Tears of Tess (8 page)

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, clawing 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.