingers around my bicep, holding some of the weight. He gave a lopsided grin, shrugging. “You can make this easy. It’s only temporary. Keep your fight for your new owner.”

  My mind blanked with shock; I blinked. He confirmed my suspicions and I wished I was wrong.

  Jagged Scar pulled me forward, both by his grip and the rope. Injuries screamed, especially the cracked rib, but together we shuffled down the corridor. The line behind started up again, each woman taken into a different room. Would I ever see them again?

  Leather Jacket smirked as he opened a door, and Jagged Scar guided me inside. Just like the cell we lived in: a windowless room with only one door.

  The lock clicking closed set off panic in my chest like an atomic bomb.

  Everything about the space was non-descript, apart from the torture contraption in the centre of the room, half dentist chair, half gynaecologist table with stirrups and levers.

  Beside it rested a stainless steel table full of instruments from my nightmares, all glinting wicked sharp under the huge spotlight hanging above.

  My mouth snapped shut, and I huddled, trying to become invisible. Switch off, Tess. Disappear from this hell.

  Needles, scalpels, glass vials full of crystal liquid, and leather straps heralded my doom as Jagged Scar pushed forward. I had no energy, zapped with pain, but I spun away. I couldn’t get on that chair. I couldn’t.

  The rope around my neck squeezed tight, and I clawed at my throat with broken nails and anxious fingers. “No!”

  Another set of hands from an unknown person wrapped around my nakedness and half-dragged, half-carried me to the chair. Together, they threw me on the squeaky, blood-stained leather and Jagged Scar went behind, jerking the rope, making me lie down or choke.

  Skin stuck to the leather, making sucking sounds along with my panicked breathing.

  The person who’d helped throw me on the chair appeared above.

  My heart squeezed with indignation. A woman—young, cruel, with a glossy curtain of black hair framing her face. Her lips lined with early smoker creases, black eyes as vacant as the men. A surgical mask hung from one ear, and rubber gloves sheathed her fingers.

  Rage consumed me. She was a woman involved with trafficking women—a traitor to her own sex. “How can you, bitch? How can you be a part of this?”

  Jagged Scar reached from behind, tapping my cheek in warning. The woman didn’t answer, but averted her eyes. Not from embarrassment, but to secure the leather straps around my forearms. Once secure, she spread my legs into the stirrups and secured my ankles, buckling them so tight the leather bit into my skin like fangs.

  Mortification painted my cheeks at being so exposed, so defenceless. I hadn’t even fought.

  Through the walls, a scream ripped fast and high, but shut off as quickly as it came. My eyes popped wide. Oh, my God, what was happening?

  My breath rasped in the small space, rushed and ragged. The woman secured the mask around her mouth and tore open a sterile packet.

  My eyes wanted to close, to avoid knowing what was in the plastic, but I couldn’t look away. I stared with sick fascination as she attached the needle to a pen like contraption, adding a vial of black liquid.

  What was that thing?

  Jagged Scar grabbed another bottle and doused the underside
of my wrist, pushing Brax’s bracelet further up my arm. My heart squeezed in painful loss. Brax. The bracelet was the only thing I had of him. They’d allowed me to keep it. Misplaced thankfulness overwhelmed, at least these bastards hadn’t stolen that, too.

  Using a white piece of cotton, Jagged Scar dried my wrist, before nodding at the woman.

  She bent over my arm, placing a carbon transfer she plucked from the table, sticking it to damp flesh. She smoothed it against my skin, making sure the image adhered before ripping it off, leaving a purplish outline of a barcode.

  Discarding the transfer, she picked up the pen with the black vial and pressed a button. Whirring mechanical noise vibrated.

  Shit, they were going to tattoo me! I’d never been inked before, never fell in love with an image enough to want it permanently on my skin, and I definitely didn’t want a barcode.

  “Stop!”

  Jagged Scar pressed his face close as the sharp nick of the tattoo gun tore into my flesh. Teeny, tiny teeth nipped and sawed.

  “Accept that you are no longer a woman. You are merchandise. And merchandise must have a barcode for sale.”

  I wanted to spit at him, but refrained. As degrading as it was to be treated like stock, I bit my lip and bore through it. I would get it lasered off as soon as I escaped.

  The burn grew fiery hot as seconds turned into minutes.

  I was no longer Tess. I was dollar signs.

  Finally, the tattoo pen cut off with a snarl. I gasped as the woman smeared some sort of gel over it and wrapped my wrist in plastic.

  The black lines looked obscene against my red, swollen skin. My first tattoo and it demoted me from dog to shelf produce. A disposable thing. An item. No more. No less.

  My fight deflated, leaving under an avalanche of unhappiness. Every part hurt: my heart, body, and soul. I was sucked deep into the pit where snakes and monsters lived, wallowing in self-pity.

  The woman pulled off her gloves and snapped a fresh pair on. She moved to the end of the table, positioning herself between my legs. She turned from tattoo artist to gynaecologist.